Highland Defender

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I’m not his wife.”

  “Ye’re lying!”

  “And ye’re imagining things that arena there. Ye have a touch of madness, Colly. Ye always have.”

  That was all it took for Colly to charge.

  Unfortunately for the old woman, she didn’t move very swiftly. That gave Lucia time to dodge out of the way. Colly crashed into the wardrobe, ramming her shoulder into it as Lucia moved to the door. Just as she opened it, Colly charged again and slammed it shut, narrowly missing slamming it on Lucia’s hand.

  “What do ye want from me?” Lucia demanded, her fear taking hold now that Colly was clearly intent on hurting her. “I told ye I am not his wife. I told ye it is not the same man. What more do ye want from me?”

  Colly picked up a small three-legged stool and wielded it like a club. “I want the truth,” she snarled. “Ye’ve been a thorn in my side since ye arrived at Meadowbank, and that is going tae end today. I’ll beat the truth out of ye.”

  She came at Lucia with the stool raised over her head. Lucia ducked behind her sewing table and Colly brought the stool down on the tabletop, sending everything scattering. Thread, needles, fabric—everything went flying, including a big pair of iron scissors that Lucia used to cut fabric. As Lucia ducked underneath the table, she picked up the scissors from the floor.

  She had to protect herself.

  Just as Lucia came out from under the table, Colly swung the stool again, clipping Lucia in the shoulder. She screeched, lurching to her feet and running to hide behind the wardrobe because Colly was blocking the door.

  “Tell me the truth!” Colly boomed. “Tell me the truth or ye’ll regret it! Ye and the man are conspiring against Lady Currie, are not ye? Ye’ve brought him here as part of a terrible plan!”

  Lucia had the open wardrobe door in front of her, a shield from Colly and her stool, but the woman was slamming the stool into the wardrobe door, battering Lucia on the other side.

  “Go away!” Lucia roared, clutching the scissors like a dagger. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  Colly was beating on the doors, splintering them with the strength of her blows. She may have been old, but she was surprisingly strong.

  “Ye were going tae kill Lady Currie, werena ye?” she shouted. “Tell me the truth, ye little chit! Tell me!”

  The stool managed to take out a chunk of the door, sending splinters into the side of Lucia’s face. Gasping, she pulled out two big ones, leaving small wounds on her jaw.

  “Ye’re mad!” she screamed. “Get out of here and leave me alone!”

  Colly wasn’t listening. Fury was feeding her, making her irrational. When the stool disintegrated in her hand, she tossed it aside and yanked open the battered wardrobe door, revealing Lucia cowering on the other side.

  What Colly didn’t see were the scissors in Lucia’s hand. She didn’t see them until she grabbed Lucia by the neck and Lucia brought up the shears.

  By then it was too late. Lucia plunged the scissors into Colly’s neck and blood erupted. The old woman emitted a gurgling cry, grabbing the hilt of the scissors as she toppled over onto Lucia’s bed. She lay there, twitching and trying to speak, pulling at the scissors that wouldn’t come free. But it was no use; death was imminent. Sightless eyes gazed up at the ceiling as she breathed her last.

  Lucia stood there, hands on her mouth in horror as she realized that she had just killed the woman. It had all happened so fast. But she knew, without a doubt, that Colly had meant to kill her, so she’d had little choice but to defend herself. Years of contention between the two of them, and Colly’s impulsive brutality, had built to this point.

  The door to her chamber was closed but Lucia knew that others had heard the fight. There was no way they could not have. Shaking with fear, she knew that she had to leave immediately. Lady Currie would be devastated about Colly’s death, and she would turn her grief against Lucia, even if the woman had acted in the effort of self-preservation. Punishment would be swift and severe, no matter if it had been justified.

  Therefore, she had to go.

  Now.

  With trembling hands, Lucia pulled her satchel out from underneath the bed and sealed it up. Colly was lying on her bed, with blood now starting to drip onto the floor, so Lucia tossed a blanket over the woman and covered her up. She didn’t know why she did it; she wasn’t thinking clearly. It wasn’t as if the blanket could cover up the increasingly widening pool of blood.

  Lucia cracked the door open to see who was out in the corridor. She could hear voices, but she couldn’t see anyone. Surprisingly, the corridor seemed vacant. Silently, she slipped through the door, closing it so quietly that it didn’t make a sound. With her satchel in hand, she headed for the servants’ stairs that were directly across from her chamber, taking the darkened steps to an alcove on the first floor.

  From there, she bolted for the stables.

  * * *

  The horse was spirited, no doubt. Even putting the saddle on the animal had it jumping around as Bane labored to secure it. Angus and Tynan were standing by, watching Bane wrestle with the horse.

  “Are ye going tae ride him, Bane?” Tynan said excitedly, trying to avoid hooves that were as big as his head. “Does he have a name?”

  Bane grinned at the enthusiastic child whom Angus had evidently been training in the ways of the stables since Bane had left.

  “I dunna know if he has a name,” he said. “Angus? Do ye?”

  The old man had a half-chewed piece of green grass hanging from his lips. “When Laird Currie purchased this horse, he named it after the immortal steed owned by the Roman god of war,” he said. “His name is Aethon.”

  Bane looked at the animal. It was white with a hint of gray, which made it look silver. Its mane was dark gray, as was its tail, giving it a striking appearance.

  “Aethon,” he said. “I like it. What say ye, Tynan?”

  The boy nodded eagerly. “It’s magical.”

  “Aye, it is.”

  “Where will ye take the horse, Bane?”

  Bane looked at the child, hearing something wistful in that tone. The little boy had attached himself to Bane when he’d been here the first time, and now it was as if he’d never left. Tynan adored Bane. Truth be told, Bane loved Tynan, as well. He was going to be sad to leave him behind.

  “Far away,” he said quietly as he finished securing the saddle. “Have ye been tae the Highlands, lad?”

  Tynan shook his head. “I’ve only been here.”

  Bane came away from the horse. “The Highlands are a place of beauty and magic,” he said. “There are big mountains of the greenest green and lochs of the bluest blue. ‘Tis a beautiful place.”

  “Will ye take me there sometime?”

  “If yer mother allows it.”

  Tynan left his post by the horse, coming to stand in front of Bane. “I dunna want tae work in a house like my da did,” he said. “I want tae fight, like ye. Will ye let me fight with ye?”

  Bane smiled, mussing the boy’s straw-like hair. “That is up tae Laird Currie,” he said. “When ye’re old enough, mayhap I’ll ask him if ye can come with me tae the Highlands and learn tae fight. Would ye like that?”

  Tynan’s face lit up. “I would!” he said. “Can Mam come with me?”

  “If Laird Currie says so.”

  Tynan was delighted with the prospect of learning to fight with Bane. He picked up a horse brush and began to dance around, trying to brush the horse, but the animal was skittish and didn’t want a dancing boy near him.

  Bane finally had to put a big hand on Tynan’s shoulder to settle the lad down, and he stopped wriggling long enough to brush the horse’s left front leg and part of his torso. Bane watched the boy for a moment before turning to Angus.

  “When I’m gone, ye’ll watch out for him, willna ye?” he asked quietly. “He�
�s a good lad. I worry about him here and how much they work him.”

  Angus chewed on his grass as he looked over at the child eagerly doing his task. “That’s why I brought him intae the stable,” he said. “He’s too young tae scrub floors and work the kitchens. He’s smart, too.”

  “I know.”

  “He doesna belong here. Bane, did ye mean what ye said? About taking him with ye?”

  “I never say anything I dunna mean.”

  Angus seemed relieved. “Good,” he said. “Come back for him and his mam soon. Take them both with ye, away from Lady Currie and her nurse. That woman is the devil.”

  Bane knew that but refrained from agreeing. He was simply glad they were finally able to leave it all behind. His belongings were tied onto the back of the saddle, and he took a few steps toward the open stable door, looking up into the sky. It was nearing dusk. Lucia should come around soon. He was just turning away from the door when something in the yard caught his attention.

  Lucia was approaching.

  Bane tucked in behind the open door, watching her as she practically ran across the yard and darted into the stables.

  That was when he realized she was sobbing.

  “Lucia?” he said, rushing to her and grasping her by the arms. “What’s wrong? Why are ye weeping?”

  “We have to run,” she gasped. “Bane, we must leave now!”

  He looked at her with great concern, seeing dark droplets on her shoulder and hand. It didn’t take him long to realize it was blood. His eyes widened.

  “Bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “Are ye hurt? What happened?”

  She wiped at her eyes. “Colly attacked me,” she said. “She said she recognized ye. She tried to force me tae confess…something. I dunna even know what she wanted before she attacked me with a stool. She was trying tae kill me so I stabbed her with my scissors. I had no choice!”

  She was off on a crying binge and Bane pulled her against him, holding her tightly as the news settled in.

  The old nurse was dead?

  “God,” he finally hissed. “Where is she?”

  “In the manse,” Lucia wept. “Bane, we must run! We must leave before Lady Currie discovers her!”

  Bane understood the situation for what it was—critical. Even if Lucia had killed in self-defense, she was a servant and the magistrates would not look kindly upon her. If Lady Currie pushed hard enough, Lucia could be severely punished.

  She might even be executed.

  Not now, he thought in a panic. We’ve come too far tae see it all slip away now. God, not now!

  Leaving Lucia sobbing by the door, he rushed to the horse and unfastened the tethers. “We must leave,” he said to Angus and Tynan, who were standing there in shock. “If they come looking for us, deny ye ever saw us. ’Tis the only way ye’ll not be held accountable in this, so deny everything.”

  Angus nodded firmly. “No one would bother a silly old man,” he assured him. “Get along, Bane. Take the lady and go.”

  Bane didn’t need to be told twice. As he ran to the entry where Lucia was standing, leading Aethon behind him, Tynan scampered after him.

  “Bane!” he cried. “Will ye still let me fight for ye?”

  Bane turned to the child, who looked as if he were losing his best friend. He smiled at the lad. “Ye know I will,” he said. “When ye’re older, I’ll come for ye. Do ye believe me?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then be a good lad. Be strong for yer mother.”

  Tynan nodded, furiously wiping at his eyes so his tears would not be seen as Bane grasped Lucia by the hand and, together, the two of them rushed across the stable yard to the postern gate, which was unmanned and unwatched.

  Slipping through the gate, they mounted the horse and took off toward Edinburgh, leaving the heartache, death, and destruction of Meadowbank behind them.

  Forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The pounding on his door was frantic.

  Laird Currie was sitting at his cluttered table, counting out every single piece of silver that Bane had brought back to him. He was putting them into neat little stacks, at least those that were more uniform and could be stacked, but the rest of them ended up in a pile.

  He’d deduced that everything was there. Every single pence.

  And then the pounding on the door.

  He could hear a voice on the other side, begging him to open it. He knew it was his wife, so he let her pound a little while longer before he decided to answer. Throwing the heavy bolt, he pulled open the right-hand panel.

  Lady Currie was standing there, her pale face streaked with tears.

  “She’s dead!” Lady Currie blurted out. “She’s dead and Lucia killed her!”

  Laird Currie didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Who is dead, my dear?”

  “Colly!” Lady Currie sobbed. “Colly is dead and Lucia killed her. Murdered her. Now Lucia is nowhere to be found and I need your men to go and look for her because Bane is nowhere to be found, either!”

  The woman was hysterical. There were several servants standing behind her, all of them weeping and carrying on because their mistress was. All but one of them. Laird Currie recognized Amy, the woman who so ably dressed Lady Currie’s hair. He knew her because, years ago, Amy’s husband used to serve him. But Amy wasn’t shedding a tear. She stood there quietly, watching Lady Currie weep without reacting.

  Strange, indeed.

  “Calm yerself, my dear,” Laird Currie said to his wife. “Tell me what happened and why ye think little Lucia killed Colly.”

  Lady Currie had a kerchief in front of her face, weeping into it. “Because Colly suspected that Lucia was in league with my new warrior,” she said, not even bothering to catch herself as she personally claimed Bane by saying my new warrior. “Colly said that Lucia and Bane were plotting against me. She went to Lucia to force her to tell the truth, and Lucia killed her for it!”

  “Force her tae tell the truth? How was she tae do it?”

  “However she could! Beat her, frighten her—any way she could!”

  “So she threatened Lucia?”

  “I am sure she did, but Lucia deserved it!”

  “And ye say that Lucia killed the woman?”

  “She murdered her!”

  “Was it possible that she was defending herself from Colly?”

  Lady Currie’s mouth opened in outrage. “Never! Lucia murdered her, and that is all there is to it!”

  Laird Currie was starting to piece together what could have happened. He didn’t need anyone to explain that to him, knowing what he knew of Colly and the way she liked to slap the servants around. She was big and brutish, and Lucia was half her size. But his wife would never admit such a thing. Therefore, he looked at Amy, standing stoically away from the other servants, and motioned to her.

  “Ye, there,” he said. “Ye’re Amy, are ye not?”

  Amy perked up as she became the focus of attention. “Aye, m’laird.”

  “Yer husband was Robert.”

  Amy nodded quickly. “Aye, m’laird,” she said. “He used tae help Colm Symington. He would bring ye wood for yer fire and do other jobs around the manse.”

  “I remember him well,” Laird Currie said. “He became sickly a few years ago. A sickness in his lungs that killed him.”

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  “He was a good man.”

  “Thank ye, m’laird.”

  “What do ye know of this whole situation with Colly and Lucia? Did ye hear anything?”

  Amy looked at Lady Currie as the woman sobbed, clearly hesitant to speak. “I…I heard shouting,” she said. “I heard banging. Colly went in tae Lucia’s chamber and shut the door.”

  Laird Currie pondered that. “Banging and shouting,” he said. “Was it Colly or Lucia?”

&nb
sp; “Both, m’laird,” she said. “Colly was screaming about a confession, and Lucia told her tae go away.”

  “I see,” Laird Currie said. “Amy, I will ask ye a question and I want a truthful answer.”

  “Of course, m’laird.”

  “Has Colly ever beaten ye?”

  Amy froze, fearful of replying, but after a moment she lowered her gaze. “Aye, she has, m’laird.”

  “And have ye seen her beat other servants?”

  “Aye, m’laird.”

  “What does this have to do with anything?” Lady Currie demanded, suddenly not so tearful. “Colly has my permission to discipline the servants. There is no crime in that.”

  Laird Currie looked at her. “My dear, Colly was a brute who took delight in beating the servants for the slightest misstep,” he said. “Ye think I dunna know that, but I do. The day she came here with ye is the day she started slapping my servants around as if she had the right. She seemed tae have a particular dislike for Lucia, or so I’ve heard. Colly wasna a saint. She was a nasty, brutal woman.”

  Lady Currie looked stricken. “She…she was no such thing!”

  “Aye, she was,” Laird Currie said. “I let it go on and shouldna have. I should have put a stop tae it back then, but I was a coward. I retreated intae my solar and let the fools run my house and hold.”

  “That’s not—!”

  “Wait,” Laird Currie said, putting up a hand to silence her. “I’m not finished. Based on the history of Colly and her delight in inflicting pain on others, ’tis my guess that Lucia was defending herself against Colly, who was twice as big. And ye thought it was a good idea for that woman tae interrogate Lucia over some imagined plot? Did it not occur tae ye that Colly merely wanted an excuse tae beat the lass?”

  Lady Currie was beside herself with horror. The man had no sympathy for her; that was clear. Her tears were gone, replaced by an astonishing sense of guilt and disbelief.

  “That is not true!” she insisted. “Colly was always faithful to me. She only did what she felt was in my best interest.”