He knelt beside the moaning woman, taking a damp cloth from one of the villagers. “Be still, you’ll be all right.”
Derek tapped him on the shoulder. “We should not stay long. They will come back in greater numbers.”
“You’d know,” Wallace said. “Wouldn’t you? They’re your kin Derek MacLeish.”
“So what if they come back?” Finley snapped at the same time. “Perhaps we’ll have a straight fight for once.”
Andrew spoke without getting up, still mopping the woman’s’ brow. “What good is it to leave our wounded to die just because you fancy a scrap? We can fight their whole army later. Right now, our people need our help.”
He barely recognized the woman moaning in her sleep. Most of her skin was charred and acrid smelling. Her eyes remained closed as her moans subsided.
He looked up at Gillis. “Get as many carts as you can. Finley, you take a couple of men with you and gather horses. Help the villagers bring what they can and be along by nightfall. They will be safer inside castle walls than out here. I will have James prepare the infirmary for your return. The rest of you, spread the word. All are to come into the castle by the time the moon rises.”
“My laird.” The men got to work.
He frowned, looking down at the injured woman on the ground. “It’s Mary, isn’t it?”
The woman moaned in response, trying to speak.
“Save your strength. Help is coming.” He stood up. “Make haste, Gillis before it is too late.”
With that he marched over to his horse and leapt onto its back. The MacLeish woman was standing next to it, looking unsure of herself. He reached out a hand. “Come with me lassie.”
“You’ll take me to my mom?”
“Aye, I swear.
She nodded, accepting his outstretched hand. As their fingers touched he looked into her eyes, lost in that deep ocean once more. She looked away and only then did he come back to himself, lifting her effortlessly onto the horse.
He kicked the sides of the beast. Slowly, they began to trot out of the village.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. What was left of the fire was already burning itself out. All that was left was for the ruins to crumble. He was already thinking about rebuilding.
The hall had stood fifty years, not bad considering it had a kitchen inside. Next time they would have the kitchen as a separate building like at the castle. That way when it burned as they all did sooner or later, the hall itself would be safe. If only there were a way to fireproof it better.
In many ways the MacLeishes had done him a favor. He had been thinking of rebuilding for some time but something else always came up. Finishing the castle took up so much of his time he had neglected the maintenance of the hall. It had been crumbling for years.
He really needed to hire a master mason, stop trying to do everything himself. But who could he trust to do it right?
All of the masons in the highlands were working for the MacLeishes on their new fangled hexagonal keep. It would cost a fortune to poach one from them and knowing old Duff, he’d probably interpret even that as motion to war.
He did not relish the idea of clan war at all. All he’d ever wanted was peace. His father had managed it but somehow it had eluded him no matter what he did. Could he ignore such antagonism though?
There was always someone wanting MacIntyre land for themselves. Either that or broaching his territory to steal livestock and grain. He had no idea how his father hadn’t gone mad trying to keep on top of everything.
He looked at the men riding with him. He wished he could ask their counsel but he already knew what they would say. Gillis, his loyal deputy, by his side since childhood. He would tell him clan war was the only option. Derek would tell him the opposite, he would not want war with his own kin.
Derek was still technically a MacLeish. He’d been brought to MacIntyre castle by Duff MacLeish himself as a gesture of peace at the age of fifteen, marking the end of the last war.
Derek had changed a lot since then. A mere child when handed over, he’d sobbed and begged to be allowed to go home, promising his father he would behave.
“You’ll stay here and do as you’re told,” Duff had replied, pushing him away, ignoring his tears. “You should have thought of repentance when you were gambling with my money. Perhaps you’ll learn some courtly manners while you’re at it. God knows, you never learned any from me. Twenty marks gone in a day and for what? Because you thought you had a decent dice roll coming up.”
“Please, father. Don’t make me stay here. I’m no MacIntyre. I’m a MacLeish like you.”
“No MacLeish would act like you have. Look at you crying like a wee bairn. You shame me in front of another clan with your blather. You’ll do this or you’ll take monastic vows, I swear by God. I’ve had enough of your errant ways, my boy.”
Andrew had watched the dynamic play out in front of him. He hoped if he ever had children they would get on better with him than the MacLeish boy did with his father.
Fifteen years had passed since then. He had no children, nor even the hint of a wife. Looking after the clan took up all his time. He had none spare to go courting. When younger he’d thought he would have all the time in the world to find a woman. He’d had to grow up fast when he inherited the lairdship upon his father’s untimely death. Then all his free time vanished.
Derek had become a man too over the years though he still held stubbornly onto his refusal to wear the MacIntyre tartan. In the intervening years he’d become a surprisingly solid part of the clan, even if he was sometimes prone to acting higher than his position warranted.
“Do you need any help holding her?” Derek asked, nodding across at him. “She can sit on my lap if she wants.”
The other men laughed but Andrew was in no mood for humor. “You think this is a time for jests? You keep your mouth shut and pray for those who are dying back there.”
Derek turned away without another word, facing the front.
Andrew began thinking about what had just happened. He couldn’t understand it. The MacLeishes had never done something so heinous before. Skirmishes maybe but there hadn’t been war for fifteen years. Why provoke it after so long?
He glanced at the fair lass sitting in front of him on the horse. Maybe she’d be able to give him some answers.
Why would her people want to provoke a war they were sure to lose? There was no point asking Derek. He hadn’t been back to MacLeish castle for years.
Did she not know provoking war was madness? MacLeish held lands half the acreage of the MacIntyres and their armed forces were outnumbered three to one. They would be slaughtered in a straight fight. He just couldn’t fathom why they’d do it.
Could it possibly have been anyone else?
No, they’d all been wearing the MacLeish tartan. All apart from her.
What was she wearing anyway? He examined her attire more closely. She had on a skirt that exposed her knees like she was working the fields but with no hose underneath to hide her skin. And yet her shoes were intricate enough to look like she’d come from the very top of a Saracen court.
Her top was stranger still, a mixture of colors, blue and white with flowers sewn into the fabric and yet there was no sign of stitching of the emblems. Was she a jongleur perhaps? They often wore outlandish attire, brought back from their travels across Europe and the East.
He took a deep breath and as he did so, he caught the scent of her hair. Behind the lingering smell of smoke was something else, something much softer. What was that? He leaned toward her and sniffed. Lavender and heather in flower.
His horse tripped over a stone and almost stumbled. He admonished himself to concentrate on riding, not on what his captive smelled like. Why did he even care?
They made it to the castle by late afternoon. Once inside the courtyard he lifted the woman off the horse, setting her on her feet. “Hold there,” he said to her before waving Gillis across. “Have her to change into att
ire more befitting a lady.”
“I’ll take her,” Derek said. “I mean, you too have much to do to prepare for the wounded.”
Gillis looked to Andrew. He nodded. “Very well. Gillis find Rory for me.”
He watched the lass go, Derek shoving her hard whenever she slowed to look about her. He would have a word with him later, remind him that being rough with captives was not the MacIntyre way.
Turning, he saw his steward rushing over from the stables, doing his best to run. “I am glad to see you, Rory,” Andrew said. “I will be brief as there is much to be done. The old hall has been burned as has half of Pluscarden.”
“How bad is the damage?” That was Rory all over. Straight down to business every time, no room for sentimentality. That was why he made such a good steward.
“The hall is ruined as is half the village. I believe the rest would have gone up too if I was not there to scare them off.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“The MacLeishes.”
“Are you certain?”
“Most of them escaped but we caught one of the villains. The wee lass should be able to prove it was them but we can discuss that later. For now, I need you to warn the infirmary and then the kitchens. We will have the entire village here by nightfall and many wounded among them. Have we enough food in the stores?”
“Aye, depending how long our guests will be staying.”
“That I cannot answer.”
“Should I send word to MacLeish that you would parley with him?”
“Not yet.”
“A bath perhaps to remove all that soot from you?”
“Later. First I must speak to the apothecary. We will have need of many herbs before the day is out.”
“Very good, my laird.”
Rory scuttled off across the courtyard toward the infirmary. Andrew watched him go before heading for the keep.
She was up there waiting to be questioned. He thought of the scent of her hair and the feel of her skin as he’d lifted her from the horse. It had felt soft, softer than anything he’d ever known.
He dipped under the external staircase and into the cellarium. “James? Are you in there?”
“Aye. Back here. Hold on, I need to note the number of apples.”
“Wounded are coming. I need you to prepare.”
A bent figure appeared out of the gloom, wiping ink from his hands as he came into view. “How many?”
“At least a dozen, maybe more, all badly burned.”
“God preserve us.”
“I need you to help Him do that.”
“I’ll do what I can. How long do I have?”
“Not long. They’re on their way from Pluscarden now.”
“I will get all I can to the infirmary, my laird.” He nodded and disappeared back into the darkness of the stores.
Andrew walked back outside. He was glad to have people he could rely on.
It was time to talk to his guest. He went to climb the stairs but heard his name being called behind him. “Derek?” he said, walking back down. “What are you doing down here? Have you left her alone?”
“I was looking for you. Dinnae worry, I’ve locked her in. She’s going nowhere.”
He frowned his disapproval. “She gave her word she would not run. You need not have imprisoned her. You were supposed to get one of the women to help her change attire.”
“You are too trusting. It’s by far your biggest flaw. She fears for her life, she’ll run the first chance she gets, mark my words.”
“Give me the key and stop making decisions for me.”
Derek swallowed as if chewing something unpleasant. “Yes, my laird,” he managed at last.
“The key, now. I wish to speak to her.”
“So be it but be warned. She is a vicious one.” He rubbed his cheek as he spoke and Andrew noticed a slight reddening to it.
He felt eyes on him from far above. Looking up he saw her at a window for a brief moment. Then it was gone.
“She will not be vicious with me,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time. “I am sure of it.”
Chapter Three
Beth stood in the chamber, her clothes on the bed. He was coming to see her. She didn’t have long to get into the medieval dress. Anxiety gnawed at her. All she wanted was to find her mom and now she was locked in a castle tower and a brutish highlander was coming to interrogate her.
Derek had lied to her back at the old hall, telling her that her mother was waiting for her at the castle.
“She’s up there in the solar waiting for you,” he said as they crossed the courtyard. “Straight up the stairs.”
She almost ran up the stairs to the second floor of the keep, turning sharp left at the end of a corridor and walking into a small room lit by a single window. There was no one waiting in there.
By the time she realized she’d been lied to, the door was locked behind her. “Hey,” she shouted as it slammed shut. “You promised me she was here.”
How could she have been stupid enough to believe it? No doubt he’d acted on the orders of the giant to keep her compliant and she’d been gullible enough to fall for it.
Her mind had been scrambled by the fire. That was the only possible explanation for falling for such a blatant lie.
She dashed over to the window and looked out. There would be no leaving that way. It was a sheer drop down to the courtyard far below. The shutter creaked in the wind as she looked out at the scene down there.
A part of her still believed it was all a re-enactment. She was surprised she’d not heard of it before. So much money had clearly been spent here making it all look authentic. It was like a movie set but with no camera crew to be seen.
Every single person down there was in period costume, all of them acting in the character of middle ages castle dweller. But where were the visitors?
Her mind went back to the journey, something niggling at her that she didn’t want to think about. She’d sat in front of the actor who must have been playing the laird, him holding her firmly in place between arms of steel.
She looked at the surrounding countryside while they traveled. What was wrong with it? Something didn’t add up. She couldn’t work it out, finding it too hard to focus on anything but his chest pressing against her back.
It was the road, she realized whilst sitting in the tower. They’d come along a rough rutted track that was stone and mud, nothing else. There were no cars anywhere. No white lines or road signs. Only the horses and the surrounding fields divided into long narrow strips. No walls, no hedgerows, just the fields and beyond them the imposing mountains.
Then the castle, looming up before them when they crested a hilltop. As it grew nearer she stared in disbelief. It looked so real, as if she had really gone back in time. The attention to detail was second to none. There wasn’t a single cable or sign anywhere. Nothing modern at all.
The place itself clearly wasn’t finished. Men were working on wooden scaffolding on the outer walls and piles of stone were dotted about on the ground. Lime pits smoldered and everywhere was the sound of hammering and chiseling. There were no drills though. They were using authentic tools to work on the walls.
The keep looked worse than the walls, the battlements and towers pointing upward like broken teeth high above her. The room she was locked in was complete at least but the plaster on the walls was bulging in places. If she’d been in charge, she’d have had words with the laborers about doing their job right. It hadn’t been given enough time to set properly.
She looked around the room, hoping to find something that would help her escape. There wasn’t much to see. A small bed frame of unvarnished wood, straw mattress on top. Blankets of itchy wool, dyed the same style of tartan that the re-enactors wore. Next to the bed was a low table containing a candle, a large ewer of water beside it.
The only other furniture was a chair by the hearth and a faded woolen rug that covered less than a quarter of the flagstones.
<
br /> She stopped her search when she heard a key turning in the lock behind her. She spun around in time to see Derek walking in, a pile of clothing in his arms. “I thought I’d bring the attire up here, save the women a climb up the stairs.”
“Look, I’m not one of the re-enactors,” she said. “You’ve got me mixed up. I’m a visitor, just a guest, that’s all.”
“Aye, you’re a guest of the MacIntyres and you’re to change into this.”
“I will not change into anything. I need to find my mom. She’ll be worried about me.”
He shoved her backward, a warm smile spreading across his lips. “If you need some assistance in changing, I could always help you.”
She knew then why he’d brought the clothes himself. He winked at her and reached out toward her chest. She batted his hand away. He lunged again and as he did so she slapped his face, hard. “Get your hands off me.”
“You would strike a MacLeish?” he said in disbelief, rubbing his cheek. “You’ll pay for that soon enough, lass.”
“Enough. I’m not part of this game. You’re holding me here against my will. That is a crime and if you don’t let me out at once, I shall call the police and have you arrested.”
“Call for whatever you like. No one will hear you from up here.”
“I’m calling them right now,” she said, reaching for her cellphone in her jacket pocket. She cursed as she realized it wasn’t there.
Of course it wasn’t. She’s given her jacket to her mother to keep her warm in the cold Scottish air. No cellphone, no car keys, no way of getting help. Fantastic.
Derek was still looking at her. He lowered his voice. “I’m a MacLeish you know? I can help you if you let me.”
“You can help me by getting out of my way. I’m not staying here a minute longer.” She tried to push past him.
He shoved her backward and the door was shut before she had time to recover. She ran across and tried to get it open again but it was already locked. Hammering on the door, she screamed, “Let me out at once!”
There was no response, only retreating footsteps.
She crossed to the window and shouted, “Help!” No one even looked up. They were all clearly in on this together.
Held by the Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 2
