Highlander's Prize

by Mary Wine

“She is English, nothing more foul on this earth, except perhaps the stench of English royal blood.” Lord Home stood in the doorway with his men behind him. “Something I plan to rid this country of.”

  ***

  She should have been afraid, but all she felt was a sense of calmness that settled deep, feeling like it was seeping into her bones.

  Lord Home motioned his men toward her, but Clarrisa stepped forward. Daphne tried to hold on to her, but she gently twisted her wrist from the girl’s grip.

  “I am finished with these games,” she announced. Surprise flickered in Home’s eyes, but she focused on the admiration on the faces of his men. She’d not die a coward.

  Once outside the tent, she drew more than one curious stare. “Well now, my Lord Home, shall you slit my throat here for all to see?”

  “Be silent, woman,” he growled.

  Boldness flooded her, sparking a rebellious desire inside her. “I think not. If your plan is to murder me, I believe all should know you are not satisfied by your victory.”

  “I told ye to be silent!” Lord Home hissed.

  “Clarrisa of the house of York doesn’t often keep her mouth shut.” Clarrisa jerked around, certain Broen’s ghost had arrived, because the man had sworn to protect her.

  “She does so because she is the daughter of a king.” Broen was filthy. His shirt was brown with dried blood, and his kilt sliced in several places. Mud was caked to his boots all the way to his knees, but he was the finest sight she had ever beheld. She launched herself toward him, only to be caught by the royal guards.

  “Laird MacNicols… we feared ye dead.” Lord Home spoke softly. The man didn’t care for how many men were clustered about them. “Let us retire to the royal pavilion.”

  “As ye like, so long as ye tell yer men to get their hands off my woman.” Broen’s voice was deadly, and he’d raised his sword, his eyes bright with challenge. The royal guards closed around Lord Home, obviously fearing for their master’s safety.

  The fear she hadn’t felt earlier arrived now, choking her. Had she found him only to watch him die because of her careless behavior?

  “Now there, me lads… is a fine example of what happens when a Highlander steals a woman.” Kael Grant appeared beside Broen, looking as battle-worn and determined. He held his sword up, standing shoulder to shoulder with Broen. “So I suggest ye do what he says. Unlike the rest of ye, the battle has nae really ended for us.”

  “Put down your swords. To threaten me is to threaten the prince,” Lord Home declared.

  The guards holding Clarrisa didn’t agree; they released her with a shrug. She ran through the space between her and Broen, reaching for the man she’d longed so much for. He held her only for a moment, but she was sure it was a lifetime.

  “To hold her is treason, Laird MacNicols, but ye are welcome to share her execution,” Home muttered before marching back toward his pavilion. He raised his hand and waved his guards at them, but one look from Broen and the guards tugged on the corners of their bonnets, waiting to follow them to the royal pavilion.

  “Clarrisa, lass… why is it ye are never where I leave ye?” He’d pulled her close and buried his head in her hair. She heard him draw in a deep breath, the arm binding her to him quivering. One of the royal guards cleared his throat.

  “’Tis a damned sad day when a man returns from death’s doorstep and cannae take a moment to enjoy his woman’s embrace.”

  “Aye, it is that, makes me wonder what I’ve been bleeding for,” Kael stridently agreed. Several of the guards looked away, unable to maintain their determined stares.

  “A letter arrived. It was signed with your name, Broen. Claiming ye needed me here to tend ye,” she explained.

  Kael stepped close while Broen still held her to him. “Whose men escorted ye here?” Broen demanded softly. The seriousness in his expression made her shiver because it was clear their situation was as precarious as she believed. Lord Home might have her executed for no other reason than the blood flowing through her veins. But what frightened her was the determination in Broen’s eyes to shield her, with his own life if necessary.

  “Lord Home’s. Norris is there in the royal pavilion. He gave me his signet ring, but we were discovered.”

  Kael muttered something. “Norris is playing a damned dangerous game to be resting his head there when his own men are here.” Broen looked around, his muscles tensing.

  Kael shook his head. “We’ve no chance of success. No’ with our men on the other side of the camp and all of us fresh from the field. Better to see if we can play it out. Norris is clearly of the same mind or he’d no’ be lying down in that royal pavilion. I’d bet me lairdship on it.”

  “Aye, and the fact that he gave his signet ring says he can be trusted.”

  Determination flickered in Broen’s eyes, and it gave her confidence, but there was something else there, something that sent a sickening twist of dread through her.

  ***

  “Where is the prince?” Broen demanded.

  “He’s gone to confession. His Majesty is besieged by guilt over his father’s passing. He’ll likely be gone for hours,” Lord Home informed them from behind his desk. His tone was smug, and he casually reached for a goblet of wine before looking at them.

  The royal guards had had no difficulty in releasing her, but they had also escorted Broen along with her into the pavilion she’d so recently escaped. Fate had a misplaced sense of humor.

  “I shall continue to make decisions that have His Majesty’s best interests at heart,” Lord Home declared.

  She could hear him condemning her, but what sickened her was the fact that Broen was standing beside her. That was the horror she could not bear.

  “Laird MacNicols does not need to share my fate. I became his mistress to have a place.” She almost choked on the words but still forced herself to continue. “My uncle raised me to always consider gaining the best position I might.”

  “Poppycock,” Broen announced. “She’s the woman I plan to wed because I damned well want to. Ye’re a bloody bastard to go after my woman while I’m out fighting to protect yer interests.”

  “Don’t listen to him… He has a noble heart and wants to protect me,” Clarrisa offered quickly. “I duped him into believing I have affection for him, but I couldn’t ever have tender feelings for a Scotsman.” She tried but failed to put as much disgust in her tone. At least she kept her chin level and her stare unwavering.

  Lord Home smiled at her, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “Rebellion shall not be tolerated, no matter the reason. The prince will be crowned, and only those loyal to him will be left in Scotland.”

  He looked beyond her. “Slit her throat and run through any man who steps into yer path.”

  Broen let out a snarl, but he had been disarmed, and the royal guards were all armed with pikes. The men lowered their weapons, pointing the deadly iron tips at them. A sense of calm gripped her, and she stepped forward, confident in her choice. Broen snarled softly and dug his hand into the back of her dress to yank her back.

  “Release me, Broen,” she muttered her words kindly, but the expression she witnessed on his face was one of the Highlander she’d faced when he first stole her.

  “Nae a chance in hell, woman. Ye belong to me, and any man who threatens ye will face me.”

  He pulled her behind him, and Kael planted a hard hand on her shoulder to yank her behind him as well. Horror gagged her as the royal guards squared their shoulders and stepped forward with their pikes aimed at Broen.

  Eight

  “We’ve received a ransom demand for Lairds Chisholms and Matthews from the remains of the royalist ranks.”

  The royal guards jumped, pointing their weapons at the young prince as he came hurrying through the door. The guards escorting him drew their swords, bristling.

  “What happens here, Lord Home?” the prince demanded.

  “Lord Home was just hearing about the ransom demand from Laird MacNi
cols and his clever plan to trade Clarrisa of the York family for our men.” Norris Sutherland spoke up from behind the prince, pushing himself into a seated position. “Incredibly clever to trade an English royal bastard for good Scots lairds.”

  The prince smiled. “A wonderful idea, and it warms our heart to see ye recovering.”

  James turned to stare at her. He moved forward, looking more mature than his fifteen years. “I understand my father wanted to have a son with you.”

  Norris watched her from behind the prince, warning her with a stern look. Lord Home was quiet, obviously unwilling to admit he’d been making execution decisions without the prince’s approval. She lowered herself in front of the prince.

  “I did as commanded by my family.”

  James considered her for a long moment. “Every child owes obedience to their parents. It is written in the scriptures.” The prince lost his composure for a moment, grimacing as though he was in pain. “Something I have recently learned I am guilty of not doing. I will forever strive to repent for the sin of being part of my father’s death. The circumstances do not excuse me from the commandments.”

  Everyone in the tent waited for the youth to recover his poise, which he did quickly. He turned and walked to a large chair and sat down in it. Clearly he’d been raised to rule, for he looked like a king at that moment—poised and calm as he considered everyone in the pavilion.

  “My prince…” Lord Home muttered. “She is a threat to you. Her kin will only arrange another match for her, with another man who thinks to challenge your place.”

  “Which is why ye should allow me to wed her,” Broen interrupted. “I’ll take her into the Highlands, and our children will be loyal to ye. I’ve proven my loyalty these past few days by fighting on yer behalf.”

  “But you have a betrothed, Laird MacNicols,” Lord Home declared, his skin flushing with agitation. He pointed at Daphne where she stood silently watching the entire exchange. “Daphne MacLeod is bound to you and in just as much need of controlling, for her father fought with the royalists. I’m happy to report he fell in battle and will no longer trouble us, but the man had no sons. The MacLeods need controlling by a laird loyal to our prince. Besides, what the church has blessed cannot be undone so simply.”

  A strangled gasp came from Daphne. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but her eyes were wide with grief. Tears began to slowly fall down her cheeks.

  “A betrothal must be honored.” The prince spoke gravely. “There is no way to avoid that truth.”

  “I failed to honor it,” Daphne interjected. “The disgrace is mine. Broen has the right to renounce me for refusing to take my wedding vows.”

  “As I said, the MacLeod need controlling, beginning with this girl who needs to honor her father’s word, but another match can be made for her,” Lord Home sputtered. He made a slashing motion with his hand. “MacNicols hopes to breed sons who will have a claim on your throne, and we have no need of men who plan such treason.”

  There were several snarls in the tent, sending the royal guards reaching for their pikes once more. Clarrisa couldn’t tell who made the threatening sounds first, only that Broen, Kael, and Norris were all growling with rage.

  “I’m covered in blood still from the battle I waged to see the prince gain his rightful place, and no man will label me a traitor,” Broen spit out.

  “Ye will nae say any vassal of mine is a traitor while he’s been proving the opposite by coming to this field to stand behind ye,” Norris argued.

  “Enough!” Lord Home barked. “I will hear no more of this. She is a bastard of Edward the Fourth—and a York one at that. She cannot be allowed to produce another generation to needle us. My prince, there have been countless lives sacrificed to ensure yer position. This is but one more. A necessary one. Have her put to death, immediately.”

  The royal guards were unsure whom to point their pikes at. They looked between Lord Home and the prince before raising their weapons and stepping back to wait on the whim of their new monarch.

  “Ye have served us well, Lord Home, a fact we shall not forget.” The prince spoke soberly, but he lifted a hand to keep everyone silent. “But Laird MacNicols has also served me well, and I shall nae repeat the mistakes my father made which led to this sad event of Scot fighting Scot. There will be justice even when the correct course of action goes against our personal wishes.”

  Broen, Kael, and Norris all nodded and inclined their heads. Clarrisa breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the horrible tension in the room easing. Or perhaps it was only the worry strangling her that released, as the prince appeared to be ready to ensure Broen was recognized for the nobleman he was.

  Highlander… She took a moment to soak up the sight of him standing with his fellow Scots.

  “The horse I gave my father helped identify him in battle,” the prince muttered. “It matters not that I meant well. I helped cause his death, so I shall do penitence.” James looked at her. “My lairds who fought so bravely beside me shall be given their due. Ye shall be returned to yer kin in exchange for lairds Chisholms and Matthews.”

  “Yer Majesty—” Broen raised his voice.

  “I respect yer courage, Laird MacNicols, but ye should no more cast off yer duty to yer father. Ye are betrothed to Daphne MacLeod,” the prince said.

  “She’s the daughter of a traitor.” It was Norris who spoke up, moving to stand near the prince. “The match agreed upon before sides had to be chosen. It’s a fair-enough reason for the match to be renounced.”

  James looked at Daphne, pausing for another moment. “It’s true the scriptures say a child of a traitor is tainted, but if that is so, half our countrymen would be considered unfit to be my subjects. We shall consider them all misguided until now and give them the opportunity to prove themselves. None shall be reproached until they give reason for such. My men shall see to the ransom.”

  “By God, no one shall—”

  There was a heavy thud, and Broen crumpled to the floor. Norris Sutherland tucked a short dagger back into his belt, the hilt of which was a large brass ball. His expression was furious, but resignation flickered in his eyes. “It’s best I see to me vassal.”

  The prince nodded, his eyes wide. Norris’s face was white, but he held his ground and looked at Daphne. “Ye’ll come along now and take up the duties of caring for the man yer father bound ye to. Since ye are to wed Laird MacNicols, ye’re me vassal.”

  Clarrisa was halfway across the tent when Norris stepped into her path. She froze, raising her gaze from the crumpled form lying on the fine Persian carpets to the face of the man preventing her from touching Broen.

  “Ye shall do as commanded, madam. Ye are on Scottish soil, and so subject to the Scottish king’s will. Just as I am. Laird MacNicols is me responsibility now.”

  Norris snapped his fingers, and several of the royal guards came forward. They lifted Broen and carried him from the pavilion. The oddest feeling filled her. It was overwhelming relief, reinforced by the sight of Broen’s chest rising and falling until the canvas wall prevented her from seeing him. But she was also filled with white-hot pain, as though part of her were being cut away by the sharpest of knives. She stood there, twisting her hands into the fabric of her dress until her hands ached.

  Norris offered his king a lowering of his head before he pointed Kael toward the door and followed him out. She was left facing Lord Home, but the man was busy reading the ransom notice.

  She suddenly laughed. A dry, brittle sound of irony.

  “What amuses ye?” James asked, some of his somberness lifting now that he wasn’t facing his grown subjects. When she turned to look at him, she could see a hint of playfulness on his face.

  “Naught, Your Majesty. I am simply glad there is no blood spilled, for I was sure it would happen. I laugh because I am glad to find myself proven wrong.”

  Lord Home scoffed. “Women have no business speaking their minds in the presence of men. Yer prattle is a waste of our time.”r />
  The prince frowned but said nothing. For a moment she felt a kinship with him. She could see in his eyes the same look of resignation she so often felt herself. They were both born into a world full of people who wanted to use them. To survive, they endured what they must and hid their true feelings.

  She was not sure she would survive being parted from Broen, but the knowledge that he would live was balm for her wounds. It numbed them enough for her to remain still, when inside part of her was screaming with the need to flee. Yet if she could not go to the side of the man she loved, she cared not where she went.

  ***

  He had to wake. Broen battled the fatigue demanding he rest, fighting to regain consciousness. When he lifted his eyelids, soft hands held a cup to his lips. His vision was blurry, but he saw the short, fair hair and drank from the cup offered. Clarrisa…

  He relaxed back into sleep, confident in her arms.

  “Are yer tears true?” Norris was taunting her. Daphne raised her face and stood. She left the goblet near the bed Broen was sleeping in, the remains of the sleeping draught pooling in its bottom. She felt the stain of her transgression burning across her soul. He would hate her for her deed, but she would detest herself far more.

  “They are, for I’d prefer to have none of this affair.”

  “Why?” Norris demanded in a soft voice full of arrogance. “It will make ye the wife of a Highland laird, ensure ye are mistress of a fine castle and mother of the next chieftain. A fine position many would like to have.”

  She was suddenly so angry she didn’t care if he was heir to the earldom of Sutherland. She would grant him no submission.

  “I want it not. They love each other. Parting them is a sin against the heart God gave us to feel love with. All I have ever brought to Broen is suffering: first when he took to fighting with his best friend over what came with me, and now because the prince used me to separate him from the woman he truly desires. Would that I could make it so he’d renounce me.”

  His lips twitched, his color better than she seemed to recall. “Well now, Daphne MacLeod, if ye want something else for yerself… ye shall have to take a hand in carving out what ye desire of fate. Most women do nae have the courage for such action.”