The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3)

by Barbara Longley

  “You have looked after me very well, and I’m grateful.” She sighed. “I don’t object to the arrangement. It’s just that I could use a little privacy.” She wanted a bath, and she really needed some alone time. She dropped her stuff on the narrow cot before her.

  “There are no such chambers to be had in our inns.” Tieren shot her a sympathetic look. “Oft times more than one family or group of travelers share a chamber such as this, and for those who canna afford a chamber, the corridor serves well enough for a night’s rest. See you how the center of this chamber is open? That is where servants and guards take their rest when a noble travels with his retinue. At least we’re out of the elements, and the Boar’s Head Inn has a reputation for being well tended and safe. The innkeeper boasts of a fine cook as well.” He rubbed his stomach. “I’m starving, and I’ve a powerful thirst. Hang up your cloak, Kevin, and we’ll sup in the hall below. When we retire for the eve, we’ll have a fine fire in yon hearth. I trow we will all sleep well within these walls.”

  Once their things were stowed, she trudged downstairs with the rest of the pages and squires to the great hall that served as the dining room and pub. Large timbers stretched to the ceiling, supporting equally broad crossbeams. The wood-plank floor had been strewn with fresh straw. They were given the largest table by the hearth, and soon food and tankards of strong dark ale appeared before them. Her stomach growled, and she dug in.

  The innkeeper hadn’t lied. The lamb stew was thick, rich and delicious. Meghan stared into the pewter tankard before her and yawned. The warmth from the roaring fire behind her dried her clothing, and for the first time in days her body temperature rose to normal. Full, warm and drowsy, she only half listened to the conversation going on around her.

  “Kevin, ye look as if ye mean tae sleep sitting up, lad.” Murray chuckled. “Send yer squire off tae his rest, Hunter, afore his face lands in his supper.”

  “Aye, off to bed with you, lad,” Hunter ordered, his expression warm.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, rising from her place. “Good night. See you in the morning.” Her limbs heavy with fatigue, she climbed the stairs and dragged her sorry butt down the corridor to their room. Heading straight for her assigned cot, she pushed the day’s events to the far recesses of her weary brain.

  She unrolled the mattress, checking it for bedbugs. Then she grabbed one of the wool blankets from their pile. Perching on the edge of her assigned cot, she tugged off her muddy boots and her borrowed tunic. She hung the tunic on one of the wooden posts on the bed frame, lay down and pulled the blanket up to her chin. Ah, blessed sleep. Yawning once more, she dozed off with the image of Hunter’s dimpled smile firmly fixed in her mind.

  Coming to with a jolt, Meghan awoke covered in a cold sweat. Her hand trembling, she ran her fingers through her hair. She blinked, and the nightmare came back to her in a rush.

  “Wheesht, Beag Curaidh. You’re safe, lass,” Hunter murmured. He ran his hand up and down her back. “’Tis naught but a dream.”

  “I . . . I was dreaming about . . .”

  “I ken well enough what haunts your sleep.” He rose. “Come with me,” he said in a quiet tone. “We dinna want to wake the others.”

  Still trembling, she stood. Hunter took the blanket from her cot and wrapped it around her shoulders and turned her toward the door. He ran his hands up and down her arms as he propelled her out of the chamber. The familiar sound of the men’s snores followed them into the dimly lit corridor. A few tall candles on pewter stands had been lit, casting scant light to play along the walls. Hunter stopped at the stairway and sank down to sit on the top step. He gestured for her to join him.

  Placing her hand on his shoulder for balance, she lowered herself beside him. “I had a nightmare.”

  “Night mare?” He cast her a sideways glance. “Though I dinna ken the reference, I take your meaning well enough. You were crying out in your sleep.”

  “A nightmare, one word, is a bad dream.” A chill ran down her spine, and she pulled the blanket tighter.

  “Ah, we call them ‘night-hags.’ After the day we’ve had, I can imagine the dreams plaguing you. ’Tis only natural.” He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “Och, I’ve had my share of night-hags as well.”

  “What are your bad dreams about? Battles you’ve fought?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “At times, aye, but when I was but a lad, I oft dreamt of my ma and my granny leaving me. Ma died of a fever when I was still a bairn of but three winters, and my granny passed the following spring.”

  His voice carried a load of hurt, and her heart broke for him. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Hmm.” He seemed to draw into himself. Lost in his own thoughts, he stroked her arm absently.

  “Do you remember your mother and grandmother?”

  “I do.” He sighed. “My ma had soft gray eyes and gentle hands. She mourned for my da. I recall her sadness most of all. My granny was the clan’s wisewoman and midwife, yet she could do naught to save her daughter from the fever that took her.”

  The grief in his voice wrenched at her heart. “What happened to you after they died?”

  “’Twas frightening and confusing.” He huffed out a breath. “Hellish. I’d lost my hearing to the same fever that took my ma, and no family would take me in because of my defect. If it had been any other clan, ’tis certain I would no’ have lasted through that first winter.” A shudder wracked him, and she felt it to her very bones.

  “The earl and his kin are more compassionate than most.” He hung his head, his voice barely audible. “Instead of driving me off, they allowed me to sleep in the great hall or in the stables. I begged for scraps to fill my belly and survived as best I could. Eventually the earl had his stable master give me odd jobs to do. I believe ’twas his intent to provide me with some means to support myself once I’d grown, and for that I am most grateful.”

  “I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been. No little kid should be alone like that, especially at such a young age.” Meghan laid her head on his shoulder and took his large callused hand in hers. “I’m glad you survived.” She wanted to wrap him up in her arms and hug the hurt and loneliness away.

  “’Twas long ago.” He grunted. “’Tis you who needed comfort this night, lass. You were crying out in your sleep.” He nudged her knee with his. “’Tis only natural to suffer bad dreams after a battle. The horror of what befell you today will fade with time.” He cast her a sideways glance. “Do you wish to speak of it? ’Twill help if you do.”

  She shook her head. “What is there to say? If I hadn’t done what I did, that man would have killed Allain before Tieren got to him. I just . . . I never expected . . .”

  “You handled yourself well this day, Beag Curaidh, and I’m proud to count you as an ally.”

  She blinked several times, and her heart flipped at his praise. “Thanks. Even though you’re the one who took me from my time, I’m glad you’re my ally too.”

  He chuckled, stood and stretched. “Are you ready to go back to your rest?”

  “I guess.” She wanted to stay right where they were, sharing secrets, savoring their growing closeness a little longer.

  Hunter offered her a hand up. “Should the bad dreams trouble you again, I’ll be there to wake you. Dinna fash. I’ll look after you, Meghan.”

  She placed her hand in his. “I’ll look after you too.”

  Meghan had slept on and off for two full days since arriving at the inn in Aberdeen, and she finally felt human again. She combed her damp hair while sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire burning in the hearth. After three days of traveling, and this her third day at the inn, she decided nothing compared to being clean, warm and under a roof.

  Her stomach rumbled. OK, food was also on her top-ten list. A knock on the door sent adrenaline surging through her veins
. Since her brush with death, every little sound affected her that way and probably would for a while. “Who’s there?”

  “’Tis me, Allain. I’m sent to fetch you for supper. Sir Hunter says ’tis well past time you left this chamber.”

  Her jaw tightened, imagining what else Hunter had to say about her self-indulgent recovery time. She rose, cinched the belt over the itchy, too-large, borrowed woolen hose and Allain’s now clean tunic before snatching her hat from the chair. “Just a sec,” she called, while tucking her clean hair into the warm, dry velvet. The crew, as she now called the band of boys and men she traveled with, had been kind enough to give her a few hours of privacy to bathe in one of the two rooms they’d secured, while they did the same in the other room. She should’ve known the bath was a message that her time lounging around was at an end.

  Somehow Hunter had procured a comb for her, and he’d had her borrowed clothing cleaned. She’d kept her tights and underthings to wash herself. The modern-day garments might cause questions, not to mention the fact that fifteenth-century squires did not wear Victoria’s Secret panties and bras. Thank heavens they’d dried quickly by the heat from the hearth. She opened the door, and Allain gave her the once-over.

  “Aye, ye’ll pass as a lad well enough if none look too closely, and they willna, since yer naught but a lowly squire now.” He shot her a grin and led the way along the hall to the stairs descending to the great room.

  Still awed by the fact that she stood in an actual fifteenth-century structure—a sturdy, well-appointed building at that—she scanned the room. The inn did a good business, and tonight the place was filled to capacity. Did the Boar’s Head still stand in her time? Maybe once she was home, she’d take a trip to Aberdeen just to see.

  “Dinna forget yer a lad now,” Allain whispered. “We canna call you Lady Meghan whilst we’re here, ye ken.”

  “I won’t forget. I’m Kevin now.” The image of her older brother flashed through her mind, and grief pinched her heart.

  “’Tis a good name ye chose, my l—er, Kevin.” His cheeks colored. “Look you there.” He pointed. “We’ve the same large table by the fire we’ve had each night. The innkeeper kens the MacKintosh clan well. Hunter’s foster da is the earl of Fife’s heir. ’Tis why we have the best rooms and the best table in the hall,” he said, his tone boastful.

  Meghan’s eyes widened. “Who is the man sitting at the end of the table?”

  “’Tis the sheriff.” Allain wove his way through the crowded room, and she followed.

  Tieren began to rise when he saw her. Hunter placed his hand on Tieren’s shoulder and pushed him back down. Knights didn’t stand in the presence of squires. She smiled at Tieren just the same. He never ordered her around or teased her like Hunter did. Speak of the devil . . . Hunter had also bathed and shaved. Damn, he cleaned up well. Her knees went a little weak, and the memory of being held securely in his arms sent delicious tendrils of heat spiraling around inside her.

  Tieren scooted over to make room for her between himself and the squires seated on the bench beside him. “You must be hungry, lad.”

  “Aye,” Allain said, taking up a pewter pitcher of ale and filling a goblet. “I could hear Kevin’s belly rumbling all the way down the stairs.” He handed her the ale and winked.

  Hunter leaned forward to peer at her. “Are you feeling better now, lad?”

  “Aye,” she muttered as Allain placed a pewter platter piled with root vegetables, cabbage and slices of what looked like beef before her. Whatever it was, the steaming aromatic meal was smothered in thick gravy and smelled divine. Tristan handed her a chunk of bread and a slab of cheese. “My thanks,” she said, keeping her voice low, trying to blend in.

  “Your sword has been sharpened by the local smithy,” Tieren told her. “He was quite impressed with the weapon.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes widened. “Thanks for taking care of that for me.” Of course her sword was amazing. Her dad had it made for her, and he’d only hire the best swordsmith available for a weapon to be used by one of his children. Her heart gave a painful wrench. Before now, she’d never known a day without her parents’ presence in her life. Never had she suffered a moment’s doubt that she was loved. The loss of that security left her staggering for a foothold in a foreign landscape, and she didn’t like the feeling at all.

  “’Twas my pleasure.”

  Settling into her meal, she kept an ear on the conversation going on between the men and the sheriff, curious about how such things as slain thieves and brigands were handled in this era.

  The sheriff hoisted his tankard and poured the remaining contents down his throat. He set it down with a resounding thud and rose to his feet. “Och, ’tis one band o’ scoundrels I no longer have tae worry about. My thanks, sirs. ’Tis good tae have ye back upon Scottish soil. Give my regards tae the earl once ye’ve reached Moigh Hall.” He gave them a slight bow. “I’m afraid yer wagon is gone, but my men took care o’ the corpses.” He barked out a laugh. “What remained o’ their carcasses, that is. The carrion feeders lightened our load considerably by the time we got tae them.” Still chuckling, he headed toward the door, stopping here and there to chat with other patrons.

  Meghan dropped her eating dagger and covered her mouth. The food she’d just swallowed threatened to come back up her throat.

  “Here now, take a drink.” Tieren lifted her ale and wrapped her fingers around the pewter. “Dinna let his crude speech spoil your appetite. Turn your mind to something else, like the good company surrounding you.” Warmth and concern filled his eyes.

  He’d also bathed and shaved, and she couldn’t help noticing how good-looking he was as well. Still, he didn’t send her heart racing or weaken her knees the way Hunter did. “Thanks.” She sipped the ale. “Mmm, it’s fortifying all right.”

  She peered into the goblet. Thick, bitter and strong would be a better description, but her crew seemed to like it, so she’d best learn to enjoy it too. “You’re right. The company is superb, the food good, and I am hungry. Just give me a minute.”

  “Mayhap a game of dice will distract you.” John drew a leather pouch from his sporran.

  “Aye,” George added, his voice eager. “I’ll play, and for certes the other lads will join us.”

  “You go ahead. I don’t know how to play,” Meghan said. “I’ll watch while I eat. That will distract me enough, and by the time I’m finished, I’ll have the game figured out.”

  “’Tis certain you will.” Tieren’s eyes heated as his gaze roamed over her face, settling on her lips. “None can doubt your cleverness.” He leaned in and whispered, “Or fail to notice your beauty.”

  How much ale had he consumed? He shouldn’t be looking at her like that, and she sure wasn’t going to look back. “I . . . um . . .”

  The front doors of the inn were thrown wide, and an intimidating group of well-armed knights in kilts and chain mail strode through. She gasped, shot up and called out, “Robley!” She stepped over the bench, ready to run to him, overjoyed to see his familiar face.

  Tieren caught her by the wrist. “Dinna draw attention, Kevin,” he hissed. “He’ll come to us anon.”

  Hunter rose, left their table and met Robley halfway to the door. The two embraced, slapping each other’s backs. “How is it you come to be here this eve?” Hunter asked, leading him to their table.

  “Let us sit before I tell the tale.” Robley gripped Hunter’s shoulder. His gaze flickering toward Meghan in surprise, he strode toward their table. His men trailed him, staring pointedly at the group sitting nearest to their table. The occupants got the message and moved away, taking their ale and food with them. John, George and the pages began moving to the recently vacated table. Meghan rose with them. Since she was a squire, shouldn’t she follow them to the kids’ table?

  Again Tieren tugged at her wrist. “Stay. I ken Robley will want to speak wit
h you, aye?”

  Her eyes burned. She blinked and nodded. Robley had aged. Silver streaked his tawny blond hair at the temples. The laugh lines around his eyes had deepened, but his bright-blue gaze and ready smile were so familiar her heart ached. Seeing him brought back memories of dinners at her house with him, Erin and her family. Another surge of homesickness hit her, and she sank back down on the bench.

  Robley inserted himself between her and Tieren. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a fierce hug, whispering in her ear, “By the saints, what are you doing here, Meghan McGladrey?”

  All of the stress from the past week came flooding back. She buried her face against his shoulder, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “Och, though ’tis been some time since you’ve laid eyes upon him, dinna squeeze Kevin overmuch,” Hunter cajoled. “He’s recently recovered from a stomach ailment, and I’d hate to see his supper end up all over your chain mail.”

  Robley let her go, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What the bloody hell is going on?”

  “First, how is it that you are here so soon?” Hunter leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table. “We sent a messenger but three days past, and he would no’ have reached Loch Moigh until today or mayhap on the morrow.”

  “I’ve been making my regular rounds of our holdings.” Robley rubbed his face with both hands, weariness drawing his features tight. “We were traveling home from Castle Inverness when we intercepted your messenger where the two roads meet. He asked if he could join us since we were going in the same direction. Once we learned where he was headed and why, he gave us your missive and we made for Aberdeenshire straightaway. We are your guard.”

  He grinned, both dimples making an appearance. “I sent your messenger on to Meikle Geddes with a new missive. Erin, our bairns and my parents will travel to Moigh Hall. They’ll inform our clan of your homecoming, and we’ll have a fine feast to celebrate once we’re home.”

  “You have children?” Meghan’s brow shot up.