Fighting For A Highland Lass (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 3)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Alice nodded thoughtfully, and John raised his eyebrows at her. His one good eye glinted in amusement at the priest’s lecturing tone. His other eye, lost in a battle before they had married, was covered with a sturdy black patch.

  “We have arrived,” said Father Hallam, solemnly.

  The high wooden doors stood open, a steady traffic of tonsured clerics and simply-dressed servants flowing to and fro, heads down, with only a glance for the newcomers. Father Hallam took the lead, and they moved from the bright sunlight into the cool, dim stone interior. The priest did not delay but led them at a brisk pace through a spacious, echoing entrance hall and up a broad stone stair. At the top of the stair, a long corridor stretched before them toward a smaller, winding stairwell that carried them up and away from the hubbub of the palace below. In a shorter hall, carpeted with thick woollen rugs, they found themselves at last in front of a closed door. The priest stopped and turned to them.

  “Here is the chamber. You must be prepared, Mr Grant. Yer brother is... very unwell.” The priest’s eyes sought Iain’s face, and Iain bowed his head to show that he understood. Father Hallam nodded slowly.

  “Very well, then,” he said, and quietly unlocked the door.

  Chapter Five

  Thorvald was asleep when they came for him.

  “Oh, curse them and their damned manacles!” he swore as he woke, his foot numb from where it had been obliged to dangle awkwardly from the side of the bed. Four big brutes muscled their way into the room, the smell of their unwashed bodies foul in the cramped space. Thorvald held up his hands in a pacifying gesture and kept his eyes lowered.

  “Ugh,” cried one of the men, leaning down to unlock the manacle. “What the captain wants with a weakling like ye I have no idea.”

  “Yer guess is as good as mine, friend,” replied Thorvald with an effort.

  “Shut up! Unless ye want another black eye.”

  Thorvald shut up.

  With a level of force entirely unnecessary, they hauled Thorvald up the narrow stairs and onto the deck. He breathed in the fresh night sea air with relish.

  “We’re going tae get onto the transport boat,” said one of the men, ponderously, “then yer going to sit in it while we sail tae the jetty, then ye are going tae walk up with us, nice and easy, tae the castle. Any trouble, ye’ll regret it, see?”

  “Ye’ll get no trouble from me,” replied Thorvald.

  The deck was clear, and the ship was anchored, rocking gently in place on a calm sea. Not far off, Thorvald could see what might have been the lights of a village on the shore, but he could not be sure. The night was quiet and dark with no moon, but the stars glimmered through the torn clouds and gave a little light. A man with a burning torch gestured to them, and his handlers led him off toward the transport.

  “I’m coming too,” said a voice, and the procession stopped. Thorvald twisted his head to look. It was Anne, swathed in a fur cloak against the night’s chill. The man with the torch shrugged broadly and gestured with his hands to show that he did not care. She ignored them all, walking toward the transport boat ahead of them and climbing in.

  The crossing was smooth, and as they drew away from the ship, Thorvald saw for the first time the castle. The two towers loomed up, blacker patches against the night sky, blotting out the stars. High up in one of the towers, a light burned. To Thorvald, it looked ominous.

  “At least it’s not raining,” Thorvald spoke to no one in particular.

  “Shaddup!” growled one of the guards, raising a hand to strike him.

  “Enough, McArthur,” said Anne quietly from her place in the bow of the boat, and the man glowered and lowered his clenched fist.

  “This man is a valuable prisoner and is tae be treated with respect and care. Ye know my uncle’s orders.”

  The boat slowed. There were six of the crew in the boat, four holding Thorvald and two rowing. Anne and Thorvald made it eight, and this was one of the smaller dinghies of the Caithness Seal. It was a crowded space, the oars bumping and scraping as the rowers slowed their pace.

  Thorvald could feel the tension in the men holding him. A man named McArthur began to speak.

  “Aye, we know the orders well enough. But maybe we know too that there’s no self-respecting man who should take those orders from the likes of ye! Just a woman, and barely more than a girl. What are ye tae yer uncle, eh? What makes ye so sure of yerself? I don’t need tae take orders from ye, but I’ll take something else from ye!”

  He had risen from his seat and stood in the rocking boat, a tall and menacing shape. One of the oarsmen spoke.

  “We’re too close tae the ship, ye fool. Not here, not here!” But it was too late. With a snarl like an animal, McArthur had drawn his knife and lunged for Anne. She barely moved. Thorvald felt his gaze widen in astonishment as Anne’s sword flew free of its scabbard, darted a deadly blow at McArthur, then withdrew. The big man toppled over and fell into the water with a splash, sinking like a stone.

  It happened so quickly. The three remaining men let go of Thorvald and charged toward Anne, but the boat was tiny, and they got in each other’s way. Quick and graceful as a dancer, Anne leapt in the air, landing with one foot on either edge of the boat’s bow. Her blade flashed, once, twice, three times. Three men stopped in their tracks. One of the oarsmen swung his oar in a huge, wide arc at her, but she ducked and sprang on him as he teetered over, unbalanced by the force of his own swing. She pushed him, hard, and he toppled into the water. Clad in chainmail, he didn’t stand a chance.

  “Yield, yield!” gasped the last man, as, quick as lighting, Anne was upon him, her blade held to his throat.

  “Whose idea was this, Wilson?” she asked him through gritted teeth. One of her hands gripped a handful of his hair.

  “I... i... it was McArthur! All his idea! He doesn’t like taking orders from Neil, and he was going tae take the prisoner and try tae ransom him himself. When ye came on the boat, he wanted tae get revenge on the Captain by hurting you! That’s all, that’s it, honest! I didn’t want tae, but they made me! I had no choice!”

  The man was babbling, and Thorvald watched with increasing admiration as the lithe, short-haired woman – who did not seem even to be out of breath after her fight – withdrew her sword from his throat.

  “Can ye swim?” she asked coldly.

  “Well enough...” said the oarsman, doubtfully.

  “As ye said, we’re not far from the ship. Off ye go now, and ye can report back tae Juarez and the Captain about what’s happened here. Alright?”

  The oarsman looked dubiously at the gap of dark water between them and the ship, but then he stripped off his chainmail and plunged into the water, striking out vigorously for the ship. Anne stood in the boat and watched until she saw him catch a hanging rope and shimmy up and over the side.

  “Why did ye do that?” asked Thorvald quietly. She looked up from where she was busy working her way through the pockets of the men who lay in the bottom of the boat.

  “Because I want tae have ye all tae myself, of course... ah! Here it is!”

  She had found an iron key, and without hesitation, knelt to unlock the manacles which bound his hands to his back.

  “Move forward,” she said and fiddled for a moment until he heard the satisfying sound of the manacles clicking open. He drew his wrists round in front of him and massaged them gently.

  “I thank ye.”

  “Well, ye could hardly take an oar with yer wrists in chains now, could ye? Come on now.”

  Thorvald did as he was told, taking up an oar beside her, and they began to pull for the shore.

  “Will yer uncle the captain not be angry that ye killed his crewmen?” he asked her after a little while.

  “It’s happened before. They get the idea that they shouldn’t be taking orders from a woman, and they have a go. The captain, well, he’s a strange one. He takes it as a compliment, really, that I’m one of the best fighters in the crew. Unique, I am. Like a circus
freak.”

  She delivered the last words with a venom that shocked him, but he let it pass.

  “Where did ye learn tae fight like that?”

  “I had a good teacher.” Her tone did not invite further questions. “Where did ye learn tae fight so badly?”

  He laughed heartily.

  “We had a master-at-arms come from the town. He taught us basic stuff, how tae swing and parry, and how tae work like a unit and not get in each other’s way. Simple things, ye know.”

  “But not how tae defend against a madwoman with yer own helmet in her hands?” she asked wryly.

  “No, they never taught us that.”

  “How’s the head?”

  “Better, actually.” It was. The dressing had lessened the pain a great deal, and before long, they reached the jetty.

  “Now, listen,” she turned to look at him intently, her face very close to his, “I don’t know what he wants ye for, but I do know that he’s keen tae keep ye alive and safe. Ye may think that ye’d be better running off and making yer own way, but I don’t think ye will be – he will send men out after ye if ye do that, and they may cause ye harm if they catch up with ye. Trust me. Let’s go back up tae the castle together and let me deliver ye. I will look out for ye, Thorvald. I... I do not wish tae see ye come tae harm.”

  “Very well, Anne,” he thought of her blade flashing as quick as lightning when she was attacked. If nothing else, he seriously doubted his ability to get away from her, even if he tried.

  “Thank ye, Thorvald,” and to his great surprise, she darted her head forward and planted the briefest kiss on the edge of his mouth. His skin tingled, and he looked into her eyes in surprise.

  “What was that for?”

  “Just because I could,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s get the boat moored.”

  It looked like a smuggler’s cove – a rotten wooden jetty with only enough room to tie up two small boats at most. The cliffs reared high above them, but here a little rocky inlet gave into the cliff-face. They scrambled from the boat, getting their boots wet. It was very dark, and they slipped on the seaweed and slimy rocks as they made their way across the stony beach.

  “Here,” she called and put a hand on his wrist to lead him through the darkness toward a cave. He had to crouch and duck his head to enter, but after a moment he felt the space around him open out.

  “Hold this.” He felt her hand on his, pressing something hard into it. With a crackling noise and a spark, there suddenly flared a light. He was holding a torch she had lit with a flint and striker. As his eyes adjusted to the light, Thorvald saw before him a vast, roomy cave, with a flight of steep, narrow steps carved from the rock, climbing up one wall through a crack in the roof and into darkness.

  “This is the way in,” Anne explained, “Ye can’t use it at high tide, or when it’s stormy, but on a night like tonight it’s perfect for getting intae the castle unseen.”

  They found the stairs and began to ascend. It felt to Thorvald that they had reached a place of trust, or at least mutual respect. She still made him walk in front, and he wondered if he was mad not to have tried to escape when he had the chance, but then the foolishness of it caught him. No way could he get away from this fierce, talented fighter. Had he not just watched her dispense with six opponents almost without getting out of her seat? Perhaps he would be able to turn the situation to his advantage in some way.

  He stopped.

  “What is it?” she asked, a note of annoyance in her voice. He looked down at her, and she noticed that the swelling had reduced over his eye. She rubbed her jaw where his head had hit her.

  “Can I really trust you?” he asked, and the honest plea in his voice touched something in the hardened girl.

  She answered as honestly as she was able.

  “I don’t know; I hope so.”

  Chapter Six

  Father Hallam ushered Iain Grant forward, and he stepped into the stuffy, overly warm room and looked around. The room was richly furnished with opulent fabrics, but the scent of the applewood which burned in the hearth could not completely mask the smell of illness, old wine and too-rich food. Incense burned in a holder on the generous mantlepiece. He coughed.

  A silk drape hung over a low window near the bed, but high in the wall a row of three windows depicted stained glass scenes from the Passion, and the cold February sun shone through them, laying a pattern of shifting colours across the wizened figure laying half propped up against a bank of pillows like a beached ship.

  “Brother,” Iain breathed, taking a few rapid steps forward, and to everyone’s surprise, the figure on the bed made a deep breath and opened one yellow, bloodshot eye. In two more steps, Iain Grant was beside his brother’s deathbed. He dropped quickly to one knee and reached to take the hand of the dying man who struggled a little, and Father Hallam immediately fussed with the pillows, helping him to sit up straighter.

  Bishop Rognvald smiled weakly at his brother, his eyes swivelling to the table, where a jug of water sat. After the priest helped him to drink a little, the bishop nodded and waved him away. Father Hallam withdrew, still holding the water jug, and stood away, beside the hearth. Alice and John remained near the door, watching the scene. Without a word, John’s hand found Alice’s and closed around it with a comforting warmth.

  “Iain,” spoke the bishop at last, and though his voice was weak, he smiled.

  “Rognvald, I am here.”

  “Ye are here, here at last, brother. I wondered... I did not know if I would hold out until ye arrived, but here ye are. Ah, my life... that it should come tae this.”

  “Is there nothing that can be done?”

  The sick man waved a hand dismissively.

  “The Lord takes us all in his own good time, Iain. That I have learned if nothing else. Do not grieve brother. I have enjoyed my life and done... much. Hallam?”

  The priest was immediately by his side.

  “Go downstairs tae the kitchen and bring some wine and something tae eat here for my guests. Go now, don’t make me ask you again,” he added as the priest seemed about to object. Father Hallam bobbed his head and hurried out, still clutching the water jug.

  “Now, my brother, I do not know how much time I have to speak with ye. Alas, I tried foolishly tae rise when they brought the news that your ship had been spotted. Hallam tried to warn me against it – he’s a good lad – but I am still as stubborn as ever, and I tried anyway. God, but the strain nearly killed me. I fainted, and awoke back in bed, just as ye see me. Here I shall remain, now, until the end. It shall not be long in coming.”

  He was taken with a sudden wheezing cough, which racked him for a moment before he caught his breath and continued. Iain seemed about to speak, but his brother raised up a hand to silence him.

  “I have brought ye here tae bear witness,” he said, and the relief in his voice was palpable. “Ye have brought yer son with ye?”

  His rheumy eyes found John and Alice, standing quietly near the door.

  “Is this yer son?” the sick man sounded pleased. “And his wife? My, what a fine-looking pair ye both are! Ye must be Alice, daughter of old Murdo MacPherson? Ah, but ye two are a sight for sore eyes, and that’s the truth! It does my heart good tae see ye. Come here, come and sit by me, all of ye, for I have something I wish ye tae hold for me, and something I wish tae tell ye before young Hallam comes back.”

  They did as he requested, and Alice encouraged Iain to rise from the side of the bed and sit in a chair instead of kneeling on the floor. Her usually steely father-in-law seemed somewhat shaken, and it was hardly surprising. She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment as she sat down herself.

  “This is the fact,” said Rognvald, once his relations were all seated. “I have a son. Yes, yes, I know, a man of the cloth, and a bishop, no less! The shame of it, eh?” But there was a mischievous glint in his eye, and he did not seem ashamed. He gave a little cough which might have been a laugh.

  “W
ell, well, so ye might say from outside looking in. But I can tell ye, things look different from this side of the cloth, as ye might say. Oh, and it was a bonny thing for me when I had just newly been made bishop, and the privileges and the... opportunities were going tae my head. It was twenty-one years ago, but still, I remember it as if it were yesterday. Young Ella, she came on a boat with the son of the King of Norway when they visited back in ’52... a Norwegian noblewoman, unwed, mind ye! Aye, a long time ago.”

  His face fell, and his eyes went far away.

  “She... she died, ye know,” he said sadly. “She travelled back tae Oslo with the babe, and I made sure she did not lack for money, and she put about a tale of a husband lost at sea, so there was no shame in it tae her. We knew it wouldn’t work, of course, but I wanted to keep an eye on her, and there was no bad feeling between us. I had a man over there, he would send me back letters, reports on how she and the lad were faring. Her family cared not a whit for her or the child, and she was able to live well on the income I sent. But then, a few years later, a coughing sickness swept through the town and... well... I had my man there bring the babe back tae Orkney and paid well for him tae be fostered in Skylness, a wee fishing village not far from Stromness, away on the other side of the island.”