A Highlander Forged In Fire (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “Ye cannae be serious, Fraser. There are a thousand ways that such a plan could go wrong, and they all end with ye being killed,” he said.

  “But if I dae nothin’, then what will become of her?” Fraser said, his frustration rising. “I cannae just leave her there at the mercy of those English fiends, and her father will nae let me join in any rescue attempt.”

  “Ye spoke with the Laird? Ye didnae tell him that ye and Isla had …” Duncan said, staring in greater disbelief at his brother, who nodded his head.

  “What have I to lose now, Duncan? Nothin’, that’s what. I love Isla, and I will nae rest until she is returned, and I intend to prove my love for her by rescuin’ her!” Fraser said, bringing his fist down hard on the table.

  “Whatever happened to the quiet life ye always wanted? Did ye nae once tell me that ye were happiest at the forge and about yer work and that ye had nae need of anythin’ else?” Duncan said.

  “Oh, I see, so ‘tis alright for ye to go off to the monastery and follow yer path, but yer brother must stay at home and mind the forge with nae thought for himself. Well, that is nae to be the case, Duncan,” Fraser said.

  “Aye, and ye have forbidden that happiness for me,” Duncan said, and he turned away from his brother, storming out of the cottage and slamming the door behind him.

  Fraser sighed. It had all seemed so easy at first. He would rescue Isla and return her safely home; the Laird would thank him and reward him by allowing the two to be together. But it was not so simple. The castle was impregnable, and despite his plan to gain entry, Fraser knew that Duncan was right and that there were a thousand ways in which his plan could go wrong; but he knew too that he loved Isla and could not see her at the mercy of those treacherous Musgraves.

  “I have to try,” he said to himself, lying down on his bed and closing his eyes.

  His lack of sleep was catching up with him, and lying down on his bed, he drifted into a restless unconsciousness, punctuated by strange dreams of apples and bodies strewn across a darkened battlefield.

  He awoke with a start, imagining he could hear a hammer bashing against metal. But as he opened his eyes and sat up, he realized it was someone hammering frantically at the door, and he called for them to come in.

  “Ye took yer time to answer. I thought ye were out,” Sweeney said, his face flushed from exertion as he caught his breath and took a sip from his hip flask.

  “And I thought ye and I were nae longer on speakin’ terms,” Fraser replied, stretching out groggily from his sleep. “‘Tis only the morning, and ye are already drunk.”

  “Aye, well, ye would take to yer drink too if ye had my life up at Kirklinton, but there is more ye should ken, and ‘tis nae time to hold grudges, nae when the clan is in such danger as ‘tis now. The Laird has gathered together a band of men, though ‘tis a hopeless mission. They intend to mount a raid upon the Musgrave castle, despite others warnin’ against it. There is nae way in hell they will get in there, nae without a force far greater than any along the borders. But the Laird is at his wit’s end, and he will nae listen to reason,” Sweeney said, shaking his head.

  “And when does he propose to mount this raid?” Fraser said, getting up and crossing over to the fire, which he proceeded to stoke back into life.

  “They are assembling at Kirklinton now. They will ride tonight, but they will fail. Have ye ever seen the castle of the Musgraves?” Sweeney said, shaking his head.

  “Fraser smiled to himself, though it was hardly a matter to find humor in. He knew as well as Sweeney and, no doubt, as well as Alistair Elliott himself that such an attempt was doomed. They would be shot full of arrows before they even reached the walls of the castle, and it was with a heavy heart that he listened to Sweeney’s description of the raiding party which the Laird had mounted.

  “Nae more than twenty men at most, and what he intends to dae when he gets there is anyone’s guess. ‘Tis a futile expedition and one which will only end in sorrow, mark my words. Some of them have passed too many seasons, and the others not enough. He is forcing men to their deaths, and for what? The hope that Sir Percy Musgrave will hand Isla over to him just like that, ‘tis foolish,” Sweeney said, taking out his hip flask.

  “I offered to help him,” Fraser replied, unwilling to reveal his own intentions of the rescue to the stable hand, who was now swigging whiskey and muttering against his master.

  “And ye would have died too, Fraser. Then who would shoe the horses' hooves,” Sweeney replied.

  “Is that all I am good for, shodding hooves?” Fraser replied, sighing and seating himself next to the fire.

  “‘Tis a noble enough pastime and one which is needed, whether we are on the English side or the Scots,” Sweeney replied, his words a little slurred.

  “So, ye wouldnae mind if we paid taxes to the English crown?” Fraser said, turning on Sweeney, who shook his head.

  “I am weary of war, that is all, and if Alistair Elliott thinks he can just march across the border and demand the return of his daughter, then he is sorely mistaken. Good day to ye, Fraser, and I suggest that for yer own good, ye stay out of the way of the Laird, ye hear me?” Sweeney said, and he stumbled out of the cottage.

  Fraser sighed and warmed his hands at the fire. Sweeney was right. It was a hopeless mission, and the Laird would surely find his men defeated, or worse, killed in any attempt to rescue Isla. But was his own plan any less foolhardy? He had no sense of what would happen if he could get inside the castle. He knew not where Isla was being held. She could be in the dungeons or some far off room, locked away. It all seemed so futile.

  Fraser looked around him at the cottage and walked out to the workshop. The forge was barely alive, a plume of smoke rising slowly. He threw some logs on it, the wood spitting as it hit the flames. Idly he picked up his tools, placing a horseshoe upon the anvil, and began to hammer it. The metal sounded harsh, as he rained down blow upon blow, before suddenly throwing the hammer to one side in frustration.

  “This? Is this it?” he asked, a tear in his eye.

  This was not the life he had imagined, and he looked down at the discarded tools, angry at himself for his foolish behavior. As a child, he had dreamed of so much, but somehow, he was always held back and had never come to realize the true ambitions of his heart. He wanted so much more than this, and he was jealous of Duncan for discovering his true vocation in life. Fraser knew that if he did not try to rescue Isla, then he would never find anything more than the life he had there in the blacksmith’s workshop.

  “I have to try,” he said, and with grim resolve, he began to prepare his rescue attempt, his mind ever on Isla, and the hope that very soon he would see her again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Isla had finished counting the floorboards. It was what she did to pass the time; that, and a myriad of other little tasks to keep her from going mad. She knew how many cracks were in the mirror and where the first ray of sun would fall when dawn broke. She knew how many paces it was from the end of the passage to the door, for she counted the footfalls of those who came to visit her, and how long it would take her to pace up and down the room a hundred times while counting in her head.

  She had been in this room for six days, or so she reckoned, and with each passing day, any hope of rescue became ever more unlikely. She knew that her father’s forces had been nearly obliterated on the battlefield, and Sir Percy had come to her to tell her with triumph that it would not be long before the castle at Kirklinton was overrun and an English flag planted on its battlements. She had remained defiant in the face of his glee and informed him that her father would fight to the death before he saw such a fate befall his clan.

  “And he shall have, my dear,” Sir Percy had replied, “just like your father before him. I burnt one Laird’s castle out, I am sure I can do it to another,” and he had gone off laughing to himself, leaving Isla feeling sick.

  Her only consolation, if it could be called that, these long days past, had bee
n the twice-daily arrival of Lena McGowan. Early in the morning and in the evening, the familiar footsteps would be heard coming down the corridor. The food was always the same, a thin gruel with an occasional vegetable floating in it accompanied by stale bread and water.

  At first, Lena had always been accompanied by a guard, but in the last few days, it had been Lena alone who had brought the food. The ritual would be much the same, she would place the tray outside the door and fumble with the rusty old lock. The door would be opened, and the servant girl would ask Isla how she was and lay the tray down before her. Lena’s was the only friendly face that Isla saw, the others being gruff guards or worse, that of Howard Musgrave, who visited her several times a day breathing threats and demanding answers about her father.

  Lena was different; she seemed to understand Isla’s pain, and as their twice-daily meetings continued, the two built up a rapport. Isla discovered that Lena was an outcast from across the border, though she would not say where from, and Isla did not push her on the subject. But it was clear that there was more to tell, and as the days went by, the trust between the two women continued to grow.

  “There we are, lass. I managed to place a ladle full more in yer bowl tonight, though ‘tis still precious little,” Lena said, setting down the tray before Isla, who began to eat hungrily.

  “Anythin’ is better than nothin’. Thank ye, Lena, ye are very kind,” Isla replied, looking up at her and smiling.

  “A kindness would be seein’ ye away from this wicked place, but alas, there is precious little hope of escape. That is why they nae longer send the guards with me. At the end of this corridor are stairs leading’ right down to the courtyard, and ye must pass the guard room and Sir Percy’s own chambers to get out,” Lena said, sighing.

  “Will ye sit down for a while? I should like the company,” Isla said, beckoning Lena forward.

  “Aye, for a moment, if only to rest my weary legs,” Lena said, settling herself down on the floor. “It shall nae be long before I am missed. They treat me far harsher than the other servants, and that is sayin’ somethin’ to be sure.”

  “Why dae ye remain here then? ‘Tis nae life for ye. Why can ye nae just leave here?” Isla said, dipping her bread in the soup.

  “I cannae just leave, lass. I am as much a prisoner here as ye are. I have nae set foot outside this castle in years, and only at the permission of Sir Percy. He says I owe him for his kindness,” she replied, sighing.

  “Owe him for what? The man has done nothin’ for ye but mistreat ye for all these years. Ye should be with yer own folks. Nae here in this place,” Isla replied. “What prevents ye?”

  Lena was silent for a moment, as though reluctant to speak, and she looked away sadly, a tear in her eyes.

  “I … just cannae; my place is here,” she replied.

  “If I ever get away from here, then ye are comin’ with me. Ye are the only person who has been kind to me, and I will nae forget that” Isla said, “and whatever it is that prevents ye from returnin’, well, I promise ye that my father will see to it that ye can go home.”

  Lena just gave her a weak smile and took up the empty bowl.

  “Ye are kind, lass, and ‘tis a long time since I have had a friendly word given me. But I cannae ever see ye getting’ away from here. We are both prisoners,” and she sighed again, “I shall ye in the mornin’. Sleep well, Isla, and God bless ye for yer kind words, though I doubt yer father would wish to see me again,” and before Isla could ask her what she meant, she was gone.

  It seemed a strange thing for Lena to say of her father, Isla thought to herself, and as she lay on the blankets that evening, she wondered what it was that Lena was keeping from her. Had she known her father years before? Perhaps she had even been a servant at Kirklinton, but her father had always been kind to the servants, and she had never heard of one being banished, not in her lifetime, certainly.

  She was restless that evening, and the floorboards felt particularly hard to lie on, despite the itchy blankets beneath her. Isla paced up and down the room, counting her steps as she went. Occasionally she paused, standing on tiptoe to look out of the window. It was a dark night, and she could see nothing but the vague outlines of the landscape in the distance. She imagined her father and the other clansmen, what was left of them, sitting in the hall at Kirklinton. Were they planning a rescue? And what of Fraser? Did he ken she was lost? Had he spoken with her father? She felt a sudden sense of guilt at having gone against his wishes in her meetings with the blacksmith, and she knew he would be cross if it had been discovered that she and Fraser had been secretly together.

  Sighing to herself, she lay down, a tear in her eye as she wondered what would become of her. Howard Musgrave had any number of threats, each one worse than the last. His latest was to tell her that he intended to marry her and thus further humiliate her father in his defeat. She had told him that she would rather die than marry him, and he had sneered that such a thing could still be arranged if she failed to co-operate.

  At last, sleep came upon her, and she dreamt of Fraser and her father. They were fighting, swords drawn, but suddenly her father appeared as Howard Musgrave, and he and Fraser were clashing swords. She awoke with a start, and to the sound of a key fumbling in the lock. It was not morning yet; the room still pitch dark, not even the light of a moon coming in from the window.

  “Who’s there?” she called out, terrified lest it be Howard Musgrave or his father, come to enact some wicked design upon her.

  But as the door opened, she breathed a sigh of relief, for it was Lena who now stood before her, though her face bore a terrified expression as she held a candle up above her.

  “Oh, miss, a terrible thing, and I had to come and warn ye. ‘Tis yer father. He has launched an attack on the castle. Sir Percy is on the walls now, though I fear ‘tis a terrible thing, a terrible thing indeed. Yer father’s men are nae match for the castle’s defenses,” she said, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Oh, my. He shouldnae have come. After the battle, there were precious few men left, and now he brings them here, on a futile mission to rescue me, has he …” she paused, the terrible thought crossing her mind that her father may now be lying dead beyond the castle walls.

  “I dinnae think so, lass, nae. I heard the call to arms about half an hour ago. ‘Tis still very early in the mornin’, and I was only just risin’ from my slumbers to begin my duties. They took the guards by surprise, but horses and swords are nae match for the walls of a castle. If yer father has any sense, which I think he does, he will have retreated. It was folly to come here, but folly is a sign of love, lass,” she said, holding out her arms to Isla, who rushed to embrace her.

  “I will never be free of this accursed place,” Isla said, tears now running down her cheeks.

  “One day ye will, I promise ye that. But for now, ye cannae allow Sir Percy and his wicked son to destroy yer spirit, lass. Ye have me, ye hear me, and I will always be yer friend here,” Lena said.

  “What a touching sentiment, Lena, one would almost think you were the girl’s mother the way you whine on. Go on, away with you, and do not be unlocking this door except to feed her, you hear me?” Sir Percy Musgrave said.

  He was standing in the doorway with his son behind him, and Lena curtseyed before giving Isla a reassuring nod and leaving the room.

  “Be wary of servant women, especially her,” Sir Percy said, entering the room.

  “‘Tis nae Lena I should be wary of, Musgrave,” Isla replied, turning her back on him.

  “Manners, girl, remember your manners,” Sir Percy said, catching hold of Isla’s shoulder and spinning her roughly around.

  Isla raised her hand, ready to slap him across the face, but Howard Musgrave caught her arm and twisted it around, causing her to cry out in pain.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” his father said, setting down his candle, as Howard continued to hold Lena in his arms as she struggled against his grip. “ Your father has caused us qu
ite some trouble this night, though what the fool expected to achieve in raiding a castle guarded by archers is quite beyond me.”

  “To rescue me from ye, that is what,” Isla replied.

  “Then he has failed, has he not? For you are still here, and he has gone limping back across the border with three fewer men than he came with and nothing to show for it. Very soon, your father will be dead, and the castle at Kirklinton will be mine. The borders will be secured, and the English flag raised where once the Scots roamed free. Now, you have a choice to make. Cooperation is the continuation of your sorry imprisonment. I will happily keep you locked in here for twenty years; it matters not to me, but I am sure you would prefer something more than this, would you not?” Sir Percy said, looking around him at the rudely furnished chambers, the first light of day now emerging through the window.

  Isla turned to him and fixed him with a stern stare, summoning every ounce of courage and anger which she possessed.