My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  “But he is staying wi’ the Fire Lord. What if he reveals us?” Jyne whispered furiously.

  “He winna do that. He has no more love for these men than ye do.”

  Jyne was confused. “But how did ye even meet wi’ him? I dinna think he ever left the solar.”

  “He must have. Otherwise, how could I have seen him?” Core hedged. “We should really get moving before someone hears us.”

  Jyne followed him into the central courtyard. It was a cold, cloudless night, the white stars scattered across the night sky, sharp and clear. A half-moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light on the courtyard. All was silent.

  Core kept to the shadows along the edge of the building. The raiders had been an unusually quiet and downcast lot without their usual drunken carousing and had turned in early. They had taken up residence in the old cells for the monks, which had been in the process of being renovated. The old dormitory was located on the east side of the old abbey, next to where Jyne’s fictional tower had crumbled.

  Core turned and pressed a finger to his lips to admonish her to move more quietly. She thought she had been noiseless, but apparently not silent enough for the master before her. He paused for a moment outside the dormitory. No sound could be heard above the occasional snores of the brigands.

  Core slowly unlatched the door and moved in without making a sound. Jyne was impressed. She attempted to follow suit but received a sharp look from him when her slipper scuffed along the floor. She shrugged her shoulders to let him know she was doing her best.

  They moved forward carefully into the antechamber before the dormitory. There should have been another door leading from the small chamber to the sleeping quarters, but it had been removed, so they were visible if anyone stuck their head out into the main corridor and looked down the hall. Jyne’s breath quickened. What would these men do if they found them sneaking into their barracks at night? Torture? Death?

  Jyne’s pulse raced. It was one thing to plan in the relative safety of her chamber. It was another to actually follow through with real, dangerous men.

  Core motioned to her, and she followed him to the corner where some wood planks leaned against the wall. Core kneeled down and crawled behind them and disappeared. Jyne waited for a moment, for there could not have been more than a few feet of space under the planks.

  A snort and a grumble from one of the men had Jyne ducking down to crawl behind the planks with Core, space or no space. She was surprised to find, first, there was no Core, and second, there was a hole in the wall. It looked like it had been a passageway at one time and was being closed off. This must have been the passageway of the converts!

  Jyne crawled through, having to pull her skirts along, and was able to stand up once she reached the passageway. It was pitch-black, for neither of them had brought a candle. Jyne felt around, trying to determine the dimensions of her location. It appeared to be a long, narrow hall. If she stretched out her arms, she could touch both sides of the cold stone walls.

  She waited for a moment but could hear nothing. Where had Core gone? Had he left her there alone? “Core?” she called in a loud whisper.

  Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her. She cried out in surprise, but her mouth was instantly smothered in a demanding kiss. It was either a very affectionate ghost, or Core had returned to kiss her senseless. If that was his goal, he was doing a good job of it. Her body pressed against his, and her ears buzzed with a happy tingling. She knew her brothers would not approve of such goings-on, but alone in the dark with a handsome Highlander—how could she resist?

  He broke the kiss, but remained holding her close, whispering so softly in her ear, she could barely hear him. “Ye must remain quiet.”

  “If I dinna, will ye kiss me again?” she whispered back, but apparently not quietly enough, for he kissed her again.

  Her body melted into his, and she savored his kiss, giving back to him what she received. Delighting in the novel experience, she found she enjoyed kissing very much, and when his hands moved up into her hair, she enjoyed that too.

  Finally, for no other reason than she was becoming light-headed, either due to the amazing sensations he was creating within her or from lack of breath, their lips parted, and she rested her head on his shoulder, still warm within his embrace. She realized how lonely she had been, living within her brother’s castle, serving others. There were always many needs to tend, with many people about, but she had kept a little to herself.

  Now she experienced the thrill of the desire of a man. He wanted her. He enjoyed kissing her as much as she enjoyed kissing him. It made her feel powerful and bold. And yet, he had made it clear that when her brother arrived, he would be gone. She feared heartbreak when it came time to part.

  With that unsettling thought, she pulled away enough to whisper in his ear, “We should do this.”

  Core nodded, his cheek rubbing against hers. He released her, and she wrapped her arms around herself against the sudden cold.

  The sound of chains being dragged slowly across the stones echoed through the narrow chamber. Core must have been dragging the mail across the floor.

  “What’s that?” asked one of the warriors on the other side of the wall. “Hey, did anyone hear that?”

  “Wheesht!”

  “Shut up! Trying to sleep!”

  “Wait, I hear something too.”

  Jyne slipped on her wooden shoes and began to walk slowly, pounding her foot down and then dragging it along the stone floor to create an eerie scraping sound.

  “What is that noise?” asked another man.

  “’Tis the ghost!” cried a man whose voice sounded like the large Dubh.

  “’Tis not a ghost,” roared Bran. “’Tis probably some o’ the wee ones, playing a prank. Quick as ye can, run around and catch the buggers, and we’ll give them what for!”

  All the men now seemed to be awake, and the loud pounding of their footsteps could be heard running around to the other side of the wall, while she and Core remained hidden in the passageway in between.

  “There’s none here!” called a few of the men from the other side of the wall.

  “Probably scared them off,” called Bran. “Go back to bed.”

  Jyne took out a broken handle from an iron pot and ran it along the wall, making a horrible scraping noise that might have sounded like a blade being drawn across the wall.

  “W-what the hell was that?” cried one man, his voice shaking.

  “Who be making that noise?”

  “There’s none on this side.”

  “There’s none on the other side, either,” called back some others as the men walked around both sides of the narrow passage.

  “’Tis the ghost!”

  “’Tis not a ghost,” demanded Bran.

  Suddenly, a loud racket was made from the kitchens, with the sound of pots and pans being clanked together.

  “It’s the tricksters again. Get them!” cried Bran.

  With a whoop and a holler, the men raced to the kitchens, giving Jyne and Core the opportunity to leave their hiding place.

  “I hope the lads winna be caught,” whispered Jyne as she crawled out of the passage and was helped back to her feet by Core.

  “They be swift lads. They ken how to make a racket and race back around to the refectory through the great hall. They’ll be fine. Now, scream.”

  Jyne shrieked with what she hoped was unearthly horror. Core had chosen the place well, for the sound echoed down the halls in both directions, making it difficult to tell where the sound originated.

  The men hollered back at the noise from the direction of the kitchens. They sounded scared. Jyne smiled at Core, enjoying herself despite the fear of getting caught. Core returned the smile with a mischievous grin of his own and grabbed her hand as they ran back to the refectory, where they had planned to take ref
uge among the youngsters, but the door was locked.

  “They must have forgotten to leave it open,” said Jyne in a hushed tone. The sounds of the warriors were drawing nearer.

  “Quick, in here,” said Core, and they rushed into the storeroom, closing the door behind them, casting them again into complete darkness.

  “Oh,” said Jyne, tripping over something. “I canna see a thing.”

  “Where are ye?” responded Core softly from a different part of the storeroom.

  “Over here,” replied Jyne, perhaps a bit too loudly, her mind focused on the kisses they had shared. It seemed like another excellent opportunity.

  “Och, hide!” whispered Core so softly, she could barely hear him.

  “What?”

  Before he could answer, the door was wrenched open, and Bran and Dubh stood blocking the doorway, lanterns in hand. Bran was wearing nothing but a kilt, revealing rippling muscles. Dubh, on the other hand, wore nothing but a tunic stretched over his wide belly. The fabric barely covered what it ought, and Jyne turned away quickly, not wanting to see any more of Dubh than she already had.

  “There! I told ye this was naught but a trick. That is yer ghost, our unwelcoming hostess,” declared Bran. He turned to her with a snarl. “Ye have some explaining to do!”

  Jyne quickly scanned the room, but Core was nowhere in sight. He must have been able to find a hiding place in time. Jyne squared her shoulders and faced Bran and Dubh. She had witnessed her brothers get out of tight situations too many times not to know what to do. When caught red-handed—deny and blame!

  “I need to explain? I was awoken from my slumber by banging and hollering. I came to see what the matter was and heard an unholy cry. It sounded like a woman being murdered, it did. If ye have hurt any o’ the elders, I swear I shall see ye face justice for it!”

  “We dinna hurt anyone,” said a wide-eyed Dubh. “It was her what screamed, the white lady!”

  “Dinna let yerself get caught up in a fanciful tale!” demanded Bran. “This witch is the only unholy creature here. She told us all a frightening tale and thinks to make us look the fool by clanking a few chains and screaming like a banshee. Why else do ye ken she’s standing in the dark in the storeroom?”

  “I was pushed in by ye!” declared Jyne. “I ran down to see what was the matter and then one o’ yer men pushed me in here. At least I thought it was one o’ yer men. I felt two icy hands on me back.”

  Dubh shuddered as if he too could feel icy fingers run up his spine.

  Bran opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned out by three distinct clangs of metal against metal.

  “W-what was that?” asked a quivering Dubh.

  “’Tis no’ me,” declared Jyne, for it wasn’t. “Ye can see for yerself I dinna make that noise. What is it?” Jyne was impressed that Core had the presence of mind to make some “ghostly” noises to distract them.

  Bran shook his head. “She must have someone else wi’ her here.” He strode boldly into the room, standing on the trapdoor. “Show yerself!”

  Three clear clangs sounded again. This time it sounded clearly like it came from underneath. Bran jumped back off of the trapdoor, his hand on his knife. Jyne also backed away from the trapdoor, standing close to Bran and Dubh as if she was more afraid of the ghost than them.

  “T-that way leads to the c-crypt,” stuttered Dubh.

  “’Tis a trick. There is no such thing as ghosties,” said Bran, but he sounded much less sure of himself.

  They all backed away toward the door.

  “She must have one o’ the young ones down there,” said Bran.

  “Are ye daft? None o’ the elders or young ones would be out on a night like tonight,” declared Jyne, warming to her story. “Try the door where they are. It be locked. That is the only way to stay safe. For this be the one hundredth year since the wicked laird murdered his wife. ’Tis no’ safe to roam about.”

  Dubh dashed out of the storeroom and tried the door to the refectory. “’Tis locked,” he called. “I’m going back to my cell and lock the door!” His heavy footsteps ran back to his sleeping quarters, and his loud voice rang out clear. “The only way to stay safe is to lock yerself in. Ye must lock the doors against the ghost o’ the white lady!”

  Bran scowled at her and shook his head. A slight sound over his shoulder startled him, and he spun around, knife in hand. A large orange cat padded by on soft paws. Bran snarled at her but turned on his heel and stormed back to the barracks.

  Jyne stood watching until all was quiet. Core joined her, touching his shoulder to hers. “Thank ye fer helping me,” she said, gently leaning into him.

  Before Core could speak, three distinct tones of metal on metal came from the storeroom.

  “What was that?” Jyne gasped.

  Core slammed the door of the storeroom shut and dragged her out into the pale moonlight of the courtyard. “I dinna ken. There are no true ghosts here, are there?”

  “I…I dinna ken.”

  “I’ll walk ye back to yer chamber,” said Core.

  “Aye, thank ye.” She suddenly wished to be back in her own chamber again, where it was safe.

  It was hard to be anything but happy when Core held her hand in his, but what had made that sound? She recalled the matron had said she also heard noises in the night.

  Was the abbey actually haunted? A shiver crept down her spine until Core wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She breathed deeply. Whatever enemy she faced, at least she did not face it alone.

  Sixteen

  The next morning, Core woke after a deep sleep. Sleep in which a certain Highland lass was featured prominently. Putting fear into his father’s men, who had belittled and threatened him since his arrival in their midst, was more rewarding than he had anticipated, and he slept better than he had in months. He still had situations to resolve, but he had already accomplished more than he expected, so he gave himself leave to feel optimistic.

  “Things went well?” asked Brother Luke in a tone that conveyed disapproval.

  “Aye,” said Core, belting on his great plaid. “Dubh was terrified. Bran was too, but he’d rather face a thousand banshees than admit it.”

  “I understand the goal of Lady Jyne was to frighten off the men. Have they left?”

  “’Course not. The men o’ Red Rex winna turn tail just because of a wee little ghost.”

  “Then it was a doomed exercise from the start.” Brother Luke turned back to the scroll, his feelings on the matter clear.

  “They winna leave, but we’ve put the fear in them.”

  “I understand how scaring your own men may bolster your status, but how does this help the objective of finding a treasure to prevent the destruction of irreplaceable texts and the wanton murder of dozens of God’s holy men?”

  The monk’s words were like ice water dumped on Core’s head. He turned to Brother Luke slowly. “At least I am trying to do something. All ye’ve done since we got here is hide in this solar and read Aristotle. I would’na be in this mess if ye had’na gotten yerself caught and I was forced to make up a lie to prevent ye from being killed. All this trouble and pain o’ coming here is to try to save yer precious monastery. If ye ken a better way to do it, I wish ye’d get off yer arse and get to it!”

  Brother Luke set down his scroll and slowly stood. He stared at Core, his face inscrutable.

  “Come to think of it, ye ne’er even thanked me for saving yer life, ye ungrateful sod,” accused Core, giving voice to his anger and his frustration at the sad truth that he was no closer to finding a solution to their problem. “I should’ve chopped yer head off and saved myself all this bother!”

  Cormac stormed to the door and wrenched it open.

  “Cormac,” said Brother Luke. “Thank you.”

  Cormac paused in the doorway, then stepped ba
ck into the solar and closed the door. It was not what he was expecting to hear.

  “There is truth in what you say,” continued Luke. “I hope I am not beyond accepting rebuke if I am in the wrong, even if it comes from an unlikely source.”

  Even in Luke’s concession, there were little barbs. “Well, thank ye for that. Just remembered I’m Cormac, so I need to go out the window.” Core walked to the window and opened the shutters to climb down the outside of the tower so his true identity would be kept secret from Jyne.

  Core could no longer meet Brother Luke’s eyes. He had felt for a moment that he had the upper hand, but it was difficult to feel morally superior when you were sneaking out a window.

  “Qui diligit disciplinam diligit scientiam qui autem odit increpationes insipiens est,” quoted the monk with the ease of a man who had studied the scriptures his whole life.

  Unfortunately for Core’s peace of mind, he had been raised by monks to be fluent in many languages, and this was not the first time that particular verse from Proverbs had been quoted to him. He could easily translate the verse in his head, Whoso loveth instruction loveth knowledge: but he that hateth reproof is brutish.

  The good brother had just called him stupid. Maybe Luke was right too. But unlike the virtuous monk, Core had no desire to accept rebuke and change his ways.

  Core climbed down the ivy vines as quickly as he could and strode around the keep to the kitchens, where he hoped to find Jyne. As he walked, he remembered another chore he must do, and hoped Jyne would actually not be present, for it would be easier to complete without her asking questions.

  He entered the back door to the kitchens with some caution. Cook bustled about, with several children attempting to assist but more often than not getting in the old woman’s way. Jyne was nowhere to be seen.

  “I need a ration o’ food, if ye please,” he said.

  “Help yerself, laddie,” said Cook, trying to show a young girl how to prepare beans. “Stew’s in the pot, trenchers are on the sill, and ale is in the cask.”

  Core prepared a generous portion and snuck out the side door leading to the courtyard. He needed to get to the storeroom, preferably without being seen. Fortunately for his interest in stealth, the courtyard was filled with the thick Highland fog that settled heavily in the low places in the morning. From what he could tell, the courtyard was deserted. Most of his men were either still sleeping after the long night or too afraid to leave their cells.