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

by Kenna Kendrick

  “Ye sure abou’ this, Declan?”

  “Aye, I’m sure.” There was no doubt in his mind.

  “An’ wha’ if they willnae give ‘er up, sayin’ ye even fin’ her that is?”

  Declan didn’t want to think of the possibility. So far, no one could come up with a motive for these people wanting to take Rosalie. The most Lady Campbell could muster was that she knew Lady Catherine had lost a daughter and had not been entirely right since, but did not think they would genuinely take someone in such a manner. Lady Margaret, convinced it was some rouse from the gypsies, threatened to have them thrown from the land until Declan reminded her that it was his land they stayed on.

  “She’s comin’ back with me.”

  “An’ then what? She goes back to ‘er people an’ ye miss half the harvest?”

  “Hugh, as much as I respect ye, I’ll hear no more o’ this. I’m leavin’ immediately an’ if God wills it, I’ll be back in time to help reap.”

  Evelyn looked as if she was going to cry, but she never did. “Poor lass. Please, take this fer good luck.”

  She gave him a small handkerchief wrapped in twine, which he raised to his nose. It smelled of dried wild herbs. The young chief stuffed it into his saddlebag, rushing at the thought of losing so much time.

  “If I’m no’ back before harvest, I have no doubt ye’ll get on fine withou’ me.” Declan heaved himself up onto his sturdy horse.

  Hugh pursed his lips. “Jus’ come back to us safe, eh? I don’ like any o’ it. From wha’ I understand, that Laird Edward is English.” Hugh spit.

  “Don’ worry abou’ me, Hugh. I’ll be back with Rosalie.”

  “Aye.” There was concern in Hugh’s eyes, but he patted his horse as if giving consent.

  Declan looked at them for a moment. He swept his gaze over his land. Any doubts were pushed from his mind as he remembered the fear on Rosalie’s face the last time he saw her. Whatever she was going through now, she did not deserve it. He would find her and bring her home.

  The trail was easy enough to find. The mud bore thick trenches from where the horses and wagon tore up the road during the storm. They were headed south. He rode all through the day, and when night came, he didn’t wish to stop, but he feared straying from their trail.

  The Highlander found a heavy boulder and set up camp with it as a wind block. He watched the stars and wondered what Rosalie was enduring until he fell into a fitful sleep, exhausted from the last days. When the fire died to low embers, the wool blankets kept him just warm enough not to freeze throughout the night.

  Each day he rode, his mind filled with thoughts of Rosalie. The distance seemed to magnify every conversation they’d had, every smile and beautiful trait he admired until she was glorified in his heart. The distance made him desire her even more, and he passed his time thinking about what could happen once he saved her.

  At one point, the thought occurred to him that she might not want to be saved. Or worse, these people took her in hopes of wedding her to some relative. The entire day was heavy with dread and fear.

  For days Declan rode on, even after the mud stopped showing clear signs of their wagon pulling through. He kept his pace, following the most likely road. He cursed Lady Margaret. She refused to tell him where her visitors hailed from, wishing to keep out of the business and convinced it was beyond them to take some gypsy girl.

  It seemed like forever until he reached Morayshire. It was customary for him to announce himself when passing through clan lands and needing to re-up on supplies, and knowing his horse could use a proper break, he rode to present himself to the clan.

  Declan stood before the Chief, afraid he would find himself unwelcome. The burly man wasn’t as tall as Declan, but his chest was broader giving one the impression of a cask with legs.

  “Och, yer a long way from home, Gregor.”

  “Aye,” he sighed, “an’ I fear I have a long way tae go yet.”

  The Brodie chief grunted. “Ye can rest here, but I got bad news fer ye.” Declan looked up, sorrow filling him like lead. “Yer people didn’ come through here. I’d know.” He jabbed a thumb to his chest. “I knew ye were ridin’ this way fer two days now.”

  Declan cursed under his breath; they must have ridden south. It seemed impossible to find them. Rosalie’s smile shone in his memory like glistening gold. He couldn’t give up on her.

  “I should go.” He felt an urgency to at least make some progress towards the right path.

  “Aye, ye can go, but it’s dark, an’ ye have no idea where yer headin’. Stay a couple o’ nights. Le’ me send riders out. If anyone saw anythin’ within a day’s ride, they’ll know.”

  The idea of standing still was torturous. He tapped his foot, eager to head out, but knowing the Brodie chief was right. There were few options.

  “Jus’ a couple o’ days.” It was a question as much as a consolation to himself.

  “Angus will show ye tae yer room to rest. An’ we’ll send someone fer ye when it’s time to eat.”

  Declan nodded to him and followed the man called Angus up a flight of stairs leading out of the hall. Their Keep was older and grander than Kilchurn, but not so large enough to impress Declan.

  With each step, he felt the fatigue of the last days set in him. It was discouraging to know he was on the wrong track. If this Laird Edward were beyond the Scottish borders, it would complicate things further for him. He couldn’t worry himself with dark imaginings.

  For the first time in a long while, Declan slept without waking. As soon as he laid down on the mattress, he was out. When he awoke, it was dark, and the pounding at his door made him question how long they had stood there trying to rouse him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pulled it open.

  “Thank ye, I was scared ye migh’ be dead. Been rappin’ away here fer an’ hour it seems.” Before him stood a squat, plump woman approaching her twenties. Most of her teeth had rotted, and Declan pulled back to avoid the strength of her breath. “Ye haven’ even cleaned up.” She looked him up and down.

  Declan looked down at his clothes stained with mud. The man’s appearance was the last thing on his mind.

  “Go on, then. There’s a basin in there fer ye. Or d’ye need my help?”

  “No, thank ye,” his words ran flat. He stood there for a moment, still tired and dazed from the short amount of sleep, until the woman snapped at him.

  “Well, I dinnae got all day. They’re no doubt feastin’ without ye.”

  Declan was quick to change his clothes and wash his face and hands. The water turned black from the grime of riding and sleeping so close to his fire. For the first time, he became aware of just how sore and hungry he was, having eaten only oats since the night he saw Rosalie.

  The cheer in the hall below was almost too much for Declan. It clashed fiercely with the way he felt. He was not unaware of his grim attitude catching the attention of the other men. Angus had him sit next to him at one of the long, rough-hewn tables.

  “Where ye from?”

  “I have holdin’s in Kilchurn an’ the Highlands.”

  “Aye, ye are a ways from home. Chief says yer after a woman!”

  Declan groaned and nodded. The first bites of food awakened a ravenous hunger. He devoured the meat and mashed turnips.

  “Ye tae be married then?”

  “Nay.”

  Angus’s face flashed with shock. “Lotta trouble fer some filly ain’t yers.”

  “She ain’t some filly.”

  Angus laughed, no doubt at the anger rising in Declan’s tone. Declan felt foolish. These people had brought him in, and no matter how tired and frustrated he was, manners were still important.

  “I apologize. It’s been a hell o’ a ride.”

  “No worries there, lad. Women have a way o’ drivin’ the mos’ collected o’ us mad.” Angus offered him a dram of whiskey and raised his cup.

  Declan took the liquid down and was grateful Angus continued to pour for the both of th
em. It relaxed Declan a bit. He told himself that anyone who took the trouble and risk of kidnapping Rosalie hadn’t done it for money, and therefore she was more than likely safe. Maybe even being treated well. After all, Lady Catherine was well off.

  “This is quite a lot o’ food fer a casual meal.” Declan raised his eyes at the cakes and free flow of wine and liquor.

  “Aye, tha’s cause we’re celebratin’,” Angus grinned. “We jus’ won a skirmish with the McClouds. Only came ou’ with one major injury, an’ even he looks like he’s goin’ tae be fine.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Aye!” Angus’ cheeks were red from the whiskey. He poured more for Declan.

  Declan felt his head swim with the liquor. The emotions he packed down beneath anger were surfacing. He rubbed his chest as if it would make his heart ache less.

  “Oi,” Angus grabbed at his own heart. “Ye see tha’ woman o’er there.”

  A tall, fat red-headed woman in a gray-blue dress walked into the hall with three small children clinging to her shirts. Declan nodded.

  “Ain’t she beautiful?” Angus’ eyes were glossy with affection.

  A small smile flickered over Declan’s mouth. Beautiful was not the word he would use to describe her, but it touched him to see a man such as Angus in love.

  “Gave me three bairns, an’ can wield a bow better than half these men. It’d scare ye tae see her hunt. Bless her.”

  “Angus!” the woman screamed at him. “Ye haven’ even come home tae see yer bairns an’ it’s been three damn days since ye rode in! Are ye drunk? Ye are, aren’t ye. God’s teeth. Get off yer ass.”

  “Isn’t she lovely?” He elbowed Declan before turning to his wife, “Come on, now lassie. Ye ken I’ve been busy. I were jus’ tellin’ our guest, Declan, here how beautiful ye are.” This statement took her off guard, the compliment making her blush and eyes melt as Angus’s had upon seeing her.

  “Forgive me manners, Declan. I’m Agatha, but ye may call me Aggie fer short.” She turned back to Angus, just as cross as when she first came in. “Now get on with ye, I ain’t leavin’ here withou’ ye. We’re damn near out o’ wood an’ I’m goin’ mad withou’ ye. The boys!” she growled and shook her head. The two blond boys hid behind her, afraid of the wrath about to come from their father.

  “Come with us!” The drunk Angus stumbled as he freed himself from the table. “We can finish the whiskey,” and then, just above a whisper because he was too intoxicated for low tones, “An’ these bastards ‘re goin’ tae bore ye half to death if ye get ‘em talkin’.”

  Declan looked around the room. The last thing he wanted was to answer more questions, or worse, be stuck in his head for the rest of the night. He gave a curt nod and followed them from the keep.

  The night air was crisp, and the stars swirled up above. Declan didn’t realize he, too, was drunk until he stumbled with one of the steps and had to catch himself by grabbing Angus’ arm. The good-natured Angus helped him stabilize.

  It was a short walk to their humble cottage. Aggie and Angus walked on ahead of him. It sounded as if they were fighting, but then Aggie would let out a burst of laughter punctuated by snorts. The home was small, but it smelled of fresh bread and woodsmoke, which left Declan feeling warmer than he had since his last encounter with Rosalie.

  Angus plopped down into a chair and scooped up one of the boys who were a little too quiet for their age. “This here is Stuart, the other is Tamhas, an’ that wee little gal hidin’ from ye is Davina, named after me mother.”

  “Ye’ve got a beautiful family.” Declan smiled at Davina. She let out a sharp cry of surprise and hid again behind her mother. Despite her shyness, he could see the joy in her eyes.

  The Highland chief grew silent. He looked at the fire a moment and lost himself thinking about Rosalie again. He imagined they would bear a troop of little redheads just as beautiful as their mother. A pang of chastisement struck him. He closed his eyes on the vision. There was no telling if Rosalie would even speak to him after this ordeal; if he could find her. A lump welled in his throat and scared he would shed tears in front of these strangers, he cursed the whiskey and rolled his eyes up to calm himself.

  “I ken tha’ look,” Angus sighed.

  “Wha’s wrong?” Aggie asked.

  “He’s in love somethin’ terrible, an’ his woman been stoled by a Sassanach devil.”

  “God’s teeth,” Aggie shook her head in dismay. “I’m so sorry, deary.”

  Davina peeked out from her hiding place and cautiously stepped towards Declan. She laid one of her tiny hands on his leg as if to console him. It made him feel all the more foolish, knowing that even the little girl could sense his distress. He sniffed back the snot starting to run and opened his arms to offer the girl a place in his lap.

  Davina clambered up without a second thought. Declan looked down at her. “I’m sorry, lassie. I promise ye I’m fine.”

  “Will she be all right?” she asked.

  “Aye, I hope so.”

  That night, they drank until Declan blacked out. He woke up sleeping in the stables with his horse. His body felt trashed from the whiskey; most of the night he’d spent crying, his eyes now swollen and snot drying on the inside of his shirt. He only hoped he hadn’t let the warrior Angus see.

  Two days passed at the keep. He offered his hands to Angus and helped him with as much as he could to keep his mind occupied. The first of the riders returned from the east and west, with no signs of Rosalie. It broke Declan’s spirit. He didn’t know what he would do if they all came back without news. How long could he justify searching for her?

  The thought of not finding her was too much for him to think about. He waited as patiently as he could, and on the fourth day, a rider came bearing news from the south.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rosalie moved in a daze. Her bones ached from the uncomfortable positions Lady Catherine had forced her to endure for most of the journey. Although she had seen keeps before, a different air seemed to move about the stone walls and landscaped greens surrounding her.

  As the young woman followed the family into their home, an eerie chill crept up her arms and neck. Not a single working hand smiled or looked her in the eyes. Even in Lady Margaret’s keep, the workers seemed to move with the pride of it being their home they were looking after. It was different here.

  A man and a small boy worked in a small garden outside the entrance, their clothes tattered. Peat smoke and soil stained their skin. Whether from labor or suffering, their mouths pulled into elongated frowns. There were no crows’ feet marking the old man’s eyes, only deep lines of worry and thought carved above his brow.

  “Come on, hurry up.” Lady Catherine was eager to get them inside.

  The small child heaved a spade full of dirt, some of it sprinkled over the stone steps. Rosalie watched as his muscles tensed. He held the air in his mouth.

  Lady Catherine looked at the soil in front of her feet. “Are ye daft?” She scowled.

  “Sorry, m’lady.” The old man pushed the child behind him in a protective gesture.

  “Never min’.” She shook her head and made an exaggerated lunge forward to clear the bit of soil. “Clean it up.”

  The child rushed to correct the minor mistake. His response, the fear in his eyes, led Rosalie to believe Lady Catherine normally reacted more severely. The young woman bent to help the child. She tried to catch his eye and smile at him, but he looked down.

  “Please, missus, ye shouldn’ do that.”

  Lady Catherine pivoted. “Rosalie,” she demanded, her eyes wide and bewildered.

  “I’m sorry,” Rosalie whispered and chased after Lady Catherine and Edward.

  Lady Catherine waited until the heavy doors closed behind them, and a slender young woman led them up a winding staircase. “They are animals, Rosalie. If ye leave them undisciplined, they’ll go feral. They don’t know how to live their lives, an’ it’s our jobs to help them learn.” S
he let out a long sigh and turned on Rosalie with soft eyes. “I know ye’ve been lied to and tol’ yer like them, but yer not. Yer bred from a nobler, more intelligent stock. It is yer job to take care o’ them, not to do their work for ‘em. That’ll teach them nothing ‘cept selfishness.”

  Rosalie felt sick as the Lady Catherine cradled her face in her palm. She looked in the green eyes and realized that this woman truly believed she was doing them a kindness. Gratitude rushed over her when Lady Catherine withdrew her touch and continued her ascent up the stairs.

  “Flora ‘ere will help ye dress,” Lady Catherine looked Rosalie up and down in a way that made the young woman feel self-conscious, “appropriately.” She pursed her lips as if the word tasted foul in her mouth.