The Claiming of the Highlands

by Wacht, Peter

  “It would be a pleasure, Thomas. Fal Carrach has stood with the Highlands in the past. It will do so in the future.”

  “Then we will speak on it later, since this is supposed to be a celebration,” said Thomas, thankful for Gregory’s support and recognizing the importance of the statement the King of Fal Carrach had just made.

  Thomas turned toward Kaylie. Finally she had the courage to look at him directly, catching the sparkle in his green eyes.

  “Princess, we have run into each other several times, but we have never had the pleasure of a dance,” said Thomas with a grin, his manner disarming and welcoming. “Would you dance with me, Kaylie?”

  Her breath caught as he said her name. “Of course,” she replied, the smile that crept on to her face adding to her beauty.

  Yet before Thomas could guide Kaylie to the dance floor, Killeran blocked their path, glass of wine in hand, his large nose reddened by the many drinks he had already imbibed.

  “Impressive dancing, boy,” said Killeran rudely. “Who taught you that in the forest? The animals?”

  Killeran snickered loudly, his lame attempt at a joke seeming even funnier to him because of the drink that now impaired his senses.

  Thomas simply stared at Killeran, no expression on his face. Gregory had seen that look before on other men. Dangerous men. Men who in less than a second had come up with a dozen painful ways to kill you.

  “I see that when you work on improving your manners, you shall have to work on your sense of humor as well,” replied Thomas in a clipped tone. “For one who tries to appear so worldly, so successful, I find it quite revealing that you fail so frequently and on such a massive scale.”

  Gregory hid a laugh at Thomas’ barbed response. The Lord of Dunmoor did, indeed, have an extremely poor record of accomplishment during the last few years, helped along in large part by Thomas himself. His failed regency in the Highlands having come to an ignominious end, and less than flattering stories of what had occurred in that rugged Kingdom sticking to him like a dog to a bone, his once promising future had been cut apart piece by piece.

  Clearly Killeran did not appreciate the reminder. His face turned beet red, his anger, never far from the surface, threatening to boil over.

  “I missed several opportunities to kill you during the last few years,” replied Killeran in a quiet hiss. “Next time I shall not fail.”

  “Delude yourself all you want, Killeran.” Thomas smiled wickedly. He stepped forward so that he was no more than a nose from the Dunmoorian Lord. If anyone who knew his grandfather Rynlin Keldragan had seen his expression, they would have said Thomas was simply a younger version of the imposing Sylvan Warrior, the resemblance uncanny. “You’re not smart enough to figure out how to kill me, and you’re too much of a coward to face me yourself now that I’m no longer in chains.”

  Kaylie reminded herself to breathe, a space having opened up around Thomas and Killeran, almost everyone in the hall looking on with interest, captured by the growing tension. Gregory stood there silently, understanding that Thomas purposely goaded Killeran, and understanding the result if Killeran foolishly drew his dagger. Though he knew he should not, he was actually quite enjoying the drama.

  “I’m surprised you’re still alive, Killeran,” continued Thomas. “Last time I saw you, my Marchers had crushed your reivers and you were running with your tail between your legs. You didn’t have the courage to stand and fight. I would have thought that after your failure in the Highlands, Rodric would have gotten rid of you by now. Or if not Rodric, the master you and he truly serve.”

  Thomas’ final comment gave the King of Fal Carrach pause, his mind moving down a path that worried him. But he acknowledged that he could not ignore the insinuation, hearing the truth in Thomas’ words. Nevertheless, worrisome though it might be, that was a matter for another day as there was nothing to be done about it now.

  Gregory didn’t doubt that Thomas could kill Killeran if given the chance. Glancing over his shoulder, the King of Fal Carrach saw that the Marchers had moved to the edge of the crowd now, appearing to watch the conflict of words casually, but he could tell that they were ready and willing to jump into the fray in an instant. In fact, their intense, hungry looks suggested that they would welcome the opportunity to have a private word with the former regent of the Highlands themselves, away from prying eyes, about all the pain and misery he had wrought in their homeland.

  Thomas obviously would welcome the chance as well. Standing there apparently at ease, he looked more like a mountain cat ready to spring on his prey. Remembering how well Thomas handled a bow, Gregory reminded himself that this was a very dangerous young man indeed.

  Glimpsing the movement at the back of the crowd, Killeran’s instinct for survival finally forced its way through the haze of wine that had clouded his judgment. He realized that he had placed himself in a precarious position. Forcing down his anger and embarrassment, he sought to extricate himself from the situation he had unwittingly created. To that end, he adopted a pleasant tone and smiled condescendingly.

  “Perhaps another time, boy. Tonight’s feast is a time for a different type of conquest.” He turned to Kaylie, who was taken aback by the Dunmoorian Lord’s leer. “Princess, would you care to dance?”

  Kaylie replied immediately, barely able to keep the scorn from her voice. “I already have a commitment.”

  She reached for Thomas’ hand and began walking toward the dance floor, bringing Thomas with her as she sought to end the confrontation. But Killeran, his mind still muddled by wine, stupidly grabbed Thomas’ shoulder.

  “I’m sure the young lord would not mind yielding to his betters and allow me the privilege,” said Killeran smoothly.

  The condescension on Killeran’s face did a poor job of hiding the anger that struggled to break through. Yet when the Dunmoorian Lord saw Thomas’ expression he concluded in a moment of clarity that he had misjudged the situation badly.

  Thomas’ hard stare and intense, green eyes sent a shiver down Killeran’s spine. The look reminded him of his first encounter with the boy. Then the boy appeared to be no more than a ragged Highlander who was trying to free his people from Killeran’s encampment after his warlocks had taken their village. They had dueled, and Thomas had quickly gotten his steel to Killeran’s neck. What he had initially laughed off as luck, Killeran now realized was skill, a skill that he did not have. To fight this boy would mean his death, and a quick one at that.

  For the first time he also noticed that the Marchers watched their exchange with great interest, seemingly at ease among the crowd that had gathered around them. But they stood ready to defend their lord. In fact, the ferocity of their gazes, the way they balanced on their toes ready to rush to the aid of their lord, indicated that they would be pleased to become enmeshed in the spectacle Killeran foolishly had initiated.

  “Lord Killeran, we have known each other for a long time, yet each time we meet your timing is always a bit off,” said Thomas. “You are right, though. I would, of course, yield this dance to my better. However, since I do not include you in that category, I will have to refuse.”

  Thomas shook off Killeran’s hand and calmly walked to the dance floor with Kaylie. Most of the people who had sidled closer to watch the drama had gone silent, listening to the conversation. Several now chuckled at how this new Lord Thomas had so easily made a fool of the arrogant Killeran.

  The laughter almost put Killeran over the edge, his hand moving to the hilt of his dagger. Gregory stepped next to Killeran and placed a large hand over Killeran’s, not allowing him to draw the weapon.

  “I wouldn’t, Killeran. I don’t doubt that if you went after the Highland Lord, it is the last thing that you would do. Granted, that wouldn’t bother me in the least. But Thomas will have to kill you another time. You’ll just have to wait a little longer and have faith that when you die the last face you will see will be that of the Highland Lord.” Gregory stepped back, releasing his hold on Kille
ran. “Then again, who am I to tell you what to do. It’s your funeral.”

  Killeran seemed to come to his senses then, glancing around and noticing that now not only did the Marchers surround him, but also several Fal Carrachian soldiers. Their faces were grim, focused, ready to take the next step if necessary, all obviously hoping to do so, the rules of the Council be damned.

  Coban stepped forward, his expression murderous. “Lord Thomas isn’t the only one with a claim on you, Killeran. If the Highland Lord doesn’t get you, you can expect a Marcher to come calling sometime soon. Very soon. A Highlander always pays his debts, and we owe you quite a lot.”

  Killeran’s face turned white. Dropping his hand and muttering curses, he stalked from the hall, pushing his way through the crowd and not caring who stood before him.

  “A dangerous snake,” said Coban, who came to stand next to Gregory.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “There is only one way to deal with a dangerous snake, my lord.”

  Gregory turned toward him, remembering Coban from his visits to the Crag.

  “You’re right. There is only one way. You take the head. The difficult part is making sure it’s done at the right time.”

  Coban looked at Gregory for a moment, a predatory smile splitting his face.

  “Lord Talyn always remarked on the wisdom of Gregory, King of Fal Carrach. I see that like his aim with a bow, his opinion of others never missed the mark.”

  Slapping Gregory on the back, Coban followed the Highlanders as they slipped away through the crowd.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Point Taken

  When the music began, an awkwardness settled over Thomas and Kaylie, neither looking at the other. Thomas didn’t know what to say; Kaylie didn’t have the courage to say what she wanted to say. After taking a few turns around the dance floor, Kaylie at long last discovered the fortitude she needed.

  “Thomas, I’m sorry. I really am. You probably hate me, but I don’t know what happened in Tinnakilly. It’s as if the time when you were taken was wiped from my memory. I never intended for you …”

  “Kaylie, enough.” She looked at him with some consternation, surprised by his smile rather than the scowl she had expected. “You’ve apologized once before, and once is all that’s required.”

  “But I …”

  “Kaylie, truly, there’s no more need to apologize. What’s done is done. Clearly there was more going on than either of us suspected. Let’s speak of other things.”

  True, Thomas didn’t want to rehash what had been an extremely painful experience for them both. But the more he thought about it, and the more Kaylie tried to explain, the more he felt certain that his grandmother was correct. Chertney had been in Tinnakilly at the time, as evidenced by his efforts to break Thomas mentally after his capture. He could very easily have used his Dark Magic against Kaylie as well, making her an unwitting pawn in Ragin’s scheme. Thomas simply added that experience to the debt he owed the silk-clad servant of the Shadow Lord but knowing as well that he’d have to wait for a time before he could collect on it. Of course, the confrontation with Chertney and his dark creatures on the way to Eamhain Mhacha was a good start in that direction.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. It’s just that I feel that I failed you badly and…”

  Thomas cut her off, wanting to move on to a different subject. “So, Kael Bellilil tells me that you’re well on your way to becoming Fal Carrach’s Swordmaster. Do they even allow royalty to do that?”

  “And why not?” replied Kaylie, thankful for the change in topic. “Who’s to say what a princess can or can’t do?”

  “Point taken,” grinned Thomas. “What’s your preferred weapon?”

  “The rapier,” she replied with some pride.

  “A good choice. Kael said you were exceedingly quick with a blade. The rapier’s lightness would play to that.”

  “Perhaps after the Council you’d join me in the training circle,” said Kaylie with a glint in her eye. “We could find out which one of us is quicker with a blade.”

  Thomas chuckled, enjoying Kaylie’s bravado.

  “An appealing challenge,” Thomas agreed amiably. “I’d welcome the chance.”

  For a time, silence settled over them. But unlike the oppressiveness of when they first started dancing, it instead felt comfortable. Shifting her gaze from the people around them, Kaylie peeked at Thomas again, realizing that he had been staring at her. Uncertain but pleased, she sought to restart the conversation.

  “Do you know a woman named Rya?”

  “Indeed, I do,” Thomas replied. “Tough but fair, very demanding. Always thinks she’s right.”

  “How do you know her? Did she teach you how to use the Talent?”

  “And how is your training going in the Talent?” asked Thomas, ignoring her questions. “Your father knows?”

  “He does,” replied Kaylie. “I think it’s going well, at least based on what Rya says.”

  “How did you come to have Rya as your instructor?”

  Over the next several minutes, Kaylie explained all that had happened in Ballinasloe, starting with the assassination attempt on her father, Kaylie’s role in thwarting it thanks to Rya’s help and guidance, the exposure of the Dinnegans as traitors, and finally finishing with some of what she had learned during her last few lessons.

  “You’re rebuilding the Crag,” Kaylie said.

  Thomas gazed at her closely. “You’ve been searching the Highlands.”

  “Yes,” replied Kaylie gleefully. “How did you know?”

  “A few weeks ago at the Crag I sensed a presence that brought you to mind. Now I know why.”

  “So, the next time I search out the Crag, you’ll know it’s me?”

  “Yes, everyone’s unique presence has a different feel. Now that I know yours, I’ll know it’s you.”

  “Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “Of course, if Rya doesn’t teach you before me.”

  “You know, you never answered my questions. How do you know Rya? Was she your instructor in the Talent?”

  “She was,” Thomas replied. “One among several, in fact. I’m assuming she’s as difficult and obstinate as always?”

  “Yes, she is,” Kaylie laughed, not realizing that Thomas continued to hold something back. “When she sets a task for you, she won’t let it go until you’ve completed it.”

  The conversation continued as they glided across the dance floor, touching on various topics. As one dance blended into another Kaylie came to realize that she did most of the talking. Thomas kept up a constant stream of questions and didn’t offer much in return. A part of him remained closed to her. The last time they had been together he had been much more open. Kaylie was disappointed, but she understood why. She was simply relieved that Thomas had forgiven her. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off her chest, and she hoped that with time the connection she had experienced with Thomas before would return.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Deeper Meaning

  Gregory watched Kaylie dance with Thomas, a small smile escaping. Many young men had sought his daughter’s favor. Most, such as Ragin Tessaril and Maddan Dinnegan, because they saw her as an avenue toward greater power or wealth. The fact that she was a beautiful, accomplished, intelligent young woman didn’t register with them.

  But Thomas was different. He seemed to like her for her and didn’t care that she was his daughter. That pleased him quite a bit, and it clearly pleased Kaylie. And seeing how the new Highland Lord handled himself, here at the Council and previously atop the hillock with a bow in his hand, delighted him even more. There was a hardness to the boy, one that was necessary and would likely serve him well for what was to come, but also humility and kindness. Comprehending everything that Thomas had gone through and what the young man had become, he looked forward to working with him as Lord of the Highlands.

  “Would you care to dance, King Gregory?”

  Focused on oth
er things, the question caught Gregory off guard, and he was barely able to keep himself from jumping. Turning his head, the beautiful Sarelle Makarin stood so close to him that he could feel her breath on his ear. She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. The Queen of Benewyn in her clinging silk gown definitely had caught the attention of the King of Fal Carrach.

  “Thank you for the offer, my lady. But I’m not a very good dancer.”

  “Neither am I,” replied Sarelle, reaching for his hand and pulling him from the crowd. “So, we should be perfect for each other.”

  Gregory wondered if there was a deeper meaning to what Sarelle had just said. Nevertheless, he couldn’t find fault in her logic. Besides, the chance to get a little closer to the Queen of Benewyn appealed to him. He liked the feel of her hand in his own.

  As the dance began, Sarelle leaned tightly against Gregory. He learned quickly that Sarelle had lied. She was a much better dancer than he was. Put him on a battlefield, and he could demonstrate the grace of a warrior. Put him on a dance floor, and he had two left feet. But for some reason, he didn’t care. He was having too much fun and was thrilled to have Sarelle in his arms.

  “Kaylie seems to have taken quite a liking to the young Highland Lord,” said Sarelle, her eyes tracking the couple as they danced not too far away.

  “She has.”

  “Do you hope her interest is returned?”

  Gregory didn’t need any time to think of how to respond. “I do. There’s something about the boy that appeals to me, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “I had the same feeling,” replied Sarelle. “It seems that Thomas isn’t here for himself. He’s here for his people, putting their interests above his own.”

  Gregory nodded in agreement, realizing that Sarelle had put into words what he had been thinking.

  “The mark of a good ruler.”