Secrets of a Highland Warrior

by Nicole Locke

  Could he be left-handed? It was rare, so rare. She couldn’t be certain. For it appeared he used his sword with his right, his dining knife with his right, yet she was an observer. He wasn’t as fluid with his right hand as he was with his left. As if he forced himself to use that hand instead of his dominant hand. Why did he do it?

  It was almost as if he was trying to prove himself. He had nothing to prove. All she knew with certainty was that his name was Rory and he was left-handed. If what she was just beginning to guess was true, however, his very existence changed everything.

  When the Great Feud began seventy years ago, the story as she’d been told was that a Lochmore woman fell in love with the McCrieff Chief and grew ripe with his child. For unknown reasons, she married Lochmore’s Chief instead. When the McCrieff child and woman died, it broke the McCrieff Chief’s heart. She’d found the story sadly tragic as a child, but it was the baby’s death she mourned the most. That baby was also named Rory. What if he had lived? As a child herself, it had made her think about life and death and she’d often asked Rhona questions.

  However, when Magnus was killed, she knew without a doubt she wanted to be a healer.

  So she’d followed Rhona, the clan healer, who couldn’t at the time have been that old and was disgruntled that a pesky child hounded her. They soon became very close. Years later, she was able to care for Rhona when she was dying.

  Ailsa took great pains to care for her alone, for Rhona, as a healer, knew many clan secrets and at the end of her life she mumbled when she hurt, when she slept. And Ailsa heard many secrets, especially one that would change the course of their clans for ever.

  Ailsa couldn’t get it out of her thoughts now. That Hamish had raped a woman named Marion from the Clan McNeill, that the babe born of that rape was given to another family and one outside the clan. Never liking Hamish, Ailsa had been fiercely glad that child escaped.

  Yet, could that babe born of hate have been given to Lochmore’s Chief and passed as his own? Could Rory be Hamish’s son? For Rory was large and left-handed like Hamish. To have one or the other traits was unique—to carry both was rare. Rory would be fully a McCrieff then. There would be no need for a feud or poison or finding a killer. He wouldn’t have to prove himself.

  She was tired, worried. Perhaps even grasping at any ideas to make her marriage to Rory work. There was danger here and she was married to a stranger who was kind one moment and cutting the next.

  Though she felt something for Rory, she didn’t know him. At first, she thought there could be peace, but not as long as Paiden lay ill and possibly dying. She felt so helpless with his care, hopeless she couldn’t have just married a man she fell in love with.

  And she couldn’t call him by his name. That was telling how deep her conflict went. She knew, he, too was conflicted. They’d said their vows, but he hadn’t taken her maidenhead.

  She knew her secrets, what were his? It was too much to think about. Too many uncertainties. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her.

  Under no circumstances could Rory be Hamish’s son and a McCrieff. Under no circumstances could he be named after the McCrieff babe who died in the Great Feud. It was too fantastical to be true.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Where are you going?’

  A child’s voice chimed behind Rory as he stormed out of the almost-empty castle. A few of his men had been at the end of the hallway. Enough to give privacy and security. With so much unsettled, he ordered them to stay.

  ‘You’re him, are you not? You’re the one everyone’s talking about.’ Another voice. Just as young, just as avoidable.

  ‘Of course it’s him. We’ve seen everyone else.’ Two childish voices, girls, moving in close behind him. Their words beginning to register, though he continued to ignore them. Where was Ailsa’s father? The keep was small, the rooms mostly empty except for those cleaning from the night before.

  Paiden and Hamish were both sleeping beyond that of normal rest. Was it a coincidence? Ailsa didn’t seem surprised that Hamish was sleeping, but she did seem concerned. Hamish could merely be suffering from his illness...or he could be suffering from the same poison as Paiden.

  ‘We haven’t been allowed to see everyone. He could be anyone.’

  ‘You know that’s him. We saw him yesterday with Ailsa.’

  ‘From a distance.’

  Louder, a hint of that tone and pitch only children arguing could hit. He’d walked away from the keep, around a corner, and they were still there. He wouldn’t find Frederick at this rate. Stopping abruptly, he turned.

  Only to be almost ploughed into by two girls with longer limbs than bodies.

  The one on his right immediately straightened and brushed her skirts, the other pointed her finger at him and announced, ‘You’re him!’

  Eyes with more brown than green. Hair with more orange than darkening sunsets. But there was no mistaking them for anyone other than Ailsa’s identical sisters.

  ‘I’m him.’

  The one who pointed hit her sister in the chest.

  The one who straightened her gown merely jutted her chin and raised her brow. ‘Ailsa’s not out here.’

  Rory blinked. These girls were mirrors of each other and they equally shared their older sister’s blunt speech, but their mannerisms were very different.

  He’d been trained as a warrior, a man to follow his father into battle, a man to lead. His first reaction to such directness was to immediately answer. A habit he would break. He was married to a McCrieff and McCrieffs didn’t seem to obey the same niceties.

  ‘And you are?’ he enquired instead.

  The stiff-backed one sighed as if put out, the one who pointed her finger sniggered. ‘It won’t matter because you won’t know.’

  ‘So you are impolite?’ he said.

  One blushed, the other did not. ‘It’s not as if you told us who you are.’

  ‘True, but being clever you already guessed. So my guess is that you are my wife’s sisters who were ordered to stay away from me.’

  Now both blushed.

  At least when it came to these McCrieffs he could retain some control. ‘So, if you want to keep in my good graces, or if you wish me to keep secrets, the least I can acquire are names.’

  Silence from them both. If they stood out here much longer, they’d be discovered and any secrets they wanted to hide would be lost. Of course, maybe they wanted to be discovered in his presence. Though he didn’t know why their identity was being kept from him. Was it simply him being a Lochmore or something else?

  A slight shuffling of feet, an elbow in the ribs, and the fussy one sighed. ‘We’re Gormlaith and Grizel.’

  Ah, so that’s how it was to be played. With a nod towards the more violent one, he said, ‘Well, good hunting day to you, Grizel.’ When she gasped, Rory nodded his head to her sister, who straightened her spine. ‘And a pleasant day for you, Gormlaith.’

  ‘Who told you?’ Grizel said in equal parts awe and cross.

  Rory shrugged. ‘Just as you’ve been kept away from me, I’ve been kept away from you.’

  ‘Then you guessed?’ Gormlaith said with an imperial brow raised.

  ‘That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?’ he said, turning away. He was intrigued by the two sisters. Very much so, and in the brief time since he met them, he envied their sibling rivalry. He’d found that kind of comraderie with Paiden, which was why he wasn’t about to lose him.

  ‘What if it isn’t for us to find out?’

  Rory turned back to face the two girls who hadn’t moved. How old could they be? They were so much younger than their sister and it begged questions. He had so many already.

  ‘You were meant to stay away from me—what will happen if we’re caught?’

  Grizel gave a grin. ‘Nothing. Father told us to.’

  Gormlaith scoff
ed. ‘Grizel! He shouldn’t know!’

  Yet he did know. Ailsa almost confirmed it.

  ‘Why not?’ Grizel said. ‘It’s not as if it hasn’t been amusing.’

  ‘Amusing,’ Rory repeated. ‘Since you both stayed away so well, I thought it was Hamish who ordered it.’

  Both girls paled. Grizel managed to shake her head, but Gormlaith looked ready to faint.

  The girls’ response only confirmed what he needed to do. ‘Amusing or not, I’ll make my way so we don’t get caught...’ He gave the girls a wink before he turned to leave, but the uneasiness prevailed.

  There was much wrong in Clan McCrieff and Hamish, though bedridden, was still ruling or at least people were obeying because they feared him. It wasn’t unusual for chiefs to rule when sick, but Hamish was truly ill if not dying while Frederick commanded the clan and sat at the high table.

  But that simply revealed the difficulty he found himself in. Was he to believe Hamish, who couldn’t wake, or Frederick, whom he couldn’t find, when it came to King Edward’s decree being honoured? If Hamish still ruled, then why did he feel that Frederick wasn’t ruling according to the Chief’s wishes? There was much to support this. The girls’ paling, Frederick’s proposal and then his guarding the door of the small room.

  Too many questions and too much at stake, and he’d married into this. Whatever this was. It could be a folly or he could bring great fortune to Lochmores.

  To Lochmores. Could he say that any more? He’d married a McCrieff. The Tanist’s daughter. He shared a night in her bed. Folly or not. Marriage consummated or not. The curiosity and intrigue he felt with Ailsa only increased with desire and need. Something he either needed to end now or be completed. But first, he would talk to her father.

  * * *

  In the end, it wasn’t Rory who found Frederick, but rather the old warrior who found him. Hours had passed, Rory was hungry, worried for Paiden and restless with an understanding that he been too long without Ailsa. At first, he’d wandered, believing he’d find Frederick naturally, but as the sun continued to rise, he asked his whereabouts. From some, he was given different directions from others, a narrowed gaze or a tightened jaw. He suspected this, too, had something to do with the clan differences, but what he didn’t know.

  More seething frustration until he turned another corner. ‘Ah, there you are!’ Boomed Frederick as he emerged from a nondescript hut. It was neither in ill repair nor in a fine state. It also did not look like a home or a building to hold wares.

  It was, however, the perfect location if a Tanist needed privacy from a dying chief, or from a new son-in-law who was from an enemy clan.

  Rory waited for Frederick to walk closer. ‘Yes, here I am,’ he said, as if Frederick was truly looking for him. A lie and they both knew it. He continued the ruse for other ears by saying, ‘I apologise for not being where we agreed. I don’t know my way around yet.’

  Frederick’s brow rose, a tiny gleam of relief and wariness in his eyes as he nodded. ‘The mews are not as large, I’m sure, as Lochmore’s, but they are very fine indeed. I’ll show you the way and next time, you’ll not be so lost.’

  The mews. He didn’t care for birds. They were useful for small game, but too unpredictable for him to find any fascination with. He lived with enough uncertainty in his life, he didn’t need to add any more to it. Birds frustrated him, as did Frederick’s discussion of them. Rory wanted to confront the spies that kept their eyes and ears on them, not talk of birds.

  He was at a disadvantage with too many unpredictable perils surrounding him. Too many dangers and Paiden had been the one to pay. Even now his friend could be drawing his last breath and he was out here being followed by two children and a man who had answers, but didn’t share them.

  ‘We need to talk,’ he said.

  ‘Your man still lives?’

  Rory nodded. ‘Or we wouldn’t be talking.’

  Frederick’s lips thinned, but he gave a curt nod. ‘How fares my daughter?’

  ‘Why do you ask me of her?’

  Frederick’s gaze pierced his. ‘It was her marriage night.’

  Ah. Tanist. Father. ‘You have many roles here.’

  ‘Not as many as some.’

  Rory suspected he had more. ‘You should ask her how it went if you truly want to know.’

  A flush upon his wrinkled cheeks. ‘Probably not.’

  They kept their pace slow, steady, allowing many to see them. Villagers, some he recognised from earlier, greeted them. Most went about their day, but many stopped and simply watched. Rory resented their gawking, but not as much as he resented being manipulated.

  He might not have had a sword to the back of his neck since he arrived, but he felt it all the same. Still, it had been his decision to marry Ailsa. There was much to gain here, but only if he did it on his terms, not the McCrieffs’ and certainly not Frederick’s.

  ‘Is there a reason you avoid your daughter this morning?’

  A frown. ‘I did not avoid her.’

  ‘Then it is I whom you didn’t want to see.’

  An abrupt stop as Frederick pointed. ‘Here we are.’

  Rory gazed at the simple, tall building that he’d walked past many times today.

  ‘You don’t want to go in,’ Frederick said.

  Mews smelled, feathers flew and, if the birds inside were loose, he’d have waste splattered on him. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

  Smiling, he pushed the door and walked in and Frederick quickly closed it after them.

  The building was large, the bird collection...not so much. Three hunting birds at most. Not enough to foul the air or his clothing.

  ‘So this is where we talk?’

  ‘This is where it is private with also a plausible reason to be here.’

  They were followed through the village. ‘We won’t have privacy for long.’

  ‘No.’

  So what to talk about? Why Frederick had avoided him this morning, or about his youngest daughters or should he talk about Paiden and the possible killer? There had been no outbreaks today between the McCrieffs and the Lochmores, but he’d talked to his men, they were taking turns at watch. Thus far there was a temporary truce, but they could not keep that schedule and remain safe. Eventually, someone’s guard or temper would slip and either a sword or poison would fell another Lochmore.

  Paiden. Everything in him roared to help his friend. Instead he asked, ‘What was the meeting about?’

  Frederick folded his arms. ‘I’m Tanist. It is common for council to be conducted.’

  It wasn’t a usual council and they knew it. ‘I married your daughter; we’ve gone beyond those border conflicts, haven’t we?’

  ‘You’re not a McCrieff. The border still exists. As I said, I’ll remain Tanist and I’ll keep the control of this clan.’

  Rory stepped back in agitation. The birds skittered on their perches. ‘And the King’s decree?’

  ‘It will stand with no dispute. This I promise you. Can you promise not to claim more?’

  Rory should have expected this, but hadn’t. He’d kept his eyes so focused on the future for his own issue, he wasn’t thinking about now. Striding to the opposite wall, he leaned against it, settling in as the birds settled. ‘My father is Chief and he will decide on Lochmore’s clan. But I offer you congratulations that you married me to a McCrieff, thinking he’d be loath to fight against my chosen family.’

  Frederick gave an audible sigh and released his arms. Rory wouldn’t give him the benefit of relief.

  ‘But know this, if Lochmore’s interests are compromised, it won’t matter whether I married your daughter or not. If you keep your power, I, too, will keep mine.’

  ‘What are you, then?’ Frederick said. ‘Lochmore or McCrieff?’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have figured that out before you offered her
? You may hope for a peace in the future, but we’re both involved in the present. Right now, I have the right to know what the secret meetings are about.’

  ‘Secret?’

  Rory made a pointed glance to the door. ‘We have little time, remember?’

  With a glance at the airways above their head, Frederick moved to the wall Rory leant against.

  Rory kept his posture casual as Frederick approached. Even so, he could see that he was a large man who had maintained his training. Which begged the question, how much control and power did Frederick wield? ‘Are there stronger warriors than you here?’

  ‘Hamish. In his prime, he was as large as a mountain and no one would argue with him.’

  ‘But he’s not in his prime, is he?’

  ‘He’s been ill for many seasons now...’

  ‘In body or mind?’

  Frederick huffed. ‘Wise, aren’t you?’

  ‘You wouldn’t want your daughter to be married to a simpleton.’

  ‘It would be simpler.’

  ‘Because you need deception.’

  Frederick raised his finger to his lips. ‘I have followed my Chief all my life. I am Tanist, true, but Hamish still rules.’

  ‘But he doesn’t know of my marriage to your daughter.’

  ‘She is my daughter. Whom she marries is of no concern of his.’

  Ah. ‘Except when he poisons my friend or will you suggest your own people did that?’

  Frederick rubbed his hands over his face. The years were showing on him, but it was the toil of the situation that weighed more heavily. Rory felt the weight on his own shoulders, but he’d have no mercy.

  ‘Hamish will not survive the year,’ Frederick said. ‘Edward made his decree and there was no time to waste; otherwise, everything would have stayed as it had been. I would not have willingly gone against the wishes of my Chief.’

  ‘There would have been a battle for the land,’ Rory said, no question in his voice. No question in his gut as well. It had been easy to traverse McCrieff land because it should not have happened.