Highlander's Honor (Scottish Highlander Romance)

by Barbara Bard

  His gesture indicated Catrin, who offered him a quick curtsey. “Greetings to you, My Lord.”

  “Me Lady, this be my da, Laird Angus Thorburn.”

  “A – a guest?”

  “Aye, da. She be Lady Catrin Waterford, daughter ‘o the Duke ‘o Whitewood.”

  Expecting the older man to lash out with hatred and anger at the mention of her name, Catrin braced herself. Yet, such explosion of fury came. Laird Angus gently took her hand and patted it, still seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “Aye, be welcome, lass,” he murmured, yet without a smile. “Hae you met me son Kyle, Me Lady? He be along shortly, tae be sure. Ranulf, lad, where be yer brother?”

  Catrin turned her face from the pain in Ranulf’s expression, in his hazel green eyes. Her throat thickened without her consent, and she recalled her own grief when her brother, Henry, had been discovered amongst the rocks and heather. Dead, his throat sliced from ear to ear, he lay staring at the sky, his eyes filmed over. Her father, almost inconsolable in his grief, had retreated to his bed, and only emerged for Henry’s funeral.

  “Da,” Ranulf said, swallowing hard. “Kyle be oan a long trip, dinnae ye remember? He nae be back fer a time.”

  Catrin glanced sharply at him, opening her mouth. Until she caught his warning glance, and gave him a single tiny nod of acquiescence. Laird Angus, caught in the illusion his son was not dead, did not deserve to hear that Kyle was in truth dead. Not from her. He may be a hated and despised Scot, but he was obviously now a broken man. Her father remained in his chambers for weeks after Henry’s death before finally emerging, a changed man.

  The Laird’s wandering gaze rested on her. “What a bonnie lass ye be,” he murmured. “Are ye here tae marry me lad Ranulf? He be a guid lad, he be.”

  Almost choking, Catrin tried to smile. “Ah, no, Laird. I am – just visiting.”

  He chuckled, and gently touched her cheek with his finger. “Ah, ye will marry me lad, so ye will. I hae the sight, so I dae.”

  “The – sight?”

  Ranulf nodded, his own brows hiked. “Aye, Me Lady. We Scots are often bestowed with the gift ‘o sight. Me da be one such.”

  “I – I had no idea,” Catrin stammered. “Is this passed down from parent to child?”

  “Aye, so ‘tis. But I nae hae it, nor Kyle.” Ranulf paused a moment. “But I see ghosts. And the sidhe.”

  “Sidhe?”

  Ranulf’s brows furrowed as he thought, as though trying to find a way to explain something he always took for granted. “The sidhe be fairies, as it were. Some are guid, and some are evil. I hae seen the bean nighe washing the clothing of those soon tae pass.” His face lowered, and his voice, when he spoke, was almost inaudible. “I hae also heard the caoineag weepin’. Right before –”

  Stopping, he swallowed hard, glancing at his father. Clearing his throat, he tried a smile, which to Catrin appeared quite false. “Ach, da. Me Lady dae be tired. Gie us yer blessing and we leave ye tae rest.”

  “Aye, lad, I dae be feelin’ me age.”

  His bewildered eyes rested on Catrin, and he offered a weary smile. “Ach, lass, permit me tae salute ye as yer da tae his new daughter.”

  Catrin smiled as the old laird kissed her on both cheeks, then her brow. “Perhaps I may come again to visit you, Laird Angus?” she asked.

  “Tch.” He smiled. “’O coorse. Please tae have a bonnie lass visit this auld bugger.”

  She curtseyed again as Ranulf led her from his father’s private chambers. Once the door was closed and he could no longer hear them, she swung on Ranulf. “Do not think for a minute that your father’s ‘prophecy’ will come to pass,” she snarled, her voice pitched low. “I hate you, I despise you, and I will die before I marry you.”

  To her surprise, Ranulf shrugged. “Da’s sight is nae always dead oan,” he said. “He has seen things that ne’er come tae pass.”

  “Just as long as we are clear,” she gritted. “Now where are my quarters? I need a hot bath and a change of clothes.”

  Ranulf bowed low with a quirky smile. “Right this way, Me Lady.”

  As he had said, her private chambers in the Laird’s tower were spacious, clean, and comfortably appointed. A huge bed stood against one wall in the bedchamber, with tables and chairs, as well as tapestries on the walls. Luxurious furs covered the bed and the stone floor, and a hearth large enough to roast a calf or a pig inside lay filled with wood, ready to light.

  “Whose room was this?” she asked, walking about, examining the furnishings. She discovered the window faced north, looking out onto the moors, and the huge lake beyond. Far below her window were barns, sheds, a huge pig sty, wood piles and wagons filled with hay or straw. Clansmen exercised horses on the heath, practicing their war craft with swords, pikes and lances.

  “Me maw’s.”

  Catrin glanced at him. “Is she dead?”

  Leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, Ranulf nodded. “She did pass intae heaven when I were a wee lad. I scarcely remember her.”

  Once again, Catrin felt unwanted sympathy rise. She, too, lost her mother when she was a little girl, and knew what it was like to lose a parent while very young. Still, she reminded herself that Ranulf, and his doddering father, were the enemy. Steeling her heart, Catrin closed off the flow of empathy toward both father and son, and considered her own situation.

  “You said I will have attendants?”

  “Aye. If ye wish, I will fetch them tae ye nae.”

  “Yes, please. And remember the bath.”

  ***

  Thus, freshly bathed, her hair washed and brushed, Catrin, with the help of the two giggling maids, dressed herself in a pale-yellow gown with a matching kirtle of the softest cloth under it. Gazing down at herself, she found the gown slightly too large, but decided it would work for the time being. Given a needle and some thread, she could adjust it to fit her slender frame quite easily.

  As the maids informed her that Ranulf expected her for supper, she made her way down the stairs, wondering how she will ever find her way around this huge place. As they did Ranulf, the servants, men at arms and peasants she passed gave her nods of polite greeting and smiles. She found this odd, having grown up with folks bowing and curtseying to her, never speaking to her unless she spoke to them first. A soldier grinned when she asked directions to the dining hall, and offered to walk her there himself. At least these boorish heathens have some manners.

  Ranulf stood at the head of the vast mahogany table, one that could easily fit fifty diners, waiting for her. He wore a clean tunic and leather trousers, his belt around his waist carrying only a dagger in its sheath. Over his left breast was the black raven emblem. Catrin glanced around, expecting the old laird. “Will your father be joining us?”

  He shook his head. “Nay. He rarely leaves his rooms.”

  “Hmpf.” Catrin snorted lightly as he pulled out a chair for her. “I wonder what he would say if he knew you kidnapped me.”

  Ranulf sat down as a servant poured wine into cups. “Ye can try tae tell him, lassie, but be warned. He ne’er believe ye.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Me da sees and believes only what be inside his head. Me brother dyin’ – it took him hard.”

  Catrin sipped her wine, discovering it both heady and delicious, and once again felt the treacherous sympathy rise. With his already poor health, that could have been my father when Henry was killed.

  “Yer words wi’ only serve tae confuse him, lass.”

  “So, your father relinquished all his titles to you, then?”

  Nodding, Ranulf clasped his hands together, leaning his elbows on the table. “I do believe he wanted tae pass oan,” he said softly. “He, before witnesses, declared me laird of the Thorburn clan. I nae wanted any part ‘o it. I nae be ready.”

  Catrin stared down at the table. “When are any of us ready?” she asked.

  “I dinnae,” he replied.

  The servants brought a roas
ted piglet fresh from the fire, hard cheese, hot black bread, stewed apples as well as lentils swimming in butter. Catrin did not realize how hungry she was until she scented the delicious odors, and also realized that the Scottish fare was not much different than what she was served at her father’s table.

  Eating with an appetite that equaled Ranulf’s, she accepted second helpings and eyed his smile sardonically. “What?”

  “I dae like seeing a lass eat.”

  “I do not know why,” she commented dryly. “We must eat like men do.”

  “Perhaps I be enjoyin’ yer company, then.”

  Catrin merely shook her head. “As your captive, will I be permitted to ride? I do hate being kept indoors.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, pushing his plate away and picking up his wine. “In time, shood ye behave yerself.”

  Bending her neck in a mocking bow, her eyes on his, she said, “Then I shall do my very best to behave, Laird Ranulf.”

  He grinned. “Ach, keepin’ ye in line should prove interestin’ indeed.”

  Her stomach contentedly full, Catrin sipped her wine, watching her captor. “How long do you intend to keep me your prisoner? If you do not intend to kill me, that is.”

  “I dinnae ken,” he answered, “I intend tae prove me brother dinnae murder yers.”

  “Just how are you going to do that?”

  “I wi’ find a way.”

  Nodding, she asked. “Then what? You find the real killer, if there is one, and then you will let me go?”

  “After yer da bends the knee and begs forgiveness from me da.”

  “That will never happen. Just as you finding anyone else guilty of killing my brother because it was your brother who did the filthy deed.”

  “Then, Me Lady, ye shall be spendin’ a very long time in me company.”

  Catrin pushed her chair back and stood. “I want to return to my chambers. You will escort me.”

  Ranulf shrugged lazily, and also stood. “If that be yer wish.”

  “Do you heathen Scots have books?” she asked, walking beside him as he guided her across the castle to the stairway. “That is, if you people are not all illiterate.”

  Thinking that this insult might anger him, she waited for his angry riposte. Yet, it did not come. Ranulf eyed her sidelong from his tall height, his hazel-green eyes amused.

  “Aye, Me Lady, this castle dae hae an extensive library, wi’ books and manuscripts. Do ye wish me tae show it tae ye?”

  “Perhaps tomorrow,” she replied, her tone haughty. “But send someone to fetch a few books and bring them to my chamber. I wish to read before bed.”

  “’O coorse.”

  Full night had fallen as she closed her door in Ranulf’s face and dismissed her maids. A few rushlights burned to illuminate her rooms, and a fire blazed on the hearth. Walking to the window, Catrin leaned on the sill and stared out into the dark. Her previous arrogance and bravado now gone, tears filled her eyes as she realized she may never see her home or her father again.

  Folding her hands, she bowed her head to pray. “Deliver me from mine enemies, oh Lord, and cast Ranulf Thorburn into the pits of hell. Of this I beg of thee.”

  Chapter 5

  Trying not to wince, Gilbert Mulvaney, the Earl of Hargrove, sat bare chested in front of a blazing fire on the Scottish moors as one of his knights stitched the wound in his scalp closed. His head aching something fierce, he muttered curses under his breath. The deep laceration in his shoulder from Ranulf’s blade had already been sewn, but the pain from both injuries would no doubt keep him awake most of the night.

  “All done, My Lord,” said Sir John. “You should heal with hardly a scar.”

  “My thanks,” Gilbert said, gingerly touching the closed wound with his fingertips. “I do not suppose you have a concoction that might help me sleep this night.”

  “Yes, I believe I have a few herbs I can put into your wine. They may help kill your pain.”

  Putting his clothing and chain mail back on, as the night would grow cold on the Highland moors, Gilbert nodded. “I would be grateful.”

  As the knight rose to fetch the wine and the promised herbs from his saddlebags, Gilbert gazed into the fire, plotting his next move. With two men buried not far away, he had only the four survivors of the battle with Ranulf remaining to him. And two had been badly injured but would live.

  Sir John returned with a cup of wine, which he placed close to the fire to warm. “Will we be returning to England now, My Lord?” he asked.

  “We must rescue Lady Catrin from Thorburn’s clutches,” Gilbert replied, frowning. “I cannot simply ride away and leave her to his torments.”

  The knight glanced at the other fire where the remaining three men at arms spoke in low tones, finishing their supper. “With only five of us?”

  “We have not the choice,” Gilbert responded, taking a stick and poking the fire with it. “Perhaps if we watch his castle, we can find a way to sneak in and bring her out. No doubt Whitewood will reward us handsomely for bringing her home.”

  “Yes, that might be a feasible plan, My Lord,” Sir John said, nodding. “We may find a weakness somewhere and exploit it. We might even don the garments of Scots and simply walk in and fetch her out.”

  “I doubt it will be that easy,” Gilbert said, picking up the now heated wine and drinking it. “The heathen Scots know their own. Our accents alone will mark us as English.”

  Sir John rubbed his chin. “I can imitate a Scottish brogue, My Lord, if we find a way to get in. I can do the talking.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” Gilbert replied. “I just hope Thorburn has not hurt or killed Lady Catrin already.”

  “I did not believe he was the sort of man who would harm an innocent, much less a woman.”

  Gilbert curled his lip. “Thorburn is an animal, Sir John. Never forget that. These Highlanders are like rabid dogs, and should be put down. All of them.”

  “Will King Edward declare war over this, My Lord?”

  “That I cannot say,” Gilbert replied. “It depends a great deal on the Duke of Whitewood. If he demands the king take action, it may very well lead to that.”

  “Bannockburn was only four years ago,” Sir John said reflectively. “Edward still stings from his defeat.”

  “As do I,” Gilbert replied, his voice dry. “I was there. I lost ten good men in that battle.”

  “I earned my gold spurs there, My Lord,” Sir John said. “Fighting on behalf of the Earl of Malten.”

  “Did he perish on the battlefield?”

  “Later, of his wounds. After his death, I pledged my loyalty to you.”

  “You never told me that.”

  Sir John smiled. “I suspect the conversation never came up.”

  “No, I suppose it never did.” Gilbert yawned, feeling the effects of the warmed wine. “As you and George there escaped injury, I would have you two watch through the night. Permit the other two to get their rest.”

  Sir John nodded and rose to bow. “I will see to it, My Lord. Sleep well.”

  Lying in his pallet of thick blankets, his bared sword next to him, ready to hand, Gilbert closed his eyes and tried to sleep. His pain dulled somewhat, he dozed fitfully through the night, often waking after a nightmare of Ranulf’s Thorburn’s malicious grin and his evil eyes gazing into his own. He woke at dawn, still feeling Thorburn’s sword tickling his throat.

  “You will pay for that, you shit,” he muttered, unrolling himself from his blankets.

  After a cold breakfast of dried beef, salted herring, raisins and a handful of wild nuts, Gilbert led his small band further into Scotland. The pain in his shoulder and head had not abated by much, and his two injured retainers, while not complaining, revealed their own hurt in their drawn faces and pale flesh.

  “Let us hope we do not have to fight,” he commented to Sir John. “We would not survive an attack by a gang of street urchins.”

  “I agree,” Sir John said, glancing at the bat
tered men riding slumped in their saddles. “While we watch Thorburn’s castle, we can rest and heal. And make our plans.”

  “I do not wish to give ourselves away by entering a village for supplies,” Gilbert said, gazing around at the rolling moors. “We will have to hunt to keep ourselves fed until we leave this barbaric land.”

  “George is quick with his bow,” Sir John said. “I will have him keep his eye out as we ride.”

  That night, Gilbert and his band dined on a freshly killed red deer buck, and the next day, feeling better and more refreshed, continued north toward the Thorburn hereditary lands. Growing more cautious, Gilbert sent George ahead as an outrider with instructions to watch for any humans who might see them and report their presence.