My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  “Open this gate! Yer master has arrived!” Red Rex’s voice thundered across the outer ward and no doubt the very valley itself. The gates may have been barred to his physical body, but his voice certainly slashed through.

  Cormac’s pulse thundered in his ears. He had spent years being afraid of this man, trying to run away from him or avoid his ire. Not today. He was done running. Whatever this was between him and his father, it needed to end here. Now.

  “I am the master o’ this keep. The gates open for none but whom I choose.” Cormac’s voice rang out over the hills, sounding almost like somebody else’s voice. He had never, ever spoken to his father that way.

  “What’s he doing? He’s gonna get us all killed!” Dubh’s voice could be plainly heard, along with furious whispers from his men to remain silent. Cormac agreed with Dubh. He was certainly venturing down a course that got men killed.

  Red Rex was silent for a moment, perhaps too shocked to make a reply. Cormac held his breath, waiting for the response. Even the wind had died down, as if it too was holding its breath to see what the notorious warlord would do in the face of such flagrant defiance.

  “So my son has finally decided to become a man.” Red Rex laughed. “Do ye hear what my boy just said to me?” He turned to his compatriots, and they nodded cautiously, unsure which way this unpredictable and dangerous man was going. “Looks like my boy has found his manhood today.” Red Rex removed his helm and laughed again in an angry, scornful tone, his coarse red hair sticking out at all angles around his head, like he was on fire.

  Cormac was slightly relieved at his father’s response, for he had expected blind fury.

  “Now ye listen here, boy,” Red growled, his laughter ending in an instant. “I am the master o’ ye and anything ye think ye possess.”

  “Nay, sire. I choose this day to be my own master.”

  Rex’s voice was low and ominous. “I own ye, boy. If ye want to be yer own master, ye have to kill me to do it.”

  The wind blew like cold daggers against Core’s face. If he ever wanted to be free of his father, he would have to kill him. The only surprising thing about the realization was that Cormac was not surprised. Somehow, he’d always known it would come down to this. He would have to face his father in combat.

  And his father would win.

  Everyone knew this. There was no way Cormac could hold his own against his father. He either needed to accept defeat and serve his father the rest of his days, or he would have to fight and die.

  Cormac knew his father too well to think that he would show him mercy. His father had shown him many times his willingness to kill things, regardless of whether his father liked them or not. Cormac wasn’t exactly sure which camp he fell into, but either way, if he fought, his father would kill him.

  Cormac felt the eyes of everyone on him. His father and all his warriors glared at him. Behind him, he could sense his men staring at him. He turned around slowly to look at the only one who truly mattered to him.

  Jyne Campbell stood on the other side of the courtyard. She was still the small, thin, ethereal creature who had captured his interest from the moment he had seen her. His eyes met hers. Even from a distance, he could see how they blazed.

  She glided toward him, crossing the courtyard with such fluid movements, it almost appeared that she floated. He also moved toward her, ignoring his father at the gate. Jyne reached the stone staircase and stood at the bottom, looking up at him.

  “What will ye do?” she asked.

  What would he do? It would be senseless to try to fight his father; everyone knew that. Everyone except Jyne Campbell. In her eyes, he saw determination. She had not let her size or insurmountable odds stop her from fighting against him.

  He took a deep breath of the cold, fresh air. “Ye make me want to be a better person.”

  “I know ye can be. I know ye are.” Her words melted away the pain and bitterness. It was time to let it go. It was time to break the chains and claim his freedom.

  “Has all the bite gone out o’ my son? He is so scared, he canna even answer me!” his father roared from beyond the gate. The man did not like to be kept waiting.

  “If ye would excuse me for a moment,” Core called back. It was the kind of polite statement that would set his father’s teeth on edge. Cormac didn’t care. He was going to be the man he wanted to be, and if that meant using correct grammar and social politeness, then so be it.

  “Thank ye, Jyne. Ye’ve changed my life, for as many minutes as I have left me. I want ye to know that.”

  “I trust ye shall have many minutes to string together yet,” said Jyne with shining eyes.

  “Now if ye have any compassion for me, please run from this place. I will face my father, and barring some sort of miracle, I will die. Please go.”

  “Dinna die,” she commanded, her shoulders back, her eyes flashing. She turned and ran back across the outer ward to the keep, with Donnach following behind as her personal protector.

  Core returned to the wall walk and leaned against the battlements, looking down at his father. “Then we will fight. For no man owns me.”

  A small smile spread across Rex’s face. The man respected courage. But he would still kill him. “So today, my son becomes a man. And today also will be the day he dies. But at least, Son, ye shall die a man.”

  Thirty-eight

  Cormac had finally earned his father’s respect. After years of attempting to placate his father, all Core had ever gotten were insults and blows hurled at him with rapidity and soul-wrenching accuracy. Apparently, the only way to earn his father’s respect was to kill him.

  There was something very disturbing going on in his family.

  “Open the gate,” commanded Core.

  No one moved.

  “I said, open the gate,” he shouted.

  With great reluctance, the portcullis was slowly raised once more, moaning its complaint along the way. Cormac ran down the stone stairs to be the first to meet his father at the gate. If his father lunged at him now, there would be little for him to do but die bravely. He swallowed down gall. He really didn’t want to die bravely.

  “Welcome, Father,” said Cormac as the gates opened and his father strode through on mighty legs like tree trunks. His father was a giant of a man, and Cormac feared he may have grown a few inches since he had seen him last. Often, as children grow, their parents seem to shrink in size. In the case of Red Rex, his magnitude only seemed to increase.

  “I’m glad ye finally grew to be a man.” His father slapped him on the back so hard that Cormac stumbled forward. “Wish ye were stronger, so this would be more of a fight, but at least ye can die a man.”

  “I would ask for the honor o’ choosing the weapons,” said Core, trying to think of some way to survive. Jyne had demanded it of him, and apparently, he was hers to command. He doubted his father would accept a rousing game of chess instead of swords.

  His father laughed. “Choose whate’er ye like. The outcome will be the same.” Could his father kill him with a chessboard? Yes…yes, he could.

  “Ye must be tired from the road. Come, eat, drink, and then we shall proceed,” said Cormac, trying to give himself time to devise a plan. There was no way he could face his father in any form of combat and emerge the victor. He was not particularly pleased with the prospect of having to kill his father, but he was less pleased with the prospect of being killed himself.

  “I need no rest. Ye can sleep when ye’re dead,” his father growled at him.

  “Please do accept my hospitality. The last request of a condemned man.”

  “Och, ye talk too much. I’ll have a whiskey to whet my appetite, and then we’ll see this through.” His father glared down at him and shook his head. “Damn, but ye look like yer mother.” It was not a compliment.

  Core gestured toward the great hall, and his f
ather brushed past him into the keep. The rest of his followers passed Cormac, not one looking him in the eye. You should not look too closely at the condemned.

  “Feed them, and get Rex as drunk as ye can,” whispered Cormac to Bran as he passed him on his way into the hall.

  “I’ve seen yer father drink kegs o’ whiskey and no’ so much as slur a word,” replied Bran.

  Cormac knew it to be true. His father must have whiskey running through his veins, for the man drank steadily without noticeable effect. “Do the best ye can to keep him distracted for a while.”

  “What are ye going to do?”

  “I dinna ken,” answered Core honestly. “I need time to think.”

  “Ye best come up wi’ something, or we may face yer same fate.”

  “Probably should’na have thrown yer lot in wi’ me then.”

  “Aye, but I did, and I stand by it. Someone needs to stand up to that man,” Bran muttered. “I’ve seen strong men go at it, only to be laid waste. I’ve seen the clever, the skilled, the brave, and the utterly foolhardy, and Red Rex has killed them all. But what I’ve ne’er seen is ye stand up to him.”

  “And ye reckon I can succeed where others have failed?” Hope blossomed within him. If Bran thought it was possible for him to defeat his father, maybe it actually was.

  “Nay.” Hope crashed back down. “I just meant I’ve ne’er seen it.”

  “That is not at all helpful.”

  Bran shrugged, his face impassive. He clasped Core’s shoulder for a moment, then filed in to the great hall with the others, leaving Cormac to fight his own battles.

  Instead of going into the hall, Core turned to go up the stairs to the tower. He needed to escape the chaos below and think.

  “Have ye gone mad?” Breanna rushed down the stairs, her eyes wide, her face pale. “Our father is going to kill ye!”

  “Nay,” said Jyne confidently, coming down the stairs behind her. “Core will think o’ something. He always does.”

  “I thought I told ye to run away,” cried Core, dismayed to see her there.

  “I believe ye can overcome him.”

  Core stared at her, incredulous. He shook his head at her confidence in him, false as it was. “Thank ye. I just need to think of a plan.”

  “I shall no’ distract ye then.” Breanna sighed and put a hand on his shoulder. “Farewell, my brother.” She slowly trudged back up the stairs to the chamber.

  “Stay wi’ Luke, my sister.”

  “I will,” she answered over her shoulder.

  “I am sorry, m’lady. For everything,” said Core, turning back to Jyne. He held out his hands, and she took them.

  “Ye are forgiven. For everything.” Jyne returned his smile, though her eyes were moist. She was fighting against tears.

  “I hope the Good Lord can be as forgiving as ye.”

  “If ye pray for forgiveness, ye can be assured of it!” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a warm embrace. It was her good-bye to him, and he knew it. He truly was going to die.

  “I shall be sure to say my prayers before—” The slaughter? The murder?

  “Good. I shall pray for ye too.” Jyne held him tighter. “I wish things were different.”

  “I wish my biggest problem was to convince yer brother to allow me to marry ye.”

  “Ye wish to marry me?” asked Jyne, looking up with wide eyes.

  “More than anything,” sighed Core. He did not care anymore about hiding his feelings. If he was going to die today, he might as well tell Jyne the whole truth.

  “I…I would like that too.”

  It was Core’s turn to stare down at her. “Truly?” Joy rose in his heart.

  “Truly.”

  Core drew her closer and kissed her firmly on the mouth, all his fears and hopes and dreams and worries crashing together into one last passionate kiss. When their lips finally parted, he was feeling a bit light-headed. Jyne gazed up at him with an unguarded passion that made his heart skip a beat.

  “I canna lose ye,” murmured Jyne.

  “At least ye’re no longer angry at me.”

  “Not angry at ye? I am furious! But ye’re mine, and none should kill ye but me.”

  Cormac grinned at her ferocity. He would willingly submit himself to her hand.

  “If only there was a way for ye to face him wi’ something ye know well,” said Jyne. “Too bad the Fire Lord canna go in yer place.”

  “Wait…” The wheels began to spin in his mind. What if he used alchemy? “I think I have an idea.”

  Jyne kissed him on the cheek. “For luck.”

  “I wish I could tarry longer, but och, I must go. If ye would help me, bring to the kitchen the box from my room wi’ the alchemy equipment and jars. Be careful wi’ it!”

  “I will!” Jyne hiked up her skirts and sprinted up the stone stairs.

  Core ran off to the kitchens. He did not have long. His father would drink a while once he started, but still, that left him only an hour or two. In the kitchen, he began to search for something that might work. He picked up an iron kettle with a long, narrow neck and a thick bottom. It might just work.

  Jyne ran in, carrying a crate from his room. “Is this what ye need?”

  “Aye, thank ye. Will ye help me?”

  Jyne’s eyes shone. “O’ course I will.”

  Two hours later, Cormac stood in the outer ward, facing down his father. People lined up on either side of the ward, giving the combatants a wide berth.

  “Kettles?” His father laughed so hard, he almost fell over. “Ye wish to conduct mortal combat wi’ kettles?” He snorted, and his men mocked and howled.

  Cormac held a short spear with a modified iron kettle affixed to the top. His men stared at him in horror. Only Lady Jyne gave him a nod of courage. He had told her to run away and hide, but she had clearly refused.

  “If ye dinna bring yer war kettle, ye may use a sword,” conceded Core.

  “War kettle?” His father began to laugh again. “Och, I thought ye had finally become a man. But nay, ye’ve ne’er been anything but a weakling, and ye’ll die a weakling.”

  Core did not respond to his father’s taunts but held his ground.

  “At least I had found a funeral pyre prepared for ye.” Rex motioned to some men behind him, and they dragged out the cart full of precious, rare texts, books, and scrolls. His father had found the books.

  “No!” shouted a voice Core knew to be Luke’s. It was all going terribly wrong.

  At a signal from Red Rex, a man stepped forward with a torch.

  “Wait!” cried Core. His heart pounded to see a torch hovering over the irreplaceable texts. “Ye can do whatever ye wish to me and the books, but ye have to kill me first.”

  “That is no great feat,” growled Rex.

  “If ye had any sense, ye’d submit to Cormac now,” cried Jyne, fierce in her defense.

  “Shut it, wench! Who do ye think ye are?” thundered Red Rex.

  “Dinna insult her!” cried Cormac.

  “Ah, so ye have found yerself a lightskirt, eh, lad?” Rex gave him a cruel smile, and Core knew he had made a mistake. “I will take a turn wi’ her after ye’re dead!”

  Core’s heart pounded in his throat. Jyne was in grave danger. He had been afraid before, but never had he known such dire panic. If he failed, Rex would assault and murder Jyne. The books would be burned to ash, and everyone around him would be hurt. He had to stop this man.

  “Ye’ll no’ touch her.” Core knew there was only one way to prevent it.

  “Have ye developed feelings for this wench?” Rex sneered.

  Core paused, but only for a moment. It did not matter now if he denied it; Rex would not believe him. The only way to protect Jyne was to kill his father. Since that was unlikely, Core wanted his last words t
o be the truth. Jyne deserved that much at least. He squared his shoulders and stood tall. “I love the Lady Jyne.”

  “Love is for the weak!” roared the warlord, all trace of humor drained from his face.

  “Then as a weakling, it is for me!” Core thundered back in a voice he had not known he had.

  “This ends now!” His father drew his sword and charged with a fierce battle cry.

  Core leveled his weapon and lit the fuse in the spout. He prayed it would work, or he and Jyne were both dead. His father sprinted toward him, sword upraised. Core braced himself, his heart pounding against his chest, waiting for his experiment to work. Nothing happened. His father was almost upon him, arms upraised. This was the end.

  A powerful blast tore through the outer ward. The force of it knocked Core against the stone wall of the keep. His vision grew hazy around the edges, and he saw pinpricks of light. He lay on his back, his head spinning, his ears ringing. He closed his eyes, wanting to be claimed by the nothingness that seduced him. He wondered if he had died in the blast instead of his father.

  But what of Jyne? His eyes flew open again. He needed to protect her. Was his father still alive? Was she in danger even now?

  Slowly, he struggled back to his feet and stepped forward into the haze of smoke and dust. All was quiet. Perhaps all were stunned, or maybe he could not hear anyone speak over the ringing in his ears. What had happened?

  He staggered forward until he found the still-smoking kettle on the ground where he had dropped it. Hand-carrying such a weapon was not the best option. But where was his father? As the dust and smoke settled, he could make out the forms of people standing on either side. They were all silent and all staring at one spot on the ground. Only one person was looking at him.

  Jyne ran forward. “Are ye hurt?”

  “I still stand, but what o’ my father?”

  “He does not stand.” She turned in the same direction that everyone else was staring.