The Outcast Highlander

by R. L. Syme

  “She died in childbirth, along with my youngest sister,” Duncan responded, without much feeling. “I was only seven years old, and I do not remember much of her. It was not long before your youngest came into the world.”

  “Shouldn’t you keep this for your future wife?” Gabrielle asked before she realized what she’d said. Kensey’s insides clenched as she awaited Duncan’s response, but his blank face told her nothing. Gabrielle inclined her head and said, “Or perhaps a sister.”

  “My sisters,” Duncan said quickly, “do not care for weaving. And I do not anticipate having a need for it.”

  With Kensey’s help, Gabrielle sat down in the weaving seat and pulled her hands along the frame. Her body shook with a cough, and both Kensey and Duncan moved to help her, but she waved them away. “I can feel that this instrument has been lovingly used,” she said, recovering her voice. “It is surely too great a gift for a small measure of hospitality.”

  “Please,” Duncan insisted. He took Gabrielle’s hands in his own. “Your daughter has shown great courage, and you provided us with safety when we most needed it. There is no gift too great for such friends.”

  Kensey watched him, taken by his quiet demeanor. He had quite changed since returning from Berwick. Either the duties of his leadership were settling in, or Fiona’s marriage had taken away his fight. But he was quiet, almost docile.

  Gabrielle laughed, which unstilled the cough again, and this time, Kensey pulled her mother to her side and held onto her while the spasm racked her body.

  “Well you should be proud,” said Gabrielle, holding her daughter’s arm as though she might topple at any moment. “You show great generosity to us. My husband will be proud to consider you an ally.”

  “And a friend,” Kensey added. She pulled her mother towards the stairs. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I must take my mother to Ete, for she has some business.” Duncan bid Gabrielle farewell, and watched them ascend the stairs to the tower. “I will return shortly.”

  Despite what Kensey said, there was no business with Ete. She wanted to get her mother back to bed right away. The constant coughing, and then being in the large cold expanse of the great hall was wearing on her mother. There would be no reasoning with Gabrielle if she tried to argue in front of Duncan.

  “Your mother looks very ill,” Duncan noted when Kensey returned to the great hall. She took his arm and he led her out into the courtyard, where a crowd of people busied themselves at some job or another. Some filled water buckets, some were cleaning. Women scampered with dishes—some clean and some dirty—and children played. This was the center of activity, and they would be safely public here, although of course no privacy could really be had.

  Ever since her conversation with Gabrielle, Kensey had been very aware of what might be said about her and Duncan if they became too familiar. First, she did not want her father to get an idea that he needed to force marriage upon her where she did not love. And second, she wanted to protect Duncan from people’s tattling tongues, because she hoped there was a chance that he could still be with Fiona.

  Even if that meant someone had to kill Colin Ross.

  “You are right, she is not well,” said. They continued walking together, engaging with people as they passed, trying not to attract too much attention, although Kensey dropped his arm self-consciously when Ete approached them, carrying a basket of vegetables. She nodded to the woman and crossed her arms over one another. “She does not respond to the herbal treatments, so we just try to make her comfortable until the disease passes.”

  “Your mother is a beautiful woman,” he said politely, “and she bears her sickness well. I have never seen a woman carry herself with so much grace while she is ill. She should be commended for her constitution.”

  Kensey found this odd. Her mother had always seemed frail to her. Perhaps because she herself had never been sick, and neither had her father. But somehow, her mother would catch any illness that presented itself. “She is indeed beautiful,” Kensey said, absently. “She told me again to thank you for the generous gift.”

  “We will speak no more of it,” said Duncan, with a kind reserve. His gold eyes did not sparkle as she had seen them in the past, and she noted his distance. “I was glad to do it.”

  Just as Kensey was about to question Duncan about his coldness, Reyf came into the courtyard and saw the two of them walking. He came straight toward them and made a small bow before Kensey.

  “Miss, I must speak with you,” Reyf said, gruffly. He was a stout man, near her father’s own age, who had been Lachlan’s right-hand man since he first became laird. Reyf rarely spoke to Kensey, and when he did, they knew it was important. Kensey excused herself from Duncan and walked a few feet away with the old steward.

  “We still have received no news of your father,” explained the steward. “I would not wish to worry your mother, great lady that she is, but I feel that we must send word to him in Berwick that she has taken ill.”

  “How will we ever get word to him?” Kensey wondered. “We don’t know where he is.”

  “We could send one of the men. Perhaps Kendrick or Lewis.”

  “Are you certain we can spare them?”

  “It would not do us well to lose one of our few warriors when your father is gone, no.” Reyf stroked his beard.

  “Certainly you’re not thinking of going yourself,” she said. The man was the only one in her father’s absence who knew all the intricacies of the castle and its running, not to mention the lands and the tenants, the crofters and the animals. He could not be spared.

  “I will not allow you to go, young miss, no matter what,” Reyf said with brusque quickness. “Your father would flay me alive if he met you in Berwick, and he has charged me with your safety. He may already turn me out because of Balconie.”

  “No need to speak of that,” said Kensey, sharply. She had requested that Reyf not inform her father of what had happened with Duncan, but obviously the man had other ideas, even if it meant his own punishment. “Who do you plan to send? You can’t send my brother.”

  “Aye. And none of the stable hands can be spared this time of year, with the preparations for winter full upon us and the first snow to come likely within the month. I cannot require any of the tenants, and I cannot send any of the women.”

  “Then it will have to be me,” Kensey said. “For there is no one else to go.”

  “I will go myself before I would send a woman, let alone his own daughter.”

  Duncan, who had heard the end of the conversation as it escalated, stepped toward Kensey and cleared his throat, standing behind her. “May I be of some assistance?” he wondered, eyeing Reyf carefully.

  “Aye, you might.” Reyf eyed Duncan with slow care. “I must get word to our lord at Berwick of his wife’s condition.”

  “I find it exceedingly odd that your father is not back and yet no demands have been placed on you or your lands for his freedom. Although I did not see him myself when I was there, I did hear that he met with the Guardians. Perhaps he has gone to Edinburgh and forgotten to send word.”

  “The laird promised that if he were to leave Berwick, he would send word to us as to when he should be expected home,” Reyf responded, matter-of-factly.

  “I can send someone to search him out,” Duncan offered. Kensey shook her head. Although she did not want to go herself, she feared that her father would not take kindly to being check upon by a boy he hardly knew, whether the boy went himself or not.

  “We cannot ask that of you.”

  “But I have offered it myself,” he said, plaintively. He put a hand on Kensey’s arm. “Your steward is right, Kensey. If I were to send someone like Malcolm or Alec to Berwick and find that something has happened to your father, they may be able to search out what has happened without raising suspicion, if there is any to be raised. It is only fair that I should help you, after you have helped me.”

  “We would be mo
st grateful, my lord.” Reyf addressed Duncan with a small bow. He spoke before Kensey could manage a retort, and he gave her a look that mirrored one her father would have, silencing her.

  “I will return home and send Malcolm at once. And he will report directly to you.” Duncan took Kensey by the arm, but she followed him on less than steady feet. Malcolm responsible for speaking to her father? She didn’t like that option for some reason. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

  But Duncan and Reyf already twittered away about the details and Kensey just allowed them to pull her along. She wasn’t certain how things spiraled out of her control so quickly, but she hoped and prayed that Malcolm would be discreet, or she might find herself a nun when her father returned.

  ***

  Malcolm Sinclair arrived in the great hall nearly a week later to greet Kensey, with the dirt of several days’ ride still on him. He’d dressed in a warm green gardecorps fitted long over his tunic and appeared more as a page than a gentleman. Perhaps that had been his intention.

  Reyf grasped Malcolm by the elbow in greeting and inclined his head to his better. Kensey kept behind her father’s steward, almost hiding. But Malcolm’s eyes sought her out.

  “You made good haste,” Reyf said.

  “I had hoped to return faster.” Malcolm held Kensey’s eyes. A heat behind his gaze warned her to take care, though he kept his distance

  “Please tell me you have news of my father.”

  The hall began to fill with people. Robert, several of her father’s warriors, most of the servants. Kensey only hoped Ete could keep her mother above stairs. The last thing they needed was Gabrielle attempting to over-exert herself.

  “It took me some time when I reached Berwick to discover your father,” Malcolm began. He stepped forward and took Kensey’s hands.

  “And what did you find when you did?”

  “Are your mother or your brother around?” asked Malcolm.

  “You can tell me and I will choose how to tell them,” insisted Kensey. Reyf stepped to her side and cleared his throat. The sound echoed through the hall and several of the audience began to whisper.

  “Your father did arrive in Berwick.” Malcolm grasped his hands behind his back and stood straight. “He went to the Guardians first, to seek out their intentions, and found that they had already sworn their fealty to the English king.”

  “I thought as much,” Reyf interrupted. “Sutherland and Ross, no doubt. And Sinclair, too? Even Moray?”

  “There were one or two nobles who decided not to make the promises that Edward was requiring of them. The king reprimanded them harshly. One man, a friend of my brother’s, was even whipped. And in the end, all lords were required to show submission, and granted their lands back to us as a prize for our cooperation.”

  “And my father?” Kensey pushed, the worry escalating beyond what she could tolerate. Malcolm’s story certainly wasn’t ending quickly, and it didn’t appear to be heading to a happy conclusion.

  “Your father followed de Moray in refusing to surrender. But de Moray’s brother is clergy, and begged for his brother’s clemency. So when your father would not swear his allegiance to the king…” Malcolm stopped. His stance went from the proud, straight back of a confident man to the slumped cowering of a frightened animal.

  “Oh, by God’s beard, Malcolm, whatever it is, I must know it.”

  “Edward had your father imprisoned for treason.” Malcolm exhaled a long breath, as though expelling all the badness with the news would somehow purge him of having taken part in the reporting.

  “Treason?” Kensey gasped. “In Berwick?”

  “For now.”

  “Did you speak to my father face-to-face?”

  “No,” Malcolm admitted, his eyes narrowed. “I had the account from the court page, over quite a night of drinking. They are not allowing your father any visitors, and no communication. Lass, even if you went there yourself, you could not see him.”

  Kensey had to find a chair, because suddenly, her legs felt as though they would give out. In all her imaginings, she hadn’t even considered this. Other than his possible death, she had always imagined him returning with Malcolm. Though this was not death, it was as good as.

  “When will he be released?” she dared. Malcolm’s face was all the answer she needed.

  “Och, lass.” Malcolm reached for her, but she drew back. She pressed her arms tighter around her body, pushing thoughts of her father wasting away in a dungeon out of her mind.

  “You think they do not mean to release him?”

  “The page indicated that there was no sentence. Just that he had been jailed immediately until he would recant his indictment and swear loyalty to the king. His title has been decommissioned, although they cannot take away his headship in the clan.”

  “What has happened to our lands?” she wondered.

  “That had not been decided.” Malcolm’s voice wavered as he continued. “A rumor reached my ears that Edward planned to give your lands to another, but it was not confirmed.”

  Kensey shuddered. They would likely pass to Robert. The thought of her father stripped of his title and her little brother, who could barely sit his own saddle, as the new laird of the clan, it was unthinkable.

  “Surely this can’t be true.” She sniffed against the threatening tears. “Can you remain with us this night?” Kensey placed her small hand on his forearm. He shook his head in assent. “It is late in the afternoon and my mother is very ill.”

  Reyf stalked away and spoke sharply to one of the pages, who immediately took off running through the hall. He remained to speak to the other page and Kensey stepped closer to Malcolm.

  “My mother will want to hear this from you herself, but I don’t wish to trouble her this evening. If you could see her first thing in the morning before you leave for Castle St. Claire? It will give me some time to think of what we can do.”

  Malcolm’s intense stare almost took her breath away. Something else lingered behind his looks and she wasn’t sure what to do, other than look away. He took her hand and she smiled at the ground.

  “I will stay until you bid me leave, Kensey.”

  She offered a small curtsey and reclaimed her hand, turning to signal to Ene on the stairs. The older woman scurried across the room, a basket of clothing in her hands.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Malcolm will be staying with us this evening. Please see that he gets our best guest room and a hot bath. He will eat with us, as well, if he wishes.”

  Ene nodded. “What should I tell your lady mother?”

  Kensey sighed. “Nothing, for now. Let her rest.” She stepped backwards, making her exit away from Malcolm. “Please make yourself at home, and I will see you at the evening meal. We usually eat just before dark.”

  Before he could speak to her again, she turned and stalked from the room, taking care not to run, although a part of her wanted to run for the door and out onto the moors and just keep going. Perhaps a bigger part knew that if she could find her mysterious lone Highlander, he would be able to fix whatever was wrong.

  Fantasy or not, it settled her heart to think that he could fix any problem she put before him.

  Chapter Seven

  Reyf burst into the great hall just as Kensey lifted the first bite of guinea hen to her mouth. She’d smelled the fabulous roast fowl since Malcolm returned that afternoon and her mouth hadn’t stopped watering.

  But the look on Reyf’s round, red face stopped her cold. His whole countenance spoke of a fear she hadn’t seen in him before. She dropped the leg of hen and rounded the table at a quick step.

  Slightly out of breath, the old steward leaned against a column near the door. Once Kensey reached him, he tried to speak, but it still came out in puffs. “Kendrick was on patrol… just the other side of Ben More Assynt… a huge camp of English soldiers… flying a Buckingham banner… the Lord is among them.”

  Ke
nsey’s heart nearly stopped. They must have been right behind Malcolm the whole time. Either they waited for the dead of night to be upon them, or the first light for safe travel. Either way, it gave them almost no time to respond.

  “How many men do we have here?”

  Reyf shook his head. “No, miss. That will not do. They are one hundred strong at least. Even if we could reach all through the MacLeod lands before they are upon us, we would have less than thirty men of fighting age. Too many too old or too young still, or untrained.”

  Malcolm suddenly put his hand under Kensey’s elbow and she jumped. She hadn’t realized he would follow her.

  “What has happened?” Malcolm asked. When Reyf recounted in a more steady delivery, Malcolm stroked his beard and considered. “They must have been on my heels since I left Berwick.”

  “Can you ride to Duncan and raise warriors?” Kensey felt some rise of hope at the thought, until Malcolm’s somber face told the story.

  “I’m afraid I couldn’t return in time. They will likely try to strike at night, when your defenses are down.” He looked back at the table and lowered his voice. “Buckingham is no fool. He has extensive lands in the south and in England. He knows that Scots will fight.”

  Kensey paced between the end of the table and the column, trying to think of their next move. So much, she wished her father were here, but it was past time for girlish dreams. The Highland outcast wasn’t coming to save her, the Sinclairs weren’t coming to save her, her father wasn’t coming to save her. She was alone, responsible, and had no time to second-guess herself.

  “Buckingham won’t hurt the people,” she said. Both men raised eyebrows at her as though she spoke madness. She repeated herself, then continued. “He can’t afford to. He’s not actually going to take up residence here. He’ll install some underling with a garrison and he’ll need our people to work.”

  Malcolm inclined his head. “You may be right.”

  “But he will want you.” Reyf stomped in the path of her pacing and took her by the shoulders. He smelled of sweat and horse and Kensey was immediately on edge. “You and your brother, and perhaps even your mother.”