The Highland Chief

by Dana D'Angelo

  She shook her head impatiently, not wanting to discuss what had happened. Time was running out, and she needed to get to Darra.

  “Get Sir Jarin,” she ordered.

  “Aye, milady,” the girl said, giving her a clumsy curtsy before dashing out of the bed chamber.

  She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the heavy ring of boots running rapidly across the corridor. In the next moment, her loyal commander burst into the chamber.

  “Milady!” he said, panting. “I came as quickly as I could.” His dark eyes scanned all around, taking in her disheveled appearance, the broadsword on the other side of the chamber, and the pile of rope gathered near the chairs.

  One black brow raised, and before he had a chance to ask, Venora spoke. “My daughter has been kidnapped last night, and we need to get her back.”

  “Last night?” A stunned look appeared on his countenance, but he recovered from his shock. “Do you know where the captors are taking her?”

  “Aye,” she drew in a deep breath. “To the highlands.”

  “I am not familiar with the highlands, milady, but I will gather my men and track her down.” He turned to leave.

  “Sir Jarin,” she said, stopping him. “I will be joining you.”

  “But milady, you are —”

  She shook her head impatiently. “I know exactly where they are taking her.”

  ***

  Venora and her small troop cleared the drawbridge just when a group of six men rode toward them. The standard waving in the air was unmistakable.

  “Why, ‘tis Sir Dudley,” he said, turning to her in surprise.

  A ball of dread churned in her stomach. Of all things, the neighboring knight was the last person that she wanted to encounter today.

  Dudley halted before them. He surveyed the castle behind her, and then directed his narrowed gaze at her riding party. His keen eyes glittered with suspicion.

  “I have come to visit Lady Darra,” he said. He pulled his reins to still the horse while his men waited silently behind him. There was no mistaking who held the authority in this group. The knight was dressed in a dark blue tunic that was rich and velvety. The color of his clothes complemented his hair, which was dark and shot with silver strands. The hose he wore clung to his wiry legs. He was a slim man a few years older than Venora’s forty summers. The cloak draped over his shoulders gave him the illusion of bulk. But it wasn’t his appearance that caused men and women to cringe. It was the incredible meanness that shone in his dark pupils. This trait was something that Venora noted in Dudley since the first time they met. When gossip reached her ears about the lord, she was riveted and horrified about what she had learned. And when the knight began to show interest in Darra, she became nervous. Arthur was in discussion about a possible marriage between Dudley and their daughter. She realized that they needed to fulfill their obligation, and find a suitable husband for Darra. But even though Dudley had wealth and influence, Venora couldn’t allow the match to occur.

  “He is a terrible man!” she told Arthur.

  “All warriors have a fierceness about them,” he said, frowning.

  “Nay,” she shook her head with vehemence. “’Tis something more. You already know that his first wife died at childbirth. The second one died of some mysterious cause.” She searched his eyes, willing that he saw the seriousness of her concern. “And the third wife, who was the same age as Darra, died as well. There are speculations that Sir Dudley was cruel toward her, and she ended her life to escape from him.”

  Arthur watched her silently, and she felt compelled to press forward. “I love my daughter too much to allow her to suffer under the hands of a vicious lord. And — and I believe that you feel the same.”

  “Fine,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “I will speak with him once I return from battle.”

  Unfortunately Arthur never had a chance to speak to Dudley. It was a few days after the funeral that the knight arrived, insisting on his claim to marry Darra. Venora sent him away at that time, but here he was again. She had run out of excuses and was uncertain how much longer she could discourage him from her daughter.

  “You will need to come at another time,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. The horse underneath her detected her fear and reared slightly.

  Jarin reached over, and grabbed her reins to settle the nervous horse. She offered a grateful smile to the garrison commander. But Jarin wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Dudley, his expression steely. She took in a fortifying breath, knowing that he would protect her with his life.

  She gave her horse a reassuring pat at the side of its neck. Clearing her throat, she spoke again, only this time her voice was much stronger. “My daughter is not receiving visitors this day.”

  “I have traveled a distance to see Lady Darra,” he said, clearly not liking her answer. Dudley’s pupils were beady and hard, watching her as if he was a spider, and she was a fly that hovered too close to his web. If Jarin was not at her side, it was likely that he would have forced his way into Lancullin Castle.

  “You would spurn me again, milady?” Dudley asked, his voice softening, although she detected an underlining threat behind his question.

  She swallowed, and resisted the urge to dig her heels into the horse’s side, and plow past the troop that blocked her.

  Despite holding much clout with the king, she doubted that Arthur would have allowed Dudley to intimidate him. And so no matter how difficult it was, she couldn’t allow the knight to scare her either.

  “As I have said, my daughter cannot see you today.” She wiped a sweaty palm on her gown. “I have business to attend. Move aside, sire, or I will have my guards move you by force.”

  He stroked his chin and frowned, the gestures making him appear unfriendly and conniving. It seemed as if he was used to having his way, and he didn’t appreciate a mere woman ordering him about.

  She glanced over at Jarin and his men. But the garrison commander and the two guards that accompanied them fixed their stares on the opposing knights. The guards at the gates and along the battlements also stood at attention. With one bellow, Jarin had the ability to hail the entire garrison to join him. And Dudley was cognizant of this.

  “This is a rather rude reception, milady.” His eyes constricted to tiny dots as they leveled on her. “’Tis my belief that the business you need to attend is right in front of you.” His fists gripped onto his reins, the whites of his knuckles showing. When he spoke again, there was venom behind his words. “I had an understanding with your late husband. This matter is not finished, milady.” He paused, his eyes narrowing at her. “I am not a patient man, and mean to claim my bride.”

  A maternal instinct filled her, and she straightened her shoulders. It was true that she was a woman, but that didn’t mean that he would frighten her into submission. “You do not have a claim over my daughter,” she said, her voice frigid. “My husband was to tell you that your suit was declined, except he never had the chance.”

  A skeptical expression crossed over Dudley’s face. He urged his horse closer to her and leaned in; he was so close that she could smell his rancid breath. Dropping his voice so only she could hear, he said, “Why is it that I do not believe you, milady?” His lips curled downward. “You can claim that your dead husband was going to deny my suit, but there is no proof. And he cannot speak from the grave, now can he?” He leaned back abruptly. “The king will hear about this affair,” he said.

  A chill streaked down her spine. It had never occurred to her that Dudley would use his influence with the king to have his way. Subsequently if King Harold became involved, she would have no choice but to allow the marriage.

  “Milady,” Jarin said, sidling his horse next to hers. He frowned at the sight of the other knight’s hands on her reins. “We will leave now.”

  Dudley glared sharply at the commander. Jarin was a younger, fitter knight, and Dudley had a cause to be cautious.

  One of Dudley’s men advanc
ed, his hand on the hilt of his broadsword. But he stayed the guard.

  “We will discuss this later,” he said, his lips stretching across his slim face, although the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  He was letting her off easily, she realized. Slowly, she released the air that she was holding.

  “Aye, later,” she repeated, wanting to end the conversation. “Sir Jarin, let us leave.”

  But later came much too soon. Venora had asked her men to stop so that she could attend to her needs. It should have been a simple stop, but when she emerged from the woods, she saw that Dudley held her commander at knifepoint. The other two guards were surrounded. She turned back to the thicket, intending to flee, however one of Dudley’s men chased her down, and dragged her back to the small clearing.

  “Where is Lady Darra?” Dudley demanded.

  Jarin strained against the men who held him. “Let go of milady!”

  Dudley sneered at the garrison commander before showing him his back.

  “You have not answered my question, milady,” he said, his features as hard as granite.

  “I do not know what you are talking about,” she said tightly. “I already told you that my daughter is ill…”

  “Do not take me for a fool.” His beady eyes bore down on her. “I know that you would not venture out on your own without good reason. Tell me where she is,” his gaze flicked over to Jarin, “Or your favorite knight dies.”

  The air seized in her lungs.

  “Do not kill him!” she burst out. Then it immediately occurred to her that Dudley might be useful in her scheme to retrieve Darra from the MacGregons. She took a deep breath. “Darra has been taken by the Scots. That is why we have left Lancullin Castle — to get her back.”

  “Another lie!” Dudley yelled.

  “Nay! ‘Tis the truth. The Highlanders broke into my chamber intending to kidnap me, but they took Darra instead.”

  He leaned back on his horse, studying her. Then he spit on the ground. “I will accompany you, and will bring back what is mine.”

  His face was flushed, and she perceived the one thing that Dudley hated most were the Scots. He was well aware that she was a Scotswoman, yet he tolerated her because she styled herself after the English, and was married to an influential lord. If Dudley ever found out what she intended, he would despise her, and maybe even kill her. But that was a risk she had to take. She would save Darra, and not fail her like she failed her husband.

  Chapter 6

  “’Tis the reason why we need tae obtain a real healer.” Rory’s last words echoed in Darra’s mind. She was a healer, and ignoring the sick was not what one did. But then again, not many healers were kidnapped, and forced to treat someone.

  A gust of wind blew, and caused gooseflesh to prickle across her forearms. She rubbed at her arms in an attempt to warm herself.

  Darra straightened up in her seated position and bumped against his firm chest. The chill momentarily was forgotten as she felt a tingle of heat in the area that touched him.

  Groping for some topic to distract herself, she spoke the first thing that came to mind. “Why were you so intent in bringing my mother with you?”

  “’Tis apparent that my da is acquainted with Lady Venora,” Rory said. “In his delirium, he called out her name. The village healer recalled that long ago your mother’s kin assisted Clan MacGregon with a matter of health.”

  “My mother has never spoken of it,” she said, surprised.

  “Well, I have never heard of —” He broke off, and pulled the reins so that the horse came to a complete stop.

  Griogair halted next to him. “What is it?” he asked.

  “The ground is disturbed.” Rory pointed to a mud filled groove at the side of the dirt road.

  She leaned forward, trying to get a better glimpse at the ground. It had rained the night before, and if a transport had come through this way, then it wasn’t unusual for it to make dents in the mud.

  “’Tis nothing more than the wheel marks made by a farmer’s cart,” Griogair said.

  Rory dismounted and approached the spot. Crouching down, he inspected the area while a sense of foreboding started to envelop him. The grooves in the drying mud seemed unnatural, like a heavy device was dragged through it. Something shiny reflected in the mud, and after closer examination, he discovered a metal object jutting out from the silt. With trepidation continuing to creep up his back, he reached for the object.

  “’Twas nae a farmer’s cart.” He stood up and held the object in the air. “Nay farmer owns one of these.”

  “A gauntlet?” Darra asked, surprised.

  Griogair shook his head in disbelief. “Do ye think some rogue knights have passed through here?” he asked.

  “Nay,” he tossed the offending object into the bushes. “’Tis likely that they’re Harold’s men.”

  “Harold’s men,” Griogair repeated and leaned back on his horse. “We fought them back two months earlier…”

  “Aye, and we’ll continue tae fight them until they leave us in peace,” he said grimly. “We’ll find a place tae stop and wait for Duncan tae catch up with us.” He walked over to the nearby bushes, plucked off a broad leaf and began to wipe the mud from his fingers. “We dinnae want tae come across the cavalry by accident. From the track marks on the ground, I would say that they’re a few hours ahead of us.”

  “Or they could be stationed nearby,” Griogair pointed out. “Do ye think they have plans tae raid Scotland again?”

  “’Tis probable.” He tossed the leaf onto the ground. Looking over at his brother, he asked, “How much further do we have till we reach the border?”

  Griogair carelessly slapped at a mosquito on his neck before reaching into his leather sporran and producing a map. He carefully unfolded the parchment, and began to study it. Silent for a long while, he traced a forefinger along the chart. Finally, he lifted his head.

  “If we continue without stopping,” he said, his brows creasing in concentration, “I estimate that we’ll make it tae the border within half a day.”

  Rory frowned and examined Darra. Exhaustion was clearly etched on her countenance. “’Twould nae be guid if we stumbled upon the enemy camp while we’re fatigued. Those savages,” he spat forcefully onto the ground, “traverse with the devil himself, and wouldnae hesitate tae slay us if they came upon our party.”

  Darra raised her chin and looked down her nose at him. “The English are not savages,” she said fiercely.

  “But ye are savages of the worst kind,” he said dismissively. “Just ask the poor widows who lost their husbands, or the women who were raped by your sae called noble knights.”

  She fell silent.

  “See?” his lips tightened into a thin line. “Ye ken there is truth in what I say.”

  “There is no truth,” she said, inhaling swiftly through her nose. “You cannot judge an entire people by the actions of a few dishonorable men.”

  As he walked toward her, her grip on the reins tightened as if she was ready to spur the beast into a gallop. Rory caught Griogair’s eye, and his brother acknowledged his warning without a word passing between them.

  The lass spun her head around in time to catch their exchange. Her hold on the reins loosened, as if she registered that if she tried to escape, Griogair would be upon her faster than a falcon picking out its prey.

  Rory mounted the horse and settled behind her before she could entertain further ideas. But her words disturbed him and he pondered them until he dismissed them altogether. The English were all untrustworthy as far as he was concerned. Once Darra was finished with healing Eanruing, then he could be rid of her.

  ***

  Rory shifted his eyes eastward, scanning the thick line of trees that surrounded them. Large moss covered boulders continually blocked their path, and they were forced to travel in single file in order to maneuver around the obstacles. And as the light within the forest faded, they were compelled to move even slower through the ta
ngled undergrowth. The last thing he needed was to have one of the horses slip and injure itself. Even though he preferred to travel at a faster clip, he sensed that he needed to move with more caution.

  And much as he loathed to do it, he also had to account for the well-being of the lass. It would have been easier if he stuck to the original mission, and took Lady Venora with him. From what he understood, the Lady of Lancullin was a Scotswoman, and she would be familiar with the rough terrain. But instead, Rory had taken her daughter, a fragile English woman born and bred.

  He was also aware that he would confront difficult and unpleasant questions when he returned to the highlands with the lass. Rory had already encountered opposition when he told his kin about his initial plans.

  “Ye dinnae mean tae bring Lady Venora here do ye?” Duncan had said, his voice tight with disapproval.

  “Aye, I cannae believe that bringing the English woman here will help Eanruing,” Blane joined in, spitting on the ground as if to emphasize his words.

  “She isnae really English,” Rory said grimly. While the men surrounded him, he calmly looked at each one. “Besides, we have nay choice. The village healer disnae ken what else tae do. And if this lady is as renowned as they say, then she’ll be able tae cure Da.”

  His brothers looked at him, their faces unconvinced.

  “I dinnae think that we can trust Lady Venora,” Duncan said. He shook his head while anger and hatred seeped into his voice. “Even if she isnae English, she still lives among the bastards.”

  “It disnae matter where she lives,” Rory said tightly.

  “I agree with Duncan,” Blane interjected, his face stony. “By marrying an English lord this woman has turned her back on us, her countrymen. I’ll have nothing tae do with her.”

  “Ye can help me bring her here or nae. I willnae force ye,” he scowled at Duncan and Blane. “But ken this. I intend tae bring the healer back with me. I owe Da at least this much.”

  “I still dinnae think this is a guid idea,” Duncan said, scowling back. “’Tis the devil’s domain that we’ll be entering. Dinnae ye remember the destruction and bloodshed that the English knights caused us in the last battle? Tae this day the bastards plot tae cross our borders, and steal what is rightfully ours.”