Highlander’s Twisted Identity (Highlanders 0f Clan Craig Book 2)

by Shona Thompson

  Nora’s eyes sparked, with irritation. For a moment, she scowled at her son. Then a slow smile spread across her twisted face.

  “Awful?” she asked thoughtfully, looking into Wallace’s youthful eyes.

  As she looked at him, Nora’s mind went whirring into action. So, her son had struck up an unlikely friendship with the girl? Maybe this was something worthy of consideration after all.

  “Nae, it wouldnae be awful at all…” began Nora tentatively. She knew him too well to push the subject further. Instead, she simply sowed the seeds and then sat back to wait for them to take hold.

  It wouldn’t be long, she knew, before the girl came back. When she did, she could be very useful indeed. But it wouldn’t do to tell Wallace all this, not yet. The less he knew, the more easily he could be used.

  “So, ye dinnae mind then?” asked Wallace, puppy-like with excitement.

  Nora smoothed down her instinctive desire to respond with a jibe and instead said, “Nae, son, I dinnae mind at all!”

  Chapter Three

  5 YEARS LATER…

  Panting hard, Wallace pounded up the steep mound, out of the glen and up the side of the crag. It was hot and hard.

  The summer sun blazing down from the top of the mountainside was bright and fierce—and never in his twenty-one years had he experienced anything as ferocious as this June.

  Out of breath, he paused for a while by a lone tree, the only mark on the horizon for miles around. It didn’t provide much shade, but it was better than nothing. For a moment, the lad simply sat there, slumped at the foot of its parched bark, getting his breath back.

  He had run from the clanless, leaving behind the small row of blackhouses, united in their squalor and squinting at him from the horizon.

  Sometimes, Wallace just wanted to run and run, as far as his feet could take him and as fast as his young body would allow him to.

  He was lean and hardy. Despite his meager diet of watery kale, he had grown up to be strong, and his trim build belied the tough muscles that lay beneath.

  As the man of the house, Wallace went forth into the clanless lands every day; here, he would hunt, fish and keep guard for the community nestled on the horizon.

  It was a rough place, but it was their place, his place. But today, that fact rankled with him.

  As he ran, his lungs squashed to almost bursting, his mother’s words came back at him.

  “What do ye mean, ye want tae leave?” said his mother, aghast.

  “I mean, I want tae leave the clanless, to gae—out there… somewhere…” he gestured vaguely into the direction of the Craig lands. Or maybe the Duncan clans. He hadn’t really put in much thought about it; all he knew was that he wanted to get away from here. Well away.

  In the intervening few years since his chance encounter with the Maid of Craig, he had thought about her many times. And with the memory came a longing. Not only to meet that fiery maid again, but the lure of a life beyond the clanless.

  The fact was, life here was grim. The daily grind was tiring and sapped both his body and his mind.

  “What for? Listen to me, sonny, one day ye will be riding into that keep—as the Laird of Craig, an’…”

  “Aye, so ye say, Maither. But when’s that going tae be?” asked Wallace sharply. “Because I dinnae see it happenin’ any time soon!”

  “Well, t’will,” said his mother hotly. She was trying to reinvent leftover kale as a delicious supper for the ten thousandth time, and by the look on her face, it wasn’t going well. Wallace watched her scowl ferociously at the cold hearth and mutter.

  “What is it?” asked Wallace, wondering what she was searching for.

  “The fire’s gone out,” exclaimed Nora impatiently, as if it was obvious. “Now I’ll have tae find someone to give me a light!”

  The fire, which was usually banked to burn day and night in the small blackhouse, had somehow gone out during the night. In fact, the respite from the unexpected heat had been a welcome relief. However, it didn’t help them much now.

  “Well, I’ll fetch the tinderbox…,” said Wallace calmly. He looked about for it in its usual place by the doorway. He couldn’t find it.

  “It’s not there,” explained his mother without looking up from what she was doing. “You’ll have to fetch us a light from next door.”

  Wallace harrumphed. He really wasn’t in the mood for this. Running errands was the last thing he felt like right now. Frustratingly, his mother wouldn’t even stay put to let him finish his complaint. She had suddenly flounced outside, heading towards the pile of rotting vegetables and fish heads in the corner of their small plot.

  “Where is the tinderbox?” he asked, irritated, fanning away the flies which buzzed around the rotting pile.

  “Ah, um, lent to it our Hughie,” she said, rushing back inside again and busying herself with the decomposing trout. Wallace had to hold his nose to prevent himself from retching.

  It was early yet, but the heat in the fierce June skies was already building—and it did nothing to improve the smell of the molding leftovers.

  “Ye lent it out?” said Wallace, surprised. “To that curly-headed lump?”

  Hughie was the permanently inebriated son of their neighbor, Mrs. Macdonald.

  “He’ll swap if for a dram of whiskey!” Wallace chided in disbelief. The tinderbox was his mother’s prized possession, the only thing left of his father. “Ye never let it out of yer sight normally!”

  “Aye, well, I did now,” she said, defensive. “Anyway, it pays to be patient, lad,” she continued, changing the subject.

  “I’ve been patient, Maither, but now it’s time to see what else is out there,” Wallace tried again. He felt confused about the lands that surrounded the clanless, but eager to explore them.

  Twenty-one years, and he had barely ventured beyond the confines of the clanless lands that he and his people were confined to. Every time one of them attempted to assert themselves, they were immediately crushed—as his mother was only too quick to point out.

  “What’s out there?” she started, incredulous. The scowl that habitually occupied her face washed away in a look of total apoplexy. “I’ll tell ye what’s out there; trouble and a whole lot of it. When we gae out there, it’ll be when we’re armed and ready!”

  Nora’s blue eyes leaped and crackled with life, but her face told another story, a tale of unrelenting toil and never-ending drudgery. The hate that had sustained her for the past two decades now consumed her piecemeal.

  As Wallace watched her arthritic hands peel away at the vegetables, a leaden sadness overcame him. But it was tinged with panic; he had to get away soon or risk turning into a burnt-out husk—like his mother.

  “Like I said, when will that be?” he asked, but sadly this time. He was tired of it all. Life in the clanless lands was draining, and every pair of eyes wore the same hopeless expression. But Wallace still had a spark in him, and he needed to do something quick, before it went out.

  “Wallace! Nae,” hollered his mother, even more shrilly than usual. She looked up sharply from her peelings, the blunted knife glinting in the hazy morning light. “Listen, sonny, there’s something I need ye tae dae…I’ve got a plan!” continued his mother as he headed for the door. Wearily, he turned to face her.

  “What plan?” he sighed.

  She always had a plan of some sort. It seemed that every other day, Nora was hatching some scheme or other to further their cause. So far, it had amounted to nothing.

  “…It’s nothing tae worry yer head about. Just that…maybe ye might run into that wee lassie of Craig again, and when—if—ye dae, ye need to get her on board,” said Nora, her voice trailing off.

  “What… what dae ye mean?” asked Wallace, looking surprised.

  “Right then, lad,” his mother said, conspiratorially. “A couple o’ lads are going to start a wee fire when yer little maid comes along…”

  Wallace immediately looked up, concerned. Sensing his mood, his mo
ther attempted to rebuff him.

  “Dinnae fash, it’s nae much…but if she is pulled out of danger, it’ll look all the better for ye…for us all!”

  “But Ma!” protested Wallace, in disbelief. “What if she gets hurt? It’s awful hot and dry up there. A fire could take hold quick!”

  “Nae, nae lad, that won’t happen if ye keep yer head!” his mother argued.

  “Listen, Maither, I dinnae want anything to do wi’ it!” Wallace began, but Nora stood her ground.

  “Think about it. T’is the only way yer ever going to be able to set foot in that castle—or get a chance to get close enough to the laird to slay him. You do still want to avenge yer father, dinnae ye?” she asked, accusingly.

  Wallace had bristled angrily. “Well, of course I dae, Maither, it was what I was put on this earth to do. I just dinnae want it to involve Freya…”

  “Well, it’s a bit late for that now. Hughie left for the hill about half an hour ago…so it’s up to ye. Ye can save yer little maid and help yer clan, or ye can leave her to burn!” she announced sullenly.

  “Mother!” exclaimed Wallace, exasperated. Without much choice, he sighed. “Well, I suppose then I’d better get after her!”

  “Good lad,” nodded Nora as he pulled on his tall riding boots and made for the glen side. “Ye’ll make yer father proud!”

  That had been an hour ago. Since then, he had been grappling with the dried and arid Scottish countryside, casting about for signs of Freya, his mother’s words burning in his ears.

  “Ye’ll make yer father proud!” she had said.

  And Wallace felt something stirring in his heart as he set off for the best-known hunting spot in the heart of the glen.

  Getting there had meant climbing the steepest crag for miles around, in some of the hottest weather Scotland had ever seen. Yet with thoughts of Freya in his mind, he was energized; powering through the crags and the hills. He turned his might to the ascent, determined to find her before something happened. But so far, he hadn’t seen so much of a glimpse of another human being. On such a scorching hot day, no one else was up here.

  Then there was a sight which gave his heart a painful jolt. A girl; there, on the horizon. Wallace was too far away to properly make out her features, but she had long red hair, which blazed brightly in the light of the sun.

  Freya? Was it her? Wallace cocked his head up to the distant figure on the hillside.

  “Freya?” he called hopefully. Maybe she was just in his head, and he was only seeing what he wanted to see. In truth, it could have been anyone from this distance.

  He tried calling the girl again, but there was no reply. In fact, all he could hear was the echo going around the valley. It was silent enough to hear a pin drop—yet, maddeningly, there was no further sound. Just that high-pitched note, carried in the stifling air, untouched by breeze or canyon wind.

  As he listened, Wallace could not be sure that the sound was her, or even if the girl was Freya.

  Then a shrill noise overhead made him look up sharply. It wasn’t her, just a bird crowing overhead. The sound jarred awkwardly on the horizon, long after the bird had flown away.

  The silence confounded Wallace, leaving him standing there, trying to figure out the best thing to do. He couldn’t see anyone, and yet, he had been sure…

  As he walked, Wallace could not get her face out of his head. This was hardly the first time he’d thought of Freya after their chance encounter, even before his mother’s crazy plan.

  Ever since their first encounter, he had prayed secretly to see her again, but annoyingly it had never happened. And more than likely, this was another false alarm.

  But even if this was just a coincidence, and the woman was not Freya, it needed checking. So, Wallace found himself trundling through the brush land, his pale skin stinging under the ferocious heat. He had never been so hot before. It was so intense his legs went numb. The last few yards, he stumbled drunkenly across the sun-drenched valley.

  Then he heard her. “Help!” a scream pierced the horizon, jostling the contents of his head wildly, his skull ringing from ear to ear.

  “Aargh!” came the cry; it was high-pitched and distant. Shielding his eyes through the light of the sun, he could make out the shape of the woman.

  And yes, she was there at the top of the glen, trapped by what looked like flames. Though he was still not entirely certain who she was, at this point, it did not matter; the girl needed his help.

  “Help!” she squealed plaintively, the sound bouncing off the four corners of the glen and ricocheting around the sky to fall below, reaching where he stood.

  It was so close and so still, and the noise had nowhere to go, simply lingering there, before dissipating in the high noon skies.

  “I burn!” she hurled.

  Although Wallace couldn’t make out exactly what was going on, he could see smoke rising into the hot skies. Then he saw her and gasped.

  Without another thought, he simply hurled himself into motion, charging headfirst up the steep ascent like a mountain goat.

  Chapter Four

  “Freya!” yelled Wallace as he pounded up the steep hill to where she stood.

  “Help me!” she screamed, this time louder as the flames encircling her burned closer. Usually, pure shame would have stopped her from screeching for help from anyone, let alone a man. But the flames had overwhelmed her, and sheer panic had set in.

  “Oh my God!” exclaimed Wallace. As he drew nearer, the scene became clearer. Freya was at the top of the hillside, in a ring of flames, trapped in the thicket of the small copse of trees that stood in the center of the hill.

  Wallace burst up the mountain at triple speed, his heart beating hard and his breath coming fast. “Dinnae fash…I’m coming!”

  Freya could not help but worry. She still had no idea how this had happened. One minute she had been about to take her aim at the red deer ambling its way into view across the copse—and the next thing she knew, it was aflame.

  She watched anxiously as the boy sped up the almost vertical ascent, his face red and heated, large beads of sweat pouring down his forehead, glittering in the sun.

  He was halfway up the mountainside, when, to her surprise and consternation, he suddenly stopped. Instead of following the most obvious route to the top, he lingered, then unfastened something from his person.

  Freya screwed her eyes up and stared in disbelief. “What ye doing there?” she screamed.

  However, the lad did not appear to hear. His head was burrowed down, concentrating on the source of a small ditch that ran through the mountain. Placing his face against the parched grass, he listened hard for the trickle of water. Then the lad grabbed his flask and filled it right to the top. He was about to speed off when something stopped him.

  Freya, who could not see what he was doing, screamed. The sound reverberated all around the top of the moors and bounced down into the valley below.

  The speed of the flames encircling her had come without warning, and now she was trapped, stuck fast in the heart of a circle of trees.

  Smoke billowed from the burning foliage and filled her mouth, making her cough and splutter.

  “Can ye come, please!” she added, as she watched to see what he was doing. Freya studied him closely. It appeared he was removing his boots—a tall, sturdy pair of riding boots.

  The lad leaned over the font of the burn and filled the tall leather boots full of cold spring water. Then he continued barefoot, as carefully as he could, to the top of the hill.

  By now, the poor trapped girl was beside herself. She had been watching Wallace’s little detour avidly. From her position on the hill, especially with the flames and smoke dancing around her, she had been unable to see what he was doing.

  The lad’s errand had only taken a minute or so, but for Freya, it had felt like hours. By now, the fire had spread, raging, all around the ring of trees encircling her. The thick black smoke that billowed out was getting out of control, so much
that she struggled for breath.

  “Hold on, lassie, I’m coming!” he urged, pushing his way towards her. Then he took a pace back. Now he was closer, he could see that it was worse than it looked from the distance. The flames and sheer heat were overwhelming. It was only pure good fortune that the girl had not been overcome already.

  Panic was building inside him—and inside her, judging by the expression on Freya’s face. But this was not the only emotion Wallace was experiencing. The other was a deep anger, which pushed its way to the fore of his being. He had warned his mother this could be dangerous. How could she have been so irresponsible?