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

by Kenna Kendrick

  Rosalie eyed her suspiciously. “Because ‘tis insane—cosmically suicidal, Anna.”

  Anna looked dejected, ashamed, and depressed by the turn of events. Her voice fell. She did not look back up at Rosalie. “Jus’, if ye want tae see him tonight, I tol’ Magda ye an’ I will work on the dresses tonigh’, after the openin’ performance. She thinks it’s so we can talk. Declan will wait fer ye by the servants’ entrance, in the alcove.”

  Rosalie clenched and unclenched her jaw. “Thank ye, Anna.” She thought for a moment and swallowed. “I supposed the worst has already happened. Might as well face Declan too.”

  Rosalie’s heart sank. She feared to talk to Declan about her problems. If he thought her desperate, he might not want her. She couldn’t handle any more rejection, especially not from him. There were still worse things that could happen, though, and the truth was, Declan’s affections for her were her last hope. No matter her pride, she would need to ask for help.

  Anna gave her a weak smile. There were dark rings under her eyes, and her usual radiant complexion took on a sickly yellow undertone.

  “I love ye,” she said.

  Although small, Rosalie’s smile was genuine, fighting through the fatigue and heartache. “I know. I love ye tae, Anna, dear.”

  The rest of the journey passed in silence and a drizzle misted the party in thick gray clouds. The fog curled around the horses, swirling and fingering out in response to their movements.

  When they arrived, the feast was already in full swing. Musicians, laughter, and loud chatter echoed off the stone walls. Their presence did not go unnoticed. For Rosalie, it was an overwhelming blur of curtsies and introductions as Lady Margaret showed off her exotic and controversial guests. Rosalie tried to melt away, lacking the energy to fake gratitude and happiness. She managed to slip into a vacant stretch of wall for a moment to catch her breath.

  Rosalie groaned, wanting more than anything to melt into the stone behind her when she saw Lady Catherine cutting through the crowd towards her. The woman dragged a man, Rosalie presumed was her husband, by the sleeve. Her eyes were wild and fixated on Rosalie in a way that made her uncomfortable.

  These were not pleasantries. When Lady Catherine was within a foot of Rosalie, she gripped her husband. “See, can’t you see?” She was frantic, almost crazed. She sidled next to Rosalie. “She looks jus’ like her! Jus’ like me!”

  Rosalie had no idea what was going on, but the lady’s husband was humiliated by his wife’s display. “I’m sorry. My wife…” his cheeks were red and shiny as if he’d been drinking. If it were not for the sadness carved into his thin face and the dull lustfulness of his eyes, he would have been handsome. “She thinks you look like someone we used to know.”

  “Think!” If the room were not in an uproar of festivities, everyone would have heard her, “I know, Edward. Look at her, damn it!” She stomped her foot. A strand of gray hair fell in front of her face.

  Edward gasped, “Catherine.”

  Rosalie was relieved when Lady Margaret called the attention of her guests. Edward grabbed his wife. She pulled away from him, and the look she gave Rosalie was desperate enough to make her spread her hands out over the wall for something to hold onto, afraid Lady Catherine might grab at her.

  “Come, Catherine.” His voice deepened with final authority. His wife grudgingly pulled away. Edward turned, and in a soft tone, repeated, “I’m sorry.” With a forlorn air, he added, “You do look like her,” before guiding his wife away with head hung low.

  Rosalie did not have time to contemplate what it meant. She and Anna performed their dance while the rest of their community maneuvered through the lines of tables, showing off whatever skills they knew best. Juggling was popular, and there were two who had trained with torches. The crowd held their breaths and cheered when all flames snuffed out at the end.

  Rosalie was ready to bolt the moment it concluded. With a nod from Magda, she grabbed Anna by the hand and slipped through a side door. Anna led the way back to the chamber.

  I thought that’d never end.” Rosalie pressed herself up against the closed door. Anna gave a weak smile that tore at her heart. Rosalie knew how much she loved these events, they were rare, and her selfish friend had sabotaged this one.

  “Thank ye, again,” Rosalie said.

  “Jus’ go, ‘fore Magda decides tae check on us.” Anna wrung her hands.

  Rosalie planted a rushed kiss on her cheek and darted through the servant’s passage. Her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough. When the cold night air hit her, it felt like freedom, and for the time being, there was a glimmer of hope. The clouds shielded the moon and stars, leaving the alcove dark, save a weak flicker of orange in the distance. Rosalie rubbed her arms and looked about her. Declan was not there yet, and anxiety cradled her heart. Maybe he changed his mind, she thought.

  Rosalie shook the terrible idea from her head. Her ears perked up at the sound of footsteps. The silhouette of a cloaked figure blocked the dim light.

  “Declan?” Rosalie called out as loud as she dared.

  There was no response as the figure walked toward her. Rosalie’s heartbeat spiked, afraid it may be Enoch or Magda approaching. No, she thought, too tall. She consoled herself, and yet the unease lifted her hair to stand on end. She couldn’t see the man’s face until he was right in front of her.

  “Oh.” Rosalie could not hide her surprise and disappointment. “It’s you—” Her words cut off as a black bag stole her vision and muted her in one swift motion. She tried to kick out, but other hands joined in to subdue her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Throughout the day, Declan tortured himself with thoughts of Rosalie. His hands tended the land with eagerness. No matter how much sweat he poured into his soil and strain he put on his body, he couldn’t rid his mind of Rosalie’s face.

  The image of her looking back over her shoulder the night before was evident in his mind’s eye. Her red hair curled around her pale, scared face. So much fear carved into her expression. Those bright green eyes pleaded in desperation with that quick, single glance back. Having to let her go with her people and not knowing what would happen to her, or if he would ever see her again, sickened him.

  Declan felt like his legs couldn’t carry him fast enough. Anna’s approach earlier in the day brought him hope. She told him everything about Rosalie’s situation—Enoch shaming her in front of the community, Alexander condemning her come winter, and Magda’s tight grip on Rosalie’s time until then. It came as a shock. Part of him didn’t believe her people would banish her in such a manner. It seemed cruel to thrust a maiden out without preparing her in some way—either in marriage or humble occupation. He thought the threat of leaving her behind was a cautionary tale to keep young men and women in line.

  Knowing he harmed her in such a manner caused Declan great pain. He regretted having her meet with him alone in the woods. Yet, a part of him felt joy; pride at knowing she’d risked as much as she did to see him. He wanted to tell Rosalie how he thought about her.

  Throughout the night, he could not sleep. The thought of Enoch hurting Rosalie haunted him. He feared she would not speak to him again. Even presented the choice, she might think him weak for not doing more or too high a risk to humor. He wanted to ensure that she was ok, ensure that man didn’t break her heart or reputation beyond repair. He wanted her to know that despite how things seemed, she wasn’t alone, and he wouldn’t abandon her.

  The Keep was alive. Declan avoided it during the day, knowing everyone for miles would travel in to stay the night. Camps popped up along the road. The main stretch close to the Keep filled with merchants looking to sell goods to those gathering for the feast. Lady Campbell’s most distinguished men and allies within riding distance would ride in to enjoy a hot meal and free wine from her summer casks.

  As Declan ran through the keep’s courtyard, it seemed as if everyone wished to stop him. Although not as important a figure as Lady Margaret, Declan was known
for being an approachable authority figure within the area. The cook wanted to know if he knew of any food intolerances, even asking for a report not only on Declan’s clan but any information about the lady’s guests. Declan shrugged him off to have a fat laird ask him about his flocks and harvest, his wine glass sloshing with each exaggerated hand gesture, despite the feast barely started.

  The Highlander stopped trying to slip through the festivities and allowed his feet to run across the cobbled stretch. Her dance ended quite some time ago. He watched her from afar, not wishing for the travelers to spot him and arouse suspicion. Now, he feared she waited for him in the cold. The beat of his heart quickened until it pained him. If she thought he’d stood her up, it would be his last chance at redemption. The pressure pushed on all sides of him as he whipped into the close. Relief washed over him when he found the alcove empty, confident he’d made it out before she could slip from her guardians.

  Declan rocked on the balls of his feet in anticipation. He waited, listening to the rain beat against the stonework just outside the covered passage. Thunder crashed in the distance, and the longer he waited, the more dread settled beneath his ribs. Did something happen tae her? Is it too late tae make amends? He feared she thought him a beast, but what was he supposed to do? Anger tore through him once more as he thought of Enoch pulling her away. He should have stopped him. He should have seen him coming.

  He touched his lips. The memory of their kiss was still fresh. The way she tasted—the smell of juniper in her hair. Woodsmoke rose from her skin and clothes, leaving him feeling at home with her in his arms.

  As the time wore on without any sign of her, Declan started to worry she would never come. The thought of not seeing her again was unthinkable.

  Since he’d pulled her from the river, she had consumed his every thought. No matter how hard he worked or tried, he could not push her smell, smile, and spirit from his mind. It would torture him that he couldn’t leave her with a fonder memory of him. He wanted to make things right.

  Without a doubt, he would not sleep until he knew Rosalie was safe and at least had the promise of happiness. He frowned—he would settle for closure but knew he would never meet another woman like her, untainted by the courtly culture he loathed, so bright and sparkling.

  The servant’s entrance creaked open. Declan snapped to attention. He did not breathe until he saw Anna’s dark hair poke from the other side. Disappointment washed over him. Anna looked around, confused.

  “Where’s Rosalie?” The shadows of her face were exaggerated by the low light as if she wore a grim mask. “We have tae go. Magda will surely check on us any moment now.”

  Declan’s heart stopped beating. The cold cut through him. The skies opened up with a crack, and the downpour intensified, beating against the arched stone passage. Once the initial shock wore off, anger coursed through him.

  “Wha’ d’ye mean, she’s no’ with ye?”

  Anna started back. Declan’s eyes sparked like flint against steel. He could see the young woman shrink back in the wake of his anger. What she didn’t know was that fear and the feeling of incompetence that fueled him. At the thought that once again, he was right there, and she came to harm, inadequacy made him sick to his stomach. He should have been there before her.

  “She’s suppose’ tae be with you!”

  The young traveler stumbled back. Her hand grasped at the air behind her, as if for stability as the meaning of this settled. Of all the things that could have gone wrong, this was not one anyone expected. The girl looked around as if Rosalie might be hiding somewhere nearby.

  “She wouldn’t jus’ run away.” While eying the Highlander, she added, “At leas’, no’ lest t’was with ye.” Her cheeks reddened, and tears came to her eyes.

  Declan didn’t wait for Anna to collect herself but pushed past her, storming into the keep. The startled Anna trailed after him. His mind fogged with a million fears and reprimands. Pulling her from the river made him feel strong, like a hero, but since that moment, he had only caused her harm. How could she trust him again? How could he trust himself with anyone, including the protection of his clan, if he could not keep one maiden safe from someone as cowardly as Enoch?

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?” Anna clutched the wool of her robe tight against her neck. He could see her trembling. Her large brown eyes were wet and wide with fright.

  “Wha’d’ye mean, who? Enoch, the bastard,” he snarled as he said his name.

  Declan turned so fast to face Anna, the traveler let out a soft cry, as if he might strike her. “I-I dunno. Haven’t seen him since las’ night.”

  Declan tore into the antechamber where Anna had worked alone. He turned this way and that as if searching for clues in his panic.

  “He wouldn’t do anythin’ to her.”

  The giant Highlander turned on Anna. The flat of his palm slammed into the wall just behind her. A cry of surprise burst from Anna as he pinned her like a frightened animal. He didn’t harm her, but his presence was intimidating. A mosaic of memories over the last days rushed to him. This woman was supposed to be her friend. She knew about how Enoch toyed and tortured her… how he struck her. It disgusted him and made him think no one around her cared for her, which melted his heart even more.

  “How can ye say that? After everythin’ he’s done to her?”

  Anna’s lip quivered. Declan pulled away, growling, and tore out the other door towards the feast. Anna split from him, running as fast as she could through a parallel passage. Declan stormed through the Keep. All around him, the party raged on, but his full focus was on getting to the camp. Even those who tried to talk to him, he tore past, hardly seeing him in his rush to get to Rosalie.

  The rain poured down. Declan’s horse was in the stables. The horses screamed out as lightning struck. The whinnying cries sent chills through the Highlander. Within moments his stallion tore through the doors, banging in the wind. The world washed away from him with the rain. All he could think about was the cruel look in Enoch’s eyes and the sweet face of Rosalie. If they were alone, with how angry Enoch was the night before, Declan feared he might try to harm her again. It sickened him to his stomach, knowing Enoch was the type of man not above raping a maid.

  Blinded by rage, a horse-drawn wagon cut in front of his path. His horse pulled up, nearly knocking the young man into the mud beneath him. He cursed, knowing he should have seen or at least heard the vehicle. He caught a glimpse at the driver, and although something about the entire thing felt odd to Declan, his mind was too consumed with his fears of Enoch to pay it any thought. The moment his path cleared, he ran for the traveler camp.

  Primal urges to protect Rosalie surged through him, fueled by images of avenging her from such a villain. It occurred to him that he may not be at the camp. The thought frightened him, bringing to mind a vision of her somewhere cold, caught in the rain, and at the mercy of this beast. Still, if he rode fast enough, maybe he could catch them. Perhaps they were at the camp, gathering supplies while the rest of the travelers partied at the Keep.

  Declan knew if he did not find Enoch at the camp, it would be difficult to find them. The sky opened up, heavy dark clouds shielding the world from light. The Highlander looked over the approaching tree line. In the darkness and through the veil of rain, all he could make out was the vague outline of landmarks. He pushed thoughts of not finding them from his mind, urging his horse to move faster. When he approached the camp, he hardly waited for his steed to skid to a halt before swinging off and planting himself in the mud.

  “Enoch!” he screamed as he dismounted. The camp was silent. Declan tore back the flaps of the tents closest to him to find them empty, the occupants enjoying the festivities. The fire pit was cold like his lead. Declan turned to remount when he heard the sound of a lone rider slopping through the increasing downpour. The hilt of his blade followed his instincts with a sharp scrape.

  The Highlander squared off, positioning himself towards the
sounds. He could not make out the rider. He could not even tell if there were one or two. His heart froze in his throat as he waited, hoping as the horse approached that he might see a glimpse of red hair.

  “Put it down. Le’s ye wish to slay an’ old man.” Alexander’s voice shouted through the rain.

  Declan lowered his sword, his grip tight in anger. “Where would he take her?” He screamed.

  Alexander’s boots squashed through the muck as he dismounted. “He doesn’t have her.”

  The words took a moment to register as they reshaped his perceptions. Declan swallowed his heart. “Then who has her?”

  Alexander lit his pipe, his ancient hands shaking in the cold. “That’s a question we’d all like answered. Help an’ old man with a fire.”

  “I cannae.” Declan re-sheathed his sword, his body shook with pent-up rage, “I mus’ find her.”