Highland Dove: (New Year's)

by Elizabeth Rose

  “What?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length, looking deeply into her eyes. “Mari, I told ye that I understand yer decision. Dinna feel as if ye have to do this.”

  “I – I want to do it,” she said with a slight nod, her excitement and anxiety making her knees wobble. When she started to fall, he lifted her up in his strong arms, kissing her so passionately that she felt as if she were going to shatter even before he’d entered her.

  “Nay, no’ yet,” he said in a seductive growl, putting her back down on her feet.

  Mari’s heart dropped to hear this. “Nay?” she asked. “B-but I thought –”

  “I dinna want ye to make love to me just because I am leavin’ and ye’re afraid I might never return.”

  “But what about givin’ ye somethin’ to remember me by?”

  He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it gently. “I respect yer wishes and I had no right puttin’ ye in such a position. I’m sorry I acted that way.”

  “B-but I said yes.”

  “I ken ye did, but now I’ve changed my mind. I willna take the chance that ye will regret this later.”

  Feeling like she was about to cry, and not knowing what just happened, Mari bit the inside of her cheek and remained quiet. The cooing of the doves from the cage filled the air, making her wonder if she and Duncan would truly be mates for life after all. That bad feeling was becoming worse and she couldn’t push it aside. Tears filled her eyes as Duncan let go of her hand and stepped away from her.

  “I must go now, Mari,” he told her. “But even though I am gone, I never want ye to forget that I love ye – my little Highland Dove.”

  Chapter 1

  Three weeks later

  With shackles around his wrists and with his feet still chained together, Duncan MacLean pushed the sharpened end of a spoon into the padlock, trying to gain his freedom. The bloody Sassenachs who held him and his brother captive for nearly three weeks now were trying his patience. He was also tired of waiting to be rescued by his clan, and decided to take matters into his own hands.

  A dozen of his clansmen were killed in the bloody battle because the English had outnumbered them three to one. Eideard had given them wrong information. Had Duncan known how many there truly were, he would have been prepared. If he’d had more Highlanders at his side, they would have easily been victorious in this battle. It was only because he and his brother were the sons of the chieftain that they’d been taken prisoners instead of killed. But now it was time for them to go home. Since no one from his clan could bother to send the ransom money, he decided he’d just have to escape the wretched place on his own.

  His prison was Carlisle Castle on the English border, too far away from his home back in the Highlands. With any luck, today would be the day he’d set himself and his brother free. It would take at least three days to make it back to the Highlands on foot. But if they managed to steal some horses, there was a good chance they could travel the distance within one day.

  The sounds of merrymaking came from the guards’ post since the English were well in their cups. Today was Christmas Eve and they were celebrating Yuletide. Duncan gritted his teeth as he worked on the lock, longing to be back in the Highlands celebrating with Mari instead of rotting away in this filthy hellhole.

  Duncan had to use this opportunity to his advantage. If not, he and Angus would be killed come morning. He’d overheard the guards talking. They were no longer going to wait for the ransom money. Tomorrow morning, he and his brother were scheduled to die.

  “Duncan,” whispered his brother from the cell next to him. “Have ye got it yet? Hurry.”

  “Angus, haud yer wheesht, before they hear ye,” scolded Duncan, trying aimlessly to pick the rusty lock. He’d been filing down the spoon a little at a time for the last few days against the stone wall when the guards weren’t looking. Up until now, they’d had no way to break loose. But his luck had changed when he was able to steal the spoon from the food tray without the guard noticing. The English were holding them for ransom but, sadly enough, no money ever came from his clan. He couldn’t understand it. His father wouldn’t leave them here to rot and neither would he turn a blind eye and not want vengeance for the deaths of his clansmen. Something was wrong, he was sure of it. But whatever the reason, he was no longer going to sit around and wait to be rescued. Bid the devil, he no longer cared what anyone did. One way or another, he was leaving here today, even if he died trying.

  “This is our only chance,” his brother whispered, as if Duncan really needed to be reminded. “If we dinna succeed, we’re goin’ to lose our lives come mornin’.”

  “Blethers, Angus, pipe down,” growled Duncan through clenched teeth. “Yer clishmaclaver is only goin’ to alert them and get us killed tonight instead. Now once again, haud yer wheesht. Because if ye dinna, I swear I’ll leave ye here and go home without ye.”

  “Duncan! I’m yer wee brathair,” whined Angus, playing up the fact he was the younger of the two, not that it mattered to Duncan. “Ye wouldna really leave me here to die, would ye?”

  “Wee brathair, my arse! Wee in the brain is what ye are,” Duncan mumbled under his breath, jiggling the makeshift key in the lock once more. Angus might be two years younger than Duncan’s age of three and twenty years, but there was nothing small about him. He was built like a castle’s retaining wall and usually scared anyone when they met him face to face in battle. Angus made Duncan look like the wee one when they were together, although Duncan was taller than most men. “I think I have it. Now, keep an eye on the guards at the door while I set myself free.”

  With a soft click, the lock popped open. Duncan sighed in relief and quickly freed himself from the shackles on his wrists and feet. Trying to be quiet, he didn’t want their enemy hearing the rattle of the chains. Cautiously, he crept to the door and picked that lock as well. As he slowly pushed the cell door open, the rusty metal let out a loud groan. It was almost as if the cell were calling out to the guards, announcing his attempt to escape. Duncan stopped in his tracks, his body going rigid. His head snapped up and his eyes flashed over to the guards. All the while, his heart drummed loudly in his ears, mimicking the turmoil in his brain.

  “What was that?” One of the two guards at the gate lowered his bottle of whisky and peered into the darkened area. Duncan and Angus were the only two prisoners in the dungeon at this time. One lone torch flickered, lighting up the holding area, but threatening to extinguish at any moment. It was near the guards’ post, so the cells were cloaked by the darkness of the underground cavern.

  “I don’t know what it was, but mayhap you’d better go find out,” commanded the second guard with a loud belch. Duncan saw him wipe his mouth with his arm.

  “Brathair, hurry,” Angus urged Duncan in a throaty whisper. “They’re comin’.”

  “Aye, I suppose I’ll go find out,” reluctantly agreed the first guard, shrugging his shoulders and heading toward the cells. He still clutched his bottle of whisky in one beefy fist.

  Duncan slinked over and fiddled with the spoon in the lock of the door to his brother’s cell. But to his dismay, the makeshift key jammed and did nothing to release the confinements of his brother’s hell.

  “Bid the devil, hurry, Brathair!” Angus ground out, his eyes fastened to the guard post. “They’re comin’ this way!”

  The sound of the Englishman’s boot heels clicked against the stone in the underground chamber, echoing loudly as the guard made his way toward them. The sound of dripping water from a crack in the ceiling reverberated in Duncan’s ears, becoming louder and making even his shallow breathing sound like a windstorm now. The scent of musty air and death filled his nostrils. His stomach turned and a shiver ran up his spine. They’d barely been given much to eat at all in the last few weeks. Both of them were gaunt and hungry. Plus, their surroundings weren’t fit for a pig, let alone the captured sons of a Highland chieftain.

  The English only emptied the chamber pots once a week, and only
when they happened to remember. Even the rats stopped coming by since the place smelled so foul and there wasn’t a crumb to be found anywhere. Duncan hated the English for the way they’d been treating him and his brother. And right now, he felt as if he also hated his own clan for not sending someone to save them. How could Clan MacLean leave them in this horrible situation?

  The guard’s head snapped up and his eyes opened wide as he spotted Duncan outside the cell. “It’s the prisoner,” he called out to his friend. “He’s escaped!”

  As the guard fumbled for his sword, Duncan’s efforts were finally rewarded. The makeshift key turned in the lock, and Duncan pushed the door open for his brother. Quickly spinning on his heel with his fist raised, he managed to knock out the guard. The Englishman fell to the ground in a heap with the bottle of whisky still clutched in his hand. He had never even drawn his weapon. Slowly, the man’s fingers opened, releasing the bottle as the guard lay there unconscious. A gurgling sound drew Duncan’s attention downward as the whisky flowed from the bottle and the heavenly scent filled the air.

  “What’s going on?” shouted the second guard, coming after the first.

  “Fast, throw me the spoon!” Angus begged for his brother’s help, reaching out although his arms were still shackled to the far wall.

  “Nay,” Duncan answered, bending down to pick up the bottle of whisky. He almost laughed when he saw the astonished look on his brother’s face.

  “Duncan? Ye’re no’ really leavin’ me here to die, are ye?” he gasped. There was a distinct hint of a tremble in his voice that raised an octave as he spoke. Angus was probably the fiercest warrior of the clan and had never been frightened of anything in his life. That is, up until now.

  “Dinna fash yerself,” Duncan told him with a chuckle, taking a quick swig of whisky before reaching down to unclasp the ring of keys from the unconscious guard. He tossed the keys to his brother through the open door. “Use this, it’ll be easier.” Taking another draw from the bottle, Duncan reveled in the feel of the whisky burning a path down to his belly, bringing him back to life. A satisfied sigh slipped from his lips.

  “Thank ye, Brathair,” said Angus in relief.

  Duncan collected the guard’s sword as the second guard moved closer, struggling to unsheathe his sword, but with little results. The Englishman’s actions were slow. Confusion filled him because of being inebriated. He walked in a staggered line toward the cells, having trouble just standing. Duncan’s eyes flashed down to the bottle in his own hand, wondering how much whisky the men had drunk.

  “Got it,” came his brother’s cry of jubilation as he released himself from his chains and hurried to the door. “What are ye doin’?” he asked, his eyes moving from the guard on the floor to the one fumbling to find his sword. “Kill them, Duncan. What are ye waitin’ for?”

  “Blethers, Angus, one man is unconscious and the other is too well in his cups to even draw his blade,” spat Duncan, taking another swig from the bottle. “I canna kill unarmed men.” Duncan was a strong, fearless warrior like his brother, but he also never provoked a man or killed one if he could not defend himself in a fair fight.

  “Well, after what they did to us, I dinna have any qualms about takin’ their lives. Give me the sword and I’ll do it.” His brother reached for the weapon but Duncan held it to the side.

  “Nay.” Duncan pushed away his brother’s hand, using his hand that gripped the bottle. He took one last swig of whisky before using the bottle, bringing it down hard atop the second guard’s head. The bottle broke and the remaining whisky splashed out. The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. His knees buckled beneath him. Then he fell full-force atop his friend, unconscious as well.

  “Nay!” bellowed Angus, eyeing up the broken bottle. “I would have liked a little of that whisky. Couldna ye have used the hilt of the sword to hit him instead?” He looked so forlorn that it almost made Duncan laugh, but he didn’t. However, he did regret wasting the precious whisky.

  “Help me drag them into the cell. We’ll lock them inside,” instructed Duncan.

  “I still think we should kill them,” complained Angus with a shake of his head. Moving his large frame quickly, he confiscated the second guard’s sword and dagger. Then he dragged the man into the cell as Duncan did the same with the other. “Ye’ve become soft sittin’ in that cage for nearly the past month, Brathair. Ye’d better hope I dinna tell Faither and the rest of the clan that ye let our captors live.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve today,” Duncan pointed out. “Besides, I dinna care what our clan thinks after they did naught to save us.”

  “The English also killed twelve of our best warriors unless ye’ve forgotten.”

  “I ken, and that hurts me deeply. But that, Brathair, was in battle.”

  “But it wasna a fair fight.”

  “Still, they all had a means of protectin’ themselves.” Duncan’s eyes roamed back to the guards. “I canna kill unarmed men durin’ Yuletide, no matter who they are. It just doesna seem right.”

  “Och,” spat Angus. “Now is a fine time for havin’ morals. Ye realize ye are talkin’ like a scared wench again!”

  “Stop complainin’. I got us out, didna I?” With the guards inside the cell, Duncan slammed and locked the door.

  “We’re no’ out of here yet,” Angus reminded him. “And for all we ken, there could be ice and snow out there. Or did ye forget that it’s winter? That is goin’ to slow down our travels back to Scotland. Especially if we’re bein’ chased by those English curs!” Angus made a face and spit through the bars at the guards who stirred slightly and started to moan.

  “All that matters is that we get back to Scotland,” Duncan told him. “I am supposed to wed Mari on Hogmanay and I still intend to do it.”

  “Ye really think she will have waited for ye?” asked his brother, looking at him as though he thought he’d gone daft. “After all, we’ve been gone for three weeks now. Since the clan didna come for us or send the ransom, that tells me they’ve given up hope. I’m sure they must think we’re dead.”

  “Nay, I dinna believe they’d leave us here to die. Somethin’s no’ right,” said Duncan. Slipping the dagger into his boot, he headed for the door with the sword clutched tightly in his grasp. “Mari never would have let the others stop lookin’ for me. She would never have given up hope of findin’ me again. We’re in love!”

  “She’s back at her own clan and probably doesna even ken that we’d been captured,” mumbled Angus, hurrying after him. “Eideard gave us bad information and has probably lied to her as well. Besides, even if she does ken, it’s been so long that she surely thinks we’re dead by now.”

  Duncan stopped in his tracks at hearing this, and turned around. His brother crashed into him, his weight almost knocking Duncan over. “What do ye mean by that?” he grumbled.

  “Duncan, dinna get yer hopes up about the wench. Mari is young and beautiful and very desirable. She willna sit around waitin’ for ye. I’m sure by now she’s already married to someone else.”

  “Nay. No’ my Mari. Our love is strong. She will wait. I’m certain of it.” Duncan said the words but, in the back of his mind, his own words rang out loud and clear. He’d told Mari that if he didn’t return she should marry another. God’s eyes, he hoped now that she’d really meant it when she’d told him she’d never marry another man besides him as long as she lived.

  “And what if she doesna wait for ye?” asked Angus with a raised brow. “What are ye goin’ to do if ye return to find she is someone else’s wife?”

  Duncan couldn’t even consider that thought. He had told Mari to wed another if he got killed, but he wasn’t dead yet. However, she didn’t know that. Now he realized his mistake by telling her to do it. If he returned to the Highlands to find that his love had married another, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to love a lassie again.

  Chapter 2

  Mari Stewart clutched her cloak tightly for warmth to
shelter herself from the winter wind as she trudged through the woods. A flurry of snow swirled around her, sending a chill up her spine and making it hard to see. The weather had turned quickly. She and her sister needed to get back to the castle immediately with the children. They were all at risk since they’d left without an escort.

  “Mari, Eideard is goin’ to be angry when he finds out we left with the children without tellin’ him,” said her sister, Tillie.

  “I dinna care. Eideard doesna scare me,” answered Mari. “And I resent the fact he’s taken over as chieftain since Duncan’s faither was killed. He doesna deserve it. Plus, he keeps tellin’ us all that Duncan and Angus are dead. Well, I dinna believe it since they never found their bodies like the rest of the party who had been slain by the English. Nay, I dinna believe him at all.”

  Mari, as well as Tillie and her children, had come to MacLean Castle to be with Duncan’s mother, Emmaline, at her request. Mari didn’t hesitate to go, not wanting the woman to be alone after losing her husband recently. Plus, the woman was distraught since she’d been told she’d lost her sons as well.

  Weeks ago, when Duncan and the warriors didn’t return from battling the English, his father and some of his men went out to look for them. That’s when they found their twelve dead men, killed by the hands of the English. On their way back to tell the clan, Duncan’s father, Gilmer, and his men were attacked by bandits on the road. Gilmer didn’t make it back alive. How much more tragedy could Emmaline and the clan take?

  With Duncan, Angus, and Gilmer gone, Eideard, Duncan’s half-cousin, stepped in as chieftain. Mari never liked or trusted the man. Especially since he’d cornered her in the barn and kissed her last year when he knew darned well that she belonged to Duncan. She’d never told Duncan because she didn’t want the men to battle. Instead, she’d been ever so careful to stay far away from Eideard.