Highlander Unchained (Highlander Trilogy 1)

by Donna Fletcher

  “You will each tell me what your assigned kitchen chores are,” Turbett said.

  Flanna spoke up. “I was the cook here and I have a good staff. I am sure they will serve you well.”

  Turbett smiled as he said, “We will see about that. Go cook me a meat pie... without any help from your staff.”

  Flanna gave a nod and turned to Dawn beside her. “This is Dawn—”

  “Let her speak for herself,” Turbett said.

  “She cannot; she has no voice. I will speak for her.”

  “Do not bother,” Turbett said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She is no use to me without a voice. She will be given work elsewhere.”

  Flanna stepped forward. “The kitchen is all she knows and she takes orders well and is quick in accomplishing her tasks. She is an asset not a hindrance.”

  “To you perhaps but not to me, she will be assigned work elsewhere.”

  “Where?” Flanna demanded.

  “That is no concern of yours.”

  “It most certainly is.”

  Dawn watched as the two went back and forth at each other, her stomach tightening. Flanna was right. She knew only kitchen work, no other. If he did not allow her to remain there and work she did not know what she would do. Flanna had been accepting of her but few others would be.

  “My word is final,” Turbett yelled, his smile gone. “And if you don’t watch that sharp tongue of yours you’ll be gone along with her.”

  Dawn would not see Flanna lose her work. She stepped forward and tapped her on the arm.

  The woman turned.

  Dawn patted her chest, smiled, and pointed to the open door.

  “What will you do?” Flanna asked with concern.

  “Something will be found for her,” Turbett answered and turned to Dawn and raised his voice. “Go outside to the front of the keep. There is probably a line already there of people who are waiting to be reassigned chores.”

  “She has no voice; she’s not deaf,” Flanna snapped.

  Dawn hastily slipped out the door leaving Flanna and Turbett arguing. She walked to the front of the keep and Turbett was right. There was a line of villagers waiting to enter the keep and a longer line then she had expected. She wondered if Cree would be assigning chores. If so she had no desire to see him, especially after last night.

  She had berated herself most of the night for having made such a foolish decision in not attending the festivities as Cree had ordered. She had never expected Cree to come to her cottage and she had not at all expected to find herself aroused by his presence and the lust she had seen in his eyes. She had to keep her distance from him or else she might do something she would regret. Silent laughter shook her chest. What difference did it make if they coupled? Everyone had assumed that they had already done so. And when she stood on line with the others they would all assume that the mighty Cree had found her lacking and now paid her no mind. She would suffer their wagging tongues whether she had coupled with him or not.

  But not just yet, she decided to make a quick visit to Lila and see how they all were doing. Then she would return and stand on line with the others.

  She jumped when she was poked in the back and quickly turned around.

  “Have you been assigned a chore?” a large warrior with a ragged scar running across his cheek asked.

  She shook her head.

  “On line with you then,” he ordered and gave her a shove. “There will be no idle hands in Cree’s village.”

  Dawn reluctantly joined the others waiting on line and was surprised to see Old Mary a few people ahead of her. She wondered what possible chore the old woman could be given, her hands too gnarled to be of any use.

  The line moved slowly and Dawn was grateful that she had worn her wool cloak, a late autumn chill stinging the air. She glanced around the village and noticed several hunters returning with fresh kills while villagers eyed the meat with hungry eyes. They had existed mostly on porridge, kale and berries. Meat had been for Colum and his men alone.

  She also spotted Elsa with two women from the village who appeared pleased to be following her. Dawn wondered if they had been assigned to the healer. It got her wondering where she would be placed, and how she would be treated in her new position.

  Finally, she entered the keep and was relieved when she saw that it was the tall, blond man who she noticed had been by Cree’s side more than any other warrior. She heard someone call him Sloan and assumed that he was Cree’s right-hand man.

  She listened as chores were assigned particularly when Old Mary stepped forward.

  “And what do you do, Old Woman?” Sloan asked.

  “I listen, I hear, and I know things,” Mary said her head nodding in cadence with her words. “No one pays an old woman mind.” She laughed.

  Dawn would have laughed along with her if she could. Old Mary was right. No one paid her mind, just like no one paid attention to a woman without a voice. She and Old Mary had always been invisible to most.

  She expected Sloan to dismiss her and so she was surprised when he inquired.

  “What do you know?”

  “I know where Colum keeps a locked chest and I know how he escaped.”

  Sloan summoned a nearby warrior with a flick of his finger, whispered something to him that had him making a swift exit. He then directed Old Mary to take a seat by the hearth and told her to enjoy the hot cider. The woman turned a toothless grin on him and shuffled over to the table.

  The next few people that followed took longer, Sloan thorough in his assessment of where to place each one. Dawn grew nervous as her turn neared. Sloan asked many questions and she wondered if he would understand her gestures or grow impatient with her.

  She was one away from it being her turn and she prayed that it would go well for her when suddenly Cree walked up to Sloan, his back to Dawn. After a few whispered words, Sloan nodded toward Old Mary and Cree turned and was about to approach the woman when he spotted Dawn.

  His eyes met hers and he stared unblinking. No one made a sound or moved.

  Finally, he summoned her with a crook of his finger and she obediently approached him.

  “Why are you not in the kitchen attending to your chores?”

  She pointed to her mouth and shook her head.

  “Turbett doesn’t want you because you have no voice?”

  Dawn nodded.

  Cree scowled and nodded at a table two away from where Old Mary sat. “Go sit and wait for me.”

  Dawn did as he directed, though she heard Sloan whisper, “Do not force her on Turbett or our meals will suffer for it.”

  She was not surprised at Cree’s response.

  “He obeys or he will find himself as voiceless as Dawn.”

  Sloan quickly returned to his own chore and summoned the next villager in line.

  Cree joined the old woman. “Tell me what you know.”

  “In the solar there are loose stones in the upper right corner of the fireplace where Colum kept a small chest. What is in it I do not know and only Colum and Goddard knew of the secret hiding spot. There is also a secret passageway leading from his bedchamber to the back of the keep. That is how he escaped; I saw him sneak out with Goddard close behind while his warriors continued to fight and die; the cowards.”

  “How did you come by this information?” Cree asked.

  Colum dismissed me as old, feeble, and deaf since I never answered him when he spoke to me. He was right about one thing... I am old. As for the other two?” She shrugged. “People see what they want to see. “ She gave a nod to Dawn. “Many villagers keep their distance from her. They don’t see her true beauty, her true worth. Dawn is a rare woman and it will take a rare man to love her, but once he does; he will know true happiness.”

  The thought of another man coupling with Dawn angered him and he snapped at the old woman. “I want no predictions from you just the truth or you will suffer the consequences.”

  Old Mary shrugged again. “What can you do
to me? I have known love and sorrow, pain and suffering, laughter and happiness. I have lived long, sometimes I think too long. If I die tomorrow; I die in peace and I will meet my maker with no regrets. Can you say the same?”

  Cree had thought about that with each battle he had entered. He knew it would be the fires of hell that would greet him if he did not live to see another day, and he would die without truly having lived for he had known more sorrow than love.

  He glanced over at Dawn, her threadbare cloak closed tight around her, her head held high and her eyes curious as she watched Sloan assign chores. He noticed she shivered and he wondered if she was worried about her fate, then he realized that she was chilled and he cursed her silent suffering.

  He summoned a servant to him and ordered food and another pitcher of hot cider to be brought to the table. The servant nodded and hurried off.

  “I have decided on your chore, old woman,” he said. “You will be my eyes and ears and you will tell me all you see and hear and... you will keep a watch over Dawn and let me know if anyone mistreats her.”

  “I will gladly serve you, my lord. And gladly keep watch over my friend.”

  The food arrived and Old Mary eyed it with appreciation.

  “Enjoy and you will take your meals at the keep from now on,” Cree ordered and snatched two tankards off the table along with the extra pitcher of hot cider as he stood.

  “Thank you,” Old Mary said with a grin and a nod, “now Dawn will have more food for herself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She held up her gnarled hands. “I can no longer keep my own garden or cook my meals. Dawn saw that I did not starve. She shared from her garden and cooked for me. She has a generous heart.”

  “Eat,” he ordered gently and with tankards and pitcher in hand he walked over and joined Dawn.

  Dawn wrapped her chilled hands around the tankard he handed her after he filled it. She was grateful for the heat that seeped into her hands, though nervous that he had sat and joined her. His brow was knitted and she wished she could reach across the table and rub the tight, deep lines away.

  Something had happened to her being locked away with him for that short time, though she could not make sense of it. She assumed it had only been lust she had been introduced to but why then did she want to reach out and comfort him? And if it was just lust why did he care what chore she was assigned? Why had he not left her to stand on line and let Sloan decide her fate?

  Her questions disturbed her for they suggested something she was not prepared to face. She could not be, dare not be, falling in love with the devil.

  “Do you wish to remain working in the kitchen?”

  Was he actually giving her a choice when others had none? And how would Turbett react to her being forced on him? But if she did not work in the kitchen, where would she work?

  “You’re not sure are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Cree,” Sloan called to him and Cree turned.

  A short, slim man with graying hair stood beside Sloan, a rolled parchment tucked beneath his arm. Cree signaled him over to the table.

  “Show me,” Cree ordered and the man spread out the parchment with trembling hands.

  Dawn’s eyes turned wide and she smiled.

  “This is a rough facsimile of how you wished your castle to be designed. There is more work to be done on it,” the man explained.

  Cree studied it, his chest swelling with pride. It had taken many years and the lives of many good warriors to reach this point, and he intended for this stronghold to be a monument to all who had sacrificed with him and a home for those who had survived. And he would rule over it all.

  “I am pleased with this, William,” Cree said.

  William smiled with relief. “You have chosen a perfect spot for the castle. It sits high on the bluff overlooking the Kyle of Tongue. The Kyle will make it easier for the needed material to be transported here and the various craftsmen that will also be required.”

  Dawn listened to the conversation but was far more fascinated by the drawing. She itched to make some changes but it was not her place to do so.

  Cree saw the way Dawn studied the drawing and how her hands gripped her tankard. She appeared anxious to reach out and add her touch, and he wondered what that might be.

  “Do you have a piece of charcoal, William,” Cree asked.

  The man shook his head.

  Dawn did not hesitate she scurried off the bench and snatched up a piece of kindling from the basket near the hearth. She used it to poke a piece of wood that had burned, as much as it was going to, out of the fire. She tested it with her finger and scooped it up after determining it was not hot. Once back at the table, she held it out to Cree.

  So that was what she used to draw with, he thought and shook his head. “It is not for me or William. It is for you to show me what changes you would make.”

  She could not hide her joy and William could not hide his annoyance, though when she began to carefully adjust his drawing William soon sat on the bench beside her amazed.

  “You are very talented,” William said with a pleasant smile.

  Dawn nodded and returned his smile.

  “Dawn cannot speak,” Cree said abruptly.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” William said, “but you speak through your drawings, do you not?”

  A slight blush rose to stain her cheeks, pleased that he recognized that.

  “Enough,” Cree said annoyed, “William has work to do and so do you, Dawn.”

  William hurried to roll up the parchment. “I will work on the changes.” And off he went.

  Dawn wondered over Cree’s dark scowl. He had encouraged her to make changes to the drawing. Why now was he annoyed?

  “You will return to your cottage and wait until I decide what your daily chore will be.”

  She contained her surprise and before he could change his mind she bowed her head and hurried out of the keep.

  Sloan walked over to the table and handed a tankard of ale to Cree and took a generous swag from the tankard in his other hand. “You best settle this with her and be done with it.”

  “This does not concern you.”

  “Aye, it does,” Sloan said, “and I will tell you why. I have never seen you look at a woman the way you look at the silent one. If you are not careful you will lose everything that you have worked so hard to achieve. And since when do you not rut with a willing woman after battle? Go take her and ease your loins that must be as hard as rocks.”

  “Much harder,” Cree mumbled and Sloan laughed, stood and returned to his chore.

  Cree remained where he was, finished his tankard of ale and poured another. Sloan had been right. He had always bedded a willing woman after battle and usually all night long so great was his lust. But not so last night even though one had offered herself to him.

  What was wrong with him? There were plenty of women who would rut with him and come back for more. He had never lacked for a woman and yet he had turned one away.

  There was a simple solution to his problem. He would bed a woman, satisfy his lust, and be done with it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dawn did not know what to do with herself. It had been three days since Cree had sent her from the keep and he had yet to assign her a chore. She spent some time with Lila, Paul and the babe but she had not wanted to intrude on this rare time that they had to spend with each other.

  Paul had been told that he was not to return to the fields until his leg had healed and that it was up to Elsa to decide when that would be. Lila had been up and about the day after giving birth. She was now busy fussing over both Paul and the babe and working her magic with the wool on her spindle and distaff.

  They were happier than Dawn had ever seen them and she was happy for them, though she did miss spending time alone with Lila. That was why she was so very glad to hear the knock at her door the same time it swung open.

  Dawn watched as Lila carried a chair in
to the cottage and then shut the door.

  “A gift,” she said and placed the chair at the table opposite of where Dawn sat. She slipped her cloak off and draped it over the chair and then sat. “Time to share one of your tasty brews and time for us to talk and as for the chair,” —she grinned broadly— “Paul is making us a sturdier set from the wood that has been left for the villagers to use. Taggart, the miller, stopped to tell Paul about the wood, knowing what a skilled hand he has in building things. Taggart saw to having his son cart some pieces to Paul. I tell you, Dawn, it has been but a few days since the attack and the village is already prospering.”

  Dawn listened as she prepared a hot brew for them both.

  “It is remarkable that few villagers were seriously hurt in the attack. It was Colum’s men who suffered the most, many losing their lives or sustaining serious wounds that no doubt will take their lives. Those left behind have willingly pledged their fealty to Cree and now work alongside his warriors and seem happier for it.”

  Lila voiced what Dawn was thinking.

  “Cree is far different than the tales told about him, though wagging tongues insist that Dowell has been spared Cree’s usual rampage because the land is now his. And most are pleased that Dowell now has a fierce leader to protect them, though he is still feared.”

  Dawn caught the way Lila shivered as she handed the tankard to her.

  “He walks the village with a scowl and none approach him and if he should approach any—” Lila shook her head— “they tremble with fear.”

  Dawn made a punching motion that Lila quickly understood.

  “No, Cree has not hurt anyone, though,” —she grinned— “I hear that Dorrie offered herself to Cree and he turned her down.”

  The thought of Cree coupling with Dorrie upset her, though she did not let it show. She tugged at her ear. It was her way of asking how Lila had heard this.

  “Several villagers had not only seen it, but heard the exchange. Gossip was quick to spread after that. Some are saying—” Lila stopped talking and her smile faded. “We need to talk.”