Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Anna’s eyes narrowed. “Mhm.” Anna batted her eyelashes and tilted her head back. “Don’ worry, I willnae tell anyone. I like a good view as much as the next lass.”

  “Och, shut it, Anna. It ain’t like that.”

  Her ears burned. For once, Rosalie was grateful Anna wasn’t observant. If Magda were here, the conversation would have ended any chance of meeting Declan again. She needed to be more careful. Without another word to Anna, she kicked the sides of her horse and caught up with Enoch.

  Within the hour, they rode into the outskirts of the village, spanning out from the towering castle at its center. Life bustled all around the castle. Men and women traded goods. Small hoards of children chased dogs with sticks. The stench of livestock was dulled and covered by meat roasting somewhere within the courtyard walls.

  Enoch dismounted. It seemed to Rosalie that every passing maiden within five years of their age caught his attention. The arrogant way he walked annoyed her. Everything about him gnawed at her. She reminded herself she just needed to make it through the day. One day at a time… you owe it tae Magda to try, she thought to herself like a prayer.

  Anna was ecstatic… Rosalie could appreciate civilization, but only in small doses, while Anna craved it. She knew she was beautiful and exotic-looking compared to the other women. It was a time she could flaunt herself. Rosalie, on the other hand, preferred to melt into the scene and watch people go about their daily lives, imagining what it might be like to live there.

  “Ladies, what’ll it be?” Enoch stood with his fists braced on both hips, looking over the landscape.

  “The keep!” Anna burst out, clapping her hands together. She wore a loose blouse that showed just a hint too much cleavage when she stooped, and skirts that fanned out like parasols when she spun. “I though’ we could dance to gather attention and make a few coin, an’ then after, get in with the womenfolk. Thank the heavens ye wore that dress, Rosie darlin’; it’s one of your best made.” Anna touched the soft fabric, wrapping her arm around her friend’s. The compliment made Rosalie blush.

  Men and women filled the castle courtyard. Balanced on high scaffolding, carpenters and stonemason worked to repair and add. A baker with a tray of small pies maneuvered between gaggles of gossiping women and headed for the castle. It would make a good crowd.

  Enoch removed his hat and laid it just off from the center of the courtyard. Eyes peeked in curiosity. With the women whispering and giggling off to her left, Rosalie felt nervous. Anna showed nothing of the like. A tambourine in her fingers, she lifted the wings of her skirts to her hips, revealing her hose and anklets heavy with bells.

  “Ladies an’ gentlemen. We have traveled far an’ wide tae present our services to ye today. Gather ‘round an’ see the exotic dance o’ the gypsy.” Rosalie had to give it to him; he had a flair for showmanship. “Come closer now. Don’ miss a step. Le’ me introduce the lovely Anna an’ Rosalie.”

  Enoch directed the crowd into a ring. The first line of people drew in to investigate the commotion shielded by the gathering group. Rosalie scanned the courtyard for the face she wished to see. Disappointment and gratitude washed over her in equal amounts. Declan’s presence would make her even more nervous.

  Enoch gave a slight bow, leaving his hat in front of them. He melted into the crowd as Anna started a steady beat with her tambourine. They’d learned the dance as children, and executed it in perfect synchronization.

  Rosalie’s emerald skirts swirled around her ankles. Anna jingled in rhythm to the tune. Her bells bounced as each perfectly-timed step met the hard stone. Rosalie and Anna’s smiles grew wider and wider as they spun faster and faster around the small circle, the tempo of the tambourine quickening to an intense crescendo. Their hands twisted, and Rosalie’s long, curly hair flew about her waist, like fire gleaming in the morning sun.

  The woman’s lungs felt as if they would burst as she drew in sharp, deep inhalations of cold air. Rosalie’s chest heaved, and although a blur, her eyes caught Declan’s face on the outskirts of the crowd. She wondered where he’d come from and felt her heart pause, almost missing a beat of the tribal dance. As she whipped back around, she noticed he wasn’t looking at her. She followed his gaze. Enoch passed through the crowd. She could see a glint of gold sparkle in the morning light as he picked the pocket of one of the distracted women.

  Faster and faster they danced, until all at once, the rhythm peaked and stopped with a sudden final note. Anna and Rosalie’s feet mirrored each other, their hands high above them, their right knees bent, and the balls of their arched foot slammed down onto the cobbled courtyard in parallel time. Their chests heaved as they caught their breath. Their hot cheeks welcomed the cold breeze.

  The crowd clapped and hollered in excitement at their dance. Rosalie could hear Enoch’s whistle cut through over the other’s gleeful applause. She looked for Declan, and her heart fell at the disgust and disappointment on his face.

  She wanted to go to him, to tell him she didn’t know what Enoch planned for the performance. She wished to beg him not to judge her alongside Enoch, but her duties kept her glued in place. Enoch picked up the hat, now bearing a few coins. He walked around the crowd for final donations before addressing the people of Loch Awe.

  “Ladies, please feel free tae meet with Rosalie and Anna. Rosalie sewed an’ embroidered the gown she wears today. ‘Tis but one o’ her many talents. We willnae be here fer long, so do not wait tae ask of their services!”

  As sudden as Enoch started the performance, it ended with him counting the bounty within his hat. He pocketed the handful of gold and placed the hat back on his head. Rosalie and Anna waited for the women to solicit their services. The gaggle of girls parted to make way for an elegant woman wearing black mourning garments. Close at her heels, a woman with bright red hair streaked with the grays of age and stress followed.

  “Good mornin’, m’lady,” Anna greeted as they both curtsied.

  “A wonderful performance ye put on. I am Margaret Campbell, Lady of Castle Kilchurn, and this is my esteemed guest and dear friend Lady Catherine.”

  The woman gave a weak smile. The way she looked at Rosalie made her uncomfortable. She was unsure if the woman blinked at all. When Anna spoke up, the wide eyes and steady gaze seemed even odder, and Lady Catherine’s eyes flashed with something close to hatred. Her lips pulled back to her teeth in a sudden grimace of disgust. Anna’s eyebrows popped up, and without thought, she drew back a step, but she never missed a beat, grateful when the woman’s attention returned to Rosalie.

  “Oh, aye, I’m glad ye enjoyed it. Yer keep is beautiful.” The three of them looked up to the five-story tower stretching to the sky behind them.

  Lady Margaret smiled. “It took me thirty years to build.” Her voice was soft and sweet.

  “You to build, m’lady?” Rosalie’s face lit up in excitement.

  “Aye.” The Lady nodded. Her cheeks blushed with humility.

  “Incredible, m’lady.” Rosalie smiled, and after a moment of admiring the structure, added, “How may we help ye today?”

  The warm, genuine smile faded from Lady Campbell’s features. “I have a few questions for ye, if ye dinnae mind.”

  “No, not at all, m’lady. We’re at yer service.” Anna curtsied again.

  Rosalie was aware of the other women keeping a respectful distance from them. They chittered between themselves, waiting for their turn to talk to the dancers. She wondered how many of them could afford to hire her, and which ones were there simply to have something to talk about the next day.

  “I hope it is no intrusion, but I sent a rider out yesterday to find where you camp. You must understand it is my responsibility to the people to ensure their peace an’ safety. You are camped by the river, no?”

  “Yes, m’ lady.”

  Rosalie took note. She wondered if Declan was her rider. Last night, he was in earshot to save her. It disappointed her to know it wasn’t to get a better glimpse at her after see
ing her come in on the wagon, as she wanted to imagine.

  “An’ how long might ye stay, may I ask?”

  “We usually stay until the work runs out,” Anna smiled, “if it pleases ye, m’lady.”

  Lady Campbell gave a slight nod. “I see. An’ what is it you do, precisely?”

  There were always stories they needed to stomp out when arriving in a new area. People had all kinds of ideas of what “gypsies”—travelers and Roma—were, and what it meant for them to come. Rosalie only paid half attention to the conversation, letting Anna do the talking. She tried to spot Declan, but the women crowded around them, pocketing them into a corner.

  “Sew, embroider, tinker,” Anna listed. “We can do all sorts o’ things, m’lady. Our men an’ women are some o’ the best.”

  The lady nodded and thought for a moment. “I would like tae invite ye tae the castle fer a feast I am throwing in honor of Lady Catherine and her family joining us here at Castle Kilchurn. It would please me tae meet my neighbors.” She smiled. “Maybe entertain us in a more formal setting. As for work, feel free tae fin’ what ye can. As long as there is nae trouble, yer welcome tae stay until the work runs out.”

  “Thank ye, m’lady. I’m sure the others will be delighted tae hear o’ the invitation. Ye truly are too kind.”

  “Until then,” she said, then departed for the castle without another word.

  Lady Catherine followed close behind, stealing glances over her shoulder. The look in her eyes made Rosalie uncomfortable. Still, there was no time to process what any of it meant—especially with her attention divided between wondering where Declan and Enoch were.

  “Ye hear that?” Anna asked. “A feast in our honor!” She whistled. “What is it, Rosie?”

  “Did ye see where Enoch went?” Rosalie’s heart beat faster than the hooves of her horse at a full run.

  Anna waved it off. “Let him be. We have work to do.”

  The other women approached them, asking all kinds of questions. Their pretentious tones annoyed both Anna and Rosalie. One of them reached out and touched Rosalie’s gown without asking. It made her feel like some child or animal on display. She pulled back as politely as she could and tried her best to keep her temper under control.

  The woman, a young blonde girl in a dark blue dress, spoke. “It is lovely. Who’dae thought a gypsy could make somethin’ as fair as that?” Her friends giggled behind her. “I’ll be needin’ two gowns made.”

  Rosalie nodded, her lips pressed together in a hard line. “We can start tomorrow if ye ride out tae—” Rosalie turned to point, but the woman interrupted her.

  “No, that willnae do.” Her smile was fake, a sweet mask hiding a cruel heart. “I willnae have my new gowns sewn next tae yer swine. Ye might like smellin’ o’ pigs, but I willnae pay for a gown tha’ does.”

  Rosalie’s face turned bright red. Anna touched her arm and whispered in her ear, “Easy now. Gold is gold.’”

  Rosalie forced herself to smile. “O’ course not.”

  “Good.” The girl clapped her hands together. “You’ll bring yer things tomorrow. My family is staying at the castle,” she boasted. “Enter at the servants’ entrance tomorrow morn.”

  If not for her mind occupied with the whereabouts of Enoch and Declan, her tongue would have burned in protest at the girl’s demeanor. All she could think about was tying up the conversation so that she could put her mind at ease.

  The girl pivoted on her heel and left, a group of her peers following close behind. The few women remaining dispersed, their initial curiosity satiated. Rosalie looked around, and her heart leaped into her throat. Across the courtyard, Enoch and Declan were talking to one another.

  Chapter Five

  From where she stood, Rosalie couldn’t tell if they were angry with each other or not. Without saying anything to Anna, she stormed towards them. Her focus honed on their faces; she nearly ran into a man crossing the courtyard.

  “Rosie?” Anna picked up her skirts to catch up. “What’s the rush? Slow down.”

  Rosalie slowed down as she drew near. She tried to seem natural, despite her desperation to hear their conversation. Declan didn’t look at her.

  “An’ here are the ladies o’ the hour.” Enoch gestured to Anna and Rosalie.

  Anna stepped in front of Rosalie and extended her hand. “Anna.”

  “Pleasure to meet ye.” He kissed her olive fingers.

  Rosalie looked down at her boots and tucked a curl behind her ear. “An’ this is Rosalie.” Anna curled her arm affectionately around Rosalie’s. Rosalie curtsied as well as she could.

  “Pleasure.”

  She was disappointed. The way he said it sounded cold and impersonal. Declan turned his back to her and readdressed Enoch, his features unreadable. Everything about him seemed different. Instead of the shy charm he’d shown her the previous night, he was confident and grim.

  “I’ll be by tomorrow, then?” Declan asked.

  “Aye. Tomorrow,” Enoch nodded.

  Rosalie’s heart sank. She was working in the castle tomorrow for the wretched blonde girl. Declan left with a nod towards Anna and nothing for Rosalie. It killed any excitement she felt and left her more angry at herself than anyone else. She chided herself for being foolish for thinking some outsider would take a real fancy towards her.

  “Well?” Enoch looked at them. “How did yer part go?”

  “We have work tomorrow here in the castle, annnnd,” Anna was almost bouncing with excitement, “The Lady o’ the Castle invited all o’ us tae a feast tomorrow evenin’.”

  Rosalie tried to mask her curiosity. “What did he want?”

  “Oh.” Enoch looked after Declan, who was leaving the courtyard. “He has some repairs fer Alexander. I guess he owns the land on the outskirts.”

  “Aye,” Anna said. “We saw ‘im when we came in yesterday.”

  “I tol’ him tae give us whatever he has. The more work, the better.”

  “Did he say anything abou’ your li’l side venture while we were dancin’?”

  Rosalie’s brows furrowed. The last person she wanted to be around was Enoch. Her association with him shamed her, made her feel dirty. Anna looked between them in confusion.

  He looked her in the eye for a moment. Rosalie could see his jaw tense and immediately regretted saying anything. “Ye better watch yer mouth. People might think yer accusin’ me o’ somethin’.”

  “Rosie!” Anna looked bewildered. She turned to Enoch. “Pay ‘er no mind. She’s jus’ cross ‘cause the women folk were rude tae us, is all.”

  “Is there anythin’ else ye want tae say, Rosalie?” The look in his eyes warned her to tread with caution.

  “No,” Rosie looked past him, out at the small glimmer of the loch in the distance, and remembered Magda’s promise. “It’s as Anna says. Jus’ sour, is all.” She didn’t think she could do this dance for the rest of her life. This alone sapped her energy. Is this what marriage is? She bit her lip as she considered how her soul would erode under such oppression.

  “Drop yer attitude. There’s still work tae finish. Is there anything else ye’d like tae do before we head back to camp?”

  “The market!” Anna clapped her hands together. It was one of her favorite parts of visiting a new place. It seemed as if you could tell a lot about a town by what kind of marketplace they kept.

  Enoch nodded his approval. He checked to make sure the horses were safe and secure, pocketing whatever money to keep it from being at risk. Anna took Rosalie by the arm and led her a few paces ahead of Enoch.

  “That lady was odd,” Rosalie mentioned as they started towards the main stretch of dirt carving through huts and hovels.

  “Aye, did ye see the way she looked at me?” Anna asked.

  Rosalie nodded. “I thought she might jump at ye at any moment. An’ me, like I was a ghost.” She shivered, thinking about how the woman’s eyes seemed to bulge from her face.

  “We cannae please ‘em all.”<
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  They navigated around piles of horse droppings left in the street. Aromas of meat and fresh baked goods wafted through the air. Women offering handwoven scarves in the typical plaid and tartans tried to gain their attention. Anna would wave these women off, searching for whatever trinkets shone the most in the early sun.

  A widow, carved and wrinkled from age, cooked over a small fire. “Neeps an’ tatties fer sale.” She made eye contact with Rosalie, “Ye, hungry, dear? Ye look like ye need some meat on yer bones.”