My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  “Thank ye for yer kindness. I am well. It was only the devil warlord and his demon army. Destroying things must be their idea of amusement.” She gave him a tentative smile in return, wondering how it was that she could ask him the question she needed answered. Trouble was, it was not the sort of thing one could ask a man.

  “Well…I am glad ye are well.” He stood awkwardly before her, much unspoken between them.

  “Aye, thank ye.”

  Silence descended upon them, and Jyne struggled to find a safe topic of conversation. “Are ye…feeling well?”

  “Aye. Verra good. I…I hope I dinna offend ye earlier today in the kitchen. I fear I took liberties.”

  “I was no’ offended,” she murmured.

  “Yer brother would’na agree.”

  The mention of her brother had a chilling effect. Though she wished for his presence to help her, once he arrived, he would see to it she was never again alone with Cormac.

  “My brother is protective.”

  “He should be.”

  Heat coursed through her at the veiled compliment. She stood awkwardly before him, not knowing what to say.

  “Mayhap I should go and let ye be,” said Core slowly.

  “Nay, please continue to help us. We need to think of another plan to get them to leave. We canna use any further potion on them. Too dangerous. One o’ those devils threatened to kill the cook and everyone else who worked in the kitchens.”

  Core’s face darkened. “Bastard,” he muttered. “I’ll not let that happen. At least,” he amended quickly, “I’ll try not.”

  “I dinna ken where we would be wi’out ye. Thank ye so much for yer help,” said Jyne with much sincerity.

  “I fear I have no’ been much help to ye at all.”

  “Och, but ye have. Ye give me hope. I feel safe when I’m wi’ ye. I know I can trust ye.”

  Core’s face brightened for a moment, then a cloud passed over his sad eyes. “I dinna deserve yer trust.”

  “Why? Because our first plan dinna work?”

  “Nay.”

  Jyne swallowed on a throat suddenly gone dry. “Because ye kissed me wi’out gaining permission first from my brother and laird?”

  Core sighed. “Aye, something like that.”

  “Well, my brother is no’ here yet. Ye can ask him when he arrives.”

  Core shook his head sadly. “I canna do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I…I just canna speak to yer brother.”

  Jyne’s disappointment was palpable. He was telling her he would not be a suitor for her hand. At least he was being honest in his intentions, though she took no comfort in it.

  “I see.”

  “I’m sorry. I will just leave ye be.” His voice was contrite, but Jyne noticed he did not leave.

  “Nay,” said Jyne, feeling a rise of determination that was new to her. She was a Campbell after all, and she still had a mission to do. She was called to protect the people of Kinoch, and this man could help her do it.

  “Nay?” he asked in a tone that was almost hopeful.

  “Nay,” she repeated with growing certainty. “Ye promised to help me for a kiss. Well, ye’ve received yer kiss. Now ’tis time for ye to live up to yer word and help us.”

  Cormac’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and then settled into a smoldering half smile. “As ye wish.”

  “Now then.” She took a breath, trying to turn her focus away from his dark green eyes to the matter at hand. “We canna fight them directly. We canna poison them. Somehow, we need to make them wish to leave.”

  “Little hope o’ that, I fear, when they are under the mistaken belief that there be treasure here. If they could only find what they seek, I’m sure they would leave.” He gave her a hopeful look.

  Jyne shook her head. “There is naught here that anyone would consider a treasure.”

  Cormac sighed and sat down on the stone bench by the window. “That is most unfortunate.” He propped up one long leg and leaned an elbow on it in an image of a man in thought. Jyne was instantly drawn to his casual demeanor. It was difficult to focus when she was unchaperoned with a man in her bedchamber.

  “There has to be some way to make them leave.” Jyne paced back and forth, trying to clear her head enough from the day’s events to think cogently. She was having a difficult time focusing on anything other than the kiss that bound him to her. And her to him.

  Exerting great mental effort to think of something other than his surprisingly soft lips, she thought back over the events of the day, trying to find some weakness. The men ate, caroused, made loud noises, threatened elders and young children…

  She certainly hoped the youngsters would stay out of sight and not leave the refectory, even if they were afraid it was haunted.

  “Wait! I may have an idea. Do you think those men may be afeared o’ ghosts?”

  Fourteen

  He had tried. He had tried to do the honorable thing. Core had told her there was no future together. He had offered to leave, even if he had not been able to make his feet comply. But no, now it was she who demanded he stay and help her.

  Cormac smiled to himself. He should have felt some shame in demanding a kiss in return for his assistance, but he could not bring himself to feel any ounce of remorse. He had kissed her. He had enjoyed it. And he hoped to do it again.

  He wondered if he could demand more of her charms for further assistance. Was that going too far? He thought about it a moment. Probably. Did he care? Probably not. He had the disturbing suspicion that he was becoming like the father he had resented and feared his whole life.

  Cormac brushed the unwanted musings aside and focused instead on the new plan Jyne had devised to remove the men from Kinoch. Core sat at the high table, surveying the men as best he could through the slits of his helmet.

  As punishment for not listening to his advice before, Core decided that his men would have no drink for the evening meal. Thus, he had the pleasure of sitting at the raised dais while his men quietly ate their portions and cast about fierce but forlorn looks. The men were clearly still reeling from the aftereffects of the potion, for they moved slowly and spoke softly.

  The purpose of making his men abstain from their prized libations also helped Jyne in her latest plot to scare away the men from Kinoch Abbey. He doubted her little plan was going to work, but he was happy to at least give it a try, for he would be pleased to leave Kinoch Abbey, almost as much as she would be to see them go.

  Jyne approached him from the kitchens. She had taken some time with her appearance, and wore a sage-green kirtle with a sleeveless surcoat of embroidered cream. Her hair was swept back in a modest veil, but her blue eyes shone brightly. This was part of the plan she had devised with him—at least it was a plan she had devised with Cormac. In this role, he played the evil warlord.

  “I have come to offer entertainment for ye and yer men,” said Jyne boldly. Core could not help but admire her courage to stand before these men. He hoped they would honor their pledge to him and not attempt anything untoward. She stepped forward with a calm he did not share.

  “What entertainment do ye bring, wench?” His words sounded harsh in his ears. He would certainly never wish to speak to her in this manner, but he felt he must maintain the appearance of a ruthless chieftain or face the loss of the newfound respect of his men. He needed their allegiance, or she was in danger.

  “I offer a story, a tale of murder and intrigue that may be of interest to ye and yer men, especially since the tale is one that happened here at Kinoch Abbey and is the real reason why the monks abandoned the abbey.”

  Core was impressed. She had proposed a story that would be of interest to his men. Without their ale and whiskey, they were a sad-hearted group and appeared eager for any distraction from the misery of sobriety and the pounding of their heads.<
br />
  “Then tell us this tale, lass.” Truly, he could not continue calling her a wench. Even evil warlords must have their limits.

  Jyne boldly strode forward to the middle of the hall. She paused a moment, and all voices hushed until all that could be heard was the occasional soft pop of the fire in the great hearth. “Many years ago, this fair land was owned by a man who did not deserve his good fortune. What many have now forgotten is that this hall was originally built as a fine keep by Laird Archibald for his new bride. Unfortunately, the Lord Archibald was a man of infamous temper and poor moral character.”

  Jyne paused, and her audience waited for her to continue. Men of infamous temper and poor moral character were quite familiar to them. “The Laird Archibald wooed the fair maiden, Lady Joan, reciting poetry to her and playing skillfully on his lute. He ingratiated himself to Joan’s father and brothers, for not only was Joan the fairest maiden o’ the land, but she also had a dowry that would make any man who wed her as rich as a king. Though Joan was wary o’ deceitful suitors, Laird Archibald courted her with genteel manners and kindhearted actions, but he was entirely false.

  “As soon as Lady Joan and Laird Archibald wed, he revealed his true nature. He treated her with cruelty and contempt. He dinna allow her to see her family. He was disrespectful to her before his men and the servants, and even brought women o’ ill repute to sit beside him in the great hall, while she was left, crying, in the tower alone.

  “Perhaps ye’ve wondered why Kinoch Abbey has only one tower. Well, when this keep was first built, there was another tower, a twin to the one that still stands. In this tower was Lady Joan’s chamber, where she lamented her ill treatment at the hands o’ this ruthless man.

  “After several years, Lady Joan had borne Laird Archibald no children, for there was no love in the marriage, and as punishment, he was denied heirs. Laird Archibald was enraged and decided to murder his wife in order that he might wed another.

  “Joan was warned o’ his nefarious plot by a faithful servant. She determined to leave her ruthless husband, but on the night she planned her escape, she was betrayed, and Archibald locked her in her tower. Lady Joan ran up to the top of the tower, trying to flee from her husband. The night was dark, and a storm broke, raining down hail and sleet upon poor Lady Joan’s head. She stood brave to the last in a shimmering white gown.”

  Though storytelling was not a common entertainment for the men who followed Red Rex, they all leaned forward, eager to hear her. Core did too, for he dearly loved stories.

  “The wicked Laird Archibald reached the top o’ the tower and advanced upon her. Lightning flashed and glinted off the blade in his hand. His eyes were blood red with the lust for murder. She stood boldly before her killer.” Jyne began to act out the story, bringing her words to life. Core stared, utterly transfixed.

  “‘Dinna do this evil thing ye have in yer heart, husband,’ Lady Joan said boldly. ‘For if ye do, ye shall most certainly face judgment.’ Joan was brave to the end, but the man was half-crazed with the evil that resided in his soul. He pounced upon her like a beast, striking his dagger deep into her chest. She closed her eyes and breathed her last.”

  Jyne clutched her hands to her breast as if she had been struck down and paused for dramatic effect. His men were silent, eager to hear the lurid tale.

  “Suddenly, a flash illuminated the night sky, and an angel from above came down to take the hand of the good and faithful Lady Joan, guiding her soul up to her divine reward. The evil Laird Archibald was not repentant, even in the face of a messenger from heaven, and cursed his wife even in her death.

  “‘For yer evil deeds,’ commanded the angel, ‘ye shall be condemned to walk the halls o’ this keep forever more.’ With a roar of thunder, lightning struck down Laird Archibald. The force of the fiery blast ripped stone from stone, the tower crumbling to the ground.

  “After the death of Laird Archibald, strange things were said to happen, for the man, so evil in life, was denied entry to either heaven or hell and was forced to walk the floors of his keep, dragging the chains of his evil deeds, never allowed a moment to rest.

  “In time, the story o’ this evil laird was forgotten, and the keep was turned into an abbey. Yet on certain nights, the monks still heard the clanks of the ghost’s chains and the moans of him begging for a mercy that he will never find. Sometimes, if a wicked man enters this place, the white lady herself will return and touch the man with the cold finger of death. Wanting a more peaceful home, the monks moved away, leaving the haunted keep o’ the wicked laird abandoned.”

  Jyne smiled at her audience, the men utterly rapt in the story that she told. Core himself was amazed and, if truth be told, a little frightened by her tale. He was glad he knew that the supposed history was merely a product of the fertile imagination of Jyne Campbell. He had never been more attracted to a lady.

  “I hope ye have enjoyed my tale. Have a good night.” Jyne walked serenely out of the great hall, leaving the low rumblings of men behind her.

  Highlanders were known to be a superstitious lot. Dealing with ghosts and ghouls was not something to be trifled with. Jyne had chosen her fearsome story well. Still, these were Red Rex’s men. They were accustomed to frightening things—they were frightening things—and would not easily be scared from a place by a ghost story.

  “Well, men,” Core said bravely. “I hope ye’ll no’ let the story o’ this keep frighten ye away from yer dreams.”

  “Is it true, the story she tells?” asked one of the men.

  “Aye, it is, lads, or at least that is what I’ve heard. I dinna wish to tell ye before, for fear ye’d no’ come. But I suppose ’tis only fair ye ken the truth o’ this place. Why else would it be so abandoned?”

  “But there were folks living here,” commented one man.

  “Aye, the verra old and the verra young. They have the protection o’ the white lady. I think it best ye no’ do anything that might antagonize her, ye ken? Well, to bed, men.” Core strode up the stairs to his chamber, smiling to himself as he went. He changed back into his regular garments and waited until the appointed time before rapping at her chamber door.

  “Ye were amazing!” he pronounced as he walked inside the chamber.

  “Did ye hear me?”

  “Aye. I hid in the kitchens and heard every word. How did ye create such a tale?”

  Jyne smiled at him and shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I do love a good tale. I put together pieces o’ several stories. I fear it was quite ghastly.”

  “All the better. That should put the fear in these bastards. It was completely imagined, ye say?” he asked, just to make sure.

  Jyne laughed at him, a merry sound. “I dinna scare ye, did I? Rest assured, it was all a story. I was often sick as a child and spent much time lying on my pallet while others went out to play. I amused myself by making up stories.”

  “I used to love reading stories when I was young.” He stepped closer to Jyne, unable to stay away. “I was not sickly, but there were no other children, so I had to amuse myself. Stories were to me a window into a greater world.”

  “Aye, that is how I feel too.” Her eyes were kind in the candlelight. “Were ye an only child?”

  “I was raised in a monastery. The monks fed me, taught me to read, but were not much for games.”

  “I was the youngest Campbell daughter. I wished to play wi’ the others, but I was always too small or too weak. So I made up stories instead.”

  “I would love to hear those stories.” He was completely sincere. He had been drawn to her for her beauty and innate kindness, but a storyteller? That was a true gift.

  He realized he was holding her hand and did not even remember taking it. Or maybe she had reached out to him. It felt so natural that he had not noticed.

  She gave him a small smile. “Nobody has ever been much interested. Or mayhap I have no’
shared them wi’ anyone.”

  “I hope ye might be convinced to share them wi’ me.”

  She looked down, and he suspected a blush. “I do hope it shall scare away the Fire Lord and his men, especially after tonight.”

  “Is there more to this plan o’ yers?” he asked.

  Jyne released his hand and rubbed hers together. “Och, aye, there is. Ye’ll help me?”

  “I’m yers to command.” He smiled at her. “What is yer plan?”

  “I plan to make a little ghostly racket.”

  “Ye’re a devious one, Jyne Campbell. I like that in a lass.”

  Fifteen

  “Did ye find any chains?” Jyne whispered to Cormac. She held wooden shoes in her hands and had a few items in her pocket she felt might serve their ghoulish purpose for the evening. Despite the seriousness of her situation, she could not help but feel a tremble of excitement to be conducting her plan beside her new friend.

  More than a friend.

  “Aye, some chain mail ought to do,” responded Core, and Jyne had to think hard to remember the string of their conversation. She needed to stop falling into a dreamy reverie and focus on their task, or they could both be in danger.

  “Verra good. Now we just need to figure out where to hide.” Jyne followed Cormac as he slipped noiselessly down the circular stairs of the tower. He moved as silently and as gracefully as a cat. Clearly, he had practice in the art of sneaking about.

  “I ken a good place,” he said. “Brother Luke told me that there is a passageway between the courtyard and the barracks where the men are sleeping. It was the old passageway of the converts from the abbey days. The workers had begun to seal it up, but I think there is a small space we can crawl through to it.”

  “Ye talked to Brother Luke?” Jyne was instantly concerned. What if the monk revealed their plan?

  Core stopped, his back to her. He paused a moment before turning to her. “Aye, I felt he could be trusted,” he said in a hushed tone.