Highland Spy: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 4

by Rose, Elizabeth

  * * *

  “Caleb, where have ye been?” asked Logan as they approached the field where the caber toss competition was already in progress. The king watched from a platform that was built for his comfort. “Storm is lookin’ for us. He wants us to help him lift the caber in place when it’s his turn to throw.”

  Henry MacDonald gave the caber a good toss. With his size and muscles the caber flipped end over end, going a good distance before it landed in an almost perfectly straight line. The crowd cheered and the king nodded and clapped at the nearly perfect throw. Logan let out a low whistle.

  “Is Storm next?” asked Caleb.

  “Nay, he’s last in the caber toss since he’s the reignin’ champion,” explained Logan. “But after MacDonald’s nearly perfect throw, Storm is goin’ to have to have the best toss of his life to beat it.”

  “I’m no’ worried. No one has ever beaten Storm in the caber toss yet,” remarked Caleb.

  “Except his son, Hawke, on his weddin’ day,” Logan reminded him with a chuckle as they started toward the field with Jack leading the way.

  “Caleb?” came Bridget’s sweet voice from behind him. Caleb stopped and turned around, seeing her standing next to her father, looking as sweet and innocent as the first day he’d met her. She was nothin’ but a liar, he had to remind himself. Full of secrets and surprises. He didn’t like that about a woman, and he certainly didn’t like the fact that she’d been married before and was also barren and hadn’t thought to tell him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Can we share a trencher at the meal between the rounds of the competition?” she asked. “I would like that.”

  Caleb swallowed deeply. He felt an aching in his gut. He had feelings for Bridget and didn’t want her to think he’d deserted her and that she would always be alone. As much as it hurt him to think of how many more secrets she was keeping from him, he just couldn’t turn his back on her and walk away. “Aye. I’d like that, too,” he told her, turning and heading to the field, wondering what he was going to do.

  Chapter 15

  “And now, the last competitor of the caber toss is Chieftain Storm MacKeefe,” announced the herald, causing the crowd to go wild. Being the host of the competition, Storm had most of his clan there cheering for him. There was no way he’d lose.

  “Hoist the caber up to me. I’m ready, boys,” said Storm, putting on his lucky pair of leather gloves he’d been using lately when tossing the caber. Logan and Caleb lifted the heavy pole to a vertical position and stepped away.

  “Ye’re goin’ to have a hard time beatin’ MacDonald’s throw,” said Caleb.

  “Haud yer wheesht,” grunted Storm putting his hands around the pole and squatting down to get it into position. “I’m the champion of the caber toss and always will be, no matter what anyone says.”

  “Guid luck,” Logan called out as bagpipe music split the air, adding to the excitement of the competition. Storm leaned the pole slightly against his shoulder, hiking it up and getting his clasped hands below it to lift it in the air. The pole wobbled and Storm took two steps backward and then another two forward to steady it. And just as he moved forward, starting to flip the caber, his hands slipped on the pole. The caber came crashing down and landed on Storm’s toe. A cracking noise was heard and then Storm cursed loudly as the pole fell to the ground without being tossed at all.

  The music stopped and everyone gasped in surprise. Who would have ever thought this would happen to the champ? This was a tragedy and such a disappointment, too. Caleb and Logan stood there with their jaws dropped because this was highly unexpected. Storm was the expert at this event. Something was severely wrong. An accident like this never should have occurred.

  “Damn it!” shouted Storm, waving his arms in the air. “God’s eyes, I canna believe this happened.”

  The announcer shouted out to the crowd. “Storm MacKeefe willna be gettin’ any points for this part of the contest because he didna toss the caber at all. Therefore, Henry MacDonald is the winner of the round and in first place in the Leader of the Lairds Competition so far. We will move on to the broad jump next.”

  “Somethin’s wrong,” said Caleb, looking over at Logan.

  “Let’s go find out,” said Logan as they took off at a run toward Storm. When they got there, Wren was on her knees looking at her husband’s foot.

  “Storm, your toe is broken and it’s swelling up like a goat’s bladder,” said Wren.

  “Och,” remarked Logan, looking down at Storm’s bare foot. “It’s the color of a goat’s bladder, too.”

  “You cannot compete in the rest of the challenges,” Wren told her husband. “You’ll have to forfeit.”

  “Nay! I am the reignin’ champion of the Leader of the Lairds and I willna give up.” In anger, Storm pulled off his gloves and threw them to the ground.

  Slink jumped out of Caleb’s bag, inspecting the leather gloves and licking them.

  “Storm, please calm down,” said Wren.”

  “How can I calm down?” he spat. “This is the first round of the finals and I’m already behind. Now I’m goin’ to have to work that much harder to get extra points in the other rounds. I need to get over to the broad jump.” He took one step and winced in pain, almost falling over. “Bid the devil, no’ now!”

  “Storm, ye canna even walk,” said Logan. “There is no way ye’re goin’ to be able to run and jump. Ye’ll have to pull out of the competition.”

  “This is the work of the devil,” complained Storm, holding up his foot. “I dinna think I’d have an accident like so many of the competitors yesterday. What the hell is goin’ on?”

  “Aye, that is odd that there have been so many unfortunate accidents,” said Caleb, looking down at his pine marten, still licking the gloves. “Slink, stop that.” He bent down to pick up his pet and noticed something glistening on Storm’s gloves. Picking them up, he saw a thin, white film over them. He brought it to his nose and took a sniff and made a face. “I think I ken why ye dropped the pole, Storm.”

  “It’s because I was careless,” said Storm, cursing once again.

  “Nay, I think someone is tryin’ to sabotage the competition. Smell these.” He handed the gloves to Storm.

  Storm sniffed the gloves, made a face, and then ran his finger over the leather and tasted it. “Blethers, what is fish oil doin’ on my gloves?”

  “Fish oil?” asked Logan. “No wonder the pole slipped right out of yer grasp.”

  “Is someone causing these accidents to happen?” asked Wren in surprise.

  “It sure looks that way,” said Caleb. “I think we need to tell the king.”

  “I agree,” said Storm, limping off toward the wooden dais where the king watched the competition.

  “Storm, what a pity,” said the king, clucking his tongue as Storm came forward. “I really thought ye’d win again this year, but it isna lookin’ guid so far. Mayhap ye’ll do better in the next event.”

  “My toe is broken and I am afraid it will be impossible for me to compete in the broad jump. I’m sorry,” said Storm.

  The king shook his head. “If ye dinna get points in two events or more, ye have no chance to win, Storm.”

  “I ken that,” said Storm. “I guess I’ll have to withdraw from the competition.”

  “What a shame. Ye are our reignin’ champion.”

  “Yer Majesty, I have reason to believe someone has been sabotagin’ the competitors for the last two days.”

  “Sabotage? Nay. That canna be true,” scoffed King Robert. “I trust all my chieftains and lairds and I dinna think anyone would do that just to win.”

  “Show him the gloves,” said Caleb.

  Storm held out the gloves to the king. “Fish oil was put on them, causin’ me to lose my grip and the caber to slide. Because of someone’s pranks, my toe is now broken. No’ to mention, there are a guid dozen lairds who competed yesterday who had accidents and are also injured in some way.”

>   “This isna guid,” said the king, his face turning ashen. “This could also mean there’ll be an attempt on my life while I’m here. Mayhap the contest should be cancelled.”

  “Sire, I do believe this is someone who will do anythin’ to win the title, and no’ an attempt to harm ye, but rather to be admired by ye instead. If we cancel the contest, we’ll never find the culprit.”

  “Ye could be right,” said the king with a nod. “Mayhap it would be better to draw the guilty party out instead.”

  “How can we do that?” asked Caleb. “There are so many people here that we’ll never be able to see or catch the guilty one or even get close to him for that matter.”

  “We’ll need to stay silent about our suspicions, and have someone on the inside who can watch for the saboteur,” said the king.

  “Like a spy?” asked Logan.

  “Exactly.” The king smiled and nodded. “Storm, one of yer men will replace ye in the competition, and spy for me to find out who this man is who will hurt others in order to succeed. Of course, yer replacement will have to be someone who is strong and swift and somewhat stealthy. And they’ll have to be guid enough in the competitions to stay in without bein’ hurt so they can watch for the guilty party.”

  “My son, Hawke, can do it,” said Storm.

  “Storm, Hawke isn’t here,” Wren reminded him. “He’s at our camp in the Highlands. Even if we send a pigeon with the missive, it’ll take him two days to get here.”

  “Och, that’s right,” said Storm.

  “We canna stop the competition,” said the king. “Ye’ll have to be replaced with another of yer men who is already here at Hermitage Castle.”

  “I’ll do it,” Logan offered, tapping his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I have the Sword of Destiny and canna lose.”

  “Aye, Logan is one of my best warriors,” said Storm excitedly. “He’ll take my place.”

  “Nay,” said the king. “It willna be him.”

  “No?” asked Storm. “Why no’?”

  “Because there is another man who I want to take yer place. A man I’ve read about in the Highland Chronicles that is strong, brave, stealthy, smart, and sure to be able to no’ only win the competition but also find the saboteur for me. I have no doubt in my mind about him.”

  “Who is that?” asked Storm.

  “Caleb MacKeefe.” The king extended his arm, motioning to Caleb. Caleb was petting his pine marten and when he heard his name coming from the king’s mouth, he almost dropped poor Slink.

  “Caleb?” both Logan and Storm said together.

  “Me?” Caleb squeaked out. He cleared his throat and continued. “Oh, I think Logan here is a better choice to take Storm’s place.” He was trying to get out of it, but the king was not making it easy.

  “Dinna be so modest, Caleb,” said the king with a low, hearty chuckle. “I’ve read about all yer heroic acts in the chronicles, and there is no doubt in my mind that ye are the one who should take Storm’s place in the competition. Now, I’ll no’ hear another word about it. Hurry on over to the broad jump. And remember, keep yer eyes and ears open for anyone or anythin’ that seems suspicious. Ye will be my Highland Spy.”

  Chapter 16

  “Are ye sure ye heard the king right?” asked Caleb’s brother, Quinn, as Caleb stretched and readied himself for the broad jump.

  “He really said he wanted ye to take Storm’s place?” asked Quinn’s twin brother, Finn.

  “In the Leader of the Lairds Competition?” added Grant, shaking his head, not able to believe it either.

  “Aye, that’s what he said.” Caleb didn’t like the idea any more than his brothers, Logan or Storm, but what was he to do?

  “After all those things the king read about Caleb in the Highland Chronicles, the king decided there was no one better to compete,” said Logan, sounding a little jealous if Caleb wasn’t mistaken.

  “Caleb! Caleb,” called out Bridget, running over with her father on her heels. Her father held the Highland Chronicles in his hands. “What is goin’ on? Why are ye over here and why is Storm sittin’ on the bench?”

  “Storm broke his toe and I’m takin’ his place in the competition,” said Caleb.

  “Aye, can ye believe it?” mumbled Logan with a roll of his eyes.

  Bridget beamed. “What an honor to be chosen to compete in a competition that is just for lairds.” She seemed to glow with pride as she smiled at him.

  “Bridget, can ye watch Slink for me while I compete?” Caleb bent down and picked up his pine marten and handed it to her. “Dinna let him wander off or he might get trampled by the crowd.”

  “Watch the pine marten?” She held it at arm’s length, looking terrified to do it.

  “I canna watch him myself since I need to compete,” Caleb told her.

  “I – I suppose I can do it,” she said, still not looking comfortable with the situation.

  “And do me a favor,” added Caleb.

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Dinna write anythin’ else about me in the Highland Chronicles.”

  “Nay? Why no’?”

  “Because I’m afraid I’ll already never live up to what ye’ve written about me, and I dinna want the king to have any more expectations of me from now on.”

  “Ye’ll do fine, Caleb,” said Bridget, cuddling the pine marten in the crook of her arm. “I have faith in ye. Ye can do it.”

  “I wish I could say the same,” mumbled Caleb, heading over to the starting line.

  Bridget watched nervously from the sidelines as one man after another ran and jumped, and his distance was measured. They were down to the last two men, and Owen, of Clan Grant was up next. He was a young man, probably around Caleb’s age or a little older, but seemed much too young to be a laird. He was also quick and agile. Bridget had been studying the contestants and their strengths, and then writing them into the Highland Chronicles later, in private. She was sure Owen would do well in this event.

  The horn sounded and Owen started to run. But just as he reached the line where he was to jump, he tripped! His attempt at the broad jump was horrible, and he wasn’t allowed to try again. He would be awarded no points, same as Storm with the caber toss.

  “It’s no’ fair. My shoe came apart!” the man bellowed, holding up his foot to show the crowd. The sole of the shoe hung loose, as if the stitches had all given way. The crowd became restless upon seeing this.

  “Caleb MacKeefe will jump next, bein’ proxy for Chieftain Storm MacKeefe,” announced the herald. Concerned conversations of the crowd became louder. There were also protests from the clans of the other men in the competition, saying it wasn’t fair that Caleb was competing when he wasn’t a laird. This was a competition for lairds only. Still, it didn’t matter because it was the king’s decision.

  “Ye can do this, Caleb,” said Bridget, watching him intently, putting the pine marten down atop the fence.

  “Bridget, Storm MacKeefe looks different,” whispered her father, squinting his eyes, trying to see across the field. His eyesight usually wasn’t that bad for distance, so it wasn’t as if he couldn’t see Caleb.

  “Da, ye just heard Caleb say Storm is hurt and he is competin’ for him.”

  “I did?” Her father shook his head, not seeming to remember what happened just a few minutes ago. “Oh, aye,” he mumbled, scratching his head.

  Caleb was light on his feet and quick. Bridget was sure he’d have no problem with the broad jump, and he didn’t. She held her breath as Caleb went sailing through the air with his arms waving wildly at his sides. Then he landed further than any of the other contestants, causing the crowd to cheer.

  After measuring the distance, the herald called out once more. “Caleb MacKeefe jumped the furthest, and is therefore the winner of this round.”

  “Guid,” said Bridget, letting out the breath she’d been holding.

  “The archery competition will take place right after a short break,” called out the announcer.
The crowd dispersed. Bakers with trays loaded down with fresh bread and alewives carrying four tankards in each hand weaved through the crowds selling their wares.

  “Faither, ye wait here. I want to go congratulate Caleb,” said Bridget, ducking under the fence and running to Caleb, giving him a big hug. “I kent ye could do it,” she beamed with pride. “Ye were wonderful at the broad jump.”

  “Thank ye,” said Caleb, brushing the dirt off his hands. “But archery is next, and I havena shot a bow and arrow in a long time now. I need to get over to the practice yard quickly because I’d like to have a few practice shots first.”

  “I’ll come with ye,” she said anxiously. “I dinna want to miss anythin’ because this is all goin’ in the Highland Chronicles. Let me just go get my faither.”

  Caleb looked at her in concern. “Did ye leave Slink with yer da?” he asked. “I dinna see him.”

  Bridget’s eyes opened wide and her palm slapped over her mouth.

  “Bridget? Please tell me ye are watchin’ Slink.”

  “Och, Caleb, I’m so sorry. I put him on the fence and was watchin’ ye and forgot all about him.”

  “Bid the devil, I dinna have time to find him, Bridget!” Caleb’s eyes darkened. “He’ll be trampled in the crowd.”

  “Nay, he’ll be fine. I’ll find him and bring him to the practice yard anon. Dinna worry about a thing.”

  “Ye’d better find him. But dinna bring him with ye. Go back to my chamber and leave him there instead.” Caleb shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Och, lass, I dinna ken if I can focus on the contest because I am so worried about Slink.”

  “Dinna worry. I told ye, I’ll find him. Now go,” she told him, giving him a gentle nudge in the right direction.

  “Bridget, be careful,” he said, looking back over his shoulder. “I wouldna want to see ye hurt.”

  “I dinna think Slink will bite me, do ye?”