Highland Protector

by Hannah Howell

  He wanted to hit something. When Hepbourn stepped into his path causing him to have to stop, Simon had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep himself from satisfying the strong urge to do violence by beating Hepbourn until the man was no longer so pretty and never would be again. The way Hepbourn took a quick step back told Simon that not all of his anger had been hidden away.

  “Do ye wish to speak to me, Hepbourn?” he asked the man.

  “I just thought that ye might wish to ken what is being said about ye,” replied Hepbourn.

  “I have heard the rumors. What do they matter to me? There are always rumors winging their way through the court. Few of them ever prove to be true.”

  “Nay? There must be some good reason for them to start and to keep being repeated.”

  And that reason is that ye will not let them die, thought Simon. In truth, he suspected the source of many of them was Hepbourn or one of his lackeys. “Then I am to believe that ye ease your grief over the betrayal of your betrothed in the arms of Alice Mure, Janet Cumyn, and Margaret Skene?”

  He got a twinge of pleasure when he saw how uneasy Hepbourn became. Since Janet and Alice had two hulking great husbands, Simon suspected that Hepbourn feared he would be made to pay dearly for his stolen pleasures.

  “As ye say, there are always rumors about. Have ye found that blue-eyed nun yet?”

  “Nay. We are looking for her. Since this town has verra few nuns wandering about its streets and none of my men have found her, I begin to question whether she even exists. Or she was but passing through here on some business. Mayhap e’en on a pilgrimage. The verra religious are quite fond of pilgrimages.”

  “Ah, ‘tis possible.”

  “Quite possible. Now, if ye will be so kind as to excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Simon left the court and started walking. By the time his anger had eased enough for him to see clearly, he was deep into the wood at the edge of town. The way he was breathing so heavily made him aware that he had run the last mile or so.

  Was it only a few hours ago that he had reminded himself how easily he could lose his place as a king’s man? Simon had not realized how deeply that would cut. He suspected it was the hint of his having been corrupted, the unsaid slur against his honesty, that bit the deepest. For years that had been his creed, justice, and truth, and he had proven himself again and again. Yet a few rumors, ones undoubtedly spread by Hepbourn and his minions, had been enough to put years of cold-eyed honesty and the meting out of justice into question.

  “Bastards,” he muttered, and kicked at the ground, sending several small pebbles flying.

  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. With his hands on his hips he stared up at the cloud-covered sky. There was nothing to gain in having a childish burst of anger. He had dealt in the politics of court for too long to be surprised by this.

  A part of him wanted to pack up his household and flee, to hide away with Ilsabeth until the true traitors showed their faces. Simon knew he would not do that, however. He wanted her free and that would not happen until the men who tried to use her to cover their trail were caught and punished. Now, he also wanted to stay so that he could prove himself. It did not matter if he had done so before, time and time again. He refused to flee leaving anyone questioning his honor. His good name, the reputation he had built, were all he had and he would not allow them to be taken from him.

  A little calmer and determined to prove himself yet again, Simon began the long walk back to town. He was just negotiating his way through a thick tangle of brambles and saplings when he heard voices. Just far enough so that he could not hear exactly what was being said, two men were talking. Deciding it was an odd place for men to meet unless they wanted to talk of something they did not want anyone to hear, Simon slipped silently through the tangle until the men came into view. Crouching down, Simon smiled. It was Hepbourn and a man Simon suspected was the David they had been looking for.

  “I tell ye, Walter, I am being watched!”

  “David, watching isnae such a danger. Just accept that ‘tis true and be cautious.” Walter patted his cousin on the back. “T’will all be over soon. I just got word that Henry is on his way with his men.”

  “That is good news but it doesnae help me much, does it?” David snapped, and began to pace. “Ye would find it hard to believe what a tortured route I had to take to get here. I tell ye, I think ‘tis worse than being watched. I would swear that I am being hunted.”

  Perhaps David was not a complete fool, Simon mused, making careful note of what the man looked like, even down to the way he walked. A look at the anger on Hepbourn’s face told Simon that the man was not accustomed to David complaining. Dissent amongst the ranks was something Simon found very promising.

  His men were doing their job well, too, he decided. They had put the chill of fear into David and made it difficult for Hepbourn and his lackey to meet in comfort. Such small inconveniences could disrupt even the most well thought out plans, although it appeared the plot was still on course. The guard around the king would need to be increased.

  “David, calm yourself,” said Hepbourn. “This agitation could prove dangerous and ye ken weel that Henry willnae tolerate it.” Hepbourn nodded when David stopped his pacing and grew pale. “Exactly. Dinnae e’er forget how he treats those he no longer trusts. Wheesht, or those who just make him angry.”

  “How can one forget? The mon made sure all those who were joined with him saw and learned the lesson weel. Are ye certain he is the right choice?” David took a deep breath and blurted out, “Aside from what he did to those two men who thought they could just walk away from all this, I have heard some hard things said about the mon.”

  “It wouldnae do us any good if we had a weak mon to lead us, would it?”

  “Nay, nay. Of course not. But, ‘tis said he killed his own bairns.”

  “They were lasses. His wives have always failed him in that. Every mon wants sons.”

  “Aye.” David nodded but his expression revealed his unease.

  “If ye begin to have doubts, David, I would advise ye to swallow them. Henry will be here soon.” “How soon?”

  “Three, four days. ‘Tis hard to say. He sent his mon ahead to tell us so that I can ready some accommodation for him and his men, but the trip from Lochancorrie isnae an easy one and there is much that could delay him.”

  Simon nearly leapt to his feet and demanded Hepbourn tell him all he knew. Just hearing the name Henry had sent a brief shiver down his spine, but this chilled him to the bone. There could not be too many Henrys from Lochancorrie yet Simon did not want to believe that his own brother was involved in a plot against the king. The Inneses of Lochancorrie might not be a big, rich, or important clan but, until Henry had begun to rule it with an iron fist, it had been one many had been proud to belong to.

  His home could be lost, Simon suddenly realized. If Henry truly was part of a plot to steal the throne and murder the king, and if that plot failed, then all of Lochancorrie would suffer. The king would have every right by law to take it from his family and give it to someone else. Henry was vain, brutish, and cruel, but Simon was finding it difficult to believe his brother, and laird, would risk all he held to grab for something he had no right to.

  “Aye, I ken it. It was a miserable journey the last time we made it. I best go as the men watching me may wonder if I slipped away when I dinnae appear outside the inn soon. That would mean e’en more trouble for me as it took me quite a while to slip around them this time. ‘Twas more luck than skill, I am thinking, so I dinnae think I will be able to do it again.”

  “I will meet ye in the tavern tomorrow eve.”

  “But, if I am being watched …”

  “I am doing naught wrong in going to a tavern to have some ale and a tumble with some wench and none can say otherwise. Go, David. I will see you on the morrow. And regain your faith in what we plan, cousin. I swear, Henry can smell a weakness or a doubt on a mon.”

&nbs
p; Simon sat still and silent until he heard two horses ride away. To be certain he would not be seen, he remained where he was for a full hour. He needed the time to think, anyway.

  “Henry, I kenned ye were a vicious, coldhearted brute, but I ne’er thought ye would be a complete fool,” he muttered, and ran his hand through his hair.

  While it was true that he had not been near Lochancorrie for ten long years, Simon found the idea of the lands being taken from the Inneses too much to bear. There was some proud history in those stones. Good men had lived and died at

  Lochancorrie for years before his father and then his brother had stepped up as lairds. Simon did not want to see it gifted to some court lackey whom the king felt he owed a favor.

  Standing up, he brushed his clothes off and resumed his walk back to town. He needed to find more proof that his brother was in with the traitors. David and Hepbourn were cautious in their speech even though they had thought they were not being listened to. Neither one of them openly spoke of a traitorous plot or murder. It was even more important to get his hands on David now. The fact that David was beginning to question the rightness of the plot, of their leader, could only work in Simon’s favor.

  He needed to talk to his men and not only to get them to place themselves in every tavern in town in order to watch David and Hepbourn meet. He needed to know what, if anything, they had heard about the man Henry. If they had heard something, if Simon gained some proof no matter how thin, that his brother was part of this plot, he would have to move fast to try and save what he could of Lochancorrie.

  “He was in the woods?” asked Peter, one of the men Simon had placed to watch David.

  “Aye,” replied Simon, and waved to the tavern maid to bring both him and Peter some ale. “He met with his cousin there.”

  “Wheesht, I am that sorry, sir. I ne’er saw him leave.”

  “Dinnae blame yourself. Ye were watching him

  closely. Sometimes one of them just gets a wee bit of luck and slips right by a mon. E’en he sounded surprised that he had managed it.”

  “Aye, but ‘tisnae comforting to ken that he has realized we are on his trail.”

  “Doesnae matter. It is making him uneasy and that can only be in our favor. We will take him up soon. I but need a wee bit more ere I dare kidnap the fool. The king is beginning to question why we havenae found the traitor yet.” The foul curse Peter spat out eased a little of the fury just speaking of the king’s inquiry roused in Simon.

  “We have found him. ‘Tis that fool Hepbourn and his weak-chinned cousin.”

  “Oh, aye, that it is. But, Hepbourn isnae without power and coin and he is weel liked at court, e’en by the king. More is needed to point the finger at him. Especially when the king is convinced it is the Armstrongs of Aigballa. They make a much better clutch of villains than Hepbourn and his foolish cousin. If naught else, there willnae be many who complain about the fate of that wee clan for too many Armstrongs are weel kenned to be thieves and rogues. And, we need to find the one who is the leader.”

  “Are ye certain it isnae Hepbourn?”

  “Verra certain. Hepbourn himself says so. I do, however, have a name now. I need to ken if it is the right one, and if he is the leader. What was said by David and Hepbourn in the woods didnae make that all that clear. If I didnae feel certain that I was weel hidden, I would think they had seen me–their talk was so carefully worded.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Sir Henry Innes of Lochancorrie.” Peter stared at Simon in silent shock for a moment and then cursed again. “He is your kin, isnae he?”

  “He is my brother in fact. My elder brother. If he hadnae banished me from the clan, he would be my laird.”

  “Jesu, Simon, this becomes dangerous for ye now. Mayhap ye should step back a wee bit. E’en better, go far, far away so that when this is all discovered, no one can point any fingers at ye.”

  “I cannae.” He prayed Ilsabeth would understand why he could not leave even though the net of suspicion was tightening around all of them now. “ ‘Tis my clan.”

  “And your blood, your own brother.”

  “Nay, Henry isnae any brother to me. He didnae have to banish me for I had ne’er meant to go back there. But there are good people there. Old Bega and MacBean were born there and still have family there. The ones who came before my father and brother were good men and they built something worth saving. I cannae let what Henry does stain the honor they showed all their lives or the honor that was Lochancorrie’s before my father and brother sat in the laird’s chair.”

  Peter nodded. “The stain spreads wide when one of a clan dishonors the name and that isnae fair or just, but ‘tis how it is. Especially if ‘tis the laird who spread the stain. So, I am to watch for Henry Innes, laird of Lochancorrie. His looks?”

  “Much akin to mine only he is heavier, broader, more muscular and with a thicker neck. I havenever seen him for near to ten years but I dinnae think he will be difficult for ye to spot. He has but one eye and a vicious scar running down the right side of his face. A gift from his first wife. He claims she attacked him in a fit of madness and then hurled herself out the window. He ne’er did explain why she was in the highest of the tower rooms, the one Henry used as his private den so that he could debauch all the maids in peace.

  “But I am thinking it will be the way he behaves that will give him away the most. He doesnae act like the laird of a small, remote clan. He acts just like a mon who thinks he has a right to steal a throne.” Which was one reason Simon could not immediately discount the idea that his brother was head of the group of traitors. “He is brutal, uses fists ere he e’en thinks of using words, and he takes to bed whate’er lass catches his eyes whether she wishes to be taken or nay. If ye ken any lasses in this town ye care about, Peter, best get them hidden. Henry sees rape as a mon’s right.”

  “Are ye certain ye were bred from the same seed?”

  Simon laughed briefly and even he could hear the bitterness in the sound. “Aye, I fear I am certain. My father was a brute as weel, but nothing like Henry. In the end, my father e’en feared him and he may have been right to do so. There is a verra good chance that it was Henry who killed him. Be verra cautious around Henry, Peter. He may act like some brute from a distant past, all brawn and brutality, but he has wit and cunning. He also has skill, fights like one possessed, and prefers to kill all enemies as slowly as he can.”

  “There is a monster coming to town then, isnae there?”

  “Aye, there may be. I am still hanging on to the hope that Hepbourn is wrong, confused, or has been lied to by someone. The possibility that he is right gives me e’en more reason to find the traitors, prove they are as guilty as sin, and prove that I deserve the reputation I have made for myself. Win the king’s favor all over again, if ye will. If I can do that then I may be able to keep the clan from having to pay for Henry’s idiocy. I may e’en be able to keep the lands.”

  “Then ye would be a laird.”

  “At best I would be guardian of Henry’s son for I wouldnae wish a child to pay for the sins of his father, either.”

  “Does Henry have a son?”

  “He has certainly done his best to breed near every woman for miles so I cannae see why he wouldnae. Ere I left he had buried two wives and three of the four daughters they had given him. The other was barely more than a child and he sold her in marriage to a mon who was old enough to be her grandfather. If Henry finally had the son he craved, from his third wife or one of his lovers, ‘tis something I shall deal with when this is done for there are too many things that could go wrong.” Simon stood up and clapped Peter on the back. “Heed me in this. Be verra careful if my brother does come into town. If ye miss him slipping out on ye, ye will pay for it with your life, for he will come up on your back and cut your throat.”

  “Do ye have any other family?” Peter asked, his smile a little crooked.

  “Three younger brothers and two sisters. My sisters have long been marr
ied and I believe they are content. I dinnae ken where my other brothers live, but they left home at a young age just as I did. I pray that means that they havenae been infected by the taint that twisted my father and brother. Take care, Peter. I will meet with ye again, same time and same place, in two days unless something happens that requires we meet sooner.”

  Peter held his tankard up in a silent toast and Simon headed for home. He realized he had a need to be with Ilsabeth and the children. He was feeling sick to his soul over the chance that his own blood would be a traitor. Despise Henry as he did, he still found it hard to believe that the man would turn against his own king. As far as Simon knew, there was no real reason for Henry to do so. Henry had been banished from the court but he suffered no other ill, and he had well deserved to be banished.

  What would he do if the leader of the traitors were Henry? Simon cursed softly. He knew what he would do. He would hand his own brother over to the king for punishment. It would be hard, and not because he had any care for the man, but because he was blood, his own laird despite throwing him out of Lochancorrie.

  As he stepped into the house and heard Elen laughing, there was a lightening of his heavy mood. This was what he needed, Simon thought as the little girl appeared in the doorway to the great hall and smiled at him. He caught her up in his arms when she ran toward him, her little arms outstretched and bellowing his name in a surprisingly loud voice. The sight of Reid and Ilsabeth standing inside the door to his hall only added to the easing of his spirit. As he moved to join them he decided there was no harm in losing himself in the sweet honesty and laughter of Ilsabeth and the children. The troubles he had to deal with would still be there on the morrow and he needed this reprieve.

  Chapter 10

  Ilsabeth awoke with an uneasy feeling flowing through her veins. She was not sure where it had come from. Her cheek was warmed by the heat of Simon’s broad chest. His strong, slender arms were wrapped around her, holding her close to him. Nearly all was perfect in her world for the moment. So why did the bitter taste of fear sting her tongue? She clung to Simon a little more tightly as she struggled to recall the dream she suspected was the cause of her uneasiness. Just as she began to grasp a thread of it, Simon pushed her onto her back and kissed her, wiping all other thought from her mind except for the taste of him and how much she craved the pleasure he gave her.