My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  Jyne backed away from the gate to allow the warlord access to unlock the door. Why would he agree so readily to her demands? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

  “Ye need to get her out o’ here,” the Fire Lord said to Donnach, who nodded in return. He slowly placed the key in the lock and turned it, unlocking the iron-bar gate.

  “Now back away and let him go,” demanded Jyne. She dropped her torch and grabbed her bow to make sure the Fire Lord did not hurt Donnach. Something behind her began to crackle and spit.

  “Run!” commanded the Fire Lord.

  Donnach sprinted toward her and grabbed her hand. “Run! Make haste!” He pulled her toward the stairs even as several more black lines on the floor began to sparkle and hiss.

  She tried to run after Donnach, but he pulled hard, yanking her off her feet. She fell to the ground, and something flashed before her eyes. She rolled over and backed away from the spitting, crackling fire, but it was now between her and the stairs. The strange sparkling and popping fire was racing toward a black lantern sort of contraption.

  “Get away!” shouted the Fire Lord, emerging up from behind a large rock formation, his horned helmet casting grotesque shadows on the rock walls like an emerging demon.

  She backed away from him toward the hissing lantern. “Ye stay away from me!”

  “Get away from there! Run!” He jumped over a large boulder and sprinted toward her. She shrieked and braced herself for the impact, for he looked as if he would run straight through her, but instead, he dashed past her toward the hissing lantern and kicked it to a far wall, then spun quickly and tackled her to the ground, covering her with his body.

  She opened her mouth to scream in protest, but a loud blast ripped through the cavern, silencing her with an ear-splitting explosion. A thunder of rocks shattering, falling, cascading down, gripped her with a nameless fear. They were going to be crushed. She opened her mouth to scream but choked on the dust. They were plunged into total darkness, the inky blackness of a tomb.

  She was buried alive with the Fire Lord.

  Thirty

  The detestable warlord pressed himself closer on top of her as rocks and debris rained down on them. The man suddenly went heavy on her, and she gasped for breath, coughing and sputtering in the thick dust.

  As suddenly as it began, it was over, a few pebbles continuing to slide, and then all she could hear was the ringing in her ears in the darkness. She blinked her eyes against the grit, but could see nothing. She struggled to get free of the crushing weight on top of her. Was the man dead?

  She grasped at him, trying to push him off of her. His helmet was gone, and he was trimmer than she had imagined under the bulky bearskin cloak. He suddenly gasped for breath and coughed, rolling himself off her. He groaned and remained down, his shoulder touching hers. Nothing could be seen in the inky blackness, the gaping void of nothingness that had fallen over them.

  She sat up, coughing from the dust, her head spinning, her ears ringing. She was shaking from shock and fear. “What have ye done?” Her mouth was filled with grit, and her words came out low and hoarse. She coughed from the dust and debris. Her heart pounded in her chest. She had almost been killed.

  The form next to her lay silent for a moment, and she would have thought him dead were it not for the raspy breathing. This was her chance. The Fire Lord was incapacitated. She should defend herself before he could attack. She scrambled up to her hands and knees and felt around for a rock. She found one and lifted it up with trembling hands. Was she truly going to kill him?

  She held the rock tight, unsure what to do, her pulse pounding in her ears. She could kill him now. She should kill him now.

  He moved, scraping the floor of the cave covered in sand and grit. “Are ye hurt?” he asked in a low, throaty voice.

  She said nothing and instead held the large rock at the ready. This might be her last chance to protect herself. To protect all of them.

  “Jyne?”

  She lifted the rock higher and turned in the direction of his voice. Her hands shook, and she dropped the stone with a crunch on the mass of other stones. She could not kill a man unaware in the dark.

  “Jyne!” His hands fumbled at her.

  “Leave off! Dinna touch me!” She scrambled away from him and put a hand on her table knife that hung from her belt. She was ready to defend herself should he attack.

  Instead, the hands withdrew. “I…I thought ye were hurt.”

  “What have ye done?”

  “Och, my head,” mumbled the warrior. The ringing in her ears had turned to pounding behind her temples. Since he had been above her when the thunder struck, she did not doubt his head was aching something fierce.

  Jyne began to fumble around at the wall of rocks. She could see no crack of light. She could see nothing at all. She felt around with a growing sense of panic. How was she going to get out? She must escape!

  She climbed up the pile of rubble, trying to toss aside the rocks. Beside her came the noise of scuffling and scraping, and she assumed the Fire Lord was also searching for a way out. She moved along what should have opened into the tower stairs, but all she could feel was a cascade of rock.

  “There is no way out.” The Fire Lord’s words were grim.

  “Nay!” cried Jyne, her breaths coming short and quick as terror stuck in her throat. “Nay, there must be a way out.” She began picking up rocks and tossing them aside.

  “The whole corner o’ the keep most likely collapsed,” said the warlord. “We canna escape this way.”

  “I must get out o’ here!” Terror blossomed into panic. She redoubled her efforts in tossing aside rocks. She had to get out. She had to see light. It was getting difficult to breathe.

  “We canna get out that way,” repeated the warlord with a sigh.

  Hands touched her arms, trying to stay them. She flinched and flailed back, hitting something hard. The warlord gasped in pain.

  “Are ye hurt?” she asked, trying to catch her breath.

  He remained silent.

  “Good! I’m glad ye’re hurt!” she pronounced and grabbed another stone. It was too heavy to lift, though she tugged at it with all her might. “I should have knocked ye on the head with a rock when I had the chance.”

  Despair settled on her, and she sank to the sandy floor of the cave, blinking back tears in the stifling blackness. Where was Cormac? He had always been there to rescue her. But no, not this time. He was already gone and believed her to be safe with Breanna and Brother Luke. Core would not come to save her. She was on her own.

  She was trapped with a man she despised. A man who might attack at any moment.

  And yet…he had saved her. Had he not kicked aside the fire lantern and thrown himself over her, she would probably be dead. “Why did ye protect me from yer unholy blast?”

  “I could’na let ye be hurt,” he answered in a gravelly voice, as if it was obvious. But it wasn’t clear at all. Why should a warlord, who had come to conquer them and take a treasure he seemed convinced was buried here, want to save her? Especially since saving her put him in harm’s way.

  “Well…thank ye for saving my life. But why would ye place those…what was that thing that ripped the rocks apart?”

  “A blast o’ black powder.”

  “Is that how ye broke through the postern gate?”

  “Aye. I’ve been studying alchemy and the principles o’…och, never ye mind.” He broke off his train of thought, probably realizing he was sharing too much. Her interest was piqued.

  “Ye’ve been studying?” For some reason, she had assumed all warlords were illiterate, ignorant, and downright unappealing. This one was not fitting the mold. “Why did ye set that…that…thing down here in the first place?”

  “I…I had a plan.”

  “A verra bad plan!” she cried with feeling.


  “Aye, it seems that way,” acknowledged the Fire Lord, sounding defeated.

  “Did ye wish to kill Donnach? Ye’re truly an evil man!” Jyne scrambled to her feet, not wishing to sit beside him any longer.

  “Nay! If I had wanted to kill Donnach, I would have done so days ago.” Boots scraped on the gravelly floor, indicating the warlord had also stood.

  “Then why did ye use yer unholy magic to destroy the cavern and trap us in here?” She was trembling again and decided it was anger. Anger was better than fear.

  “First, ’tis alchemy, no’ magic. And second, I was no’ trying to lock ye in here. Just me!”

  “Ye were trying to trap yerself in here?” Jyne was confused.

  He gave an audible sigh. “I was going to make it look like I was crushed in a cave-in. Then I was going to travel down the tunnel to where it collapsed a long time ago and rip another hole to escape out the back gate.”

  “There’s a back gate?” Hope sparked.

  “Aye, but I wasna ready when ye dropped the torch, and the other charge I had to blast through the back gate exploded wi’ the first.”

  “Why did ye wish to pretend death?” asked Jyne. Nothing was making sense.

  “I had my reasons.”

  “I want to hear them,” she demanded. “If I’m going to be trapped wi’ ye, I’d like to ken the reason for it. Why attack this abbey, making the poor elders wait on ye, then feel ye need to fake yer own death to run away?”

  “I…I…”

  “Nay, I ken why. Ye promised those men a treasure, and yet there is none. Instead o’ facing the truth and admitting ye were wrong, ye put everyone in danger by blasting yer alchemy and running away from it all!”

  “Aye,” said the warlord in a tired voice.

  “And that is how ye behave? Ye take what ye want, wi’out care for anyone, and then take flight when things are difficult?”

  “Thought ye’d be pleased to see me go.”

  “But what o’ the elders left in at Kinoch wi’ yer men? What will happen to them? Ye think o’ naught but yerself!”

  “Naught but myself? Did we no’ plow the fields? Have we no’ provided food for the table?”

  “We were fine wi’out ye!” Jyne yelled. A few pebbles fell and scraped along the floor of the cavern. “Ye’re a hateful, horrible man.” Jyne would have gone on, but she began coughing.

  “Saints give me strength,” he muttered.

  “The saints? They canna hear the blasphemous prayers o’ the likes o’ ye.”

  “’Tis the truth, and I know it.” He spoke slowly, with such a forlorn tone, she almost repented berating him. Almost.

  The sound of more pebbles and rocks dislodging and falling from the ceiling or walls gave way to a new fear. The entire cave might collapse on top of them.

  “We should move farther into the caverns. I fear this place may further collapse,” said the warrior in a deep, gravelly voice that sounded like it was affected by the air thick with dust and debris.

  Jyne wished to argue, but she instantly saw the wisdom in his words. She moved forward with the new fear of being crushed alive. She shuffled in the darkness until she hit a wall, then followed it along until she came to an opening. It was just as dark, but the temperature was cooler. They were proceeding into the crypt.

  He shuffled along beside her, his boots scraping on the floor of the cavern. The reality of her situation settled on her even as the dust settled on the floor of the cavern. She was trapped in this underground crypt with her enemy. The man who had attacked and taken Kinoch from her. The man who had risked his life to save hers. What was she to do now?

  “How are we to get out?” She was almost afraid to ask the question. Was there a way out? If not…if not, she would spend the last days of her life slowly starving to death with the man she despised.

  He was slow to respond. “We shall find another way out.” It was sheer bravado, for she knew he had no idea how they were going to escape, but she appreciated the courage it took to speak the words with confidence.

  “I shall pray ye’re right.”

  “Aye, do pray, lassie. For the good Lord canna hear my prayers, and we surely do need some divine intervention.”

  Jyne felt the squeeze of guilt in her chest for her words of judgment. This was not the time to get in poor graces with the Lord. “I should’na have said what I did. The Lord does hear the prayers o’ the penitent.” Jyne almost hated to admit it, since she did not wish to extend grace to such a man, but she knew it to be true.

  “Does he?” It was an open question, honest, without the film of sarcasm.

  “Aye, he does. We all are in need of grace.”

  “Some o’ us more than others.”

  She was surprised by his easy and honest admission of his need for forgiveness. She had not supposed a warlord to be so self-effacing. “Did not Brother Luke remind us that our Savior came no’ for the healthy but for the sick?”

  “Non est opus valentibus medico sed male habentibus,” quoted the warlord.

  Though her Latin was not as good as it might be, she was certain he had quoted the verse from the Gospel of Matthew correctly. Why would a vicious warlord quote scripture?

  “Ye ken the scriptures?”

  “Nay!” he denied. “Well, aye. Heard it enough.”

  “Have ye? Where?”

  Silence met her again. She strained her eyes, trying to make out his form in the blank nothingness.

  “We should look for a way out.” He had changed the subject, and she decided to let it drop. They had much more pressing concerns.

  “Truce?” he asked.

  She considered the matter. She did not wish to join forces with such a man or be anywhere near such a man, but if there was any hope of escape, they would need to work together.

  “Truce.”

  Thirty-one

  “That is the last o’ the books,” said Breanna, placing her load in the cart. “As soon as Jyne returns, we can all leave.”

  “Yes,” said Luke, throwing a sheet over the precious cargo and tying it down securely. He wore a frown and cast several glances back at Kinoch Abbey.

  “What is it?”

  “There is something I left here when I thought I would leave all my worldly goods behind. Considering our situation, it may prove useful.”

  “Where is it?” asked Breanna, her interest piqued.

  “The quarters where the men have been sleeping.”

  “They are all in the courtyard now. If we are quick, we can get it.” She had to know what this man had left behind. Something of his old life as a duke?

  They crept quickly into the abbey and took an immediate left into the quarters where the cells for the monks had been. In the courtyard, they could hear Cormac giving a rousing speech to the men about finding treasure and him being the Fire Lord or some such rot. Instead of figuring out what her brother was doing, Breanna preferred to follow Luke.

  Luke entered a small cell. “This was my room,” he said, glancing back at her with his blue eyes. It was unusual to meet a man with black curly hair and bright blue eyes. Unusually attractive.

  She caught herself once again lusting after this monk. She really needed to get herself under better regulation.

  Luke tossed aside the cloak of the man who was using the room, revealing a wooden chest. Breanna leaned closer to see what might be in the chest. He opened it, but no, it was empty.

  “O’ course whatever ye left, they would have stolen,” said Breanna with a sigh.

  Luke turned back to her and flashed a knowing smile. He drew a knife and edged it in between the bottom of the chest and the sides. With a bit of effort, he pulled out a board, then another. Breanna leaned in. It was a false bottom.

  “Och, ye’re a clever one,” she praised. “What did ye hide?”

&n
bsp; Luke carefully pulled out some folded clothes of fine linen, silk, and velvet.

  “Lovely,” said Breanna, slightly disappointed.

  Then he drew out an ornately wrought sword with an elaborate crest engraved on the hilt.

  “Holy Saint Andrew! Ye really were a duke!”

  He met her eyes. “I was. I left it here because I thought once I took my vows, I would not have any need for it, for I was denouncing the world.”

  “I am sorry ye got pulled back into it.”

  “Do not be sorry. The past few days have shown me much. I realize I had become quite closed to my fellow man…” He glanced over at her with eyes that seemed older than his years. “I cannot use the monastery to hide. I am glad to have learned that before I took my vows.”

  “Before?” asked Breanna, confused. “I thought ye were a monk.”

  “I am a postulant. I have yet to take my vows.”

  Breanna smiled. “I see.” What she saw was a gorgeous man who had yet to take a vow of celibacy.

  A loud boom crashed through the quiet moment, so loud and unexpected that Breanna jumped toward Luke in fright, and he wrapped his arms around her. The blast was so thunderous, it shook the very stones of the building in which she was standing.

  “What was that?” she gasped, holding a hand over her chest to keep her heart from leaping out of it.

  Luke shook his head in disapproval. “Cormac.”

  “By the saints! He actually harnessed the power of thunder and lightning?”

  Luke nodded. “That shook the foundation. I hope things have not gone amiss.”

  “We should go see.” She turned and fled from the room. She ran into the courtyard, with Luke following behind. She passed the stunned men and the elders, to the smoking hole where the storeroom and the entrance to the crypt used to be. It was now nothing more than a pile of rubble. The storeroom floor had collapsed, falling into the crypt below, filling it with debris.

  “W-what happened here?” gasped Breanna.

  Luke came up after her, his sword strapped to his side. Even he appeared stunned at the destruction. “This is larger than anything I have ever seen him do before.”