Heart of the Highlands: The Wolf (Protectors of the Crown Book 2)

by April Holthaus

  Fallon leaned back, forcing a breath. His forehead on hers, they both breathed in heavily. She breathed in his smell of whiskey and leather, with an alluring hint of musk. It was a smell she could wrap herself up in and fall asleep with.

  She didn’t know if it were the effects of the drink or the pull and desire she felt, but at that moment, she wanted nothing but him. How had one kiss affected her this much?

  With a gentle kiss to her forehead, Rylan took a step back.

  “I should bid ye good night, my lady. The sun is no’ too far from rising.”

  Fallon did not wish for him to go, but knew he had to leave before Braeden or Leoric caught them together.

  “Tis cold tonight. Here, ye should take a blanket,” she said grabbing one that was draped over her chair and holding it out to him.

  “Tis verra kind of ye.” His eyes held hers as he reached for the blanket.

  “Yer welcome,” she replied, breathlessly.

  Chapter 6

  When I find that lad I am going to kill him!

  Fallon searched for what felt like hours since she had awakened. She had searched each one of Braeden’s hiding spots and still there was no sign of him. He had not even come to break his fast this morning, and it was unusual for Braeden to ever miss a meal. Checking the barn, Fallon noticed that Rylan was nowhere to be found either.

  “Good morning, my lady,” Leoric said as he carried an armful of hay to feed the cow.

  “Good morning, Leoric. Have ye seen Braeden this morning?”

  “Nay, my lady. I have no’ seen Rylan either.”

  “Well, if ye would excuse me, I am going to search down by the river for them. Lord knows that lad always goes down there even when I tell him no’ to.”

  “Would ye care for me to accompany ye, my lady?”

  “Tis no’ necessary. Thank ye. But I do have one request. I need fer ye to gather the rest of the vegetables and oats to sell at market tomorrow. I am sure Lord Blackwood’s men will be back in the next day or two for the taxes.”

  “Right away, my lady.”

  Fallon walked across the yard and headed towards the woods to the bottom of the ravine. There were several places along the river Braeden would go to play, and perhaps Rylan had tagged along.

  Rylan watched as the horse drank feverishly from the river. He filled a skin with fresh water, twisted the cap on, and placed it in his sporran. He needed to make his way towards Boreland by the noon hour if he were to be there by nightfall. The horse finally finished drinking and Rylan swung into the saddle.

  Before Rylan pulled on the reins to maneuver the horse around, he heard a stick breaking behind him. Rylan swung around, holding his sword. Keeping a watchful eye, he scanned the trees until his eyes stopped on a tiny little face poking out from behind one of the tree trunks.

  The wee lad was as quiet as a mouse, though his behavior thus far suggested he was far more rambunctious. Rylan kept his gaze on the lad’s shy, beady eyes. Rylan did not care much for children. They talked too much and were completely irrational, and his patience for them was about as thin as a sheet of paper.

  “Tis a sign of weakness to cower, lad. Come out from behind the tree,” Rylan sternly ordered.

  Wee Braeden quickly did as he was told and slipped out from behind the tree trunk. His shaggy, dark brown hair covered his eyes as he avoided looking directly at Rylan. His stance resembled that of a timorous pup. His knobby knees were pressed hard together, and he nervously fidgeted with his fingers.

  Braeden walked toward Rylan slowly. Rylan guessed the young lad to be at least seven or eight summers by his lanky physique and height.

  “Is somethin’ the matter wit’ ye?” Rylan asked, wondering why the lad was just standing there, speechless.

  Braeden shook his head, rapidly.

  “Then why have ye come? Were ye spying on me? Do ye know what I do to spies?” Rylan asked, purposely taunting the poor lad.

  Braeden shook his head again. Rylan smirked at his answer. Holding out his sword, he examined the blade and said, “I cut out their tongues and feed them to the dogs so the bloody bastards cannae go back to their masters and tell them what they found.”

  Braeden’s eyes widened and his body went stiff. Rylan chuckled at the rise he got out of him.

  “Does yer mother know ye are out here?”

  Braeden shook his head again in response.

  “Speak up, lad!”

  “Nay. She dinna know I have come.”

  “Dinna yer mother ever tell ye tis unwise to talk to strangers? How do ye know I can be trusted?” Rylan questioned him.

  “Because ye are no’ English. Mama says yer a warrior. Is that true?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then have ye come to protect us?”

  Rylan’s brow furrowed at the lad’s innocent inquiry.

  “Protect ye from who? Those men that came the other day?”

  “Aye. I dinna like them verra much. Mama does no’ like them either.”

  “Then ye be a true Scot! But nay, laddie. I did no’ come to fight yer battles, for I have my own. I dinna think tis safe to be out here. I think tis best ye go back home.”

  “But I want to go wit’ ye. I want to be a warrior, like ye.”

  “Ye dinna want to be like me, lad.”

  “But I have to be…for my mum. I have my own weapons, and have been training in the caves. Only my mum does no’ know. Tis no far from here. Would ye like to see my hideout?”

  “Alright lad, but only a moment.”

  Rylan followed Braeden down a long slope towards the bottom of a steep ravine. As they circled around a cluster of trees, Braeden slipped behind the long, flowing branches of a willow tree. Rylan scooped them aside revealing an entrance to a small cave.

  Inside the cave, Braeden had a perfect hideout. He had hidden dry wood, a few of his wooden toys, knives and two stumps that he used as chairs. There was even a small box of candles, a sporran, and a folded blanket.

  Clever lad!

  Braeden had thought of almost everything he and his mother would need if they had to leave their home suddenly. It was probably one of the most impressive things Rylan had ever come across and even more so for being created by just a wee young lad.

  Sitting down on one of the stumps, Braeden asked, “Have ye been in battle before?”

  “Aye.”

  “Have ye killed anyone?”

  “Aye.”

  Braeden scooted closer.

  “Do ye live in a castle? Are ye a knight? Can ye teach me how to wield a sword? I plan on being a warrior someday, so I can protect my mama from those…those bloody Sassenachs. That’s what my mama calls them.”

  Rylan let out a sigh as Braeden bombarded him with questions. The lad had tenacity; Rylan had to give him that. Full of life and ambition, he reminded Rylan of when he was that age.

  “I dinna think yer mum would approve of me teachin’ ye how to wield a sword.”

  “She wouldna have to know,” Braeden deviously replied, as if there would be no consequence to either of them.

  Rylan stood in silence for a moment pondering the boy’s request. Pulling his dagger out of the sheath tied to his belt, he held it out towards Braeden.

  “Take it,” he instructed.

  Braeden looked up at him before he leaned out to grab the small blade. He looked at it in awe as if he had never seen such a fancy dagger before. He examined it, top to bottom, running his fingers along the hilt.

  “Stand up,” Rylan ordered. Braeden slipped off the stump and stood facing Rylan. “Now, if I were to attack ye, where would ye stab the blade?”

  Braeden tightened his grip on the dagger and held it above his head, ready to strike.

  “Nay! Nay! Ye are doing it wrong. If ye are going to fight, ye need to learn to do it the right way or you’ll find yerself six feet underground before ye know it,” Rylan warned.

  The lad looked at him wide-eyed as if he was eager to absorb what knowledge Rylan was about t
o teach him.

  “Here, like this,” he said as he adjusted the dagger in Braeden’s hand. “When yer enemy is about to attack, ye dinna swing yer blade like you would an axe while you chop wood. When ye get close enough to yer opponent, hold yer dagger in yer hand, and point the tip of the blade right here, between the ribs, and plunge it upward into yer enemy’s heart until ye see death in their eyes and ye feel his soul leave his body,” Rylan instructed.

  The lad did as he was told, mimicking every movement as Rylan had done. The wee one was a natural. For nearly a half hour, Rylan taught the lad the basic techniques of fighting, making him repeat the movements over and over until Rylan was satisfied with the lad’s execution of footwork and handling the weapon.

  Training the lad reminded him of when he was young himself, and his father, Aldrich, had trained him. Rylan recalled his father had him train for hours. Rain or shine, Aldrich worked him to the bone until his hands were sore and his knuckles bled.

  “Ye have done well, but there is still much more ye need to learn. Ye must practice every day.”

  “I will,” Braeden promised as he held the dagger out to Rylan.

  “Keep it. It will help ye wit’ yer training.”

  “Ye mean for me to have it? No one has ever given me anything before,” Braeden excitedly exclaimed.

  “Aye.”

  Before Rylan could respond, Braeden wrapped his small arms around Rylan’s torso. Keeping his arms to the side, Rylan looked down at the lad. He did not know how to respond to his unexpected affection. His first reaction was to brush the child off for his misplaced admiration. Rylan was a deviant, not a role model. Rylan’s hope for this wee lad would be that he would strive to follow in the footsteps of a better man, a man that Rylan would never be.

  “When ye leave, will ye come back?” Braeden asked; his eyes filled with hope.

  Rylan hated to admit it, but the child’s heartfelt expression pulled at what few heartstrings he had left. Whether it had come from the boy or not, no one ever made him feel wanted. Rylan’s eyes softened as his lips curled into a crooked smile.

  “Aye lad. I will be back. I promise”

  Promises were not something Rylan gave often, and he never should have said it, but it easily slipped from his lips before he could even stop himself. He did, after all, have to return the horse.

  Rylan saw so much potential in Braeden that it was a shame he had little opportunity here to advance his talent and skill. If given the chance, Braeden would make an excellent squire. He could see Braeden growing up to be just as good as he, himself …almost.

  “Braeden!” Fallon called out as she walked along the river.

  Wandering aimlessly, she circled around a large oak tree and found her mare tied to one of the trees. Rylan? Fallon’s legs pumped as fast they could to the nearby cave where Braeden often played. Sweeping back the branches, she immediately lost her breath at the sight of the giant Highlander pinning her son up against the wall of the cavern. Both Rylan and Braeden turned their heads as Fallon shrieked in horror.

  “What the bloody hell do ye think ye are doing? How dare ye harm a small child! Let him go at once.”

  Rylan quickly did as she asked and dropped Braeden to the ground. Fallon waited for Braeden to come running into her arms, but instead of running from Rylan in fear, he stood next to the Highland brute.

  “I was no’ harming the lad. I was teaching him how to defend himself. And I must say, he is quite the student,” Rylan explained.

  “Is this true?” she asked Braeden searching for confirmation, still feeling the effects of her senses in utter shock.

  No mother should ever find her son in such a predicament. In just one moment, her senses collided, leaving her feeling completely numb.

  “Aye, mama. Rylan was just about to teach me how to drop a mon to the ground, just by kicking him in the ba…”

  “Stop!” Fallon interrupted, throwing her hand up and stopping him from finishing his sentence. She would not hear another word. “Braeden, go back home and do no’ leave until I return.”

  “Alright,” he said, taking a quick glance up at Rylan before he walked out of the cave, sulking.

  Fallon firmly kept her eyes on Rylan. Balling her fists, her muscles tensed. She waited for Braeden to leave until she spoke again.

  “Are ye trying to frighten him? He is just a wee bairn! Ye have no’ right to be teaching him those things. I dinna think he will be joining the King’s army any time soon. And if I had my way, he ne’er will!”

  “The lad is no bairn and ye should no’ treat him like one. Where I am from lads his age are already learning how to wield a sword and defend themselves in battle. Learning to protect himself is as important as learning to hunt or fish. Dinna his father teach him anything?”

  “I dinna care about how yer people raise their children. I care how I raise my own.”

  “Is there no’ a mon in his life to teach yer son to be a mon? Where is his father?”

  “He does no’ have a father, nor does he need one. I canraise him just fine on my own,” she snapped. “I’m glad to see that yer strength has returned. Ye are far from home. If ye have any sense in that head of yers, I suggest ye return.”

  “Then I bid ye farewell. As promised, I will have the horse returned promptly. If there is anything ye need…”

  “Ye have done enough! I dinna want yer promises, Rylan. I just want ye to leave.”

  Fallon quickly turned on her heel, irate from the turn this conversation had taken. In truth, she did not want him to leave, but after witnessing what she had in the cave, she spoke out of anger. She feared for Braeden. He was no longer a bairn and at some point, she knew that he would begin to both question his parentage and develop the desire to learn to fight. After all, he was his father’s son.

  Fallon walked into the kitchen as Braeden followed her with his eyes.

  “Is he gone?” Braeden quietly asked. “Do ye think we will see him again?”

  “Nay, Braeden. I dinna imagine we will.”

  “But, he promised.”

  “Braeden, men like him…” Fallon stopped herself.

  She knew nothing of men like him. He was confusing and aggravating. Looking into the eyes of her innocent son, she continued, “If Rylan said he promised, I am sure that he will do all that he can to return, but if he does no’ return, ye must know that it will be fer a verra good reason.”

  The soft explanation painted Rylan in a better light than the sour words left on her tongue when she had spoken to the man. Fallon could see that Braeden looked up to him as an adolescent lad seeking a hero, and she did not want to ruin whatever it was Braeden saw in him. Fallon recognized Braeden’s curiosity and desire to know what it was like to have a father. Leoric was more like a grandfather to him, but did little to teach him things other than tending to the farm and caring for the animals. Nevertheless, Braeden was born for bigger things, and that was the guilt Fallon was willing to endure to keep him safe.

  Chapter 7

  No father? Like hell, that woman was a bloody vestal virgin!

  Rylan bit his tongue. So hasty to judge, he should have realized that the lass was a widow. It was obvious he had struck a nerve at the mere mention of the lad’s father and would do well to not mention it again. He’d felt ashamed when he saw the hurt in her eyes. Instead of running after her, he let her leave with her dignity. He owed her that, at least.

  As Rylan returned to the horse, he found Leoric sitting on the banks of the river, his feet cooling off in the water.

  “Ye are leaving, already?” he asked.

  “Aye, my absence is long overdue.”

  “She got to ye, aye?”

  “That is a mild way of putting it.”

  “Dinna mind Lady Fallon. She has lived a hard life. Ye are a warrior. I know a thing or two about warriors. I know what the weight of a sword feels like in my hands. I know what it is like to swing a battle axe and wear my armor with pride. And I know when to fight and
when to surrender.”

  “Ye, a warrior?” Rylan asked, almost amused by Leoric’s declaration.

  “They once called me Leo the Great, Warrior of Skye and Lion of the Sea. And like ye, I lived by my sword. My duties and service to my Laird were honorable. I fought in many battles, but in the end I was left wit’ nothing but what ye see here before ye; an ol’ blind mon.”

  Rylan felt his jaw slightly drop as goose bumps crawled along his arm at the mere mention of the old man’s name. The King’s uncle. Stories of Leo the Great were legendary from when Rylan was just a wee lad. He was a Highland warrior who fought alongside the King’s father. Men feared him. Woman adored him. Nobody ever knew what had happened to him and they thought he was dead.

  “What happened to ye?”

  “Twas many years ago. When I was a younger mon, much like yerself, I witnessed my laird’s wife in bed with another. I swore my silence. I was allowed to keep my tongue, but they took my eyesight instead. I was forced to leave my clan and my home and search fer another. I had lost my purpose, but was given a second chance. When the day comes fer ye to retire yer sword, ye may understand. Life is about more than just dignity and honor. Tis about love and living. I may be blind, but I can still see. More than ye can imagine. When I came upon Lady Fallon, she gave me work, and a purpose, and I have been grateful to her ever since.”

  “Why are ye telling me this?”

  “Lady Fallon and that lad of hers are like family to me. She took me in without question. I believe that ye too are seeking some purpose, and perhaps ye have found it. I can no’ leave this earth wit’ out knowing she is safe. It is yer oath as a Highlander to stand fer honor in the face of adversity. And I would ne’er want anything bad to happen to them.”

  “Neither would I,” Rylan vowed. “But what sort of danger could a cattle-herding, farm lass be in?”

  “I dinna know, but Fallon is a woman with many secrets, even from me.”

  As Leoric returned to the house, Rylan mounted his horse and started the first leg of his journey. Knowing scouts continued the search for him, he kept to the woods as much as he could. It was Rylan’s goal to ride straight through the night, only stopping when the horse needed to rest.