Their uncle, Callum, had been a temporary Laird during the ambush, since the death of Edan’s father until he was old enough to take the position. It was now up to Edan to deal with the matter, and there were still so few answers as to what truly happened and how it must be handled.
Edan and Caitriona went into the main hall where they could dine and drink with their friends and relatives. Their mother had returned to her bedchambers and not been seen again since the ceremony to give Edan his Lairdship. He did not expect to see her again soon. Since his father’s death, she had been inconsolable, and he was unsure if she would ever recover. If a year had not been sufficient time, how would five?
I cannae blame her. I’d be hiding too if I had the option, he considered.
“Here he is! Cheers to the Laird!” shouted one of the men in the hall, raising his cup of whiskey. The other men joined in raising theirs, grateful for the excuse to down another swig.
“Aye, cheers to ye, me brother,” Caitriona whispered only to Edan amidst the vast noise and raucous activity in the hall.
“Thank ye for the strength ye always possess,” he replied, grateful that she cared for him so.
“And for me wicked tongue?” she inquired.
“Aye, thank ye for that as well,” he said with a smirk.
The evening commenced with festivities and drinking. Edan tried to forget the burden of what must be to come in handling the situation of the ambush and the injury of the Duke of Gordon and murder of his friend. As deep as his sadness was, he could not imagine the pain felt by the Duke and his brother at having lost James.
He also knew that James had had a sister who must now be in grave mourning for her heroic brother. And it was up to him to keep his clan safe despite the awareness of their responsibility in this matter. How could he support his family and friends when he knew they were the cause of James’s death?
Before the evening had finished, he had called for a meeting with his counsel the following day in which plans and decisions could be made how to proceed. The group that had led the ambush knew they were courting their doom but would not share details of what happened and would not betray one another. Not only that, but they had been under the lead of Callum, his uncle, during the ambush.
Callum knew well his nephew’s affection for James. Edan could not help wondering what he had been thinking when he allowed the battle to ensue against the three Englishmen and their guards. Could it truly be that his uncle wanted them dead? He had far less care for the English, having lived through greater turmoil at their hands.
“Me Laird,” came the hushed tone of Robert, his friend and confidant who sat in his counsel. With a motion of the hand, he urged Edan to come closer and into the dark.
“What is it, ye pillock?” he joked, nervous at the seriousness on his friend’s face. Robert looked grim.
“Cormag. I finally got it from Alistair. It was Cormag who charged forth and cut down yer friend. I dinnae ken what to say, my Laird. It isnae a secret that Cormag hates ye, but I never would hae thought him to go this far,” he said sadly.
Anger and bile rose from the pits of Edan’s stomach. He could feel the rapid beating beneath the muscle of his chest. Broad hands clenched in fists and his jaw tightened beneath the auburn stubble. This was not what he had bargained for. Cormag’s hatred of him had always been born from jealousy, but even with the constant conflict between the two, Edan could never have imagined such a brutal betrayal. And how could he defend his clan in the midst of this atrocity? How could he stand for them when he felt such shame and disgust at their actions?
“Thank ye for the report, Robert,” he finally breathed through clenched teeth. “And by the way, only call me Laird in front of the others. I appreciate the respect from ye, but ye are no servant of mine. I’m still yer friend.”
Robert nodded and departed, giving Edan time to breathe and consider the news he had just shared with him. The following morning they would discuss and make decisions.
Chapter 3
“Charlotte, are you quite certain he brought the correct trunk? I have two of a similar color, and it was so dark this morning, I thought it was the navy. You are certain it was not the black?” Isabel tried to confirm for the fourth time. The black trunk contained trinkets from her youth, but after Charlotte packed the navy one for their journey, Isabel had snuck in a bundle of knives.
“I am certain my lady. I packed it last evening and set it by the door. I do not think there would have been any way for the coachman to have picked the wrong one. The black was in your closets,” Charlotte clarified, as she had done each time before.
Isabel’s love for planning was taking its toll on her now that she was formulating her idea as she went along. It was unusual for her, and she did not know if it would be her undoing.
Perhaps my uncle was right, she thought. I haven’t thought this through and there is so much risk.
She had told the man to drive north, past the border and with great speed. Within perhaps another three or four hours, she knew they would reach the lands of the Clan Mccallion. The speed made for a bumpy ride in the back of the coach.
Outside they heard the driver pushing the two horses forward quickly. If all went according to plan, they would be spending the better part of the day at the mercy of the clan, at which point Isabel would try to get close to Edan. Perhaps it would take a day, perhaps it would take twenty. Or perhaps she would be the next body lowered into the ground beside her brother.
“My lady,” Charlotte began bravely. “Do you think it wise to travel north? I mean not to question you, but considering the events of the past week, I worry for you.”
Isabel looked compassionately at Charlotte, thinking for the first time about the risk she was putting her and the young coachman at by bringing them on this journey.
“Fear not, I will do my best to keep you safe should anything occur. I am the only one who is truly in danger. It is money they want, and I am certain we shall avoid them at all costs anyway. Do not be afraid, dear Charlotte,” she reassured, despite her internal awareness of the fact that she could make no such guarantee.
The journey was otherwise quiet save for the continued bumps and snorts of the horses being pushed to their limits by the weight of the carriage. They had to make a stop here and there to feed and give the beasts water. They stopped, perhaps, more than necessary as the coachman was uniquely attached to the horses and he hated to see them working so hard.
But just at the point when Isabel thought they might be traveling for an eternity, the sound of the coachman fearfully uttering a woah to his horses sparked hope in her heart. She peered out the window and saw that, indeed, a raiding party had come. The coach and horses were worth a significant amount and, for the first time, Isabel realized that they would likely go through her trunk as well. She hadn’t planned for that, and she felt utterly senseless for not thinking it through further.
“Here they are, men! The scum of the Thames,” laughed a fire-headed brute boisterously. “There be nae mistaking them. They’re English!”
“P-please. Just let us pass. I am taking my lady on a journey,” begged the coachman. Flutters of fear rippled through Isabel’s bones.
“Yer lady? Why, ye cannae be more than a laddie. How’s a laddie got himself a lady?” the man mocked.
“Truly, we mean no harm. We just wish to reach the highlands for a rest,” he continued.
“Aye, so it’s a rest ye want? Than a rest ye shall have!” he called, pulling the coachman off his seat. The twenty or so men with him all laughed with the same fearless abhorrence.
“Wait!” Isabel shouted, pushing herself quickly from the coach. “Leave him. Allow him to return, along with my maid. You can take me to your leader, I care not. But please, have honor, men. Take me and allow them to leave. I am the daughter of a wealthy man. You shall have a great ransom if you take me. Taking them will give you only more trouble than it is worth.”
The group of men seemed to cons
ider for a moment but turned to the brute that led them before they would answer.
“I will take ye to me Laird, and I will let this man go with one of the horses. But the other horse, the grand little princess carriage, they come with us. So does your maid. That is, if she’s bonnie. I suppose I had best nae commit until I see whether she be a bonnie lass. Little maid! Little maid!” he called.
Charlotte timidly stepped from the carriage.
“Aye, right bonnie enough she is! Men, get the boy and a horse. The rest are comin’ home with us!” he ordered. The men cheered and got to work.
Isabel stood with Charlotte close by her side.
“Please, do not worry. I will ensure you get home safely,” she promised again without the certainty held in her voice.
The Scotsmen released the coachman to ride back to English quickly, this time without a store of food for his beast. Then they loaded up the coach and led the remaining horse onwards with the two girls walking in tow. A band of eight brigands carried the rear.
“Aye, the rich lass has an ass I’d love to get me hands on,” commented one of the men while the other seemed to hold his gaze at Charlotte’s overdeveloped chest that spilled from her uniform. The men were not subtle in their conversing or the directions of their eyes. Now and then they would jeer at the girls if they began to slow.
“Faster, faster, that’s it! Dinnae stop!” called one man in a voice to imitate an amorous woman. Isabel felt the blush rush to her cheeks. While she had no experience of such things, she had heard the servant men speaking crassly of women’s calls in the night.
“My lady, where are they taking us?” asked Charlotte again. Her voice carried tears on the brink, and her eyes had remained filled with fear for the entire walk.
“To their leader, Charlotte. I shall appeal to him and have you returned home. Do not worry,” she said once more. With every plea not to worry, Isabel became less stable and Charlotte less convinced of her own safety.
“See that lassies? That be yer new home,” said the brute in charge once a village came into view. A grand home stood in the center of it all and surrounding was a wide, colorful meadow.
“See that, Charlotte? It is truly beautiful. A place of death would not be so beautiful,” she said, suddenly relieved.
“Miss, you say that, but I am a servant. Servant girls are warned about men. It isn’t death I fear. It’s…h-him,” she said, looking to the gangly beanstalk who could not keep his brown eyes from her figure.
Isabel sighed. She had no reassuring words left to say. Instead, she plodded forward, knowing she would soon find her mission completed and she could either return home or face her own death knowing she had at least returned the agony which she felt towards the loss of her brother.
They entered the village, and the people watched as the band of men led the girls and loot to the shockingly large castle. Isabel had heard from James that the highlands held stunning works of architecture and grand castles, but she had never imagined this towering, magnificent work.
“Sit yer buns here,” the main brute said, gesturing to a marble bench at the top of the staircase and before the main doors to enter. The doors were made of oak and had a clever latch to prevent intrusion.
Isabel eyed the men with the carriage as they pulled down her trunk. They did not open it, however, being too distracted by the uncomfortable English girls, one in a grand, taffeta mourning gown, and the other with a gown that could not contain her chest. The men made grotesque gestures with their hands as a rude invitation and spoke loudly and explicitly.
At last the doors opened once again and the brute gestured for them to enter.
“Me Laird wishes to see ye,” he said, leading them through a corridor and into a great hall with a large table and important looking men sitting in each chair. Their kilts were all of the same tartans, representing their loyalty to the clan.
“Thank ye, Cormag. Now please excuse us. We have to speak to these girls, and then we will not long be calling for ye as well,” said the man at the head of the table.
Isabel watched him. He commanded the respect of the men in the room. His burgundy hair was thick and seemed to leave droplets of stubble across his chin. He had large, round blue eyes that gave a distinct impression of innocence.
Isabel knew those eyes to be liars. This was Edan, the killer of her brother.
His lies are more than just skin deep. He could fool anyone with those eyes, but I will not be tricked, she thought, again promising herself to be strong.
“Uncle, shall we pause for a moment in our previous discussion and address the issue of our newest arrivals?” Edan asked Callum sitting to his right. They had been conversing about Cormag in his absence and how to handle the situation of his guilt without placing the whole clan in jeopardy with the English nobleman, the Duke of Gordon. The distraction of the beautiful young women before him was all too welcome. He noticed especially the lady in mourning with her hair falling out of its captivity in little white-blonde ringlets.
“As ye wish,” Callum spoke heavily, his eyes nearly slits at the sight of the English women.
“Who are ye?” Edan asked coarsely.
Dinnae notice her, she’s a trespasser, a bonnie trespasser but that doesnae excuse it, he thought to himself.
Isabel spoke up, knowing Charlotte would be unable to answer and not taken seriously even if she tried. “We are from London. My father is a merchant trader. He has fallen ill but was called upon by the Laird from the Clan Gunn to provide him with small weaponry. As my father was ill, I offered to bring the product. We do not wish you any harm. Our coachman merely got us off our intended route,” she lied smoothly, knowing the story would protect her from suspicion once they opened her trunk.
“And where is yer intended route?” inquired Edan, unsure whether or not he believed her words.
“Dornach,” she replied, unsure where Dornach actually was.
“Dornach? That’s awfully far north. Ye wish to travel all that distance in a country where ye are overwhelmingly hated?” he challenged.
“To be honest, I don’t know where Dornach is located, merely that I am sent there,” she replied, appealing to their assumptions that she was an ignorant and naive female.
“And ye be in mourning?” he asked.
“Yes, L-Laird. My mother. She passed from a severe fever. The same which my father now has,” she said. Her lies dripped believably, but the gentle tears she brought forward were the seal on the lie. It was a true saying that no man could deny a woman once her tears began.
“Well then, if that be so, what is it ye wish from us?” he asked.
“Simply that you would let my maid return with a horse, and preferably a guide as well. One that will not touch her. I wish for her to leave in the morning when there is full light ahead,” Isabel requested.
“Only that? What of yerself?” he asked.
“What is it you would offer?” she inquired in return.
“I dinnae believe yer story in its entirety. Give me time to learn the truth and then I will make me decision,” he replied.
Chapter 4
“I said be calm, Charlotte!” Isabel growled through clenched teeth as they waited in a small room with a single bed. Guards were posted just beyond the door.
“But, miss-”
“Be calm!”
Charlotte stayed quiet. After a few moments, the door creaked open and the Laird, Edan, stepped through in his kilt and flowing white shirt. A little leather braid wound through the top to tie it at his chest, but he left it undone, revealing wisps of red hair on his chest.
“Come now, lassie. I’ve found a guide for ye. Yer miss will stay here, but ye’ll be on yer way going now,” Edan declared. His hand invited her to step through the door to freedom.
“No!” Isabel snapped. “I told you, she must leave in the morning when the light will last the whole of the journey.”
“We’ll nae have any stowaways, lass. She’ll be going now or not a
t all. It’s up to ye to decide,” he said with a sigh. It was clear that he did not have time for this and his mind was distracted elsewhere.
I simply cannot force her to stay and yet, what if she is fearful in the dark with a strange man? What if her fears come to pass? Isabel questioned.
“Alright then, she may go, but what is my guarantee that she will face no harm?” Isabel asked.
A smirk tugged at Edan’s mouth.
“Foul-mouthed the guide may be, but I dinnae think me sister is planning to corrupt anyone’s virtue tonight,” he responded smugness and a show of irritation at being questioned.
The Highlander's Enigmatic Bride: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 2
