Highland Scandal

by Mageela Troche

  He had given her up. She had come back. It might have been the worst event of his life.

  * * * *

  “Laird, there are duties requiring your attention,” Semias said.

  Lachlan leaned toward Kenny. “A laird’s duties are never done.” He smacked his hands against his thighs, and then rose. “Lead me to my duties. Be sure to get this lad some food. He is a MacKenzie, so make sure it is more than enough.” He grinned at Kenny, and then left the chamber.

  The Laird’s chair was set upon the dais and was the lone seat in the hall. He hesitated before he stepped up and took the seat. It closed in on him. The damn thing was only oak, solid and worn smooth from the men who sat here before him. He had stood before this chair with his head craned back to meet his father’s eyes. Then there had been another chair, smaller, but with no less detail. His father’s wife. She had yelled down on him. Her face red and her hands fisted. He still heard her words—whore’s son, devil. There were others, but he had stopped listening. She had slapped him then. His neck had twisted. His cheek burned and throbbed. He hadn’t cried. He wanted to.

  “Where is my father’s wife?”

  Semias lowered his eyes but his head remained straight. “She has gone off with Jonty.”

  Lachlan laughed.

  “She plans your death and you laugh.”

  “Many plan my death. What is but one more? Now what requires my attention?”

  The hall’s door opened and four men appeared. “May I present Artur, Domhnall, Eanruig and Ianatan? Your commanders.”

  Lachlan pushed up from the chair.

  “Where are you off to? We must deal with the troubles within the clan,” Semias said. “Jonty has a band of men with him that—”

  “Nowhere, all are standing and I stand with my men.”

  His commanders relaxed their stances and shared a pleased look.

  “Don’t question me again. You will not like the punishment for such insolence. He stepped before Ianatan. A scar bisected his face from his curly, red locks along his nose where a hunk of his nostril was missing and through his mouth. His dark eyes reflected the torch light.

  “Nice scar.”

  Ianatan nodded, pleased at the compliment.

  Lachlan moved onto Eanruig. “You are a hairy mess.” He was blond with blue eyes to match and reminded Lachlan of a ball of light.

  Domhnall was hairless. Stubble barely covered his chin and his jawline was smooth as a bairn’s arse.

  “You look like you take order well.”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  Lachlan made a sound in the back of his throat. “You also look like you settle disputes with a sword.”

  “Aye.” Domhnall rested his hand on the grip of his sword.

  “Then there was Artur,” Lachlan said. His brown hair was thinning and his eyes were as gray as the sky was on this wintery day. He had the look of Lachlan’s father.

  “Do we share a father? Guess the old laird feared the clan’s numbers were dwindling and saw to the task of gathering more followers. There is no better way to ensure loyalty than blood.”

  “I am your second cousin on your father’s side.”

  “That explains it.”

  Unsure whether he could trust these men to watch it...hell, protect it. After all, his father was stabbed in the back. One of these men could have held the dirk. Lachlan realized how alone he was. He didn’t like it.

  “Now, this band’s numbers…” Lachlan trailed off.

  “At last count, near to a hundred men,” Artur said.

  “That sounds larger than a band.”

  Semias dipped his head in agreement. “With the Lairdess, she will go to her family—the MacKintoshes to add to Jonty’s numbers.”

  “I have allies to add to our numbers and a few clans that may join in just to fight the MacKintosh.” Laird Cameron came to mind. He had reviled the clan before he wed his Sassenach bride. After MacKintosh banded with the baron to kill Portia, Cameron had a deep, abiding hatred for the Laird and their clan. Aye, he would love to cut a few men down.

  “Aye, but with Mistress Murray and her son here, they may enlist the Murrays’ help.”

  “You sound as if I should send her out in the state she is in. Do not fret about her. We shall send word to her brother and if Murray wants to war against us because of her, then MacKenzie will bring forth his wrath.”

  “What if he does not?”

  “Do not fret, Semias. That is a woman’s duty.” He clapped him on the shoulder. Semias’s words were true. Not that he worried about MacKenzie. He would come to defend his sister. He might look to bloody Lachlan. Then again, Lachlan was Laird. Their meeting would be different.

  “What information do we have from last reports?”

  “They were spotted near the forest at Glen Fiddich,” Artur answered.

  “So they are either heading away to seek more support or coming closer. If I were in Jonty’s position, I would attack now. The clan hasn’t accepted me. The men may not fight.”

  “Nay, Laird. You have been chosen and the clan stands with you.” Domhnall stood at order, ready for the battle that was coming.

  Lachlan snorted his laughter. “First time they chose me. Tell me of this Jonty.”

  The men looked to Eanruig. “I have fought with him and ken him best. He is skilled with a sword. He is a learned man. He willna always charge ahead.”

  “Does he drink much?”

  All Lachlan saw were confused faces. They smacked their lips and gawked at him.

  “Well.” He threw up his hands.

  “Aye, he does enjoy it.” Eanruig nodded with each word.

  “More than most men?”

  More confusion ensued before Artur said, “Nay. I ha’e seen him drink even after his company has fallen.”

  Lachlan nodded.

  “Do ye wish to send him something to drown himself in?” Semias asked, earning grins from the men.

  “Do you not see? If a man loves to drink more than others, then he has a weakness to exploit. Does he gamble? Does he pay his debts? Is he a sharp tongue man prone to cruelty? Does he like his comforts? Which lasses has he spent most of his company in? Does he sleep late? Such things let me know if he can lead men or if all he holds will crumble.”

  His commanders nodded. Lachlan caught the prideful beam on Semias’s face. “Find out all you can from the men, lasses—hell, ask the animals if you must. We will speak more of it tonight.”

  “Next we have your father’s murderer to deal with.”

  Lachlan’s throat closed up at Semias’s word choice. He let it pass without comment.

  “Where is this man?”

  “Laird, ’tis no man but a woman.”

  Artur turned away, no doubt to get her.

  “A woman...the auld laird killed by a woman. I believe that is called justice.”

  Weakness always kills a man.

  Lachlan looked to the door to the Laird’s Chamber behind him where his past weakness battled for her life.

  Chapter Seven

  Two arms yanked her from the darkness. She blinked against the light. Only the bruising hold of her arm kept her on her feet. Semias had won. Today, she would face her death. She clutched her belly. Perhaps, this was better than what awaited her.

  She blinked against the stinging torch light. She drew in a shaky breath, banishing the moldy miasma of the dungeon from her lungs. The stench lingered in the weave of her clothing. Dirt was thick beneath her nails and smeared over her. Feces, urine, water and dirt coated her bare feet and she slid to her knee. Domhnall helped her back to her feet. She gave a quivering nod of thanks before she steeled herself.

  How many days had passed since she was locked away? She believed a fortnight had gone by based on the meals brought to her. How many of those days had he been here? Domhnall held her and he all but dragged her into the great hall.

  Peat smoke curled around the hall’s beams. She felt warmth lick at her skin. The delicious heat did no
thing to banish the chill.

  Before the grand Laird’s chair, Semias stood beside an unknown man. The new laird—Lachlan. He was broad-shouldered, with an air of fearless and ruthlessness. He was a braw man much like his father. She halted. Domhnall yanked her forward. She cried out.

  “She’s with bairn.” His shocked tone bounced off the blacken beams.

  She rested her hand over the swell of her belly.

  “Aye, Laird, though it did not stop her from committing a most vile sin.” She glared at Semias.

  “Where is her husband?” The laird’s narrowed eyes focused on her. She struggled not to fiddle under his regard.

  “She lacks one.”

  “The father?”

  “Your father.”

  He flinched back, and then rolled his eyes. He shouldn’t since he shared the sinful parentage of her bairn. “Get her a seat.”

  The laird approached her with measured steps. His attention was on her belly. Through his thick lashes, his eyes glowed an amber. He took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm.

  Domhnall returned and placed the chair in the center of the hall. The laird escorted her to it and lowered her to sit.

  “I am Lach—Laird Gordon.” His taut tone surprised her. “And you?”

  “Sheena.”

  “Would you care for a drink or food?”

  She craned her neck to look upon him. “Nay.”

  “That is the auld laird’s bairn,” he said, sounding as if it were an accusation.

  She nodded and folded her hands over her belly’s girth.

  “Your family?”

  “I am alone. Last harvest, the croft burned and took away my parents. I lived because I was here helping with the chores. But my siblings had wed. ”

  “She lived near the edge of the lands near the burn,” Semias added. “Mistress Cullen is a relation of hers and added her to the household rolls. She has been here since.”

  The laird kept his regard on her. She forced her gaze to remain steady even though she was unnerved. The man seemed to see into her.

  “Did you kill him?”

  “Nay.” He cocked a brow at her. “In my current state, why would I commit such an act? I would certainly starve. ’Tis not easy for an unwed woman with a bairn.”

  “The world does not take kindly to women in your situation.”

  “The laird had planned to send her away.”

  She glowered at Semias. She knew he was the power behind the laird. Would this one follow his lead?

  “His favorite way of dealing with a situation no longer to his liking. Away where?”

  “He had arranged a marriage to a Gordon in the lowlands. It has since been called off. Laird, justice must be served to show your power and swift leadership.”

  “Power from killing a woman carrying a child. That is not power. Who has accused her of this crime and what is the proof? Not you, Semias. Sheena.”

  “I had come upon him. Sitting there.” She pointed to the laird’s chair. “He was leaning to the side but he was upright. I had thought he had fallen asleep. I called out to him but he gave no answer. I teased him a bit then I touched his shoulder and he shifted. I saw the dirk in his back of his neck.” She wiped her hands on her dirty, wrinkled plaid. “There was blood on my fingers.”

  “Continue.”

  She forced her attention on to the laird. “I must have screamed because the lairdess came running.”

  “From the chamber?”

  “Nay from there.” She pointed toward the archway leading to the stairs. “She smacked me and called me murderer. Ianatan and Eanruig came and dragged me away. I have been there since.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. The position emphasized the breadth of his arms. Could she truly believe that he would listened to her and unearth the truth? She met his gaze. She could read nothing on his face, not because he concealed his thoughts, but because he seemed shocked. She began to shake and curled her toes in a useless effort to stop it.

  “See that she is cleaned up, fed, and given a warm, clean place to rest until I decide.”

  “My laird, the council ruled on her guilt. You cannot let her live.” For an auld man, Semias moved swiftly to the laird’s side.

  Laird calmly turned to him. “Do not tell me what to do.”

  Sheena swallowed. His calm demeanor frightened her more than bellows or even the threat of death ever could. She had seen men such as him and knew the calculating deadliness in which they acted. What did it mean for her?

  * * * *

  Lachlan watched as Ianatan led Sheena to a small chamber beside the kitchens. A guard would stand outside both night and day. Though she was covered in dirt, with tear tracks running down her face, he saw more than her beauty. He saw his mother, pregnant, alone, and shunned. His mother could have been sitting in that chair, trying to save her child. He shook away that thought.

  Sheena bloomed with youth and possessed the physical traits that excited his father. Funny, his father loved brown haired women with eyes that matched. He liked women who possessed softness, but who had iron will beneath their femininity. Yet his wife was blonde with blue eyes and her body was more like a beech tree’s trunk—straight and rough.

  “Laird, we have other details requiring our attention.”

  “Semias, do not fret. I am not departing any time soon. Let’s continue.”

  Three men, undoubtedly prosperous tacksmen, appeared from the same archway Sheena had pointed to moments ago.

  “Goraidh Gordon,” Semias said as the first man stepped up. “He is a cousin of yours, Laird.” He towered over the other men. He possessed a craggy, weather-beaten face and his hair was the color of the barren munro tops. He sneezed.

  “Padruig Moir.” Torch light shined off his bare head. His ears stuck out and the thick lobes shook when he moved his head.

  “Seathan Badenoch.”

  He was a boney man with long, sharp features, especially his nose, which ended in a keen edge with large nostrils. Lachlan shared a drink with these men. When uisge beatha had been consumed, Semias shattered the cordial atmosphere.

  “Shall we venture to the view the rolls?”

  Lachlan followed Semias to the basement. Hell, he was laird. The families who once gave him a wide berth now depended on him for their lives. He entered the small chamber. Any heat his body held dissipated from the cold, dim space. The candle flames danced from the draft. The torch light gave some heat, but not enough to banish the cold that settled into the stones and sharpened the scent of old parchment and dust.

  Lachlan plopped on the seat behind the simple table. Semias unfurled the rent rolls. Lachlan listened as the men told him about each family, their stories, their planting, and their animals. There was Fionninghua, a witch who lived with her daughter Raghnaid and her husband and their four bairns. Fionninghua was the midwife and once killed a goat with a look.

  “’Tis the big wart on her nose. That thing moves,” Padruig said.

  “She delivered you,” Semias said. Pride graced his face.

  Lachlan sat back. Something came over him. He wasn’t sure what he felt. He knew one fact—his birth…his life held importance to this man.

  “Raghnaid’s brother, Marc, has joined with Jonty,” Goraidh added between his sniffles.

  “He has a great deal of support among the men,” Lachlan asked.

  “He has made promises, ones he canna keep,” Seathan answered. His large nostrils flared in emphasis. “He speaks of giving them more land to plant without raising rents.”

  “They are foolish to believe him. He must be telling them more.”

  “Jonty has no love for ye.”

  “Do go on, Seathan.”

  “He has hated yer since ye took his place.”

  Lachlan’s brows jumped up, pulling his eyes wide open that he felt the wind dry his eyeballs.

  “Ye went to foster with the MacLeans when he was meant to. Yer father followed ye, relishing the stories. Jonty is skille
d with a sword, but na like ye. There are no tales aboot him. And yer father liked that the lasses liked ye, said ye had him in ye.”

  Lachlan rubbed his forefinger over his mouth to hide his shaking and to soothe the rush of rage flooding him. That auld bastard had no right to take pride in him. Still, he felt a wee bit of retribution that he had.

  “Speaking of lasses.” Semias caught his attention. The man reddened. Lachlan chuckled.

  “The lady in your chamber…”

  “Rowen. She is the sister of the Earl of Wester Ross and a friend.” The men shared a look. Lachlan understood. “Do not let her brother see you do that. She is most honorable and he will cut down any man who thinks otherwise, let alone shares that notion with another.”

  “Ye winna be marrying her then.”

  “Her brother must have other plans for her. Caelen wouldn’t tie her to a bastard.”

  “You are laird.”

  Lachlan guffawed. “Do not be insulted, Semias. All will be well. But let’s talk about the lasses. I assume you wish to talk about a marriage.”

  “Such a union will tighten bonds, and with Jonty and the Murrays we may be needing stronger ties.”

  “Ye be needing a woman to run the household.” Seathan looked to Padruig and Goraidh for support. They nodded as if they spoke with a wisdom gleamed from the ancients.

  “And bairns,” Semias added. “Wee ones like you were once. Brave, strong when the world was against you.”

  Lachlan stared at him. Semias must have felt his deep regard because he met his gaze. Tenderness shined in their murky depths the same a father expressed as he looked upon his son. Did Semias hold such affection for Lachlan? Did he have someone in his life that cared for him yet he never knew of his existence?

  “I am not against that holy sacrament but now is not the time to parade bridegrooms before me.”