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

by Emilia Ferguson

“Amabel,” she said softly, stroking the fine red locks that lay in a careless tangle across her back. “My dear sister!”

  She stepped back, resting her hands on Amabel's shoulders. She looked into that beloved, lovely face. Her eyes were wet and Amabel's own sparkled, tears caught on pale eyelashes.

  “You silly dear,” Alina said fondly. “No need to cry.”

  “You too, sister!” Amabel grinned happily. She laughed and held Alina in a crushing embrace. Alina giggled happily.

  “My dearest sister. You'll flatten me,” she laughed, extricating herself from the hug. She stepped back, letting Amabel see behind her.

  “I didn't come alone,” Alina said gently.

  “Chrissie!” Amabel shouted. She ran for their shorter cousin and embraced her, stroking her soft curls.

  “Ammie!” Chrissie was laughing, tears streaking her cheeks. She let out a whoop as Amabel lifted her off her feet, and then put her down. Alina laughed.

  “It's wonderful to see you,” she said sincerely.

  “You two!” Amabel said, staring from one of them to the other. Her hands on her narrow hips, she shook her head, grinning. “You didn't tell me to expect company!”

  Alina bit her lip, stifling her grin. Her older sister was more house-proud even than she could imagine herself being. When they had shared a bedchamber, Amabel had a place for everything and was fastidiously careful.

  “I am sorry, dear,” Alina said. She threaded her arm through Amabel's and Chrissie followed her example, taking Amabel's left. They walked, arms linked, to the hall. “It was not planned.”

  “It wasn't?” Amabel laughed, staring. “Alina! What happened? You always plan months ahead! I know you.”

  Alina let her head tip back with laughter. “You tease me,” she said gently, elbowing her older sister in the ribs. She was usually the composed, unruffled one, and yes, she did always plan carefully. Amabel was the more unpredictable of the two sisters. “Well, I wished to see you,” she said carefully. “And I had much to speak of.”

  “Oh?” Amabel looked into her face, eyes widening and narrowing again as she seemed to gauge the recent signs of tension. “Well, then,” she said, expression clearing. “We should have a feast! I will have to prepare it for tomorrow. But tonight, you shall have to join me in the solar for dinner. You must be exhausted. And half starved,” she added.

  “Yes!” Chrissie said eagerly. “We are.”

  They all laughed.

  Together, giggling, chattering, and as at ease as they had been six months ago, as if nothing had changed and no time passed between them, the three walked up the stairs.

  In the solar, Alina leaned back a moment, looking up at the ceiling and composing her thoughts. She was more tired than she realized and her head swam with it. The thought of facing yet more company was not entirely exciting. She looked about the room. Lit with a cheerful glow from the vast fire in the corner, the walls paneled and the ceiling vaulted, it seemed more elaborate than the solar at Lochlann. The windows were a set of high arches opening on a black night – these alone were less ornate than the ones in Lochlann castle, the best feature of that austere place. She focused on the man who stood beside the fire, turning to face them.

  He was tall, long dark hair tumbling to his shoulder-blades. Taller than Duncan, with broader shoulders, but nonetheless less stocky and more elegant. Broderick, Duncan's serious and gravely kind older brother.

  “Broderick?” Amabel said lightly. “Look who's come to visit!”

  He turned, firelight shining off rolling muscles and the shine of his hair. Alina, watching him, saw a face that twisted her insides with its resemblance to her beloved, nose slightly skew from a battle injury, eyes almost black and serious.

  “Lady Alina,” he said. He looked pleased, a little smile playing about that serious mouth of his.

  “Broderick MacConnoway,” she said, smiling warmly. “Greetings.”

  Broderick smiled at her. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Alina. Welcome to my home.”

  Closer, the resemblance to Duncan, his younger brother, was less pronounced. They were such different people. Where Duncan was merry and teasing, Broderick was grave and measured.

  “Thank you,” Alina nodded. It would have been surprising to hear it known as his home, had she not heard from Duncan that the old thane had retired to the West wing, leaving Amabel and Broderick nominally in charge.

  “Your solar is beautiful, Amabel,” she said gently. The settee was covered in velvety soft cushions, glowing in the flame light. The walls were hung with tapestries and the place gleamed, the oak polished with beeswax to shine. She was sure all of that was Amabel's work. They had been raised in Lochlann. Though austere, it bore the traces of their mother Joanna's court-inspired tastes. Amabel, it seemed, had taken after her.

  “Thank you,” Amabel said, biting her lip, seeming suddenly shy. “I do like it.”

  Broderick grinned. “Best piece of the place – this solar,” he said fondly. “Terrifies my father.”

  They all laughed. Lord MacConnoway, thane of Dunkeld, was known for Spartan lifestyle even more than Brien himself was. The modern luxury of the castle under Amabel would indeed have been anathema to him.

  Chrissie giggled. “You must tell us the story about the boars again,” she pleaded with Broderick, who bowed to her.

  “Lady Chrissie. I have not greeted you. A pleasure. May I say you are become a lovely young lady.”

  Chrissie blushed furiously and Amabel laughed. Alina too.

  “Thank you, Broderick,” Chrissie said, suddenly shy.

  Broderick smiled. “Yes, I will tell you about the boars. But first,” he said, looking around the solar, “we should eat. You're famished, I don't doubt! The journey is so very long.”

  Alina, who had been feeling faint with hunger, nodded.

  Amabel saw her expression and gently led her to a seat. Broderick and Amabel sat opposite each other at the oaken table, Alina beside her and Chrissie on Broderick's right, opposite Alina.

  “Now,” Broderick said, gesturing to a servant, who seemed almost to have materialized from somewhere, “let us drink a toast to many happy gatherings like this.”

  The man stepped forward and filled their silver goblets. Alina lifted hers and wet her lips with the liquid he poured her, letting the rich, heady wine revive her. She swallowed appreciatively and turned to Amabel.

  “Your taste is excellent,” she complimented her on the wine. “I'm sure this vintage comes from far afield. Now. You must tell me all your news.”

  Amabel laughed.

  “Not a lot to tell, dear sister,” she began, smiling. “I think life is quite predictable without you.”

  The two sisters laughed. They had more than enough adventures together, some terrifying. “Perhaps predictability has its advantage, dear sister?” Alina asked.

  Amabel grinned. “Yes, dear. But it's not exciting!”

  Chrissie, opposite them, laughed delightedly. Broderick raised his glass to Amabel appreciatively and a maidservant appeared with a stew that smelled rich and delicious. Alina let her ladle it onto her trencher and lifted a spoon to her lips, relishing the thick gravy.

  It was, she thought, a pleasure to be here with her favorite people, having a simple dinner. She felt the food revive her and a glow returned to her cheeks, the stew and wine warming her as they sat and talked. The four sat and chattered away for what seemed like an age. Alina missed Duncan – if he had been present it would have been perfect.

  Broderick told the story Chrissie wanted – a hilarious account of a hunt he and Duncan had undertaken which had ended with them in a treetop for a few hours.

  “...and we could only come down when Donall, our hunt master, reached us with a team of tracking hounds.”

  They all laughed. Broderick was chuckling and Chrissie giggled as if she was hearing the tale for the first time.

  “It must have been a fine sight,” Amabel said, shoulders shaking with mirth.
<
br />   “Not for us!” Broderick said with a grin.

  Alina leaned back, feeling mellow and at ease for the first time in over a week. Here with her sister, away from Lochlann, she could forget her dark dreaming and be at peace.

  She blinked. Amabel was saying something to her. She had been almost half asleep and had not noticed. All she caught was the word “visitors”.

  “You have visitors?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Amabel explained. “A party of men here for the hunt – the end hunts of the season.”

  “They won't be here long...we don't want to agree to anything too constraining,” Broderick added gravely. “In case...” He stopped,

  Alina looked up as he paused, looking behind her to the doorway. She turned round.

  Found herself looking into green eyes, yellow in firelight, that looked at her with a strange mix of longing and fear that made her stomach clench with foreboding.

  Amabel looked at her sister, feeling her fear. She stood.

  “My lords,” she addressed the party of three youngish men who stood in the doorway, well-dressed and looking surprised. “I have the unforeseen pleasure of introducing you to some of my kinsfolk. May I introduce my sister, the Lady Alina of Lochlann, and my cousin, Lady Chrissie of Lochlann?”

  The three men bowed. Alina swallowed and Chrissie flushed pink as one of the men smiled at her. Alina was looking at the man in the doorway. Who was still looking directly at her, green eyes intent.

  “Alina, Chrissie? May I introduce our house guests?” Amabel said evenly. “I present Lord Bron, Lord Camry, and Lord Fergus.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Alina managed, her voice almost whispering.

  Chrissie stood and bowed her head. “Pleased to meet you,” she echoed.

  The young man on Alina's left, Lord Fergus, who had smiled at Chrissie, winked.

  “Right honored, young lady. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “A pleasure,” Lord Bron said gallantly, bowing his head in Alina's direction, then Chrissie's with some graveness.

  The third man was still looking at Alina.

  “Pleased to meet you, my lady,” he said. His voice was somewhere between mocking and arrogant, and the smile he gave her was edged with the same longing. Alina swallowed.

  Amabel frowned from one to the other, then seemed to decide to simply ignore whatever it was she had noted.

  “Well, my lords,” she said lightly. “Do please join us. We had just now sat down to dinner.”

  The three men walked to the table. Fergus went to sit beside Chrissie. Bron went to Amabel's left, and Alina closed her eyes as Camry took the place beside her. Duncan, she thought a little desperately. Where are you?

  He turned to her, grinning, showing teeth that were very white.

  “Well, then, Lady Alina. Well met. This has turned into a surprisingly good evening after all.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SEEKING A SWORD

  SEEKING A SWORD

  “Sit there,” the cook, a thin older woman with a doleful face said resignedly. She barely looked up from the stew she was stirring.

  “Thank 'ee, mistress.” Duncan, keeping in the character of a slow-witted beggar-man, shuffled to the place in the corner she indicated.

  “Mind the door,” she said curtly. Duncan nodded and shuffled back, avoiding the entrance to what he presumed was a servant's passageway.

  He watched as she stirred the stew again, feeling his belly growling. The light of the fire painted her face in flushed red, perspiration shining. He felt his mouth tense as the savory smell of the stew wafted towards him and had to bite his lip not to actually groan. He did not have to feign hunger – he and Blaine had traveled light, sharing a loaf of bread between them in the last two days, and some sausage, partly dried.

  The cook kept her back to him, reaching for a crudely carved bowl. She ladled some soup in.

  “Here,” she said disinterestedly. She thrust it at him and then turned away. Duncan bit his lip, avoiding the splash of scalding soup onto his hand as it settled in the dish.

  She walked to the other side of the kitchen where there was a long table and quickly returned. She wordlessly passed him some bread. The chunk of bread was hard with staleness, rock-like and dry. Nevertheless he took it gratefully, breaking off a piece and softening it in the soup, which was more like a thin gruel. He ate noisily and she tensed, looking irritably at him and then turning away.

  “Ye can sleep in the stables,” she said, back turned. Duncan nodded.

  He finished the gruel, keeping half the rock-like bread concealed under his cloak lest Blaine should need it. He was not sure where they planned to find supplies, or where it would be safe to stop again.

  He looked around. The light was reddish in the kitchen, the fire banked low already. He could see a door opposite him with stairs leading up to it. There was another door on the left, leading, he guessed, to the yard. The door behind him probably led to the great hall, a discreet way for servants to enter and exit bearing trays and jugs. He wondered where the main one led. He needed to find the living quarters of the family. The sword, he guessed, would likely be there, not on display in the great hall where weapon carrying was strictly disallowed.

  He had an idea. Lifting the gruel bowl to his lips and draining out the last drops, he stood.

  “Good evenin' mistress,” he said politely. He laid the bowl on the side near a washing bucket, and then headed uncertainly towards the main door. He swayed on his feet, knocking something to the floor with a clatter. As he had hoped, that attracted attention.

  “Whist! No' that way, you scaff! This way. That goes intae the castle. There be the yard.”

  She pointed towards the door on the left, the one at the top of a few plank stairs. He had guessed that was the way out to the stable.

  He changed direction, heading towards the door, still shuffling hesitantly. He reached the door and scrambled up the stairs, slipping on the top one and falling back.

  “Mercy me,” the cook said sarcastically. “Yer a right mess.” She was walking across to the door and he righted himself, and then walked stiffly out, slamming it behind him. He waited until he heard her footsteps track slowly back across the flagging, grateful for the gap below the door that let sound pass beneath.

  He counted to twenty, then shuffled towards the stables, where a torch burned in a bracket on the wall, scattering inky smoke and crackling brightness into the night.

  He did not go toward the stables, but turned at the last minute and slipped away, going towards the darkness around the side of the castle.

  There, in the uncertain light spilling from a high window one floor up, he leaned against the wall and examined his prize.

  In his hands, brass and shining softly in the light, was the key to the kitchen. It had fallen from the lock when he faked his fall. Holding it to his chest, he slunk into the deep shadow of the wall, nestling below an overhang so that no guards above could see him, waiting for the darkest part of night.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ENCOUNTER AT DINNER

  ENCOUNTER AT DINNER

  Alina looked across at Broderick, wishing she could let him know silently how uncomfortable she felt. Broderick seemed oblivious. Duncan would have understood, but his brother did not really notice. He was deep in conversation with the man beside Amabel – Lord Bron. Since Amabel, Chrissie, and Fergus seemed enmeshed in a lively discussion about walking in the forests, that left Alina as the only person who was free to talk to Camry.

  Camry, it seemed, seized that opportunity.

  “You seem to visit but rarely, my lady,” he said. His voice felt to Alina as if she was being brushed the wrong way. At once lascivious and probing, she felt every question as an unwanted advance.

  “No,” Alina said carefully.

  “You spend your days at the castle, I imagine, sewing and singing and dancing.”

  Alina felt bile rise in her throat. How dare he assume she had nothing else to occupy her
mind? He knew her not at all. “I keep myself busy, my lord.” She clenched her left hand, letting the nails dig into her palm. It was her only hold on sanity.

  “I am sure you do. Though I could think of better pursuits for such a lady.”

  Alina closed her eyes. His voice teased, and his hand, resting on the table, moved to touch hers. She choked.

  Amabel turned to her, worried. “Sister?” she asked. She reached out a hand as if to pat her on the back.

  “I am well,” Alina said, still coughing. “If I may be excused?”

  “Of course, sister. Of course.”

  Amabel watched, looking concernedly after her as Alina hurried to the door.

  Out in the corridor she headed to the stairs. She leaned against the wall, breathing out a shuddering sigh.

  I have never met such a man in my life. I hope he leaves soon.

  She closed her eyes. The darkness of the stairs was safe, the cool evening air blowing in from the hallway below. Here she felt, finally, as if no one could see her. No one could hurt her.

  She tensed. In the corridor behind her, she heard footsteps.

  “Alina?”

  She leaned sideways, stepping to deeper shadow. The voice was not her sister. It was not a woman at all, but Lord Camry.

  I am not here, she thought, wishing she could will him to believe it. You cannot see me. Leave now.

  As she listened, the feet retreated, heading along the hallway. She breathed out. Waited. Counted to ten.

  She stepped slowly out of the gloom and went up the stairs. The light in the hallway wavered as the torch in the wall-sconce blew, gently, with the wind of her passing. She listened to the talk from the solar, hearing the conversation grow louder, the laughter merry. I will say goodnight to Amabel, she planned, and retire early. I am, after all, quite tired.

  She stepped across the hallway and towards the shorter corridor that led to the solar. Then she heard the steps.

  “Lady Alina. A pleasure to meet you here. Alone.”