Every Highland Sin: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance

by Kenna Kendrick

“Somebody’s found their manhood, eh?” Headen chuckled.

  “Aye. Mebbe so,” Luke snapped back. “Ye can only kick a dog so long before it bites back.”

  “So it seems,” Headen said, a slow, malicious grin spreading across his face. “And it seems like ye need tae be taught a lesson at that. Ye need tae learn tae keep yer bleedin’ mouth shut around yer betters.”

  “As far as I can see, thae only thing ye’re better than me at is bein’ an arsehole.”

  There was a collective gasp around the yard. Nobody had ever spoken to the Captain like that, but Luke didn’t care at that moment. He wanted to put the Captain in his place and show him that he was nobody to be trifled with either. As Headen looked at him, his grin widened, but his eyes held the promise of violence to come.

  “Ye’ve got spunk, lad,” Headen said. “But ye need tae learn some manners.”

  “Aye. So I’ve heard. And I suppose ye’ll be thae one tae teach me, eh?”

  Headen nodded. “Aye. So let thae lessons begin,” he said. “We’ll dae this the old way.”

  “What’s thae old way, Captain? Goin’ tae turn me over yer knee and give me a paddlin’, are ye?”

  There was a ripple of laughter through the crowd, though most bit it back quickly. The Captain was not somebody to laugh at. The smile from Headen’s face slipped away, his expression becoming deadly serious.

  “Pick up yer blade,” he said, his voice more snarl than anything.

  Luke held up the wooden practice sword he was holding. “Got me weapon in me hand already. Ye blind now tae, Captain?”

  Luke didn’t think it possible, but Headen’s face grew even darker, his expression even more stern.

  “I meant yer real blade,” Headen said with a vicious curl to his lip. “Get yer sword.”

  The knots in Luke’s stomach pulled tight, and a tremor passed through his body. But when he looked into Headen’s eyes, saw the smug arrogance of the man, Luke banished his fears. Without another word, he walked over to where he’d stored his things and pulled his sword from its sheath with a metallic rasp.

  He returned to the sparring ring, the sun glinting off the edge of his blade. He raised his eyes and regarded the Captain coldly.

  “Ye told us nae tae use naked steel out here,” Luke said.

  “Afraid of gettin’ cut, lad?”

  Luke smirked. “Let’s see about that, eh?”

  Headen grinned and nodded. “Aye. Let’s dae that.”

  The tension around the sparring ring was high and crackled with nervous energy. A hushed buzz of conversation arose, and Luke saw Conall quietly taking wagers from the corner of his eye. He made a note to ask him later who he’d put his coin on.

  Headen slid the blade from the sheath on his back, and Luke looked at that long, thin, curved sword. It gleamed dully in the wan sunlight as if it somehow absorbed the golden rays rather than reflected them. Luke thought the blade was odd - very unlike his thick, two-handed greatsword - but it was graceful and could be wielded with one hand. And he knew that in the hands of the Captain, it was positively lethal.

  The two men circled the sparring pit, taking each other’s measure for a moment. The Captain moved in a slow and sinuous way, his body every bit as graceful as his blade - and undoubtedly just as deadly. Luke felt like a lumbering oaf. But he knew he’d been well trained and infused with the power his personal revelations made him feel. He felt every inch the warrior the Captain was.

  He doesnae take me seriously. Doesnae think I can fight. Doesnae think me a warrior. Tis time for him tae learn otherwise.

  “Tae first blood then,” Headen said.

  “Ye sure ye daenae want tae fight tae thae death?”

  Headen smirked. “I’m sure Baron Begbie wouldnae appreciate losin’ a fighter,” he said. “Not even one as barely competent with a blade as ye.”

  Luke felt fire coursing through his veins. He gritted his teeth as the rage inside of him began to well like a dark, malevolent tide. His instinct was to wade in and fight. But he paused a moment, continuing to hold a defensive pose as he and Headen circled each other. The Captain smirked at him, his face full of smug arrogance, looking at him as if this fight was already over, only Luke didn’t know it yet.

  And suddenly he realized what Headen was trying to do. He was trying to bait him. Trying to force him to rush in, heedless of the consequences, and swing his blade wildly as he tried to score a hit. He had seen Headen do it too many times to those who’d stepped into the challenge ring. He’d gotten under their skin somehow and made them lose their minds. Enraged, they charged in, and the fight was over in a matter of moments.

  He remembered something his da once said. When Luke was young, he’d told him that most fights were over long before the swords actually clashed. His da had said the fight that mattered the most was in his head. If he did not start with open eyes and a clear mind, he might as well go ahead and stick his sword in his heart himself.

  It was Headen who grew impatient enough to make the first move. He lunged toward Luke, the point of his sword leading the way. Luke parried the thrust, turning it to the side. The sound of steel ringing on steel seemed to pop the bubble of quiet that had encompassed the sparring ring and everybody standing around them began cheering and calling out encouragement… mainly for the Captain, of course.

  Headen waded in again, the long, graceful blade a blur of motion that Luke had trouble keeping up with. But he deflected every slash and thrust, putting himself in position to counterattack. He forced the Captain backward with a dizzying array of moves, nearly scoring a hit several times, though the twinkle in Headen’s eye told Luke he was playing with him, much the way he had played with Conall earlier.

  Luke took a couple of steps back, his face red with effort and sweat spilling from his brow. To his credit, Headen, too, had a sheen of sweat on his face, telling Luke that he had not been playing with him quite as much as he’d first thought.

  “If ye have a chance tae finish an enemy,” he snarled at the Captain. “Ye daenae play games. Tis what ye berated us for, eh?”

  Luke feinted to the left and spun back, slashing from the right. Headen had fallen for the feint but managed to get his sword back around in time to deflect the blow, though just barely. Luke lashed out with his foot, catching Headen in the stomach, driving him backward with a grunt. He raised his eyes to Luke, and all sense of mirth in them was gone. He looked angry.

  “Tis what ye told us, eh?” Luke spat. “This is nay game. Ye finish yer enemy and move on tae thae next. Tis what ye said, eh? Ye bleedin’ hypocrite.”

  “Aye, tis what I said.”

  Headen launched himself at Luke again, his blade coming at Luke from all different angles seemingly at once. The Captain’s face was contorted with strain and dark with anger. Luke had gotten under his skin, whether with his words, or the fact that he was proving to be more competent with a blade than Headen had thought, he didn’t know. Nor did he care. All that mattered to Luke was that he had the Captain off his game and unbalanced with anger.

  As Headen slashed from the left, Luke spun to the right - the same move he’d used on Conall - and ended up behind him. He stood still for a heartbeat, shocked the Captain had fallen for it. But knowing that every moment counted, he stepped forward and drove his boot into Headen’s backside, sending him sprawling forward.

  The Captain hit the ground face first, splattering his face in a puddle of mud. The crowd erupted into fits of hysterical laughter, which seemed to enrage him even more. Headen got to his feet, his face a mask of fierce determination. The Captain came at him again, driving him back with a flurry of precise, lethal strikes. Luke dug his feet in and parried Headen’s blows. Both men were red-faced, breathing heavily, and covered with a sheen of sweat.

  They were in close, and Luke locked Headen’s sword with his crossguard. His muscles strained, and he grunted, trying to keep the Captain from breaking his grip. Headen shifted his stance, and Luke felt the crossguard slipping. He had
scant moments to act. With a growl that was more animal than human, he drove his knee upward and straight into the Captain’s groin with all the force he could muster.

  Headen’s eyes widened, and a choked wheeze passed his lips. He staggered backward, his face contorted in a rictus of pain. Luke stepped forward and drove the crossguard of his sword into the Captain’s face. He heard the sharp crack of the man’s nose and watched as the blood immediately began to flow, mixing with the mud and creating a nightmare visage. Headen fell to his knees and put a hand over his nose, looking up at Luke with eyes that were strangely amused.

  “Tae thae first blood, eh?” Luke said. “I suppose that means I win.”

  The crowd around them had fallen entirely silent, and Luke could feel the eyes of everybody around them on him. It was like the world was holding its breath and a current of stunned disbelief crackled in the air around the sparring circle. Looking green and like he might be sick, Headen got to his feet and drove the point of his blade into the ground at his feet. And still, the world held its breath.

  Then the sound of somebody clapping shattered the silence. Luke turned to see Baron Begbie standing at the edge of the sparring circle and began laughing as he clapped. He hadn’t noticed the baron before and suddenly felt awkward as if he’d done something wrong. His deep, rumbling voice rolling like thunder across the land. Headen soon joined his laughter - whistling and nasally as it sounded through his broken nose.

  “Dinnae I tell ye, Baron?”

  “Aye. I was wrong,” the baron replied. “Tis a pleasant surprise.”

  Waves of disbelief and confusion washed over him. Luke had no idea what was going on. Soon enough, everybody around the circle began applauding along with Baron Begbie, though they too looked as confused as Luke felt.

  Headen winced as he bumped his nose while he tried to wipe the mud off his face. He looked at Luke and nodded.

  “I kent ye had it in ye,” he said.

  “Come, Luke,” Baron Begbie said. “Get yerself cleaned up and then meet me in thae great hall. Ye get yerself cleaned up tae, Captain. Ye’re a bleedin’ mess.”

  “Aye, Baron,” Headen chuckled.

  The two men walked off, leaving Luke to stand there confused, not knowing what had just happened. As the other men stared at him with something like curiosity, but definitely newfound respect, Luke shifted on his feet. He never liked being the center of attention as it was. He liked this even less.

  But then Conall was beside him, a wide and goofy grin upon his face. He nudged Luke in the ribs.

  “Looks like ye’re movin’ up in thae world, eh?” he remarked.

  Luke shrugged. “I’ve got no bleedin’ idea what’s happenin’ right now.”

  “Well, go and get yer arse cleaned up and find out,” he countered. “Just daenae forget yer good friend Conall when ye start movin’ in them fancy bleedin’ social circles.”

  “I could never forget ye, even if I tried, Conall,” Luke said. “And believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Conall laughed heartily and clapped him on the back. Luke finally walked away to get himself cleaned up, his mind still rippling with waves of confusion. He didn’t know what that whole display was. Or what the Captain had told the baron about him. Or why they’d seen fit to wager on him. None of it made sense.

  But as he made his way out of the practice field, Luke figured that, like it or not, he was about to find out.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Twas quite a display ye put on out there,” Baron Begbie said.

  Luke shrugged. “Twas lucky a few times.”

  “That’s a bleedin’ load of shite,” Headen said. “False modesty isnae a good look for ye. Ye beat me. Tis nay shame in admittin’ it.”

  “I daenae think it’s false modesty,” Begbie said. “I think we’ve got a genuinely modest lad here. Ye could take a few lessons in bein’ humble from him, Headen.”

  The Captain chuckled as he tore into a roasted leg of chicken, the juices of it running down his chin and making his beard glisten. An inappropriate image of him looking like that last night with Aileas flashed through his mind, and he had to stifle a smirk.

  He sat at a table with Baron Begbie and Captain Headen, trying to shake off the surreal feeling of it all. Headen had cleaned himself up, but his face was already bearing the dark bruises of their earlier encounter. His nose was swollen and red, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. If he bore Luke any ill will about the affair though, he didn’t show it. In fact, Luke thought he looked to be in an exceptionally bright mood, all things considered.

  “Eat, lad,” the baron instructed. “Daenae let this food go to waste.”

  Luke reached out and took a few pieces of chicken and some roasted vegetables, hard cheese, and brown bread. Everything smelled fantastic, and he tucked into his meal with the zeal of a man who’s worked up an honest appetite. Luke nodded to himself as he ate… The food tasted every bit as good as it smelled.

  As he took a bite of a chicken leg, he cut a surreptitious glance at his lunch companions. They were both eating heartily, and the conversation was minimal, and not for the first time, Luke wondered what he was doing there. If the baron had wanted an update on Aileas, he certainly didn’t need to feed him a lavish meal for it. Nor did he need to go through the spectacle of fighting the Captain in the sparring circle.

  “How’s thae food?” the baron asked, then took a long swallow of ale from his flagon.

  “Tis far better fare than what I cook for meself, Baron Begbie,” Luke admitted.

  The baron waved him off. “Enough with the Baron Begbie shite,” he said. “Just call me Fin. Please.”

  “Of course, Baron.”

  Headen snickered then stuffed some bread into his mouth. The baron looked at him, a small grin quirking a corner of his mouth upward. It was only then that Luke realized what had amused them so. He grinned to himself and shook his head.

  “Tis good that ye can laugh at yerself,” the baron said.

  “Lad’s had tae get used tae it, I’d wager,” Headen replied. “Had tae, with so many people laughin’ at him.”

  The baron chuckled, and Headen looked pleased with himself. Luke flashed him a grin.

  “Sounded more like they was laughin’ at ye today out in thae sparrin’ circle, eh?”

  Headen grimaced but inclined his head to Luke, conceding the point. That only seemed to make the baron laugh harder.

  “He’s clever, this one,” he said.

  “Nae half as clever as he thinks,” Headen said with a grin.

  They made their way through the food on the table, and slowly, as their meal progressed, Luke started to feel somewhat more comfortable in their presence. He was surprised to find that both men laughed more than he’d expected, told crude and bawdy jokes, and seemed to enjoy having a good time. Given that he’d only ever seen either of them when they had scowls and dark expressions on their faces, it was something that Luke hadn’t expected.

  Eventually, the meal was done, and the baron’s household staff arrived to clear the table, removing the plates and leaving them with nothing but a pitcher of ale and their flagons on the table before them. The baron turned to him, a quizzical light in his eyes.

  “I’m sure ye’re wonderin’ why ye’re here, eh?” he asked.

  Luke nodded. “Thae thought had crossed me mind, aye.”

  He shrugged. “I was hungry and dinnae want to put lunch off tae talk tae ye. So, call it good timin’.”

  Luke laughed. The baron was much more relaxed and clever than he’d ever thought, and though he had always been loyal to his household, was willing to die for the man if needs be, Luke realized that he actually liked the man.

  “Thae first thing was we wanted tae see how ye handled yerself in a fight. Like I told ye before, Captain Headen there said ye had thae skills tae be among me best fighters,” the baron went on. “He said ye just needed tae be pushed a little tae get there. Said ye always held yerself back.”

  �
��And I was right about that, eh?” Headen chimed in. “First scrub out there who managed tae score a hit on me. Let alone bloodied me bleedin’ nose.”

  “Aye. Twas impressive, I’ll say that,” Begbie said with a laugh.

  Luke sat back in his chair and took a long swallow of his ale. Somewhere inside of him, he hoped that all of this was a prelude to something bigger. Surely, they would not have gone to such trouble just to compliment him on his skill with a blade. A flicker of hope sparked inside of him, and Luke found himself wondering if perhaps, they were going to accept him into the Black Wolves. If maybe, his test in the sparring ring against Captain Headen was the final test.

  The baron looked at him. “I wanted tae ken about thae task I set ye, lad. Have ye gotten close tae this Alice Garnier?”