Highlander's Wicked Game: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Novel

by Fiona Faris

  “A wee bit boisterous tonight are they no’,” Ewen remarked upon seeing Duncan approach.

  “Aye, I have a feelin’ ‘twill be a verra long night,” Duncan answered, handing him a trencher of food. “How fare the lassies?”

  “They have no’ wished tae move since ye brought them here. When Marra heard that Lachlan had returned, she refused tae go down tae eat anythin’. Had ye no’ come soon, I was goin’ tae have tae leave them tae see that they did no’ go hungry. ‘Tis entirely possible that they will wish tae stay the night in there.”

  Duncan shook his head equal parts amused and concerned. “And how do ye feel about that?”

  “As long as Marra remains, so shall I,” Ewen promised stoutly.

  “Ye are a good man, Ewen. She could no’ ask for a better champion.”

  “Had my dear sweet wife lived long enough for us tae have bairns, I would have been proud tae have had a lass as brave and strong as young Marra. As she does no’ have a faither or husband tae look after her needs, it falls tae us tae keep her safe and whole.”

  “Aye, although she appears tae be able tae take care o’ herself in most things,” Duncan noted with admiration.

  “Aye, that she does,” Ewen grinned, a spark of pride in his eye.

  “I am glad tae hear that ye think o’ her as a daughter. I was afraid for a time ye might be my competition,” Duncan teased.

  Ewen chuckled. “If I were a younger man, I would have given ye a run for yer money, lad.”

  Duncan grinned and playfully punched the older man in the arm. Sobering, he laid a hand on his shoulder, “’Tis glad I am that she has ye tae look after her.”

  “If she is right about Lachlan, we are all goin’ tae need someone tae look after us,” Ewen noted, gesturing toward the stairs and the noise below.

  “Aye, that we will,” Duncan frowned at the thought. Nodding at Ewen, he opened the door and stepped inside of the library. He found Marra and Diana sprawled out on the furniture completely absorbed in their chosen books. As he drew closer, he noticed that they were both reading various plays from William Shakespeare’s works. “I see that ye wasted nae time,” he motioned to the pile of books at Marra’s feet.

  Both women looked up and smiled at him. “Nae we did no’,” Marra confirmed. “Would it be amenable if we stayed here for the night? Diana is tired and does no’ wish tae face the loud crowd below, and I would like to continue reading.”

  “I see nae reason why ye could no’,” Duncan answered handing each of them a trencher of food. “Ewen has agreed to remain as yer guard until ye wish tae do otherwise.”

  “Poor, Ewen. Please tell him that he is welcome to come and join us inside o’ the library instead o’ at the door. I have tried tae persuade him, but he refuses tae do so.”

  “That is because he has a better vantage point from out there than he would in here. Outside o’ the room, he can see any threats that might come yer way, but in here he is blind,” Duncan explained, moving to sit beside Marra.

  “Have ye come any closer tae makin’ a decision about Lachlan?” Marra asked. The look in her eyes told him she did not feel safe in spite of his and Ewen’s protection.

  “Nae, I have no’. I am no’ convinced that Lachlan is guilty, and even if he is, there is verra little I can do unless the laird sits in judgment upon them. If the men are guilty, then I will do all in my power tae grant ye what justice I am able, but vengeance is no’ my gift tae give.”

  “Duncan we cannae stay under the same roof as the men who slaughtered our people. If ye cannae face the truth o’ this matter then we will be forced tae leave and seek aid elsewhere. I dinnae wish tae accept the terms o’ the Laird o’ Skye, but I refuse tae hide, cowering in fear, while the men who murdered innocent women and bairns feast with frivolity below. I love ye and am grateful for all that ye have done for me and my people, but there are some lines I cannae cross, nor should I be asked tae do so.” Marra laid a hand upon his arm to gentle the impact of her words, but her eyes glowed with fierce determination.

  “Ye would marry another all for the sake o’ vengeance?” Duncan asked, unsure what to say.

  “Nae, no’ out o’ vengeance, Duncan, but for the love o’ my people, aye, I would do anythin’. As long as the men who did this tae us are free tae roam about among us, I cannae in good conscience remain, nae matter how much I may love ye.” Marra’s eyes filled with tears.

  Duncan stood and began pacing the floor. “I cannae accuse him without proof, Marra. Nor can I do anythin’ without the laird’s say. It is far more complicated than ye ken, lass. There are threats tae us that ye dinnae ken and somethin’ as brutal as this could destroy us all. If Lachlan is guilty it is the end o’ my people, as well as yers.”

  Marra looked at him in confusion. “What do ye mean?”

  “I cannae explain it tae ye, lass. There are some secrets that must be kept nae matter the price, e’en if that price is yer love.” Duncan could hardly breathe for the pain in his chest as he spoke those last words. The look of hurt in her eyes was unbearable. He wanted more than anything to abandon everything in order that he might take her into his arms and run free from the struggles of their peoples, but he could not. He was bound by blood and honor to stand his ground and protect his people, even if that meant he was protecting them from the woman he loved. “If Lachlan is guilty, he will be punished, o’ that ye can be sure, but I cannae take any such actions until I am sure beyond the shadow o’ a doubt that he is the man responsible for yer pain. I beg ye tae please understand that and give me more time.”

  Marra looked into his eyes, thoughtfully studying the myriad of emotions he was sure that she saw there. “I will consider yer request,” she replied, her stance and manner was every bit the leader, but her eyes bespoke the pain of the lover that lay beneath.

  “That is all I ask,” he whispered, coming over to kneel in front of her. “I swear tae ye, I will do all in my power tae make this right, but I must do so with caution and that requires time.”

  Marra nodded and brought her hand up to caress his cheek. “And I must protect what remains o’ my people.” She sighed, her chin quivering ever so slightly, as a single tear escaped her lashes to fall upon her lap. Duncan turned his face into her palm and kissed it tenderly closing his eyes against the pain.

  Unable to bear the thought of her leaving and never returning, Duncan stood and moved toward the door. “I will find the answer, my bonnie, I swear it,” he promised, then turned and left the room.

  Duncan made his way back down into the hall and sought out Lachlan. He found him sitting with his family watching two of their clansmen compete over who could perform the best sword dance. The bagpipes blared through the air as the crowd cheered them on. Duncan knew that the festivities were meant to hide the underlying issues of hatred and distrust that existed between the two clans. He was grateful for their effort to get along, but he feared that it was akin to waiting for a pot of water to boil, calm on the surface, roiling discord beneath.

  Coming up to stand beside Lachlan, he tapped him on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the door. Lachlan arose and followed him outside. Moving out of the hearing of the guards, they walked across the courtyard. “How is yer faither?” Lachlan asked as they walked.

  “He is showin’ signs o’ improvin’. ‘Tis possible that he will still be around for many o’ year yet,” Duncan answered, pausing and turning around to face his cousin. “I have something’ tae ask ye, cousin, and I verra much need ye tae tell me the truth.”

  “Aye?” Lachlan questioned, his brows raised. “Have I e’er done anythin’ else?”

  “Nae, ye have no’,” Duncan admitted.

  “Well then?” Lachlan prompted impatiently.

  Duncan took a deep breath and studied Lachlan’s face for a moment. Unsure how to proceed, he decided that being straightforward was the best method. “Were ye the one tae take Marra from the glen the mornin’ after the spring gatherin’?”

  L
achlan shot him a look of surprise that said he greatly doubted Duncan’s sanity. “Have ye gone mad, cousin?”

  “Mayhap, but I still need ye tae answer the question.”

  “Nae, I did no’ take yer precious Marra from ye. Although whoever did, did her a favor in keepin’ her away from the Isle of Jura.”

  Duncan had never thought of it that way before, but Lachlan was right. As horrifying as being kidnapped is, her abduction was the only reason she still lived. Thinking about the wounds on his cousin and the men who followed him that had been brushed off as training wounds, Duncan asked, “Did ye murder her people?”

  Lachlan snorted in amusement. “’Tis no’ murder tae kill a MacDonald.”

  “Lachlan,” Duncan warned. He was disappointed in his cousin’s reaction, but not surprised. His opinion of the McDonalds had never been a secret. “Did ye kill those poor wee bairns and all the other innocent people on Jura?”

  Anger shot from Lachlan’s eyes like a bullet piercing Duncan’s heart. “Ye have gone mad. Why are ye askin’ me such a thing?”

  “Marra claims that it was ye who took her. She recognized yer voice and believes it to be the voice of her kidnapper. That same kidnapper threatened tae do her people harm, and then immediately thereafter, her clan was attacked. She believes that ye are responsible for the slaughter of Jura and has demanded action be taken. It falls tae me tae see that the guilty party is brought before the laird.”

  “Do ye truly think me capable o’ murderin’ bairns in their beds?” Lachlan asked incredulously.

  “Nae, I dinnae, but I also ken that Marra would no’ lie about it either.” Duncan felt torn between two of the people he cared for most in the world.

  “Ye believe a lass ye barely ken o’er yer own flesh and blood?”

  “I did no’ say that, cousin, but I ken her enough tae be sure that she would no’ lie about such a thing.”

  “Were ye any other man I would slit yer throat where ye stand for presumin’ tae question me in such a manner,” Lachlan seethed, stepping forward threateningly, his hand gripping the handle of his sheathed blade so hard his knuckles turned white.

  “I ken that well enough, and I dinnae blame ye for feelin’ the way that ye do, but I would no’ have asked ye if I did no’ absolutely need tae do so. Ye ken well enough what such a deed would do tae our people. Our clan barely survived the outlawin’ o’ our name by King James. They were hunted down as if they were nae better than rabid dogs. Somethin’ such as this would only serve tae wipe us off of the land entirely.” Duncan paused unsure what to say next to convince his cousin of the seriousness of the matter.

  The two men stared each other down for a moment, gauging what the other was going to do next. “I dinnae ken what to do here, Lachlan,” Duncan admitted. Lachlan had not actually answered the question, but Duncan was not sure that he would have answered it had their places been reversed either. Were he in Lachlan’s place, he probably would have punched his cousin square in the face and walked away.

  Lachlan held his gaze for a moment longer and then released the grip on his blade. “I ken that ye are upset about yer faither, but if ye cannae put yer people first above all others, Duncan, then ye dinnae deserve tae be laird in his stead. ‘Tis bad enough that ye dinnae seek glory in battle, but now ye have turned against yer own people, carin’ for our enemies as if they were o’ yer own clan. I believed that there was some hope for ye tae step up and lead our people properly, but I see now that I was wrong. There is nae hope for ye at all.” And with those words spat out as darts to Duncan’s very soul, Lachlan turned around and walked away without a backward glance.

  Duncan raked his hands through his hair as he watched his cousin walk away. That went well. Duncan shook his head in disgust with the entire situation. At least he did no’ cut me down where I stood, though his words did plenty o’ that on their own. In spite of Lachlan’s protestations, Marra’s words rang through his mind, causing him to doubt his cousin’s sincerity. Growling in frustration, Duncan looked up at the blanket of stars overhead as if it would somehow produce the answers he sought. He petitioned God to show him the correct path to take and to save his people from the encroaching doom he could feel in the base of his spine.

  Unable to do anymore for the time being, Duncan retired for the night, not feeling up to the festive spirit within the great hall. Passing Ewen in the corridor he checked on Marra and Diana, then continued on to his bedchamber. Undressing, he crawled beneath the blankets and lay there, staring up at the ceiling. His thoughts kept him from falling to sleep as quickly as he would have liked. In truth he was ready for the day to be over and to start anew upon the morn, hopefully with a better idea of how to approach the disastrous position he found himself in. It disturbed him that with every moment that passed, he doubted Lachlan all the more. As the man he had known his entire life, logically it would have made more sense had he believed his cousin, but he could not do so with Marra’s words ringing through his mind. Had it been anyone else accusing Lachlan, he would not have believed them, but with Marra he found he could do nothing else.

  The strains of the bagpipes reverberated up through the floor playing their sad and mournful tune. He could almost hear his dearly departed mother’s voice lilting with the ebb and flow. The sound rocked him in its familiar embrace and lulled him to the brink of sleep. When slumber finally claimed him his last thoughts were of Marra.

  Duncan awoke to a loud clamoring noise unsure as to how long he had been asleep. He arose from his bed pattering across the cold stone floor, pulling his shirt over his head and down over his naked body. He cracked the door open and listened. The bagpipes had stopped, but the drinking had not, if the clanging noises he was hearing from below were any indication. Deciding to look in on his father to ensure that the clamor was not keeping him from his much needed rest, Duncan left his room for the laird’s bedchamber, grabbing his plaid from the back of the chair on his way out of the door.

  Belting his plaid loosely around his waist, he walked over to his father’s door and quietly eased it open so as not to disturb him. The room was dark, but for the glow of the flames from the fireplace. Duncan slipped through the crack in the door moving toward the outline of his father upon the bed. “Holy Mother o’ God!” he exclaimed in horror at the sight before him. The blankets were covered in blood from a gaping sword wound in his father’s chest, his eyes staring in sightless agony at the ceiling above. “Faither!” Duncan cried out, falling to his knees beside his father’s lifeless form.

  “Ye should have chosen yer own people, cousin. Now I have been forced tae make the choice for ye. Ye are no’ fit tae be laird. Ye are no’ fit tae be a member o’ this clan. Yer faither’s time o’ peace is o’er. Now I will be laird,” Lachlan’s voice informed him from the shadows as he stepped forward into the light, blood spattered across his face, arms, and chest.

  “Lachlan, how could ye do this? How could ye murder yer own ailin’ uncle as he slept in his bed? Could ye no’ wait just a day longer and allow him tae die in peace?” Duncan asked in a strangled voice filled with sorrow and rage. “How?” he demanded, rising to his feet, realizing too late that he was unarmed.

  “’Twas easy for a warrior such as I,” Lachlan boasted, the glint of a mad man reflected in his eyes.

  “Ye were as a son tae him!”

  “Nae, ye were his son. I was nothin’ but another fightin’ man o’ the clan,” Lachlan retorted bitterly. “But now I will be laird, and there will no’ be a warrior in all o’ Scotland that will dare face me without fear and tremblin’.”

  “Ye are no’ God! What right did ye have tae take his life? It was no’ yers tae take!”

  “It was always mine tae take, Duncan. The fates demanded it.”

  “Ye are mad!”

  “Nae, I simply do what must be done,” Lachlan’s eyes glinted with steely determination. He came at Duncan from across the bed, and Duncan just barely managed to jump back out of the way. Lachlan advanced again, a
nd Duncan dropped to the floor rolling just out of reach. He grabbed the legs of a small wooden stool in the corner and came up swinging. He attempted to knock the blade from Lachlan’s hand, but was unsuccessful. The stool was an unwieldy weapon that did little to aid him, but he attempted to block the blows as best he could.

  “Marra was right, wasn’t she?” Duncan demanded to know, thwarting another of his attacker’s blows.

  “Aye,” Lachlan admitted. “I should have killed her when I had the chance. I had no’ killed a woman afore that and did no’ have the stomach for such a task, but after Jura there is nae longer anythin’ tae stop me. Yer MacDonald whore will be dead afore the morn.”