The Highlander’s Challenge (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  She found herself in almost darkness, the tapestry screens pushed before the window to keep out the drafts. A fire roared in the grate beside the desk, painting half of her uncle in livid colors. Alina walked to the center of the room and stood before him where he sat at the desk.

  “I have a request to make,” she said quietly.

  “Mm? You need more fabric for gowns, eh? Or something else.” he barely looked at her, busy with some writing.

  Alina swallowed the bile that rose at being so patronized. “I want to request leave to visit my sister in Dunkeld.”

  “Oh?” He still did not look up.

  “I would like to be accompanied by my cousin Chrissie. And an escort of two men-at-arms.”

  “Oh.” He looked up at her then. It was the first time since she entered. “Yes. By all means. I can spare you for a few days. And Fergal too, no doubt. He can choose two men to take with you. Chrissie? Now...there I am not certain.”

  “Uncle,” Alina began, throwing caution to the wind. “The girl wishes to go. It is not fair to her to keep her so isolated here.”

  Uncle Brien blinked at her. “I do not recall needing you to advise me, niece.”

  Alina bit her lip. “No,” she said dryly. “I cannot claim a part in any of your decisions.”

  He raised a brow at her. He looked as if he was a man trying not to look amused. “You are very like your father. The same Gaulish temper. Intolerable in him, but not too offensive on a woman. French women do have their appeal.”

  Alina swallowed. The thought of her uncle being attracted to any woman was almost as disconcerting as if the household priest had winked at her. She shuddered, then recalled the tale Aili told.

  “I take your word for it,” Alina said dryly.

  “Yes,” her uncle said, with a strange, faraway look on his face. “They can be pearls without price.”

  Alina swallowed, feeling vaguely nauseated by this new side of her uncle. She did not really want to consider her wily and distant uncle in that role, nor hear him talk of priceless pearls. She stopped. Returned to the thought afresh.

  A pearl without price? A pearl. I wonder...

  She did not want him to know she had noticed the statement, and so she cleared her throat. “If Chrissie can be spared from her lessons, I see no reason to disallow her from accompanying me. Besides, it is unseemly for me to travel without a companion, is it not?”

  Her uncle was still smiling at her, hands clasped and supporting his chin. “Agreed, young lady. Go to Dunkeld. Take your cousin with you. Spend three, four days there. Return to me at the end of the week. You can take up your duties then.”

  Alina stared at him. Even though she had entered intending to persuade him, she was still surprised he agreed so readily. She shook herself. Why is it he can disconcert me even by doing what I hoped he would? She could not help a wry smile at her own foolishness.

  She inclined her head. “Thank you, uncle. We will return on Saturday morning.”

  “Good. Do that,” her uncle said airily. “Send my regards to your sister. I doubt she wishes to hear of me, but proper form is necessary. And remind Broderick of his duties to me.”

  Alina swallowed, feeling somewhat incredulous. Was her uncle completely self-interested? Or did he simply present that to the outside world? She sighed. She had achieved what she wanted. It did not matter what he thought of her, Amabel, or Broderick. She inclined her head again.

  “I shall do, Uncle. Thank you.”

  “Good. Shut the door, will you, as you go?” he called out. He was not looking at her, already turning to his books again.

  Alina walked to the door and shut it carefully behind her. Then she headed down the stairs and out of the draft that blew from the turret.

  She stopped around the bend. She breathed in, gathering her thoughts.

  She had gone to ask for leave for a day or two. She had returned with information.

  A pearl without price. A pearl. Might the pearl that was lost not be an object, after all, but a person?

  The thought was promising and, heading downstairs to find Chrissie and plan departure, she could not help feeling satisfied. She would have to investigate this. Perhaps the next ordeal was more understandable than previously thought.

  As she walked quietly down the flagstones of the downstairs hallway, she turned the thought over in her mind, wondering where to start asking questions to solve the next part of the mystery.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ENTERING THE FORTRESS

  ENTERING THE FORTRESS

  “Now. Remind me of what we discussed earlier?”

  “Very well.” Blaine replied. His voice was low, and Duncan bent closer to hear him. They were in the shelter of a rocky defile, the wind fitful around them, the night dark. “We will head to the gate together, and then part. I'm tae let ye go alone.”

  “Yes,” Duncan said quietly. “And where will you go?”

  “Round the back. To the rear gate.”

  “Yes,” Duncan nodded. “Good. We'll have to do something about this,” he said, running a hand from shoulder to feet, indicating himself. He felt worried, but also strangely light, as if nothing mattered and he was happy to live or die.

  Blaine stepped back, looking at him. They had a single pine-pitch torch with them, the flame ragged in the fretful wind. It showed him Duncan, clad in a velvet jerkin and linen hose of the sort a workman would labor a year to purchase.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Duncan bit his lip. “Right.”

  Without saying another word, he and Blaine exchanged cloaks. It was cold outside, and the thought of taking off his clothes was unpleasant to say the least. However, as they rode, he and Blaine had developed a plan and it required him to dress somewhat poorly. They would swap their clothes.

  Shrugging out of his jerkin, Duncan clenched his teeth, trying not to shiver in the icy air. He rolled his shoulders, the cold leaching the strength from their muscle. The light from the pitch torch Blaine had wedged in the ground gleamed. It shone on his skin, outlining it in orange-red. He looked down at his body, noting the flat stomach, wide chest, sinewy forearm. Not too bad, he thought wryly. Will the youth's clothes fit?

  They did. Just. With some effort and dangerous pulling at the seams. Blaine shrugged on the hose and tunic easily. He laughed.

  “By! Duncan, milord. That shirt'll ne'er hold.”

  Duncan bit his lip. He didn't want to laugh. The youth's shirt spanned his chest from side to side. He could see it straining across himself, and worried it would burst. He felt like lead poured in a mold – straining at the seams. The trousers were achingly-uncomfortable, the legs shortened above his ankles.

  Blaine, opposite him, looking debonair in the richer jerkin, was staring. His face was lively with mirth and he covered his mouth, trying for politeness. He failed.

  “Cor, sir! You look awful.”

  “I am aware of that,” Duncan looked down, distressed. He bit his lip and chuckled. “Well, one thing is certain – I must be the least fortunate beggar for miles around! I look like I've not had new clothes since I was a lad.”

  Blaine frowned at him. “I'm not that short, sir.”

  Duncan laughed. “No. I'm just taller than you are.”

  They both grinned. Blaine thumped him and Duncan put a hand on his head, pushing him back playfully. They wrestled a moment, and then Blaine lifted the torch.

  “I'll be away now, milord. Godspeed and blessing.”

  “With you, too, Blaine.” Duncan agreed firmly. He watched the youth walk to the edge of the rocky outcrop and to the moors beyond. He waited, watching him in his new suit of clothes. I understand now, more than ever, why Broderick thinks highly of him.

  Sighing, shivering in the cold, he counted to thirty and then followed his young companion out across the grasses.

  The wind made him shiver. It was cold here out of the shelter of the defile.

  As he walked, he thought about the future. He could not help feeli
ng nervous. Their plan hinged on him entering the castle undetected, being given shelter for the night. He would have to find the sword that night, and escape through the rear gate, or risk being discovered.

  He had to do it. He had to complete the tasks. If he did not, he could not marry Alina. Memories of her, with her soft lips, her warm body, her soft breasts against him as they lay together, set fire inside him. He could find the strength within him to do this if he remembered what it meant.

  Alina. He built an image of her in his mind, imagining what it would be like to return and kiss her again, feel her close. Kiss those plush lips, so moistly warm, and stroke her soft hair.

  Lost in thoughts of her that fired his loins and lit his mind, he did not notice he had walked onto a path. He only noticed, in fact, when the light appeared pooled before him on the ground. He looked up and saw a gate.

  “Who goes there?”

  He had reached the gates of Tallhill fortress.

  He bit his lip, almost swearing. Then he faced the guard. He bent so that, stooped, he looked up into the man's face. The wind whipped around him, making him ache with cold. He cleared his throat.

  “I's no one, master! A beggar, so I am! Has the lord Blackwood a crumb tae stave off death?”

  The guards pressed closer. Two men, one bore a lantern and the other rested on a pike. They had a kind of lazy arrogance which said they were the masters of this place and disinterested in his kind.

  “Please, masters,” Duncan said, making his voice break. He looked down.

  “What're you carrying?” the man asked. He snatched at Duncan's cloak, tearing it loose to expose his back. Duncan looked at the ground. If he had looked up the man would have seen murder in his eyes.

  Holding his rage, Duncan wheedled. “Oh, milord. Do give me my cloak. I've nothing beneath it. Only meself, as you see.”

  The other guard laughed. “Come on, Camry. The bastard's wearing laddie's breeks...” the chuckled, gesturing at Duncan.

  The other guard laughed too, hooting with mirth. “How old are those? By! I've not seen the like anywhere afore...wee scaffy bastard.”

  Duncan clenched his fists at his sides. He had never felt so mocked, so belittled before. He swallowed hard. He thought, shamefacedly, of beggars he had ridden past, tossing a handful of coin if he felt magnanimous, or simply ignoring them. He had never thought about what it might be like to be part of a group who garnered contempt or pity. However, now was not the time to think of it.

  “Aye!” he said, grinning slyly. “I've no' clothes but these, what I've had ten year or more. Me da' threw me out at ten, said I were too daft for farmin'.”

  The guards laughed again. Then he noticed one of them change from mocking to a kind of roughened pity.

  “Aye, come on, you,” he said roughly. “Ye's harmless enough. Go tae the kitchens. Get some soup.”

  The other guard looked strangely at him, but then shrugged. “Aye. Fair enough.” He muttered it, turning away. He reached for the bar across the door and lifted it, swinging it aside. The guard with the torch looked at him.

  “Come on, you,” he repeated. “In ye go!”

  Duncan, kneeling on the grass, looked from one to the other with apparent disbelief. “You what?” he said slowly. Keeping his eyes vacant, he grinned at them as if they had floated from the cathedral roof.

  The two guards exchanged a glance. They shrugged at each other. The one with the spear stepped up.

  “Come on,” he said emphatically. He clouted him lightly with the end of it, making him stumble forward onto all fours. “In ye go. Dinnae wait about.”

  Duncan scrambled to his feet, shuffling to the door.

  “An' take yer coat,” the first guard, the one with the torch, said, carelessly. “It's surely lowpin'.” he tossed the cloak at Duncan.

  He took it and pulled it around him, grateful for warmth. Then he looked up at the castle tower opposite him. This was it! He was in.

  He could barely believe it.

  The ruse had worked. He was in.

  Shielding himself from the livid light of torches bracketed to the castle's front wall, he walked quickly and silently, hugging the wall and its darkness, to his left towards where the kitchens probably were.

  No one challenged him and he kept his head down. He hoped Blaine was where he ought to be. He would have to be quick and hope that he knew where to find what he was after.

  CHAPTER TEN

  VISIT TO A SISTER

  VISIT TO A SISTER

  Alina leaned back against the leather seat of the coach and closed her eyes. She was weary.

  Opposite her, Chrissie was working on a tapestry. She slit her eyes, watching the girl through her lashes. Feigning sleep was one way to give her aching head and ragged nerves respite from the young woman's happy chatter. Much as she loved Chrissie, she was tense and tired, and there was only so much cheerful enthusiasm she could find the energy to face.

  The coach sped smoothly along the cobbled track across the moors. The route through the forest was doubtless faster, but Alina preferred to take the coach. With an escort of five armed men, it felt safer. It also meant she could sleep and ease her aching heart.

  What was Duncan doing now? The thought made her shiver. It was darkening fast, the day almost night by now. She was sure he had reached the fortress of Tallhill – she knew it was two day's ride away, and he had left the previous morning. She closed her eyes, wishing she knew where he was and that he was unhurt.

  At that moment, the coach went over a sharp bump.

  “Oh!” Chrissie said, startled. She jumped up and then covered her mouth with her hand as Alina moaned. “Sorry, Alina,” she said breathlessly. “I didn't mean to shout. I'm sorry to wake you.”

  “I was awake,” Alina said thinly, the sound boring through her sore skull. “Just feeling a bit ill. Where are we? Can you see?”

  Chrissie pulled back the canvas from the window, peering out. “We're on the edge of woodlands,” she said. “Or it seems so. It's very dark!”

  “Are we heading to the left? Apologies. Your right,” she added, smiling. Chrissie sat opposite her and had seemed momentarily confused. She craned to see past the canvas, and then nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh. Good.” Alina sighed. “Almost there.”

  Chrissie leaned back, looking pleased. “Will Amabel still be awake, think you?”

  “I think so,” Alina said hopefully. “It cannot be very late.”

  “Well,” Chrissie drew in a breath. “We started out at eight of the clock this morning. When last I asked Fearrick through the window, he said it was three of the clock,” she said happily. “That means that it must be almost nine of the clock now, if I am right, it was six whole hours ago.”

  Alina closed her eyes. “Well, then,” she said quietly. “We should be there very soon indeed. And Amabel is doubtless still wide awake.”

  “Good,” Chrissie smiled contentedly. “I am so excited to see her again!”

  Alina nodded. She smiled, though even that felt like an effort. She felt drained, as if half of her was outside herself, riding over mist dark moorland alongside Duncan.

  As if to prove them right, the carriage reached a slight incline and steadily slowed. As Alina was about to ask Chrissie to look out of the window once more, it stopped.

  “We're of Lochlann!” Fergal called in answer to some shouted challenge. “Lady Amabel's kin.”

  Alina leaned back, relief flowing through her. They had arrived! They were at Dunkeld.

  After a few minutes of brisk discussion, most of which was too low and urgent to hear from inside the coach, the gate was opened. Their coach rolled through.

  “I'm so excited!” Chrissie gushed. Alina opened her eyes and smiled wearily. She patted the younger woman's hand.

  “As am I.”

  She leaned back and swallowed hard. Now that they were here, the thought of seeing Amabel flooded her with excitement. She had not dwelt on it during the ride, h
er worries for Duncan possessing her. Now they were here, she realized her heart was thudding and her mouth was dry.

  Amabel. She closed her eyes. She had not seen her sister for six months. Not since she left after her marriage, moving to her husband's home at Dunkeld. She thought of Amabel's face, calling it to mind. Long, flossy red hair. Wide green eyes. A short nose and high cheekbones, slightly pointed chin.

  Amabel, she thought, excitedly. Sister.

  She heard something at the door and Fergal, the white-haired armorer, appeared. “Can I help ye down, milady?” he asked, bowing. Alina nodded. She got to her feet, noticing with some alarm how weak and tired she was. If she felt that, how much worse for Fergal, who had been riding all day and was more than twice her years?

  “Thank you, Fergal.”

  She stood on the cobbles before the castle walls, the air tugging fretfully at her hair, lifting the loose locks. She felt her chest tighten with anticipation and hugged her arms about her, shivering with cold and excitement. Dunkeld was smaller than Lochlann, a more modest place, grown out of a fortress more recently than their own home, but it was nonetheless imposing, especially in the dusk light, its turrets soaring out of the dark, some of the windows lit with fires within.

  “Whee!” Chrissie said, jumping down from the coach. Alina smiled and heard Fergal laugh. Then Chrissie was running to her and together they walked up to the great hall. They were halfway there before they heard hesitant footfall, running.

  “Alina! Sister? It is truly you?”

  The voice that called out stopped Alina's heart, stunned with wonder.

  “Amabel!”

  Alina shouted it, throat ragged with wonder and delight. A warm presence cannoned into her and she felt herself enfolded in a firm embrace. She breathed in the scent of rosewater and irises and rocked back and forth, hugging her sister tight to herself.