The Highlander's Quest

by Dana D'Angelo

  But before he could say anything more, an elderly woman rushed out from the crowd and threw her bony arms around his waist, sobbing. She tilted her face up, gazing at him with pure joy and affection. His earlier disappointment faded, and a new hope began to form in the middle of his chest.

  “I knew ye would come home tae your ma,” she said, her wrinkled cheeks streaked with tears. She cupped the side of his face. “I just knew it.”

  The conviction and maternal love in her voice caused him to smile. Of course, nothing in this village seemed familiar, but perhaps he belonged here. Perhaps this really was his mother.

  Angus glanced over at the lass who had come to his aid. A bemused expression crossed over her bonny face. And she appeared unsure about what to make of him or the situation.

  The lass sensed him watching her and met his gaze. “I dinnae —” she started to say, but a voice angrily shouted behind her.

  “What are ye doing with my sister?” the female said.

  Angus turned to see a woman marching in their direction. Her face was pinched and unhappy.

  The old lady moved closer to him. “I found my son,” she said a little defensively. She clung to his muscled arm as if she were afraid he might disappear.

  He stood silent. What could he say? He could very well be this woman’s son. And if this was the case, then his search was over.

  “Come along, Ina,” the newcomer said, her tone commanding and fierce. She stepped forward to pull her sister from his embrace. But then the woman paused slightly to take in his menacing height. Then a second later, she seemed to remember herself. Her arm shot out to pull Ina away from him. “Ye stay away from my sister.”

  “My laddie,” Ina howled in distress. She dug her fingers into his forearm. “Let me be, Beth. I said I’ve found my Connor!”

  But Ina was no match for her younger, more robust sibling. When Beth finally freed her sister, she glared at him. “This man isnae your Connor.”

  Angus watched as the pair retreated into the group that gathered by the bonfire. And once more, hope crumpled to his feet.

  In a vain effort to stifle his disappointment, he observed the revelers as they continued to dance and sing.

  A drunkard wearing a cattle skull passed with a canister of whisky in his hand. In his haste to join the celebration, he tripped and sloshed the drink on the ground. At the loss of his precious beverage, he let out a loud string of curses.

  Elspeth came to stand next to Angus.

  “The auld woman gave me momentary hope,” he said, becoming aware of the lass. “I thought perhaps I was her son even though ‘tis obvious our tartans differ.” He lifted an excess part of his great kilt and creased his brows.

  Elspeth’s gaze slid slowly over his lean, muscular frame. She then shifted her scrutiny to his kilt, studying it as if she had just noticed the patterns and saw his plaid’s grim condition. When she looked up again, her eyes widened slightly as she realized that he had caught her staring at him.

  “I tried to warn ye, but Widow Ina already had ye in her grip,” she shrugged, trying to cover up her embarrassment. “Her son was killed in the war. There’s talk that she went mad after learning of the news. Now she thinks every man she approaches is her Connor.”

  He fell silent for a moment and then let out a bark of laughter. “’Tis ironic that I should meet someone whose memory is worse than mine,” he said.

  Elspeth was taken aback by his observation. “What ye say is true.” She paused and frowned. “Sae why are ye here? Nae many people trust warriors that come through our village. And I doubt ye came here tae celebrate Samhain.”

  He usually didn’t divulge much to strangers, but somehow he felt comfortable with the lass, and he let down his guard.

  “Ye are right. I’m nae here for the festivities. I’m trying tae find information about myself.” He pulled out a piece of parchment from his sleeve and twisted his lips. The scrawl was decidedly male and contained bold slanted strokes. The sheepskin itself was torn and smudged with dirt. He jabbed his finger at the letter. “There’s a town mentioned here, but I cannae determine what ‘tis called or where ‘tis located.”

  Elspeth took the paper from his hand and examined it.

  She appeared as if she was educated. Angus knew that this ability was uncommon, but if his rescuer was literate, she would understand that he wasn’t making up this story.

  “Ye wrote this missive?” she asked, handing the parchment back to him.

  “I believe so,” he said, nodding. “’Twas in my possession when a farmer found me at the edge of a burn.”

  If that farmer had found Angus a few hours later, it was likely he would have died. The injury at the back of his head was severe, and he had lost a lot of blood. Fortunately, he lived, and the farmer took him into his home.

  During his recovery, Angus was delirious, but when he regained his strength, he discovered that his bad dreams lingered. He couldn’t explain the horrific scenes that flashed through his mind while he was awake, scenes where he witnessed death and violence. Somehow he knew that he took part in the war. Probably he was a fierce warrior that dispatched hundreds of men. But while he remembered the violence and the fighting, he couldn’t remember his origins. Any history he accumulated over the past twenty-five years was gone.

  When the farmer offered him work, Angus took the opportunity; he had nowhere else to go. He enjoyed farm labor since it distracted him from his thoughts, but at night his uneasiness surfaced. It didn’t help matters that he often examined the torn parchment in hopes of deciphering its contents. Nor did it help that he witnessed the daily contentment in the farmer’s home. In truth, Angus had nothing to complain about. Still, he began to wonder about his own clan. Did they wonder about him too? Then there was the matter of his identity. Who was he? Where did he come from?

  He knew he couldn’t find answers at the farm, and he needed to leave. But that was months ago, and now his luck was starting to run out.

  “What are ye going tae do now?” Elspeth asked, her question jolting him back to the present.

  “Search for work,” he said. Anyone could see that he didn’t have much money, and if he wanted to continue his quest, he needed another job. “Do ye ken of anyone who might want help on their farm?”

  Angus didn’t expect her to respond, but her hesitation made him glance curiously at her.

  “I hope I willnae regret this,” she muttered. When she caught his questioning gaze, she straightened her shoulders and spoke louder. “We need help on our farm. If ye will come with me, I’ll take ye tae speak with my da.”

  Chapter 3

  Even as Elspeth uttered the invitation, she felt an uncomfortable sensation begin to churn in the pit of her stomach.

  “My da is at the tavern,” she said as she led Angus away from the revelers.

  Elspeth wasn’t certain whether she should attribute this uneasy feeling to his strong presence or to her impulsive job offering. One thing was certain though. She still had to convince her father that hiring this man was a good idea.

  “The tavern is definitely where I should be heading,” Angus said, falling into step with her. “Tell me about your farm.”

  “’Tis on the outskirts of town,” she said. “For some reason, Da didnae hire anyone tae help him this year, and I fear the harvest is progressing slower than usual.”

  Silence fell between them as they made their way to the tavern. Unable to help it, Elspeth studied the stranger out of the corner of her eye. He was well built, and even though his clothing was worn, his masculine body was impressive and solid. A shiver ran through her as she wondered how it would feel to have his brawny arms wrapped around her. The Highlander appeared considerate and polite, yet despite this, an air of danger and excitement surrounded him. And even as she walked next to him, she felt the power emanating from his magnificent frame. She had just met the man, but she found his magnetic presence very intriguing.

  But what was she thinking? She mentally bera
ted herself and allowed the practical side of her to take over. Angus was a man suitable for working on the farm and nothing more. Once the harvest was done, the Highlander would leave, and he would disappear from her life.

  Elspeth forced her sights forward and saw her sister flitting from one thatched dwelling to another. The doors of some houses were opened, and the light from their hearths spilled on the darkening streets.

  It was getting late, and she needed to collect her sister soon. But first, she had to get to their father. Hopefully, he would be in the mood to speak to Angus; however, if he wanted to continue drinking, she wouldn’t blame him. Although Ross MacFlikire tried his best, she suspected that he still grieved their mother’s death. They all were. When Sorcha died, she had left a void. Day-to-day living seemed more difficult without her. At night when everyone was asleep, Elspeth conjured the image of her beautiful mother, asking her advice on what she should do. Though she suspected that it was only her imagination, she felt her mother listened to her troubles. And the idea of her mother’s presence made her grief more bearable.

  A stray cat streaked past a cart that was parked in front of a house, startling her. Angus caught her before she lost her balance. His chivalrous act surprised her even more than the feline’s sudden appearance. She glanced at him but noticed his attention was focused elsewhere. She followed his line of sight. The bonfire was substantial enough to illuminate the two men who leaned against the side of a house.

  “That’s Nathair, the bailie,” she said, nodding to the husky form on the right.

  Nathair paused in his conversation when he noticed them. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before it shot past her and settled on the Highlander.

  They started to continue through the narrow dirt road when she placed a hand on Angus’s sleeve, stopping him.

  “Ye should speak with the bailie,” she said as an idea began to form in her mind. “Perhaps if ye show him your letter, he might help ye with your quest.”

  Angus observed the stocky man again. But then, he shook his head. “I dinnae think sae,” he said.

  “It willnae hurt tae ask people what they ken,” she said, pressing forward. “After all, how are ye going tae find the information ye seek?”

  He paused as he considered her logic. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go talk with your friend.”

  “He’s nae my friend,” she said. “But we need tae be civil toward him since, among other things, he’s here tae collect our rent.”

  They changed their course and walked toward the two men.

  As they approached, Nathair pushed himself from the wall and met them halfway. His curious gaze strayed on Angus before he finally turned to greet her.

  “Elspeth,” he said, flashing a crooked smile. “Are ye enjoying the festivities?”

  “Of course,” she said, returning his smile. “We were hoping for your assistance. This is Angus. He has a missive he wants tae show —”

  But before she could finish her sentence, she noticed that Nathair wasn’t paying attention to her. Instead, he was looking over her shoulders. And it was then she heard the sound of pounding feet.

  Nathair stepped forward. “What’s happening?”

  “There’s a fight!” a man panted, recognizing the bailie. His hair was in disarray, and his eyes were filled with terror.

  “Where?” Nathair asked briskly.

  “At the tavern,” the man said, sucking in a gulp of air. “Hurry!”

  “My da,” Elspeth said, suddenly aware of the shouting in the distance.

  She started to run toward the tavern and didn’t look to see whether Angus followed. All she knew was that she had to reach the tavern.

  When she arrived at the building a few minutes later, her worst fears were confirmed. A group of men battled outside the establishment while more fighting occurred within.

  “Where are ye going, lass?” Angus asked, grabbing her arm. “’Tis dangerous tae venture into a room filled with brawling, drunken men.”

  “Release me,” she said, tugging at her arm. “I need tae find my da.”

  He looked at her, and as if he decided that she wasn’t going to listen to reason, he slackened his grip. “Fine, I’ll help ye,” he said.

  She nodded and rushed toward the entrance. Just as she took a step forward, a man shot out of the establishment. Angus seized the man by the collar and, and with lightning reflexes, he shoved him against the wall, effectively preventing a violent collision.

  “Thank ye,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

  Angus nodded in answer. Elspeth took a deep breath, and after she was certain no other man would tumble out of the building, she slipped inside.

  The room stunk of spilled ale and whisky. Broken tables, stools, jugs, and tumblers were scattered everywhere. And all around her, men were engaged in fierce combat. Elspeth scanned the crowd of fighting men, searching for her father’s familiar figure.

  “There he is!” she said, pointing to her sire even as her heart sank at seeing him slumped against the wall. Was he dead or alive?

  Weaving her way through the stumbling and injured men, she dropped next to her father. Blood oozed down his temple.

  “Da,” she said, shaking him gently. Fear rose to her throat, threatening to choke her.

  Her father stirred, mumbling something inaudible.

  “He’s alive,” she said, letting out a breath of relief.

  “Let’s get him out of here,” Angus said. He bent and hoisted the older man over one broad shoulder.

  “We need tae take him tae my aunt’s house,” she said, leading the way.

  A few minutes later, when they almost reached the house, Elspeth spotted her sister and cousins. “Fiona!” she shouted.

  Her sister turned suddenly at hearing her voice. She ran over with their cousins following close behind her. “What happened?” she asked.

  “Is Ross dead?” asked Margaret, staring at her uncle on Angus’s shoulder.

  “Nay, he’s hurt,” Elspeth said. “Run ahead and tell your ma that we’re coming.”

  By the time she and Angus made it to Aunt Morag’s place, her father started to regain consciousness.

  Her aunt was distressed when they arrived, but she quickly took them inside the smoky common room. The familiar scent of burning peat immediately assailed Elspeth’s senses.

  Fiona stood to the side, her face white with fear. “Will Da be all right?” she whispered as they passed her.

  “I hope sae,” Elspeth said, nodding her head.

  “Lay him on the table,” Morag said, indicating to the flat surface positioned against the wall.

  As Angus settled her father on the table, Morag grabbed the kettle that sat on one of the flat stones surrounding the hearth. She tipped the pot, carefully pouring the water in a wooden bowl before bringing it to them.

  After Elspeth searched for a clean cloth, she dipped a corner of the fabric in the water and cleaned the dried blood from her father’s temple. When the warm cloth touched the wound, he let out a groan. She winced at hearing his pain and drew back.

  “What is this fool thing that ye have done, Ross?” Morag asked, taking the cloth from Elspeth. “We dinnae need another body tae mourn.”

  “I almost got him,” her father said, licking his dry lips.

  The light from the hearth cast shadows on the soot darkened walls.

  “Got who?” Elspeth asked.

  “That bastard Gibby who stole from us,” he said, slowly pushing himself to a seated position.

  “Did ye say that Gibby, our neighbor, stole from us?” she asked slowly as her mind raced to take in this new information.

  “I did.” Her father heaved a defeated sigh and rubbed his eyes. “I dinnae want tae say worry ye, but the problem remains. The bastard sold our cattle, and he willnae give me the money he owes.”

  Elspeth looked at Fiona and caught her sister’s gaze. The week before, their father had entrusted the neighbor with five heads of cattle to take
to the tryst. From there, the man was to sell the beasts to the drovers. The money from the sale was supposed to sustain them until the spring. It was also supposed to pay for the rent that was due soon. A streak of fear shot through her. Now that they won’t have the funds, what will they do? People who weren’t able to pay were evicted from their homes.

  She dragged her fingers through her hair, tugging at it. The news was getting worse and worse. There was still work to be done on the farm, but the harvest was the least of her worries.

  “I’m sorry. We cannae hire ye after all,” she said, turning to Angus. She couldn’t look him in the eyes and immediately dropped her gaze to the earthen floor. “Ye will have tae find work elsewhere.”

  “I understand,” Angus said. “I’ll go now.”

  “Nay, ye cannae leave without eating something,” Morag said, moving to stoke the fire in the hearth. She then picked up the iron pot from the ground and hooked it on the chain dangling from the rafters. “Let me reheat this pottage I have here.”

  Angus started to respond to her aunt’s generosity when a loud banging sounded at the door.

  “That must be Tomas.” Her aunt threw an impatient look at the door. “He shouldnae make such racket.”

  “I’ll let him in,” Elspeth said, moving quickly to the entrance.

  When she opened the door, it wasn’t her uncle she faced but the bailie.

  “Elspeth,” he said, nodding at her. “I came tae see if your father is well. I saw ye and your friend carry him away from the tavern.”

  “My father is better,” she said, recovering from her momentary shock at seeing Nathair.

  “And your friend? Is he still here?” He craned his neck to peer into the house.

  “Aye.” She glanced behind her and called out to Angus.

  In the next moment, Angus came to stand next to her. “Is there a problem?” he asked in a deep voice.

  The bailie blinked at seeing the Highlander. “The lass mentioned earlier ye wanted tae show me something.”

  “Nay, ye are mistaken.” Angus folded his arms over his broad chest. “I have nothing tae show ye.”