Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Chapter Two

  On the road from Fort William, towards Inverness

  “Stop! I wish to rest here.” Lord Cutler raised a gloved hand in the air, and he could hear the slowing of hooves as he and his men approached the stone tavern. It was adjacent to a grassy hill, and a curl of smoke lifted into the air as the evening settled in.

  He dismounted, and the jangle of bridles and the stretch of leather echoed into the air. “Let’s see if these Scotsmen can prove their hospitality.” He grinned, and his lead man, Martin Dorset, grinned back.

  “Yes, milord, but I’m certain it will not be the same as what you’d receive in England. They are country folk, unused to serving nobility.”

  Lord Cutler nodded his head curtly, satisfied. He was a tall man, broad of the shoulder with dark hair and dark eyes that narrowed into slits whenever he spoke. It unnerved many a person, but Martin was used to the lord’s manners and quirks. Lord Cutler motioned to the back of him. “Tell the men to get their horses to the stables. Bring Isabelle here to me. I wish to eat with my daughter. Her lady’s maid can eat with the men once they sort out the horses.”

  Martin nodded and scurried off to do his bidding, and Lord Cutler pushed open the door of the tavern to a surprised innkeeper. A few guests lingered at tables around the establishment, and all of them looked towards the door, their eyes wide.

  “Aye, Sir? Can I help ye?” The innkeeper asked, and Lord Cutler pinned with him a dark glare as he walked up to him.

  “I have many men here to feed. Our horses need to be fed, watered, and brushed. I want a hot meal and your finest ale. We shall pay you handsomely. And we need a bit of information, but I will ask later, once my belly is full.” Lord Cutler opened his gloved hand to show a gold coin lying in the center. But then he closed his hand again once the innkeeper got a look at it.

  He enjoyed taunting the workmen he came into contact with. They had never seen so much wealth in their lives, and if he wanted them to do their duty properly, then he had to prove to them that he could pay. Not that he always did.

  The innkeeper put down the tankard he was drying, and he nodded. “Aye, Sir. Right away.” The innkeeper scuttled off, and Lord Cutler sat down close to the hearth and set his feet up on the chair next to him. A mug of ale was brought to him soon after, and without glancing up at the person who brought it, he grabbed onto the mug and took a deep long sip. He began to grumble.

  Where is Isabelle? That girl will give me no end of trouble. She is probably giving money to the beggars lingering outside. I had hoped to instill a harder heart in her, for a soft one will do her no service in this world, but alas.

  A woman with long dark hair braided down her back entered the tavern, wonder in her eyes. She looked around the low-ceilinged room and smiled. She was diminutive but womanly, and anyone could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was born of noble blood.

  Lord Cutler waved at her from across the room, and she colored before finding her way to him. “Father. Isn’t this wonderful? I thank you again for bringing me on this journey, for I had such a yearning to see how the Scottish people in the countryside live. Such industry and hardness to it. I’m amazed!”

  Lord Cutler wiped his ale from his mouth with the back of his hand. Plates of steaming hot ham and bread were set before them. “Isabelle, you mustn’t be in awe of such things. Lurking just below the surface, these people are bloodthirsty and have no education nor morality. They would as soon cut your throat as look at you. You must keep a wary eye on them all. We are here on a mission of revenge for our King. Do not forget that!”

  He pointed to her before beginning to eat. The excitement left her face a little, and she began to eat as well, chewing slowly and quietly. “How much further will it be, Father?”

  He grunted. “I am not entirely certain. Martin thought he knew the way, but he is confused by the hills here. We will have to ask the innkeeper if there is anything that they can tell us, though I hate to depend on their generosity.”

  “But you will pay them, of course, won’t you, Father?”

  He nodded but did not look at her. Isabelle gave him the oddest feeling from time to time that she was rebuking him. Now that her mother was long gone, he often feared that she had taken his wife’s place and endeavored to try and change him. He spotted the innkeeper once more, returning from where he had disappeared to. He saw his men begin to wander in and take their places amongst the empty tables, moving those out of the way whose place they wanted.

  He smiled to himself. His men were patiently selected by none other than himself. They were the most skilled, the most brutish, and the most intelligent of all the soldiers of his Majesty. They would find the man who killed the King’s nephew and his Majesty’s second proxy. Lord Cutler would not fail, not when these men were on his side, and wealth and status would be his forever.

  He hailed the innkeeper who paled a little at the sight of it. The rather stout man approached the table with hesitation. “Aye, Sir?”

  “I need that information,” Lord Cutler said, before taking another deep drink from his tankard.

  The innkeeper nodded, and Lord Cutler wished he could slap the fat man’s face, for his cheeks were pink with fear. So like a woman.

  “The Scots, the band of thieves. Surely, you’ve heard of them in these parts? I search for them and wish to know their whereabouts. My leader has gone astray, and we cannot find the way.”

  The innkeeper swallowed, and Lord Cutler noticed his hesitation. The man glanced at Isabelle, who was merely staring back at him. “Do not look to my daughter for pity or to stall your words.” He held tightly to a dagger at his side. He could fillet the man alive if he hid something. He could tell he was trying to by the tightness of his shoulders, the sweat on his forehead, and the nervous clasping of his hands. “I can see you falter. What is it?”

  The innkeeper shook his head and began to stutter. “No, Sir, ‘tis just that they are a fearsome lot. I dinnae wish for any trouble. I wish only for peace.”

  Bloody idiot. “Peace will not be your reward if you do not give me what I seek. Where are they?” He was growing impatient now, and he could feel that familiar cold rage moving over him, holding him in its grasp. He was taut like the string of a bow, and he knew just what would happen if he were to snap.

  The innkeeper swallowed again. “They were roaming about these parts for years, plundering and the like. But now, they have moved far intae the mountains with the one who is called The Wanderer. Tae the Northeast. Ye must take the road toward Inverness, but then there is a large cluster of trees along the path, dark and menacing. There ye must turn, afore ye cross the Loch. Ye will find them.”

  Lord Cutler grinned. The Scots and The Wanderer all in one? Excellent. The King will be pleased. Cutler had not been certain of this fact, despite Martin’s assurances, but now he was convinced. He placed the gold coin down on the table with a slap. “There, that was not as difficult as you imagined.” The innkeeper’s eyes widened, and he took the coin gingerly.

  “Best of luck with yer journey, Sir.”

  He moved away, and Lord Cutler stared back at his daughter. “Finish your meal, daughter. We shall be on the road soon enough. Revenge moves in my belly.”

  Lady Isabelle Cutler ate as quickly as she could. She always tried to be grateful for what she had been given, but it was difficult sometimes, when she had a father such as Lord Cutler, always bellowing, always following the dark path. He had not always been this way, but in the past few years, once her mother had passed on, her father had hardened, continually seeking out violence and revenge.

  He became the King’s righthand man once the King’s former one, Marcus Donovan, had been killed only a few months before. He had been vying for that position for a long time, and Isabelle had felt a sense of deep dread, once she realized her father had earned the position. Now he was on a journey towards revenge, for he had plans to kill The Wanderer and The Scots in their entirety, no matter the times she’d tried
to convince him not to, for many reasons, one of them being that The Scots was a mixture of men and women and their children.

  The King wished her father to banish these people from the Earth, and her father did not need much urging or encouragement. He had gathered up his most bloodthirsty and sword-skilled of men and set off, picking up new soldiers along the way. Now, their caravan was over 30 strong. It would be a slaughter. Isabelle had begged and pleaded with him to allow her to go on the journey, and he was surprised at her interest. He allowed her to come, but she knew it was only because he wanted her to become hard, just as he was. Perhaps she could be of use to him one day, he would tell her.

  She begged him to let her join because she thought she might try to convince him to sway his course or at least find a way to stop the brutal attack from happening. She was grateful that Martin had gotten lost. That at least gave her more time to think. When her father was not looking, Isabelle grabbed a piece of warm bread from her plate and hid it in the pocket of her cloak. The beggars outside would be grateful, but she would have to figure out how to get it to them without her father seeing. Arya, her lady’s maid would have to help her, as she had persuaded her to do over the last few years.

  “Father, I am finished now,” Isabelle said cheerfully and looked up at her father.

  He grunted and turned back to her. “Let’s go. We are not far. It is only perhaps another day’s journey to the site of The Scots. We will make camp on the edge of the Loch tonight, and then the men can clean themselves, and we can rest before our surprise attack.”

  Isabelle nodded solemnly and followed her father out of the door. She saw him eye a few of his men who sat at different tables around the room, eating and watching the other occupants with their beady eyes. She shuddered at their dark looks. They had often turned their sinister eyes to her over the course of the journey, watching her movements, whenever she and Arya were on their own, but she knew that her father would cut the hand off of any man who touched her. So, for that, she had to be grateful. Not every woman was so lucky.

  Lord Cutler raised a hand in the air, and made a swirling motion with his finger, as he walked out the door. Isabelle watched in horror as the seated men stood, and a tin of oil was passed around as they doused the tavern. She cried out, “No, Father!” as she saw the other customers’ eyes widen with fear. But Lord Cutler grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her outside.

  “I have told you, Isabelle, do not subvert me in front of my men!” His voice was low and menacing, and she knew the familiar look in his eye.

  She whispered back, “Father, think of the innkeeper. It is his livelihood! And the people inside? You will not trap them, will you?”

  He watched her for a moment and then laughed. “No, daughter. They will be freed. If they can find their way out from behind the flames.” Isabelle wanted to scream and run back for them, but her father knew her too well. He kept her wrist in his hand and passed her to Martin Dorset, who watched her calmly as if nothing unusual was happening. “Take her, Dorset. Put her and Arya into the carriage. Lock the door and be sure they do not escape.”

  Martin bowed his head. “Yes, Sir.” He did not look Isabelle in the eye as he took her in his arms and prodded her towards the carriage. She had known Martin as a boy, and to see him now in this role was more than she could bear. As they moved away from her father, Isabelle could smell woodsmoke as the tavern burned, and she heard the footsteps of her father’s men leave the tavern, shutting the door behind them. Cries and screams filled the air as people moved around inside, jumping out of windows, and rushing through other doors to escape the growing flames.

  She whispered to Martin through gritted teeth. “You are a fool, Martin. You used to be such a kind boy, so generous and thoughtful. Look at you now.” She struggled against his grip as they walked along. For such a short and rather a plump man, Martin was surprisingly strong.

  He kept his voice even and measured as he always did when he replied, “Dear, beautiful, Isabelle, one day, you will see that what your father does he does out of necessity. And he does it for King and country. You should be honored by your connection with him. If he was not cruel and bloodthirsty, then these brutish Highlanders would never learn to respect their King. Your father is their judge and the teacher of lessons.”

  Isabelle thought about spitting at the ground to show him her disgust, but it would only cause her father further displeasure. The very sound of his words made her want to shudder. Her father had totally brainwashed this man and forced him into his way of thinking, making him feel like what he was doing was proud and noble. She said nothing else, and Martin opened the carriage door and shoved her inside. “This is for your own good, Isabelle. You will see.”

  Once he shut the door behind her, Isabelle banged her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. She growled in rage and slapped a hand against the wall. “How could he do this? These people have nothing!” She felt the shape of the roll in her pocket and wanted to burst into tears at her own helplessness, but she knew that would accomplish nothing. One day she would be able to fight back and not just in secret. Her father would see her for what she truly was.

  A few moments later, the door was opened again, and Arya entered, watching Isabelle warily. “You have seen, Mistress.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen, Arya, and what a waste it is. I can only hope that no one will be killed in the flames.”

  She looked outside and tried to ignore the sound of the fire as it rose higher and higher. Smoke began to fill the yard in front of the tavern, but once it began curling towards their carriage, the horses were led onward, and the whole company was on the move. The carriage turned to the side to continue their path, and both Arya and Isabelle could get a full view of the burning tavern, now wholly encapsulated by flames.

  Isabelle watched angrily as the innkeeper rushed out the front and fell to his knees, yelling into the open air. She understood his pain, but she feared that her father’s men might fill his chest with musket balls if he continued. “Arya, my father says that revenge moves in his belly, but now, at the sight of this, my own desire for it grows as well.”

  Chapter Three

  Eamon’s sword clanged against his brother’s, and after a moment’s pause, he swung around to meet Sean’s blade once again. His brother was an excellent swordsman, and even months hiding away in the woods preparing a village had done little to dull his skill. Eamon tried a new trick he had learned while among his men. He waited for Sean to swing at him anew, and then he dodged it, planting a punch to his brother’s ribs.

  Sean bent over, coughing for a moment, and Eamon stood tall, proud of his achievement, and glanced at the other men surrounding them, all in practice, preparing for battle. He wiped the sweat from his face with his forearm. Sweat glistened in his dark hair as it hung to his shoulders. Once Sean had caught his breath, he said, “Brother, ye have improved, and I have weakened, I see.”

  Eamon chuckled and helped Sean to his feet. “It is something we’ve learned among my men. We dinnae always play by the proper rules.”

  Sean grinned, and then raised his sword high, ready to fight again. Eamon’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and then he fell backward, as Sean’s heavy sword, clanged hard against his own, pushing him to the ground. Eamon lay back, laughing. “I suppose it is nae a laughing matter, brother, but I cannae help but feel I deserved that.”

  “Aye,” Sean said, and not unkindly. He paused and looked around at his men. “They are good, Eamon. I think they will hold. But first, we will have tae use the bows and arrows, or we couldnae defeat them. What are swords against bullets?”

  Eamon stood up, brushing himself off. “The arrows will decrease their numbers, tae a manageable level. Like I said, we dinnae ken how many soldiers he will pick up from Fort Augustus. I only wish I could meet with my spy before we travel tae the men tae start the journey towards Cutler. I will try tae get word tae him somehow.”

  Sean blinked up at the bright sunshine. “I
had a thought. We are nae far from the MacManus clan.”

  Eamon nodded. “Aye, I met with them on my way here, tae get word of ye.”

  “I trust the MacManus laird. He is a good man. We could call upon them tae aid us. They could at least give us a few of their men. They are good swordsmen, good fighters.”

  Eamon nodded. “I think it is wise. Perhaps we should begin the journey taenight and meet them. Then, we could prepare weapons with them before we begin heading back towards the Loch.”

  “Aye.” Sean waved to Donovan, who was in the middle of a rather heated battle with another of The Scots members. Donovan turned toward him and then had to duck out of the way as a sword moved over his head. He rushed to Sean’s side.

  “Sean?”