by J. C. Hughes
The
Highland
Songstress
J.C.Hughes
Copyright 2015 by J.C.HUGHES - All rights reserved.
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Chapter One
The bleak winter had brought a lot of pain. The highland warriors had just returned from successfully raiding two neighboring clans. It was cold but there would be a lot of celebrating in the Moors. The winter had brought pain, however, the pain would be mine, and mine alone. It always was.
For me, winter meant saying goodbye to the beautiful soul that brought me love and life. My secret lover, Gurt Montgomery, was a Viking from the North. He had a warm lumberjack body that always kept me heated through the night. It had always been rumored that forbidden love had a spicy quality that one should refrain from and I agreed until the day the fiery forces of love combined with a deadly passion arrested me on the night that I met this man.
Another rumor I could attest to was that the woods held magic, for indeed that was where I had first laid eyes on this magnificent beast of a man who would later exploit my body in all right ways, so much that I had decided to know no other man but him.
Of course, many would assume it very strange to find a young damsel singing to herself under the full moon in the midst of the woods. My clan already knew my odd nature and could care less. My aunt Welda, the only parent I had ever known, would have thought it comical. And yet Gurt stopped and listened to me. He listened to the rhythm of my song. Hidden from my sight, he followed me many nights, craving the potency in my voice. He understood me.
As it was, none of the clan warriors or common people ever dared to try to understand me. To them I was a harlot, whose good was only singing during the festivities and for the men, my bed – where I fed their lust in ways their fat bosomed wives simple minds could never comprehend. They did it for lust. I did it to live. I did it to fill the cold hole in my frozen heart. My heart thawed though the day that I met him. The Viking from the North.
Winter also meant goodbye to my cherished solitude because once the first bonfire was lit, I would be required to go and sing entertainment to the Chief and his entourage until they’d had their fill. It would mean gossip too.
“When will Indigo McCaith ever wed?”
“She is way past her prime at twenty eight years old.”
“Who would want a woman like her in their household?”
And there I was, talking to myself, yet again. My slender body made way through the grassland while the moon kissed my supple skin. I bit my tongue as I remembered that there was a wedding coming up.
The vilest couple was getting married and I would have to use my divine voice to pour blessings on them. The bride, Beatrice McDean, was naïve and only pleased to be wedding the chief’s son. It was the groom that I couldn’t stand. His curly black hair and dark eyes and his haughty manner and vain swagger; it always riled me up so much.
“Good thoughts, Indigo. Good thoughts.” I reprimanded myself aloud.
Duran Laird was my worst pain of all. He always stuck his nose in my business and since he’d never been in my bed, I didn’t understand his fixation on me. Duran was the beloved man whose strategic defense had protected the clan from raiders and whose valiant efforts had secured the moors by conquering all neighboring clans and warding off Vikings.
“Duran Laird, my foot!”
In anger, I stomped the mountainous ground and in doing so unwittingly crushed my sole against a sharp rock. I clenched my teeth in pain. When I freed my foot from the rock, blood flowed like a stream. But nothing would stop me tonight. My lover would part with me in the morning to return to his own and I couldn’t waste a minute of my time with him. Weary that Duran Laird could be up to his old antics again, I opened my mouth and sang the song of protection.
“Speak peace to me O’night
Sing peace to me in my despair
Let the stars cry with me yet
Let them pour down pea- -”
My voice waned as the pain became unbearable. The blood kept gushing from my foot so I halted. With one violent and swift tug, I ripped off a lock of my long curly red hair and used it to wrap my bleeding foot. It may have been a callous move but there was no pain that could stop me from meeting him.
In my diversion, I had forgotten to continue singing. How could any sane woman remain focused when she knew that she would be held for the last time in the warm embrace of her lover before a cold winter separated them?
Yes, this was meant to be my last night with Gurt Montgomery. He wasn’t a highlander. He couldn’t stand the cold. It broke my heart to be away from him for a full season, yet again, what was love without a little sacrifice?
Chapter Two
The full moon glistened down on the Machair grasslands just west of Scotland. It illuminated my surefooted, red headed, and slender body meandering through the carpet of flowers. I was headed away from the Blacklands and towards the stream next to the marshes. There, I knew he waited for me. There, we would paint the night with the colors of our romance and make our bodies raw in attempt to quench the desires we knew winter would bring us.
At least, that was what I believed as I lifted my long tartan skirt to show off my fair and slender legs to the dark manly silhouette that had appeared ahead in my path. The man who had made me forget the ache of loneliness was right in front of me, smiling.
Savoring the moment, I whipped my waist-length red curls over my shoulder as th
e moonlight glistened in my topaz eyes. The tall masculine silhouette I knew so well, clad only in a long woolen shirt, a leather belt, and boots, closed the distance between us. He grasped my freckled face into his firm hands and locked his brown gaze as he stared into my soul. I looked down shyly, noting that he wore no pants despite the frigid weather.
“To impress you, my flower,” he said. “I couldn’t wear a kilt, so…”
His deep voice tingled in my ears and feeling his warm touch on my cool skin left my heart in puddles. Though he was a Viking, he did little things that made me wish so badly that he had been of the Laird clan. He was a fine specimen and he was perfect for me. But he was also a Viking, so perhaps not so perfect. Vikings and Highlanders could not be friends, let alone lovers, but I did not care for the status quo. My heart had found a home.
“Oh Gurt!” I whispered, my youthful eyes searching his mature face.
He fondly wrapped his arms around my torso then pulled me close. I stood on my toes and tilted my head so as to reach his lips. With his masculine arms, Gurt pulled me up and smashed his warm mouth against mine. It was euphoric.
But wherever there was love, hate lurked nearby. Out of nowhere, an arrow narrowly whizzed past my ear and struck Gurt right in the neck. He gave a small gasp of surprise then fell forward, crashing his bulk onto me. It was like the weight of the world had fallen on me. I stood no chance against the force that crushed me to the ground.
I screamed in alarm. Not a long moment later, a dozen men were upon us. I knew them all. Highland warriors, and they knew me well. They encircled me like a harlot caught in an act of adultery. I saw all of their faces but only one stood out. Duran Laird. His black curls fell onto his smug face as he stared down at me like a criminal. His first in command, Wallace Muir, stood close behind him too, evidently aroused. The others closed in like a pack of wolves that had crippled their prey.
“Aren’t the men in the clan enough for your fill? You had to go to the dogs too?” Duran spat on the ground to show his disdain.
I opened my mouth to respond but only managed to taste the crude blood pouring from my lover’s neck. He was mortally wounded, all the blood gushing from him splurged onto my face. I coughed and sputtered out the gore; with great effort I rolled out from beneath Gurt. In that moment, all I wanted to do was save him but when I looked into his eyes, a chill entered my veins.
“You… I can’t… belie--” Gurt could hardly breathe or speak but I saw it all. It was so clear in his eyes. He believed that I had betrayed him.
“No. No. No. I love you, I swear,” I cried.
The highland warriors found my pleas amusing. They laughed. Duran, however, was unimpressed. Roughly, he grabbed and twisted my arm.
“Let us return to the village. We have a pig to roast tonight!” he said.
“Let me go!”
Duran seized me with both his hands, crushing my arms. I looked into his eyes and could see his boiling rage. At that point, I knew I had lost. He was going to make me pay dearly for sleeping with the enemy.
Chapter Three
So many times I had attended the council trials but only as a spectator. This time I was the main show. Unlike the festive nights when my sole attraction would be singing entertainment by the bonfire and shaking my tiny waist to satisfy the thirsty eyes of the men watching and plant seeds of jealousy, as well as inadequacy, in any woman who watched, this night I was downcast. This night I was simply a harlot with curdled blood in her hair and a Viking to her name.
The sting of malicious gossip was heavy in the air. The council which was governed by Chief Eacharn Laird and a dozen elders was being held in front of the entire village. It was no coincidence. A bonfire had been set up for a huge celebration that night, however it had been put off by ‘an embarrassment,’ as Duran had called it.
“Tonight, we are supposed to be celebrating victory! Life!” He boldly said to the council and spectators. “Yet here we are because one of us, brought an enemy into our midst!”
Murmurs swept the still chill air. I knew the thoughts of those shallow minded villagers.
“Aren’t the men of our clan enough?” They would say.
“It’s not as though she hasn’t had her fill of half the eligible men already.”
“She’s cheap!” I knew they were thinking.
Realizing it would not reflect too well on my sanity should they discover I was hissing under my breath, I bit my tongue and chose to quiet the voices in my head. There would be time for that later. A bonfire blazed behind me, a judgment council sat in front of me and an attentive crowd of busy-bodies were all around. Meanwhile, Duran continued his verbal rampage.
“Every summer night, she would go out and bring that Viking within our borders. He is of the very same Vikings who have been looting our villages, killing our warriors, and raping our women. She is a traitor…”
His speech enraged me. Duran knew nothing about me and there he was painting an ugly image of the love that had revived me as a person. One thing I knew for certain was that I was not a traitor.
“Is he telling the truth?” Chief Eachard Laird asked calmly.
Unlike his son, Chief Laird had a cool demeanor about him. He was a robust man, well-aged with black hair and grey streaks in his beard. His strong jaw and shrewd eyes testified that he was a man of his word. It was also clear in the manner of his entourage that the Chief was a man who was well respected for his judgment.
It was because of the Chief’s just actions that Gurt had been taken into care of the clans’ best healer against Duran’s plea to have him die on the spot. For that, I had nothing to worry about because my Aunt Welda was the one who’d been the clan’s healer for time immemorial. Her knowledge on herbs and maladies may not have eliminated her gross poverty, however, it had made her indispensable to them. To me, she was the only parent I knew.
I searched for Welda in the crowd and was quite relieved when I didn’t see her. With her in absentia, I knew I could express myself as arrogantly as I wanted. I would show Duran Laird exactly what I thought of him. I was certain that his prying had led me to this. I wanted to show him exactly where he belonged.
The bonfire illuminated the ardor in my eyes and made my red hair appear ablaze. Duran stood between me and the council. His beautiful dark cat-like eyes glinted like the stars. His masculinity and imposing height would have intimated the average clan girl but I was in no way average. I locked my gaze onto his in a daring manner.
Boldly, I stood erect to speak but when I did, no matter how confident I tried to sound, there was still a shaky element to my voice. It was true. Though I hardly admitted it to myself. It was true. I was petrified.
“Men and women of the Laird clan. I am Indigo, daughter of the McCaith. I am not a traitor!” I declared. I could see Duran shake his head, obviously disgruntled by my non confession.
“Did you or did you not sleep with that outsider? Tell the truth,” he said.
“I was young. I was alone in the woods. I met a man. He was fair. He was brave. He satisfied my craving for a passionate love. It would be foolish to give up on love just because others disapprove. Now I can say, I have loved and I have been loved. I wonder if you can say the same about yourself Duran Laird.”
I smirked, feeling content with myself. Certainly I could feel Beatrice’s glare on me. She was to be betrothed to Duran in a few days but everyone knew that theirs was not real love. Duran, however, didn’t share in my sentiments.
“Half of the men here have been through you,” he said.
“What are you doing keeping a tally on my lovers?” The shaky element had left my voice. It was intriguing to finally see Duran stutter. It was elating to see him slowly falling off his high horse.
Taking charge again, he barked at me. “You mean nothing to me!”
“Then explain why I have seen you, days without number, lurking outside my cottage every sundown? If anyone asked me, I would say that you’re obsessed with me or maybe just the idea
that you can’t have me drives you insane!”
Jaws dropped. Despite himself, Duran flushed and gasps of shock swept the crowd. It grew so silent that cackles of the fire filled the night air.
“Do not think so highly of yourself. Enchanting as you may be, you are hardly a man’s dream…”
“And wha--”
“Exactly the reason that you’re still alone. Everybody uses you but nobody wants you.”
“And so you set a plot to destroy the only true love that I had found?”
“How naïve can you truly be? There is no true love for Vikings. All they do is take. You put yourself in danger. You put the whole clan in danger. You only think of yourself and then you call it love when opposed?”
“Don’t speak about love as if you’ve ever felt it!” I screamed.
In a swift move, Duran reached out and grabbed my neck. In the heat of the moment he hadn’t really thought out what he would do and in the spontaneity of the moment, his cool touch against the back of my neck tingled my senses. I froze. For in that moment we were just two hot blooded people who, for vague reasons, greatly disliked each other but didn’t quite know what to do about it.
Being that it was the first time he and I had made physical contact, it felt like forces of fire and ice had clashed. It felt like an eternity of emotions had been trapped in that one second. And in that instant, Duran Laird and I were both stunned breathless.
Chapter Four
As anything good in my life, that moment didn’t last. All of a sudden, Wallace, a pompous young man, with short sandy hair, a gangly masculine frame, pointy features and also Duran’s right hand man, sprung up. He amiably shoved Duran away from me and then gripped me by the forearm with such ferocious force that I winced. I tried to shrug him off but he was unwilling to let go of me. I knew better than to fight. Wallace was known as the crazy one.
