The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “The lads will have tae wait,” Alexander said quietly, firmly. “I realize ye left here thirteen years ago and for ye, I’m sure nothin’ of the past is a consideration for the future.”

  Jackston sighed heavily. “Da….”

  Alexander cut him off. “I know ye’ve been off bein’ the grand warrior for the past several years, but here at home, nothin’ has changed. Everyone remembers ye as if it was just yesterday when they last saw ye, and that includes Robert Menzies. I still see him every few weeks and he still asks when ye’re comin’ home. I canna put the man off any longer because, sooner or later, someone is goin’ tae tell him ye’ve come home. When he finds out ye’ve not gone tae see Lizelle, he’s goin’ tae want tae know why. What will ye tell him?”

  By now, Jackston was growing frustrated. “Why does he want tae see me so badly?”

  “Ye know why.”

  Jackston brushed him off. “For a vow I made thirteen years ago?”

  “Aye.”

  “Does he truly plan tae hold me tae it?”

  “He does.”

  Jackston was grossly unhappy now. “I was a child!”

  “Mayhap. But ye made a man’s vow. And if ye have any respect for this family and our name, ye’ll face Robert Menzies. A man doesna so easily cast off a vow, Jackie. Ye made a promise.”

  Jackston leaned forward onto the table and put his face in his hands. His mother happened to enter the hall at that moment with more food for her son. But when she saw him with his hands covering his eyes, she nearly panicked.

  “Jackie!” she cried. “What ’tis wrong?”

  Jackston took his hands off of his face, sitting back as his mother put more food down in front of him. She then put her hand on his forehead to see if he was with fever.

  “Are ye ill?”

  “Nay, Lil.”

  Jackston’s mother was Lilliana but he’d always, since childhood, called her “Lil” because that was what his father called her. Lilliana had grown to love hearing it from her son, expecting it. She’d missed it for all of these years.

  “Did ye eat too much, then?” she asked anxiously.

  Jackston laughed softly. “All I have done since returnin’ home is eat.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Jackston sighed again. “Da wants me tae go tae Braelaw and see Lizelle,” he said. “He feels that since I told her, as a child, that I would marry her, that I must uphold me vow.”

  Lilliana fell quiet for a moment. “I know,” she said. “Ye made a man’s vow, Jackie.”

  Jackston looked at his father accusingly. “Did ye tell her tae say that?”

  Alexander shook his head. “She knows what ye did,” he said. “She’s known for thirteen years. Look at yer mother, Jackie; would ye shame the woman by refusin’ tae fulfill the vow ye made tae Lizelle? She willna say it but I will – if ye dunna do it, ye’ll shame us all. I dunna care if ye’ve been a hero in battle. It matters naught if ye canna keep yer word.”

  Now he was being lectured on the honor of a knight, which was the last thing he wanted to hear. Jackston stood up, abruptly, and moved away from the table. The dogs that patrolled the hall followed him, hoping for a handout, but he ignored them as he faced his parents.

  “So ye feel that any honor I’ve brought tae this family is erased if I dunna marry a girl I promised tae marry when I was a boy,” he said angrily. “At the time, I thought I would marry her. But that was thirteen years ago and I’ve seen much of the world. I’ve seen happy marriages and unhappy marriages. I’ve seen a lot of things. I dunna know if Lizelle is still the wife I want tae have. Not everythin’ of matter is in our own little world, ye know. There is more tae it than just this house, this little farm, and Lizelle Menzies.”

  Alexander could see that his son had grown far more worldly since the last he saw him. Not that he blamed him for refusing to fulfill a vow he’d made thirteen years ago. In a sense, he understood, but he was still coming to grips with the man who had shown up at his door last week. Jackston had grown in ways Alexander could have never had imagined, or understood, and with an outlook on life that was much different.

  Some things, however, never changed no matter how worldly one was.

  “Honor never changes,” he said quietly. “All we have is our bond, lad. It’s somethin’ that canna be bought or sold, and the only person who can take it from us is, in fact, us. Ye made a promise, lad. If ye dunna intend tae keep it, then ye must go and tell Robert Menzies personally.”

  “Then I’ll do that,” Jackston said firmly. “I grow weary of yer guilt, tellin’ me I’ll shame the entire family if I dunna marry Lizelle. I will ride tae Braelaw today and we’ll be done with this.”

  Alexander assumed as much; he’d never really held out much hope that Jackston would still want to marry Lizelle after all of these years. “At least go and see Lizelle,” he said. “See if ye still want tae marry her. See if she is still the lass ye remember. But if she isna, then for our sake, be tactful with Robert. He’s been me business partner for many a year. He admires you greatly.”

  Jackston didn’t care if the man admired him greatly. He simply wanted to get this over with.

  “Then I’ll go,” he said, turning for the entry of his family’s home, which was really more of a fortified manor than an actual castle. The great hall, kitchen, and sleeping rooms were all built into one long building, arranged like a Norse longhouse, so his trek to the door was a lengthy one. “I’ll go if only tae get this over with so I dunna have tae listen tae ye tell me I have no honor.”

  Alexander didn’t say anything more. He was simply relieved his son was going to do his duty. Whether or not Jackston actually kept his vow was entirely up to Jackston; but at least if he didn’t, he would face Robert Menzies like an honorable man and explain his reasons for declining.

  Still, Alexander suspected that wasn’t going to work out well. He knew that Lizelle hadn’t entertained any suitors the entire time Jackston was away, going so far as to tell anyone who would listen that her betrothed was fighting wars in France. Nay, it wasn’t going to go well at all if Jackston rejected her. The lass had been counting on this marriage for thirteen years and, like a dog with a meaty bone, she knew a good thing when she saw it.

  She wasn’t going to let it go.

  Alexander found himself praying that Jackston’s visit to Braelaw wouldn’t result in losing a lifelong friend.

  The land was green and relatively dry, at least for the month of August, which made Jackston’s trip to Braelaw a relatively quick and painless event. The topography was relatively flat with the exception of a hill now and again, flattening out as it drew closer to the sea. As Jackston and his steed, a big brown beast with hairy fetlocks known as Buckles the Fourth, or Bucky, loped easily down the dusty road, he kept thinking on the last time he’d come to Braelaw.

  It had been right before he’d been sent south to Dunster Castle, a place where the world had opened up to him, far away from the narrow views of the north of Scotland. Fostering at Dunster and his subsequent service in France had shown him how wide and terrible and wonderful the world was. He’d met more women than he could count and he’d even dallied with a few of them, and but when they wanted a commitment he refused to give, he would tell them of his betrothed in Scotland.

  Aye, he would tell them of Lizelle. He wielded the woman like a shield between him and any female who wanted more from him than what he was willing to give. It was dastardly, to be truthful, because he really had no intention of keeping faith with his childhood vow to Lizelle although his parents thought differently. They were afraid that if he did not, then they would lose their honor. They would be shamed. Even though Jackston truly didn’t want to marry Lizelle, he had to admit that his parents had a point. In this world, a man’s word was everything and to break it meant he was a man without respect for himself or for others. And Jackston was far from that kind of men.

  He’d learned a little something about honor in his years of
training and battle. He, too, knew that honor was the most precious thing a man could own, something that could very well mean life or death to him. Therefore, it was with great reluctance that Jackston made his way to Braelaw, if for no other reason than to either talk or buy his way out of the betrothal.

  If Robert Menzies would even permit it.

  There was, therefore, some trepidation as he drew closer and closer to Braelaw. He didn’t want to enter the gates only to be trapped by them. He was in the process of pondering his options of breaking out of the sealed manse when he began to hear sounds of a struggle.

  He was nearing a heavily wooded area with a strip of water running through it and he could hear the distinct sounds of a struggle. His broadsword was by his left thigh and he drew it from its sheath, the brilliant steel reflecting the weak light. Pulling his horse to a slower trot, he listened carefully to see where, exactly, the sounds were coming from when a lad suddenly bolted across the road in front of him, carrying something in his hands.

  Jackston’s horse startled as four or five more figures came darting out in front of him, including a woman. She was running for the lad who had led the pack and it took Jackston a moment to realize that the lad was carrying a basket of some kind. Just as he reached the opposite side of the road, the woman leapt onto his back and sent him to the ground. Behind her, the other figures, which turned out to be more boys and young men, jumped on her. She began screaming and swinging her fists as the boys pawed at her.

  That was all Jackston had to see. He spurred his war horse towards the scuffle and lifted his broadsword.

  “Enough!” he roared. “Let the woman go! Woman, stop fightin’!”

  The boys froze when they heard his voice but the woman didn’t stop. She yanked the basket out of the boy’s hands and slapped him in the head for good measure. But the boys didn’t fight back; when they saw the big knight with the sword held high, they scattered like frightened rabbits. That left the woman seated on the road with the basket in her hands, looking disheveled.

  Jackston pulled his steed alongside.

  “Well?” he demanded. “What goes on here?”

  The woman was out of breath; she had a kerchief around her head and was dressed in simple clothing, no more than a broadcloth skirt, a tunic, and a leather girdle tying it all together. She brushed the blonde hair out of her eyes, straightening her askew kerchief.

  “I was gatherin’ mushrooms, m’laird,” she said, her voice trembling. “Those… those animals tried tae rob me.”

  Jackston looked off towards the west, where the boys had run, but he couldn’t see them. They’d more than likely disappeared into the trees, burrowing deep, never to be found. He wasn’t even really sure it was worth it to try.

  “I see,” he said. “Are ye injured?”

  The woman shook her head. Then, she turned her face upwards to Jackston and he was immediately struck by big, hazel eyes. A tremor ran through him. Hadn’t he seen those eyes before, set within that angelic face? Suddenly, he forgot all about the boys. He knew he’d seen the lass before but he couldn’t quite place her.

  “Do I know ye?” he asked, very curious. “I’ve seen ye before, I think.”

  The woman struggled to get to her feet, brushing off her skinned knees. “I… I dunna believe so, m’laird,” she said.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Braelaw.”

  He cocked his head. “Is Robert Menzies yer master?”

  She shook her head. “Nay, m’laird. Miss Lizelle is me mistress. These mushrooms are for her because she likes them so. She’ll be very angry if I dunna bring enough back tae her and those lads tried tae steal them.”

  She was a lovely woman, if not on the skinny side, more than likely from inadequate nutrition. Her features were positively exquisite with her big eyes and long, blonde hair, now cluttered with dried grass and leaves from doing battle over her mushrooms. As Jackston watched her brush the dirt off her broadcloth skirt, it suddenly occurred to him where he’d seen her. The man had a mind like a steel trap and rarely forgot a face.

  Now, he knew.

  “The little lass!” he suddenly hissed. He pointed at her. “We met years ago when me pony knocked you down at Braelaw. Do ye not recall me?”

  The woman was looking at him rather warily. “I… I’m sorry, but I dunna, m’laird.”

  Jackston wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He sheathed his sword and dismounted the beast, standing in front of her as she continued to try and clean herself up.

  “It was about thirteen years ago,” he said. “I was leavin’ Braelaw on me pony and he knocked ye down. Ye were a tiny lass at the time and there was a man with ye, a man who pulled ye away before I could properly apologize. Do ye mean tae tell me ye dunna remember that? Certainly, I look a bit differently. Time has a way of doin’ that. But surely ye remember the incident.”

  She was peering at him strangely, trying very hard to recall what he was telling her. After a moment, her features seemed to ease.

  “Was it a red pony?” she asked.

  He grinned, triumphant. “Aye,” he said. “That was me.”

  A look of relief came over her, as if she had been fearful what would have happened had she not remembered him. Because he was smiling, she timidly followed.

  “I… I remember now,” she said. “It was me first time at Braelaw. I’d never seen so many people.”

  He warmed to the conversation. “Where are ye from, lass?”

  “Lonmay, m’laird,” she said. “At least, I used tae be. I’ve lived at Braelaw since I was a wee bairn.”

  “Does yer family live there, then?”

  Her smile faded. “Nay,” she said, averting her gaze. “I was given over tae Laird Robert because me da owed him a debt. I’ve not seen me family since that time.”

  Jackston was coming to understand the situation somewhat. Servitude for a debt paid was not uncommon. “Ye were quite a small lass the day I saw ye at Braelaw, as I recall.”

  She nodded. “That was the last time I ever saw me da.”

  “How old were ye?”

  She looked up at him, then. “I dunna know, m’laird,” she said. “I was never learned.”

  “Ye mean ye dunna know how tae read or write?”

  “Nay, m’laird.”

  So she had been a servant her entire life. She didn’t have to know anything more than what her duties entailed, like picking mushrooms for her mistress. Jackston wasn’t surprised to find her uneducated but he did think it to be a shame. She was a truly beautiful woman and he’d seen enough to know. That kind of beauty was rare. It seemed to him that she was being wasted as a servant. Someone of her comely looks would do far better on the arm of a soldier or a knight even.

  There was something about her that suggested she deserved better.

  “Well,” he said, pointing to the basket. “If ye’re done with yer gatherin’, I’ll take ye back tae Braelaw. I’m heading there meself.”

  She looked down at her basket, only half-full, and sighed. “I had so many that were knocked from the basket by those lads,” she said as she headed back across the road. “I must find what I dropped or Miss Lizzie will be very angry.”

  Leaving his steed to munch on the thick green grass by the side of the road, Jackston followed the woman back into the trees on the other side. She dropped to her knees and began picking up all manner of mushrooms that had scattered over the ground as the result of her struggle against the mushroom thieves.

  Jackston simply stood there beneath the cool canopy and watched her for a moment before realizing there were a few mushrooms by his feet. He bent over and picked them up, dropping them into her basket. Then he saw a few more so he went to pick those up as well.

  “Do ye always come here to pick mushrooms?” he asked. “’Tis a far sight away from Braelaw.”

  She nodded, looking around at her feet to find a few more. “Aye,” she said. “Most of the time Miss Lizzie comes with me, but today she dinna becaus
e her betrothed is comin’ tae visit. She wants tae greet him properly.”

  Betrothed. She meant him. Jackston felt that familiar surge of reluctance at the mention. The fact that Lizelle was waiting for him, like the spider for the fly, only served to increase his hesitation. If he was a smart man, he’d simply turn tail for England and never look back. But honor, and his parents’ respect, meant more to him at the moment.

  But he wondered for how much longer.

  “It looks as if ye’ve found most of yer missin’ mushrooms,” he pointed out, changing the subject. “Have ye ever run into those lads before?”

  “Nay,” she said, sounding frustrated. “But I ever see them again, I’ll give them a fist tae the face. I would have done it had ye not intervened.”

  Jackston laughed softly. “I believe ye,” he said. “In fact, ye were fightin’ the whole lot of them when I saw ye. That’s very brave.”

  She grinned, modestly. “I’ve always had a bit of a temper,” she admitted. “Especially since I have no desire tae be beaten for not bringin’ enough mushrooms back tae Braelaw.”

  His smile faded unnaturally fast. “Who would beat ye for that?”

  She bent over to pick up the last mushroom. “Miss Lizzie has a bit of the temper, too,” she said. Then, her head shot up and her eyes widened. “I dinna mean tae say anythin’ badly about her. She’s a good lady, she is. Please dunna tell her I said so about the temper!”

  She almost seemed in a panic and Jackston shook his head. “I willna tell her,” he said. But her reaction to Lizelle gave him a hint of who, in fact, was doing the beating. He wasn’t sure he liked that. “What is yer name, lass? I never even asked ye.”

  She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that he would not repeat what she’d said. “Rora,” she said. “I am Rora of Lonmay.”

  He bowed before her. “Rora of Lonmay,” he greeted. “’Tis a pleasure tae meet ye. Will ye allow me tae accompany ye back tae Braelaw?”

  “It would be most appreciated, m’laird.” She cocked her head, looking at him in a way that made his heart leap strangely. Her eyes, those brilliant things, were riveted to him, dissecting him. “Ye speak differently than the men around here. May I ask where ye’re from?”