Courage Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  His heart heavy, Sean went back inside. He walked past the guard at the entrance, who stood back, raising his spear. He looked at him suspiciously, but there was no guile on the man's face. He walked into the room.

  He scanned the hall, looking for Camden. He thought he saw Rodham at the back, but couldn't be sure. His heart ached. He wanted to finish him off, but knew he couldn't.

  Whatever happened now, he knew that he had two things to do. First, he would do anything in his capacity to free Marguerite of a betrothal she detested. Then, he had to stay alive while he was doing it. He had to. He had promised her he would, as she had him.

  It was a binding oath. His heart ached even as it soared with joy.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DANGER STRIKES

  DANGER STRIKES

  Sean woke early with a smile on his face. His heart felt lighter than it ever had. He was so pleased he had finally talked to Marguerite. He couldn't quite believe he had delayed it for so long. Why had he not trusted her?

  “Och, I've got a head like a log sometimes. Granddad always said so.”

  He grinned at himself where his face reflected in the icy washbasin. How could he have been so blind?

  After breakfast, he headed to the practice-ground.

  “Sean!” Camden grinned. He was there as he was every morning, ready to train with the men. Sean smiled and went over, swinging his shoulders as he did so, ready for some sparring.

  “Camden,” Sean greeted him, shaking his hand. “Had a good evening?”

  “I did.” Despite the rings of weariness under his eyes, Camden looked sparklingly alive in ways Sean had almost forgotten. He suspected that he hadn't been the only one to receive some signs of love last night.

  “Good,” Sean replied. He tried to keep the soft smile off his face, but the harder he tried, the more it asserted itself.

  “You look cheerful,” Camden commented.

  Sean raised a brow. “Shouldn't I, then?” He couldn't get the note of sheer delight out of his voice, however.

  Camden chuckled. “Of course you should. I just couldn't help remarking on it.”

  “Fine.”

  Sean swung his arms back, loosening up. Then he drew his sword. They used practice-blades, the edges blunted. Camden drew his.

  “On guard.”

  Sean chuckled. “Indeed.”

  As Camden launched an attack, blade scything forward, he stepped back, blocking the swing. Camden was quick, but not always observant. They'd fought together for so long that Sean knew his weaknesses. The problem was Camden knew his, too.

  “You always drop your shoulder in the swing,” Camden grinned as he lifted his blade, and then swung it around, opening Sean to the next strike.

  Sean stepped back, grimacing. “I know. If you were an enemy, I'd likely be dead right now.”

  “Not now, no,” Camden said cheerfully. “Maybe when I bring the blade down from higher, though...”

  As he spoke, he made the motion. Sean knew it was coming and raised his blade, doing his best to lift his right shoulder so that the blades rang together, the impact shivering down his arms and grating in his shoulder. He grimaced tightly.

  “There,” Camden chuckled. He stepped back, dancing on the balls of his feet. “Not bad, eh?”

  Sean raised a brow. “Not at all. How about this...”

  He thrust forward at lightning speed and Camden whirled to counter it, but it wasn't a true strike and Sean changed the angle, going left at the last minute.

  Camden hissed as the blade whistled past his unprotected chest. “Whew,” he grinned, his smile fizzing with nerves. “That was close.”

  They both laughed. Sean stepped back, breathing heavily. They were both sweating freely now. Camden's hair was plastered to his skull. Sean reached up a hand and felt that his brow was thick with sweat. He wiped it away, grinning cheerfully.

  “Whew,” he sighed again.

  “Sean!” Sir Alec hailed him as he headed to the fountain for a drink. “Practice in the melee, maybe?”

  Sean nodded. “Fine,” he agreed. He splashed his face, washing the sweat off his brow. He felt good today. Maybe a little overconfident, he had to admit. The melee was a difficult thing to practice – three or four men against one another in close hand-to-hand combat.

  “Right. Hey, Fraser! Ewan! Sean's joining us.”

  Sean grinned at Camden, who was standing back, a worried frown on his face.

  “You're sure you should be doing that? What about your injuries?”

  Sean shrugged. “I'll manage.” He felt bold today.

  Camden gave him a smile. “Well, you certainly managed well against me.”

  They both laughed.

  Sean went over to where the men were gathered. Sir Fraser and Sir Ewan he knew well; Alec, less so. The fourth man against him, a slight, quiet fellow with watchful blue eyes, he knew not at all. “Ready?” Sean asked.

  “Seems that way,” Alec shrugged.

  “I don't think we know each other,” Sean said uncertainly to the smaller, watchful man.

  “Oh. Sir Callum. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Sean agreed. “I'm Sean.”

  They shook hands. As they did so, Sean felt a prickle of uneasiness. He couldn't say exactly why, other than that there was something about the man and the way he was looking at him that was disconcerting.

  “Ready?” Sir Alec said cheerily.

  “Yes.” Sean pushed aside his misgivings and lifted his blade, swinging his shoulders to loosen up. “Let's go.”

  “On guard,” Alec said, swinging his arm back and slicing down. Fraser blocked it, laughing.

  “You should do better than that,” he taunted Alec, who lifted his blade and brought it down again to the left, chuckling as Fraser danced rapidly back.

  “We should divide into teams,” Ewan pointed out practically. “Or how do I know who's attacking and who's defending.”

  “True,” Alec agreed, making a wry face. They all laughed.

  “I'll be with you, Alec, and Ewan,” Callum said quietly. “Fraser and Sean can be on the other team.”

  Since it was the first thing he'd said all morning besides to introduce himself, they all shrugged, surprised.

  “Fine.” Alec nodded. “Off we go. Here, Ewan!”

  As Ewan lumbered over to join the other two, it occurred to Sean to wonder why he had been put on the smaller team with Fraser. They were both good fighters, where Alec and Callum seemed less experienced. Maybe that's why.

  As Ewan launched an arcing blow at his head, he stopped wondering and simply started fighting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Camden at the wall.

  “Good strike!” he yelled encouragingly as Sean slid his blade round Ewan's and then leveled it at Alec, who jumped back. “I'm going for lunch.”

  “Fine,” Sean yelled, enjoying himself. He ran to beat Ewan's blade back from Fraser, and then swung hastily as Callum snuck a blow that showed surprising skill. “I'm having fun. See you.”

  “See you.”

  Sean danced back, Fraser keeping step with him. They were in one of those beautiful moments that happened sometimes on the field, where they were almost thinking with a single mind, moving as one. He raised his arm to block a down-cut from Alec, as Fraser yelled and cut sideways, blocking Ewan. Callum was somewhere on Sean's left.

  “Yah!” he yelled triumphantly as his blade slid against Alec's, the edges sparking with the impact. He felt Fraser step closer and moved left even as he blocked a thrust from Callum and then a merciless down-stroke.

  “Whew,” he breathed. Fraser covered his side and he blocked a thrust from Alec to his head.

  He couldn't have said exactly how it happened, or when. However, suddenly he felt cold.

  He raised his arm to block a down-strike and felt it waver, losing strength suddenly. Opposite him, he saw Ewan's eyes widen, and then Fraser turned to stare.

  “Sean!” Ewan said. “That's blood.”

&
nbsp; Sean felt sudden fear. His head was floating, though and he felt light and free. Why should he be worried? In his floating, shifting world, there was no worry. Nothing. Just too much sun, maybe. That's it. Too much sun. You're dizzy, that's all. Nevertheless, Ewan was right. Something felt wrong. He reached down to his side.

  His hand came away sticky with blood.

  “Sean!” Ewan yelled again. “Go and sit down, now.”

  Alec stared, and then yelled. “Someone fetch the priest! The man's hurting badly. Sean, sit down now.”

  Sean blinked. He grinned at them lopsidedly. Why were they making such a fuss? It wasn't a battle, just a practice.

  “I'm fine,” he slurred. Then he felt the darkness press in on his eyes and he stumbled backwards. Then everything went dark.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK

  ENCOUNTER IN THE DARK

  “I need to see him!” Marguerite demanded.

  “My lady, no,” the guard at the infirmary said stoutly. “The physician said he's not to have visitors.” He was in his full armor, leaning on his halberd. His face was stern but calm.

  “What?” Marguerite stepped back, a small frown wrinkling her brow. “That's strange. Why..?”

  “I'm sorry, my lady,” he said firmly. “Father Matthew's orders.”

  Marguerite shook her head, her heart aching. Sean was wounded. She tried to forget the way the men had looked when they brought the news. They'd stood there, eyes downcast, too nervous to get the words out. It had been an accident, she was told. No one knew who had made the cut that wounded him.

  “I need to see him,” she said in a small voice. “Please.”

  When the guard did nothing, she walked away, hands clasped together. She headed upstairs, seeking out her friend.

  “Bollocks,” Rubina said shortly.

  Marguerite stared at her. Then she giggled. Had her friend just said that? Calm, tranquil Rubina? Lady of Lochlann and Buccleigh, in her mother's place?

  “Sorry,” Rubina said, coloring hotly. They were standing in her bedchamber, the light shining through the window onto her hair. “But really, it's not true. Why shouldn't you see him?”

  “The guardsman said no,” Marguerite said in a small, tight voice.

  “The guardsman can say what he likes,” Rubina flamed. “I'm the lady of this place in Mother's absence. I'm coming down with you. See what he says to both of us together.”

  Marguerite grinned at her friend. “Oh, Rubina,” she said. “What would I do without you?”

  “Probably be a lot more peaceful,” Rubina said with a lopsided smile. “Let's go.”

  They went down to the guard. Rubina strode down the stairs first, Marguerite following behind. She watched as her friend walked down, back straight, hair a column of flame down her back.

  “Sir, we are here to see Sir Sean.”

  “My lady, the physician's orders are that he isn't to be...” the guard began, and then stopped, as Rubina's brow shot up.

  “The physician's orders? I think the daughter of the duke outranks him. You agree, correct?”

  Her voice was calm but firm. Marguerite wanted to cheer. The guard didn't like it, but when Rubina lifted her hand to show the seal of Buccleigh, he couldn't argue. With a bad grace, he stood aside. They were in.

  “Sean!”

  Marguerite ran to the bed. They had put him facing the window, which was good. The pale sunlight fell on his cheeks, washing faint color into his face. He struggled up the bolsters when he saw her, drawing the sheet up over his bare chest. Marguerite saw the gesture and colored, then went pale as she saw the bandaging that swathed his side.

  “Sean! What happened?” She could tell the cut must be deep, for he winced as he turned. There was a trace of blood on the bandages, even though they were several layers deep.

  He grimaced again and sat up. “Someone tried to finish me off, my lady.”

  “Someone? Who?” Marguerite stared at him in horror.

  “I don't know,” he said. He beckoned her forward and she leaned in as he whispered. “I don't want to believe this was done on purpose. But...” he trailed off.

  Marguerite followed his eyes, and noticed that the guardsman – the odious one from outside the infirmary, was pacing in the colonnade. She could just see him through the second window.

  She frowned. “You mean...”

  He nodded grimly. “I think that mayhap someone saw us,” he said. “I think our fellow guardsman doesn't like competition.”

  “Oh.”

  Marguerite swallowed hard. She looked at her hands. If he was right, then that meant this was her fault! She glanced at him, her face tight. “Sean...I'm sorry.”

  “What?” He shook his head at her. “Marguerite, no! It's not you. The fellow who should be sorry was whoever ordered that.”

  “You think that's what happened?”

  Sean nodded slowly. “It's the only thing that makes sense,” he agreed. “This fellow – Sir Callum. He's new here. I think if someone bribed or threatened him – someone in power – he'd do what they said.”

  “Oh.”

  Marguerite couldn't believe it. However, at the same time, she could. There was something repellant about Rodham. Something cruel. She would not put it past him to try to remove Sean altogether. “We need to get to the bottom of this,” she said.

  “Please, don't do anything, Marguerite,” he said gently. “I can't risk aught happening to you.”

  “I'll be fine,” Marguerite said. Then, when he frowned, she added, “I won't do anything silly. I promise.”

  “Good.”

  Sean smiled at her, and reached out to take her hand. She let her hand rest on top of his and the touch was soft and reassuring. She felt herself instantly grow calm.

  “My dear Marguerite,” he whispered softly.

  “Oh, Sean.”

  Their eyes met and held. It felt as if they were the only two in the room. Then, Sean's gaze shifted behind her. She heard the floorboard creak and turned to see Father Matthew.

  “Oh!” Marguerite shot up out of the seat, feeling guilty. He would be angry! “Father, I'm so sorry...I...”

  “Whist,” the old man said, his soft face radiating cheerful calm. “It's well. Sit yourself. Just what our patient needs – good company to give him heart.”

  Marguerite blushed. She heard Rubina cross the floor in a rustle of brocade.

  “So,” she said softly. “You mean you weren't the one who said no visitors were permitted?”

  The kindly old man frowned. “Why no, milady,” he said, shaking his head in sudden confusion. “Now why would I say such a thing? Especially to think to order you about, milady.” He shook his head.

  “Oh,” Rubina said. “That's strange.” She gave a pointed glance out of the window toward the guardsman. Marguerite noticed that he had suddenly, strangely, disappeared. They looked at each other.

  She looked at Sean.

  There was something very odd going on, she decided. And she would get to the bottom of it.

  Marguerite slipped down the hallway toward the ramparts, heading to the guard-house. It was dark. She wiped sweat-soaked palms down the skirt of her dress and took a steadying breath.

  “Easy, Marguerite,” she whispered to herself. “Almost there.”

  She had a plan. She had to try to talk to Ewan. Of all the guards, she trusted him. In addition, according to Camden, when she asked earlier, he had been there in the melee that afternoon when Sean was stabbed.

  She could see the guardhouse from here. A light was flickering in the door. Ewan was meant to be on sentry duty tonight, which was why she had chosen to come here. She followed the narrow ramparts, feeling her skirt tug in the soft night air as she drifted down.

  “Hello?” She put her head around the doorway. “Ewan?”

  “Yes, milady?” Ewan was there, along with another guard, Seamus. He stood at once. “My lady! Is aught amiss?”

  Marguerite frowned. “Ewan, I ha
ve to ask you something.” She swallowed hard, twisting her fingers together in front of her. “I...this afternoon, at the practice-ground. You were there. Did you see what happened? When Sean...” She trailed off, unable to get the words out.

  “Come, my lady,” he said, gesturing her toward the other bench across from the fire. He gave a meaningful stare at Seamus, who left.

  “Ewan,” she said. “Is it possible that...could Sean have been attacked purposefully?”

  Ewan frowned. “What're you suggesting, milady?”

  “I want to know if Rodham hired someone to kill him,” she said bluntly. Ewan stared at her. Then he reached out and took her hand.

  “My lady – are you not too overwrought? Mayhap this has all been too much for your nerves.”

  “I'm fine,” she snapped. “Sorry, Ewan,” she added quickly. “It's not some girlish fancy. I know someone tried to kill him. Please believe me. Don't just tell me I'm being silly,” she pleaded.

  Ewan sighed. “I am sorry, my lady. I suppose I don't want to think my brothers would do such a thing. It's a wicked deed, if it were so. I do believe you. Now, please...go and get some rest?”

  Marguerite looked into that calm, tranquil face. His eyes were kind and concerned. She nodded slowly. “Yes, Ewan. And please – keep an eye on him. Father Matthew I trust. But no one else. Make sure he's unharmed?”

  “I will, my lady. Sir Sean is a good friend and comrade. I promise to keep careful watch.” He stood. “But now, you should leave us. If...if what you suspect is true, then it is best that you also keep yourself safe.”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir. I'll go.” She got to her feet, smoothing down her long velvet dress.

  “Shall I walk back with you?” He sounded concerned.

  “No, Ewan, I'll be safe. I'm just going across the ramparts and back indoors.” She smiled at him and saw his face soften.