Effie stood with teeth chattering and grabbed her dress. She was glad that next time he bedded her, they would be in a warm room under furs, lying on a bed, not under an old yew tree out in the cold. Though, as she looked around the forest as she laced the front of her dress, she knew this place would always be their little secret. She thought herself lucky that the woodland creatures couldn’t talk.
“Well, are ye coming with me or are ye staying oot here to freeze?” Effie said.
“Och lass, did ye bring me my cloak?”
Shite! In her passion-filled frenzy she had forgotten she’d dropped everything when she ran into the glen. Sheepishly, she looked at him. “I left it along with me basket at the edge of the woods before I came here.”
Conall smiled and shook his head. “Looks like I’ll be escorting ye back to grab me cloak then. I have no clothes with me”
Effie blushed. Of course he didn’t have any clothes; he had shifted. “Here, take this.” She offered him her cloak so at least he could cover up.
“Nay, ye’ll freeze. I’ll be fine, dinnae fash yerself.” Conall stood and draped her cloak over her shoulders. “Let’s go fetch me clothes.”
As they crunched through the dry old leaves, Effie couldn’t believe that finally she was going to be a wife. Conall in fact was her Prince Charming and finally her happy ever after was here. She looked up at him as they shared a smile. Three days, she thought. She could wait three days.
They reached the glen’s edge and Effie quickly fetched her basket with Conall’s cloak. She dared one last look at his naked body and blushed again. “Ye know lass, yer quite bonny when ye blush like that. Yer freckles darken.” Conall walked up to her and cupped her face, kissing her freckled cheeks. “I have somethin’ for ye.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “Conall, I told ye I have to go.” Her attention was instantly brought to her hand, her left hand as a matter of fact. A golden ring with joined hands had been slipped on her finger. She looked up at Conall in surprise.
“This is so everyone knows ye’re spoken for.”
Effie looked down at the ring. “’Tis beautiful.”
“Aye, it fits ye perfectly.”
Indeed it did. Effie’s dreams were coming true and her nights would no longer plagued by blurred visions of the past.
HIGHLAND STORM
CHAPTER FOUR
“Sir Herbert de Maxwell, a brave knighted warrior, a true faithful subject of the crown, and chief of Clan Maxwell,” A voice mocked. “A warden of the Scottish West March, you’ve kept this side of the March firmly. The bravest amongst his people, vowed to protect his clan, his family, with his life. You are adored by many.” Tavish Maxwell sat, deep in thought with his hands steepled at his chin, in a dark corner of a bedchamber.
“Aye, indeed a true hero,” he spat. He remembered a time when the fallen man had been strong and in good health. Standing over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and a battle scar marring his left cheek, the good knight had been the epitome of a Highlander.
But Tavish knew the man’s honorable façade differently. Growing up under the chief’s rule was one that had made Tavish who he was today; a cunning, cruel man who was evil to the core. Even though his father recognized him as his own, didn’t mean the man loved his son. In fact, Tavish felt like a ghost most of the time around his father. He understood he was an outsider but being dismissed was like a knife to his gut. It stung. At a very young age he had realized he was on his own and had to fight for what he wanted. There was only one concern in his life and that was fighting for what he thought was rightfully his.
Indeed living a lie was something he guessed they both had in common. Tavish was nothing more than an intruder to their perfect noble family. He saw it every day in his stepmother’s eyes. The hurt she held about his father’s deed shone through her cold, blue eyes especially when the wee brat came along. Though she had long forgiven her husband, it was Tavish whom she held responsible for Herbert’s faithless actions. Adultery was a strong brew to swallow.
In the townsfolk’s eyes, Clan Maxwell was the perfect picture of an honorable, loving family, but behind closed doors the truth was painfully obvious; he was unwanted.
Tavish slowly stood. Rest had avoided him for days and left his eyes bloodshot and his mood foul. He walked over to his dying father’s bedside. He pulled the fur blanket up and tucked it around his frail body. The man coughed and wheezed, fighting to breathe air into his decayed lungs. The strong healthy man he once knew was now a fragile, dying remnant of himself. Muscles were now replaced with loose, paper-thin skin that had once been tanned but was now pale. His hair was gray, sparse and brittle to the touch. “Yet here ye lie, weak and dying. A corpse.”
Ever since his father’s lungs began to disease, he knew it wouldn’t be long before death would come for Sir Herbert. Tavish had visited his father every day since he fell ill, praying for the words he longed to hear, yet deep inside he knew those words would never come. “All I ever wanted was yer love, da.” He wiped the blood from the auld man’s lips.
Eyeing a goose-feather pillow lying on top of a trunk at the foot of the bed, Tavish walked over and picked it up. He fluffed the billowing square, tossing it a few times in the air. “Though, auld man, I must say, ye’ve taught me one valuable lesson in life. Would ye like to know what it is?” Tavish walked back to his father’s bedside, flipping the pillow back and forth from hand to hand. “I reckon ye do.” He leaned down and whispered in his ear, “If ye want something, it be up to yerself to take it.”
Tavish stood over the bed and relished the fear he saw in his father’s eyes. He felt nothing but pure hatred toward the man. With one last flip of the pillow, he stared deeply into the dying man’s eyes and said coldly, “I may be just a bastart in yer eyes but I’m the one who made ye a legend. ’Tis time for a new chief.”
Quickly, Tavish covered Herbert’s face with the pillow. There wasn’t much of a fight, for the dying man was too weak to protest. After he felt the last twitch of his father’s body, he removed the pillow. Tavish closed the dead man’s eyes and threw the pillow in the hearth, watching it go up in flames. There was no remorse, just satisfaction of a job well done.
Once outside, Tavish closed the bedchamber’s door behind him and nodded to a man on guard and said, “’Tis done.”
Both men walked together down a long corridor. “Have ye sent a message to yer sister?” Sir Henry asked.
“Aye.”
“Good.”
The man stopped Tavish in mid-stride with concern on his face. “How are ye going to convince yer sister? She’s going to ask a lot of questions. She’s going to want to know why ye didnae call for her sooner.”
“Ye dinnae have to fash yerself over my sister,” Tavish reassured him. “I can handle her. All ye have to do is play yer part and we shall both reap the benefits.” He place his hand on the knight’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Aye.” Sir Henry nodded and they both continued down the corridor. “Ye know our agreement and I would hate to have to go back on my word if ye fail me.”
Over-confident, Tavish straightened his frame. “No need to think about such drastic measures. I’ve assured ye, me sister will be here. Trust me.”
As they rounded a corner a maid ran into the men. “Please excuse me.” She bowed her head and looked to the ground. “Yer guests have arrived.”
A wicked smile crept across Tavish’s face as he looked at his partner in crime. “Very well, Maggie.”
Very well indeed.
~~~~~
Conall felt an uneasy feeling churning in his gut as he and ten of his trusted men were escorted to the great hall of Caerlaverock Castle, and it wasn’t the stale bread and cheese he had for breakfast. His dragon was restless and on high alert which should have warned him.
It didn’t make sense why he was here. Clan Maxwell had been allies with Clan Douglas, even fought alongside King Robert the Bruce. Yet he felt on edge. Being that the castle was moated by
stagnant water from the heavy rainfall, there was only one entrance and exit from it, which left the Dragonkine warrior and his men an easy target.
The Maxwell stronghold was a vision of wealth and power. Once past the twin tower gatehouse and cramped stairway, the castle opened up to a spacious courtyard where Maxwell folk milled around, carrying out their daily duties. Red sandstone bricks surrounded them and off in the distance he could hear the crying of larks.
As Conall and his men made their way through the courtyard, villagers eyed them cautiously. Conall had a strange feeling that these folk did not take easily to outsiders. One of his men, Broc, walked next to him with his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I dinnae believe we are welcome here.”
Conall kept his eyes in front of him, on alert. “Aye, Broc, keep yer sword warm.”
Broc was a younger lad of eight-and-ten, tall as Conall, built like a stone wall, and one hell of a warrior. Conall knew the lad’s family and he had taken Broc under his wing and trained the boy well. Confident, he knew if attacked, Broc would prevail.
The escort led the men into the great hall where a long wooden table stood. The hearth was blazing with a fire, and a kitchen maid busied herself placing provisions out on the table for their guests. “Help yerselves. The laird will be here shortly,” the escort informed them.
Conall couldn’t stop thinking about Effie. In fact, she had been on his mind throughout the trip to Dumfries. Each day he spent away from her he grew more irritated and that was not like him at all. Conall had a good head on his shoulders, for the most part. As long as he knew he had Effie, he felt like he could conquer anything or any man that got in his way. Eyeing his surroundings, he grew more annoyed by the minute.
Although the plan had been for James to make this trip instead of Conall, he couldn’t allow his best friend to go and leave Abigale alone and pregnant. God forbid if something happened to Abigale and James wasn’t there to defend her. It was the natural choice for Conall to go. If he rode hard and fast through the night, he would be home and buried deep inside his redheaded lass in less than a day. If he had his way, he would shift and be there in half the time.
He joined his men and was eating a few bites of cheese, when the double doors to the great hall opened up, sending Conall and his men-at-arms to attention. Two guards stood by the door as a few of Maxwell’s men walked in and took their seats. A man who exuded authority walked in and approached Conall. “Tavish Maxwell.” He nodded his head in greeting.
“Conall Hamilton. Me men and I are here on behalf of Laird James Douglas.” Conall nodded. “We are here to meet with Sir Herbert. We have business to discuss.”
Tavish scratched his chin. “Aye. Please sit.” He motioned for Conall to take a seat.
Conall sat across from Tavish and next to Broc. The young warrior leaned into Conall. “Something is no’ right here.”
“Aye.” Conall nodded. Indeed something felt wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“It saddens me to report that Sir Herbert won’t be joining us today,” Tavish said.
Conall felt this odd. Why didn’t the laird want to meet with him? Perhaps he was seeing to other business.
“Are ye here in his place?”
“Aye. I’m his son. Now, what business can I assist ye with?”
“It has been brought to Laird Douglas’s attention that someone in your clan has been blackmailing Clan Lockheart.”
Tavish sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest as Conall continued.
“The Lockheart’s, your neighbors to the east, are paying ye an extra amount of coin for protection when in fact the clan is already under the protection of Clan Douglas. This agreement between Clan Maxwell and Clan Lockheart was made after a significant amount of cattle had gone missing.”
“Och, when has being under the protection of James the Black Douglas done any good? As ye can see for yerself, our tower to the north was almost seized and now lies in ruins. I do no’ recall a Douglas running to our defense when the English tried to take our home.”
At this point Conall could feel the irritation stirring inside him. Not only was this smug arse a thief but a liar to boot. At no point had Sir Herbert requested Clan Douglas’s help, furthermore they had not been aware of an attack.
“’Tis not the issue at hand, Tavish. Ye can no’ blackmail the Lockhearts. They can no’ pay yer fees and they need their cattle to survive.”
Tavish laughed and leaned in, resting his arms on the table. “So James sends ye to keep the peace, aye? The laird’s messenger,” he chuckled.
With all his resolve, Conall held back his anger and the urge to rip the bastard’s head off his shoulders. The cunning, arrogant wee shite was quickly becoming a thistle in his backside.
“Tavish, replace the stolen cattle and stop the harassment or ---“
“Or what? Please do tell,” the cocky bastard bit back.
“James will have no choice in the matter but to involve King Robert.”
Hastily Tavish stood and his men-at-arms followed, causing Conall and his men to do the same.
“I have no loyalty to King Robert,” spat Tavish. “My allegiance stands with King Edward.”
This new-found information stunned Conall. He never would have thought that the Maxwell’s were backbiters. The tension in the air was thick and Conall could sense Tavish’s hostility toward him.
“And at what cost, Tavish? Was it worth the price?” Conall spat, disgusted by how easily humans fell into temptation.
“Och, the gains will fare me well, I can assure ye.” With that said Tavish placed his empty tankard upside down on the table. As if on cue the men on both sides drew their swords and stood in battle stance, waiting for someone to make the first move. There was no doubt blood was going to be shed today. Conall had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Yet he couldn’t help but think that this whole awkward situation had been a setup.
Tavish pointed his sword at Conall’s neck. “Men, I do believe we have found my father’s murderer.”
Astounded, Conall took a step back. “Yer father? Murdered?”
“Aye, Sir Herbert was me father and he now lies dead.”
The doors to the great hall slammed shut, trapping his men in the room. War cries rang out and the sound of clanging steel echoed about the room. Conall was hit from behind by the hilt of a broadsword causing him to lose focus on Tavish.
If a fight was what they wanted then so be it. He wasn’t going to accept blame, nor be accused of a crime he had not committed.
Conall swung his sword around and connected with his assailant, stabbing him in his gut. From the corner of his eye, he saw Tavish making a mad dash towards the door. The coward was trying to escape. Running toward the exit and leaping over a fallen chair, he caught up to the bastard. “And where do ye think ye be going?” Conall grabbed the back of Tavish’s tunic and threw him to the ground.
With the pointy end of his sword pressed into the eejit’s neck, Conall stood over Tavish. “Ye know as well as I, I didnae commit murder. Ye will halt yer attack and allow me men to go.”
Tavish smiled wickedly as a Maxwell stood behind Conall with a blade to his throat. How easily could one’s fate change? Feeling the cold steel pressed into his skin calmed the raging dragon and Conall dropped his weapon. Though immortal, the only way to kill a Dragonkine was to behead them, so treading softly would suit him well. No need to lose your head, especially by a human.
Tavish stood and dusted his trews as if nothing had happened. He had the upper hand now. As he approached Conall, he unsheathed his dirk.
Conall struggled against his captor’s hold, yet the steel held him back. Tavish stood face to face with him and whispered in his ear, “Dinnae forget, ye be on my land.” The bastard stabbed Conall with his dirk then turned and faced his men. “Please show our guest our most humble hospitality and lead him to his room.” With his last order made, Tavish quit the great hall.
Stinging pain ripped thro
ugh Conall’s chest and his knees threatened to buckle. God’s wounds! How was he going to get out of here? The only way out was to shift and quite frankly he wasn’t willing to take the risk. Too many people filled the room and would witness his change. Aye, going dragon right now was a bad idea.
He looked over at Broc as he was being led by two guards toward the great hall’s door; he had been badly wounded, yet was still alive. Most of his men weren’t that lucky; they had been brutally murdered. The future looked to be grim for the Highlander.
HIGHLAND STORM
CHAPTER FIVE
“Och, my lady, I do believe the wee one has grown a bit,” Alice huffed as she bunched up all the extra material she could gather, which was not much, around Abigale’s waist.
Being as she was pregnant, Abigale’s belly was growing bigger every day, causing her dresses to be uncomfortable. If it wasn’t for Alice and her sewing skills, she would have had no choice but to grab a sheet and alter it to her liking. She supposed she could cut a hole for her head and just let the rest of the material hang where it may. At this point Abigale cared naught about appearances; she wanted comfort.
Looking down, she also noticed another body part expanding. Her bosom. Although it kept her husband pleasantly content at night, her back was protesting all the extra weight. Not to mention the swelling in her feet. Most days she was barefoot, for her shoes were too tight.
Everything was too tight. Her whole body felt like it was going to explode.
“Alice, I dinnae know what to do.” Abigale held her arms high as Alice fussed over the woolen fabric. “This babe must be a boy, I’m constantly eating. At breakfast I ate more than Rory.” She placed her hands on her swollen belly. “And half of James’s pudding. Alice, I’m going to pop!”
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