Highland Scandal

by Mageela Troche

She shook off his touch. He chuckled in the back of his throat. She bit her tongue when a dozen of curses flooded her mouth.

  “See her to a chamber,” Murray said.

  Rowen shoved back the chair and went without his assistance. She felt him behind her. She breathed through her nose as her rage built. The chamber door was open, awaiting her.

  “Ye ken that I’ll kill ye.” Bran’s foul breath swept across her face. He shoved her in to the chamber.

  She fell on her knees, and then forward. She cracked the side of her face against the wooden floor. She closed her eyes, dizzy from the blow. Behind her, she heard Bran and the Lairdess speaking. The coolness of the floor soothed her pulsating flesh. The pounding in her head lessened to a dull throb. She touched her nose. No blood, though she swore it poured out. She climbed to her hands and knees.

  “Oh, my dear.” The Lairdess put an arm around her waist, offering support as Rowen rose to her feet. “I sent him away. You are safe now.”

  Rowen drew away from her.

  “Do not be afraid. You are free from that bastard. He will be dead soon.”

  “You are speaking of Lachlan.” She knew whom the Lairdess meant, yet she still had to clarify.

  She blinked in surprise. “Who else? Och, I know there was talk about you wedding him, but you do not know what would await you.”

  Rowen sent her a look to continue, not that she needed any encouragement.

  “That bastard shares much with his father. Oh, I have heard the stories. He lies with numerous women without a thought to the anguish he causes—speaking false words—professing false love. He will turn cruel when your sons die. Your blood is too weak. Ha! My sister has the same blood. But my sons died.”

  She fell quiet. Her eyes glazed over and she rocked slightly in comfort. “You’ll learn.”

  Rowen stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  The Lairdess stared at her, her face blank.

  Rowen grabbed her by the arm and shook her. “What do you mean? Tell me. You killed your husband.”

  She snickered. “Jonty killed him. Stupid boy, I did not mind so much. He tried to kill me. Thought he would reunite with Agnes. I was most happy afterward. That Sheena was going to die and Jonty would be laird. But then that bastard became laird. I couldn’t allow that. ’Tis most embarrassing. Then you came with your bastard. Agnes and all proof of her must be wiped from the earth.”

  * * * *

  Lachlan stood in the great hall. His curse still echoed in the air. The guards hung their heads. The servants tried to hide in the background while Mistress Cullen wept.

  Caelen’s man paced behind him and grumbled about Caelen killing Murray, perhaps Lachlan and even Rowen. Lachlan agreed with one statement—Rowen was too independent a woman. She should be beaten for acting stupidly and putting many people in danger.

  “We ha’e ta get her back.”

  Lachlan glared at MacKenzie’s man. “I know.”

  “What the hell have you done with my sister?” Caelen stomped his way to Lachlan.

  “I haven’t strangled the foolish woman yet.”

  “Murray will die.”

  “Aye, but I get to kill him.” Lachlan stabbed his forefinger against his chest.

  “We shall see. Let’s go.” Caelen marched out the hall with his men behind him.

  Lachlan glared at his men. “You save the woman I love.” He left after giving the order.

  Lachlan led the way from the castle and set off to get back his woman and his son. He sent a prayer that they were well and he would arrive before anything happened to them. Never in his life had he so much to lose. And if he lost them, he did not think he could recover. Now knowing his weakness, he felt an animalistic urge to lash out.

  Through the men kept up a hurried pace, Lachlan felt it was too slow. Wulver fought Lachlan, tossing his head even craning his head to take a bite out his leg. The party rode without halting.

  “Lachlan, you have never lied to me, so tell me—is my nephew your son?”

  Lachlan dipped his head. “I love her. I always have. I learned that I cannot live without her.”

  “You cannot claim him. People will speak as he grows older.”

  Lachlan’s heart twisted. “I know, but I shall do all I can to make sure that he has a good life, one fitting him.”

  “I shall do the same.”

  Night had fallen. Dawn broke and the day wasted away. By the time Lachlan spotted the outline of Rowen and Kenny’s prison, the moon hung in the sky.

  “Shall we raze it to the ground?”

  * * * *

  Rowen shoved the Lairdess aside and raced to the door. She had it open and was in the corridor when she heard the Lairdess scream out for help.

  She ran up the stairs to search the chambers up there. Kenny had to be somewhere. The first chamber was empty. She tried the next door. Locked. She whipped up her leine and pulled her blade free. She stabbed the sharp point in the keyhole. With a twist of her wrist, the door opened. She rushed in.

  Kenny slept in the center of the bed. She snatched him up.

  “Ma,” he mumbled, sleep thickened his voice. He wrapped his arms around her neck.

  “Shh,” she said as she sped to the door.

  Kenny buried his head in her neck and held her tightly.

  “Ye bitch.” Bran filled the threshold.

  Rowen reeled back, gasping in fright as sweat broke out on her back. She tightened her hold on her blade. It took all her stubbornness not to cry out with the fear rushing in her.

  Bran stretched his filthy hands to her son. She twisted him away and brandished her blade. She sliced his forearm.

  He jerked back and pressed his other hand on the wound. “That little thing isna gonna save ye or him. Come.” With his bloody hand, he yanked her from the room and pushed her ahead of him. She charged away, chased by his laughter. She slowed once she reached the great hall.

  Murray sat before the hearth, dazed by the fire. He brightened at seeing Kenny and hurried to him. “Yer brother and Laird Gordon have been spotted.” He wrenched her son from her arms. Rowen gripped Kenny’s leine. Murray slapped her hand away.

  “I had hoped to ha’e ye stay on for the most a fortnight just to get the lad comfortable, but that isna going to happen.” He inclined his head to Bran in a silent order.

  Bran wrapped his thick fingers around her wrist and twisted. Needle-like pain shot up her arm. She grasped, wincing with pain. She had to drop her weapon or have her wrist broken. It clanged useless against the floor. He tugged on her, almost jerking her arm from its socket. She dug in her heels and yanked against him.

  “Ma,” Kenny stretched out to her, fighting against Murray’s hold. “Dinna hurt her. Da willna like it.”

  “Shut ye mouth, ye wee bastard,” Bran spat.

  Murray slowly climbed to his feet. He set Kenny on his chair. Kenny whimpered. Rowen sent him a look of encouragement. He nodded and wiped his sleeve across his nose. Rowen picked up the blade.

  “Ye dare to raise yer tone. I am yer laird. He shall be chief of this clan, as his father was meant to.”

  “Ye speak of him as if that bastard were part of Eacharn. He isna. Ye ha’e to kill him. Ye ha’e to kill them both. If Eacharn were he’e, he’d do it.” The vein in his forehead throbbed. Spittle flew from his mouth.

  “Bran, do not speak.”

  “Ye ken nothing aboot my son and grandson. I’ll kill ye.” Murray roared in his face.

  “I ken everything. Yer son loved me. This bitch stole him from me.”

  Rowen fixed her grip on the hilt. She plunged the blade into Bran’s chest. She missed his heart, catching him in just below his shoulder. Her roar of strength blended with Bran’s cry of pain.

  “Run,” she screamed. “Run, Kenny.” He snapped from his daze and sprinted toward the door.

  Bran grasped handfuls of hair and dragged her as he chased after Kenny. She struggled against his hold. She only managed to get her hair yanked from her skull. She s
wung her hands wildly, trying to strike the hilt sticking from his chest.

  She heard Kenny’s scream and saw Kenny’s legs kicking out.

  “Hurry.”

  Rowen froze at the Lairdess’s voice. She took Kenny from Bran and mounted a horse. Bran threw her on the other one. She went willingly. Kenny was not heading anywhere without her. Bran mounted behind her.

  They galloped from the castle. The world was a blur of browns and blacks. Not that it mattered, she knew where he was heading—the spot where Eacharn had fallen. She clutched the horse’s mane. She knew Lachlan was behind her. This was her chance. She squeezed her eyes shut and swung her head back with all her force. The impact of her head meeting Bran’s thick one dizzied her. She was toppling from the saddle. Nay, the horse was twisting to the side.

  She struck the earth, bounced and skidded. Rocks and debris scraped her skin, sending short, sharp pain through her. Dirt filled her mouth. Her breath rushed from her chest. Her vision blackened. She was about to losing all awareness. Then she sucked in air and groaned.

  She rolled onto her stomach and climbed to her hands and knees. She almost fell flat on her face. Calling on MacKenzie will, she rose on shaky legs. Bran was still on the ground.

  “Get up,” the Lairdess screamed. “I need you.”

  Ignoring the twisting ache of her right leg, she limped toward the Lairdess. Rowen made a grab at Kenny. She missed him. Somehow, her hands got hold of the reins. She yanked, jerking the horse’s head down. Rowen clawed at the Lairdess and jerked her from the saddle. Kenny came with her.

  “Run Kenny,” she screamed, giving him a push back the way they had come. Kenny screamed as Bran snatched him up and was back on his horse, galloping away. She had a moment to see Caelen chasing after him before a ripping, white pain cut through her head. She was on her knees.

  The Lairdess tugged her to her feet. Rowen was taller than she was, but locked in her grasp, she was hunched over. She started to pull back when she felt a cold blade at her side. Rowen locked her hands around the wrist, ready to stop the blade from sliding into her flesh. She heard Kenny screaming and crying. She struggled. The blade cut into her.

  The ground pounded from horses galloping by. She thought it might be her heart. She wasn’t sure.

  “Stay away from me!” The Lairdess pressed the blade deeper.

  Rowen cried out. Her blood was warm and stuck the hilt to her palm.

  “You are going to die but if you kill her, you’ll die slowly.”

  Lachlan. “Get Kenny! Go!” She wept the finally command.

  “You bastard. I hated you just like your mother. That whore!” Her spittle landed on Rowen’s hands.

  “You’re like your father. Weak for a woman. But I was smarter than him. I had already known your whore of a mother was alive. Semias was loose that night, but I had added it together quicker than your stupid father. Hell didn’t want the man, no matter how much I poisoned him. He just went mad and boasted to me how he planned to kill me. But he died in the end, not me. I’ll kill you next. Don’t move.” The crazed woman pulled the blade free and waved it at Lachlan. He had to be near she was moving back.

  Through her hair, she watched the woman’s face, twisted with anger. Her grip on Rowen’s hair slackened. Rowen jerked her hair free. She swung a fist and caught her on her cheek. She fell.

  Rowen jumped on her. She felt hands grab at her. Rowen screamed like the banshee she had been accused of being. She clawed at her, striking her face.

  “Rowen, she’s dead. She’s dead.”

  Rowen stilled. The Lairdess lay on her side, her head half bashed in by a rock she had landed on. Rowen kicked her.

  “Kenny.” She held out her hands. She swung up behind Lachlan. His horse sidestepped, not use to the weight of two people on him. Lachlan gathered control and rode off.

  Lachlan called to Caelen. His call echoed through the forest. He called again. He had to get to his son.

  Then Caelen called back. Lachlan hurried toward the taunt voice before the wind snatched it away. Caelen and the MacKenzie men had circled a wild-eyed Bran. Dried blood covered half his face. His eyes began to swell. He had his thick arm wrapped around Kenny’s wee neck, ready to snap it. Lachlan halted. His horse tossed his head. Rowen leapt from the saddle.

  “Ma,” Kenny whimpered. He stretched out his hands to her.

  “Bran,” she said.

  Lachlan went to grab her. She shoved her way through the men, ignoring their calls for her to stand back. She stood before Bran, her hands up.

  “Eacharn was kind to you. You betrayed him. Him, he never did anything wrong.”

  “Aye, but you hold his son in your arms.”

  “This isna his son.”

  “What did Eacharn call him?”

  “Son,” he answered.

  “Release him.” She approached him. “And you can kill me. I betrayed him.”

  “Nay,” Lachlan screamed.

  Bran tightened his hold. Kenny’s face reddened like a berry squeezed to near bursting.

  “I betrayed no one. Let his son go.” Rowen shuffled over to him. She stretched out her right arm, forcing him to either drop his blade or release her son.

  He stared at her, appearing very much the animal cornered. His nostrils flared. Beads of sweat ran down his face. She felt his harsh exhalation. He loosened his hold and Kenny fell at his feet.

  Lachlan leapt to him, knocking him down.

  Rowen snatched up Kenny and ran. Lachlan punched him in the face. Bran swung back, catching Lachlan who held onto Bran’s leine. The two men fell down the slope.

  Bran got to his feet first, egged on by his wild fight. He kicked Lachlan in the ribs. His grunt of pain reached Rowen. Bran had his broadsword. He raised it over his head and swung it down. Lachlan rolled out of the way.

  Rowen scanned the ground behind her. She snatched it up. Kenny clung to the skirts of her leine. On her heels, she slid down.

  The manly bellow reverberated. Bran spun around to see Rowen sliding down the slope. Lachlan stabbed Bran low in his back and yanked upward. The blade ripped through meaty flesh and warm blood spread over Lachlan’s hand. He lost grip of his dirk. He kicked Bran at the back of his knees.

  Rowen ran by Bran. He made a grab for her. Caelen shadowed her heels and slammed his sword pommel across Bran’s face. Lachlan flung Rowen behind him and took his sword. Caelen backed away.

  Bran, sensing Lachlan, turned around and rose unsteadily on his knees. Lachlan raised his sword. He arched his blade. Bran hunched over. Blood spurted in a long whipping line. Not giving him time, Lachlan brought his sword on his broad shoulder. The strike against bone rattled through his arm. Bran stumbled.

  “Bastard,” Lachlan bellowed as he arched it around and brought it down on the man’s head, cutting the man’s head in half.

  Bran fell with Lachlan’s sword buried in his head. Lachlan, half-expecting the possessed man to come at him again, planted his foot on his chest and ripped his claymore free.

  He felt Rowen’s touch. He held her at arm’s length. “You foolish, foolish woman. What did you think you were doing? The man wanted to kill you. Don’t you ever risk your life for something so foolish.”

  “Foolish? I will risk my life to save yours every time. I am to be your wife and if anyone is going to kill you, it will be me. I might do it now if you do not hold me close.”

  He hauled her tightly against him. “I cannot have you risking your life now that you are mine. I love you too much. If I lose you, I have nothing more to live for. You give me life.” He pushed her an arm’s length away and inspected her wound. He forced her down to the ground.

  He prodded her wound. “I love you too, and Lachlan, love…that hurts.”

  “Aye.”

  “I cannot lose you.” She lost consciousness after that.

  Caelen held Kenny as Lachlan cared for her. “Do not worry, son. She will be well. It has stopped bleeding already.” He bandaged it and was about to pick up Rowen
when she woke.

  She murmured for her son.

  Lachlan snatched up Kenny. “Don’t cry, for all is well. Go to your mother.”

  Kenny threw himself in Rowen’s arms.

  “Lads need their mothers at times such as these as much as husbands need their wives.” Lachlan dropped his sword to the ground, for the first time in his life, and hugged his family close. Slowly, his body calmed. His heart settled into it normal rhythm. His breathing lengthened and his skin cooled.

  One of Mackenzie men asked what to do about the body. “Let the wolves have at him,” MacKenzie answered. Lachlan agreed.

  With one arm around his family, he climbed the slope. On the short climb, Rowen asked, “What happened to Jonty?”

  “He received the same ending as my father.”

  “An eye for an eye.”

  * * * *

  There was a simple, square, stone building surrounded by earth that in the spring and summer looked as if it must rise from the greenery.

  A few MacKenzies and many more Gordons gathered before the simple kirk. Lachlan stood beside Caelen. Both watched the path where Rowen would appear. Two days had passed since they returned to Gordon Castle.

  He had put Rowen to bed with orders to rest and heal. She did not obey and professed that she was well. Lachlan knew that she was correct. That knowledge did nothing to erase the fear that gripped him. He could have lost her. She was fragile, not that she liked hearing that. In response to that comment, she proceeded to rebuke him in a loud volume. She had birthed a bairn, so what was a puny knife wound? When Lachlan made a comment about dust falling from the rafters, she yelled. Caelen left the hall. Lachlan tried to escape her ire but she followed him. Rowen told him that he was lucky that she was still willing to wed him. After that, there was nothing for him to do but kiss her. When he released her, he fled. He wasn’t proud of his actions, but it prevented a pounding from starting in his head.

  “Now that I am Laird, you are allowing your sister to marry me.”

  “Aye, you are lucky I don’t run my sword through you.”

  Lachlan gasped dramatically. “Why?”

  “I told you to stay away from her. You disobeyed me.”