Highlander’s Phantom Lass: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Ann Marie Scott

  Will knew he was right. He didn’t like surprises, nor did he fare well when they did spring up on him. The last thing he wished to do was to put his clan and his laird in danger.

  “Och,” Trevor said after a moment, peering at the next caravan that was coming in. “Those are Garia’s colors.”

  Will followed Trevor’s gaze and saw the familiar tartan of Clan McLeish. While Will couldn’t keep them all straight in his mind, he could at least pick out this one. He had seen Garia wear her former clan’s colors from time to time.

  “Her da is coming,” Trevor said after a moment. “I dinnae know who is participating in the games for them.”

  Clapping him on the back, Will grinned. “Perhaps ye should.”

  Trevor snorted. “As much as I love mah wife, I dinnae think I want tae show off for anyone other than the McDougal clan.”

  “I think ye are tae soft in the gut tae participate,” Will laughed, feeling the ease of the tension in his shoulders. Maybe he was overreacting on a notion that something was going to happen. So far, nothing had come to light.

  But it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

  Trevor left after a few moments, and Will made his rounds with his warriors, listening to their concerns and gathering the information to take back to Cameron, who was still in the keep and would remain there until the evening activities commenced. Will found him seated before the large fire, a glass of Scot’s whiskey in his hand and a dour look on his face.

  “She’s going tae make me wear a kilt,” he grumbled as Will joined him. “I dinnae want tae wear mah kilt. I want tae wear mah breeks.”

  “Then tell her,” Will shrugged, settling into the chair.

  Cameron burst into laughter. “I can tell ye are not wed, William. One doesnae tell a wife wot they aren’t going tae do.”

  It sounded like a prison, but both Cameron and Trevor seemed to be happy in that prison they had created for themselves.

  “Then ye will be wearing the kilt.”

  Cameron snorted. “Aye, I will. Why do ye think I’m sitting here? Katherine removed me from our bedchambers tae get ready.” He sighed. “Tell me what things are looking like.”

  Will did as he was asked, explaining how he had already made contact with each clan and each second-in-command.

  “Aye, sounds like ye have it all in hand,” Cameron commented after Will was finished. “I never doubted ye couldnae do it.”

  While Will didn’t show it outwardly, he was happy that he had pleased his laird. He had worked so hard to ensure everything was in order, and the fruits of his labor were coming to fruition.

  “I tell ye,” Cameron said after a moment, lifting his glass. “As much as I love mah wife, I do miss being in yer position, Will.”

  Will grinned. “Dinnae say that aloud. She will flay ye!”

  Cameron shared in Will’s grin with one of his own. “I know, and I wouldnae trade mah Katherine for anything on this earth. One day ye will know how it feels, tae care for someone so much it hurts sometimes.”

  Will stood, itching to get out of this conversation. “I will be back tae fetch ye later.”

  “Take yer time. I’m in no hurry.”

  Will just shook his head as he left the keep and went to the barracks first, wanting to arm himself with another dagger just in case. He found the barracks empty and took a moment to take a breath, feeling the pull of exhaustion from the little sleep he got over the past few days. It would all be worth it if the games got through the next few days without any concerns.

  Finding the dagger, Will strapped it to his breeks, grinning as he thought about what Cameron had stated about having to wear a kilt. Will too had a ceremonial kilt that he had not put on in years, much preferring the comfort of his breeks instead of having to worry about the wind blowing up his arse.

  Maybe he would tease Cameron about that later.

  He stepped out into the sparring grounds and looked around, finding the entire compound empty. He would spend his time at the games, sleeping in a small tent that had been placed there for the warriors. But Will doubted he would get much sleep.

  Sighing, Will strode out of the grounds and toward his waiting horse. He had given himself a moment, but it was time to get back to protecting his clan.

  8

  Her father had arrived.

  Breta watched from under her hood as he greeted his second-in-command, having arrived shortly after they had set up his tent. He looked resplendent in his regal tunic and kilt, with his ceremonial sword hanging from his belt. He no longer went into battle, choosing for his warriors to protect their clan more so than he did these days.

  Which was why he had ridden in with six of their warriors.

  Her chest ached as she watched him, suddenly realizing that she missed her family something fierce while on this journey to prove herself. She missed Ferra, her mother, and even some of the servants that always had a kind smile for her.

  She missed her bed, her clothing, taking a warm bath at the end of each day.

  Breta would kill a Scot for a good bath right now.

  With a huff, Breta turned away from the scene and looked around the campsite, marveling at the various clans that were in attendance. She could see banners of all colors flying high and hear the ribald laughter that was drifting out of the tents and from the men that were gathering around the fires already lit. There were a few women in attendance as well as a few bairns weaving in and out of the tents, chasing each other with wooden swords.

  It reminded her of her sisters and how they used to do the same thing when they were younger, before their father cared about the fact that they were lasses.

  Not that he ever truly treated them differently, which was one of the reasons Breta felt confident in her ability to compete in these games.

  “Och, lad! Give us a hand, will ye?”

  Breta turned to find the men unloading the wagon that had come with her father’s group, knowing it likely contained some of the things from the keep that would make his tent into more of a comfortable abode.

  She also imagined his barrels of whiskey and ale were in there as well.

  Walking over to the wagon, she joined the line of warriors that were unloading, careful to keep her face turned away from her father as he walked in and out of the tent. If he were to catch her now, Breta knew that she would be forced to return home. Without her mother here, he would not feel as if she were safe enough amongst the other clans and would likely make her have an escort home, leaving him less protected.

  That and the warriors would know she had betrayed them by listening to their jokes and masquerading as a warrior she was not even close to being.

  That was not what she needed to happen!

  So Breta didn’t complain, ignoring the jokes around her as she attempted to lift some of the heavier items, and only when the wagon was empty did she let out a small sigh of relief.

  “Laird McLeish, welcome to McDougal land.”

  Breta heard the thick Scottish burr address her father and she couldn’t help but take a peek, finding a tall Scot wearing McDougal colors standing next to her father. He was impossibly tall, with dark red hair that was shorn close to his head and a neatly trimmed beard that covered the lower half of his face. She was too far away to see his eyes or hear his discussion with her father, as the camp next to them decided it was a good time to hammer in the spikes that would hold the tent in the ground.

  Whatever he was saying to the laird, Breta’s father was enjoying the conversation, and neither were looking in her direction.

  She turned and strode away from the campsite, picking her way carefully through the throng of people that were at various sites dotting the pasture, until she came upon the edge of the pasture. There, she could see warriors from the McDougal clan set up around the perimeter, their ever-watching eyes ensuring that no one stepped away from the campsite.

  Interesting. Perhaps the laird had decided that their village would be in some sort of danger from the incom
ing clans. It wasn’t a far-fetched thought. Though this gathering was meant to unite the clans with a time of competition, it didn’t mean that they all got along. Breta could tick off with her fingers the clans that detested each other, which she had spied were situated on opposite ends of the pasture. At any point, some clan could be disrespected and wish to settle it with a battle.

  That would end in nothing but bloodshed.

  But the McDougals were clearly worried about the drunken Scots making their way to the village as well. She watched from her position as a wagon lumbered up to the pasture, full of scantily clad women who were eager to greet the warrior who stopped them.

  When he waved them through, Breta realized that the clan was bringing the distraction to the warriors and their lairds, instead of them being tempted to visit the tavern.

  The wind rustled her cloak, and she grabbed her hood before it could fly back off her head, holding onto it until the gust passed. From her vantage point, she could see the keep in the distance, an imposing structure that had, from what she knew, many secrets in its walls. It hadn’t been until Katherine McDougal had taken the title of laird that the clan started to recover from their former cruel laird. The McDougal clan had been one that all the other clans saw as a threat, though it was clear that era was over, and now they were attempting to make amends for their past.

  The village also looked alive and well, with smoke curling out of the huts below and the faintest sound of animals catching in the breeze. Garia often wrote Breta and their mother about how happy she had found the McDougal village to be and how fair Katherine ruled the clan, which piqued Breta’s interest even more.

  She could be a laird one day herself, though she was uncertain if she truly wished to be. A laird had a great deal of responsibilities and, though her father would likely never admit it, too many duties to his clan and to the country of Scotland. Breta had attended some of his weekly councils, thinking at first that it would be of benefit.

  She fell asleep far more than she cared to admit and now he didn’t allow her to attend at all for fear she would fall out of her chair again and scare the entire clan by doing so.

  Truly, it had only been one instance, and the reports had been exceedingly dull.

  No, she would not want to have that responsibility.

  But as Breta looked out over the keep and village below, she wondered if Katherine took a measure of pride over what she had accomplished as a lass ruling over a clan. That was the reason that Breta was there: to show her father and the rest of the clans that she could do something more than just be a laird’s daughter.

  She wanted to show them that she was capable of winning these games, and that her skills went far beyond tapestry work and running a household. If she was meant to wed in the next few months, this perhaps was her only opportunity to do so. It was likely that her future husband wouldn’t be so accommodating.

  A sigh escaped her. She would have to wed eventually. Breta wanted what her sister had found in Trevor. She wanted a home, even bairns to fill her heart with laughter and love.

  She wanted all those things. She just wasn’t so certain she was ready.

  Turning away from the charming scene before her, Breta picked her way back through the people, jostling around as she attempted to do so.

  Her foot caught one of the ropes from the tents that were staked into the ground. She let out a cry as she pitched forward, the ground rushing up to her.

  Breta never touched the ground. Instead, she was hauled upright against a very strong body, her face crushing against a broad chest that smelled like sandalwood.

  “Are ye alright?”

  That voice. She had heard that voice before. Breta looked up without thinking and found herself looking into the face of the Scot that had been talking to her father earlier.

  His eyes were green, like the pasture they were setting up in, framed by perhaps the longest lashes she had seen on a man in a long time.

  “Wot?” she asked blankly.

  “Are ye alright?” he asked again, not moving to release her. “Ye almost had a mouthful of dirt, lass.”

  Breta snapped out of her thoughts and pushed at his chest until he released her, tugging frantically at the edge of her cloak to cover her head once more. “Aye, I’m fine,” she stated, her voice raspy like before.

  She wasn’t fine, not by a long shot! Now that he had seen her face, it wouldn’t take long for him to note the cloak she was wearing. Or what clan she belonged to.

  Oh, this cannae be happening so soon! I havenae even participated in the first game!

  “Wait,” he started, but Breta was already weaving through the crowd, attempting to lose him amongst the Scots. She couldn’t let him see her panic, but worse than that, he had seen her face. And it had been clear earlier that he was far more than just a warrior if he had approached her father like he did.

  Breta dodged behind a tent, her heart pounding in her ears as she monitored the small opening between the two closely-set tents. When he walked past, she let out a breath, but knowing that he knew her secret.

  It didn’t mean he knew who she was, though. If he were to ask the warriors from her father’s clan, they would likely not know who he was talking about anyway, which would buy her some time until the first game.

  She had to stay out of his path until then.

  Breta slipped to the ground, cursing herself for not thinking this through better. It had nearly been ruined right then and there!

  But as she thought about the warrior, she couldn’t help but also think about his body pressed up against hers, his strong arms wrapped around her for the briefest of moments. Breta didn’t know who he was, but he was quite the handsome Scot as she pictured his features in her mind.

  Now he was a dangerous Scot for seeing who she really was under her cloak.

  Sighing, she picked up a small rock and threw it, letting it bounce over the dirt. She had come all this way, and there was not going to be anything that would stand in her way of achieving the games.

  Not even a tall, handsome Scot that would call her out the next time he saw her.

  Well, perhaps it was time to change her appearance somewhat. She could rid herself of her warrior cloak and take more of a simple garb approach as long as she stayed out of her father’s way too.

  The thought wasn’t half bad, and Breta smiled as she pushed herself out of the dirt. That would be exactly what she did to avoid both parties, and if this mysterious warrior should happen upon her again, he wouldn’t be able to put her with the McLeish clan, which in turn wouldn’t alert her father to the fact that his daughter had disobeyed him and now was in the thick of it all.

  9

  Will walked behind Katherine and Cameron as they made their way up to the small dais. Night had already settled on the land, but in the camp, it was almost like daylight. Fires of all sizes burned to chase away the cold and the darkness, some with Scots gathered around to feel its warmth.

  It was a way for the clans to speak to one another without the pretense of battle looming over their heads. Part of what Cameron had hoped that would happen would be some of the alliance discussions growing stronger amongst the clans that had been at war for years.

  The ale that Will had hidden for Cameron was now out, and mugs were being passed frequently brimming with the hearty drink, which was only going to cause trouble later on. Will was almost sure of it.

  But right now, it seemed that everyone was willing to stay out of trouble.

  Cameron helped Katherine up to the platform, and the entire camp quieted as they saw their hosts begging an audience.

  “Friends,” Cameron started out, gazing about the crowd. Will knew that the former warrior didn’t wish to be a laird or a ruler, but at this moment, Will saw both in him. “It has been a long time since Scots have come together tae show off their talents like this. We welcome all of ye tae our humble land.”

  “And we hope that ye will find it a time tae put our swords aside for the g
reater good of our country,” Katherine added, picking up right where Cameron left off. It was clear to Will that she was excited about the gathering, her face wreathed with a smile that stretched over her entire face. Whereas her husband enjoyed letting her have the moment in time, Katherine still reached for his hand, tucking it in hers. To everyone else, it was a simple gesture, but to Will, he knew the significance of it. He had seen it many times before in the couple. “Everything we have is at yer disposal this week, and I hope that ye feel nothing but the ale warming yer belly this evening!”

  The chorus of ayes followed her speech, and it took a while to get them settled back down, the stomping nearly causing the ground to rattle underneath their feet. “And now,” Cameron stated, “send yer participates forth so that we may greet them as well.”

  Will watched as some of the group started to step forward, Scots of all shapes and sizes standing proudly. Some were easy to recognize, especially those that were wearing their clan’s colors, but others not so easily.

  It was of no matter. Katherine had said that anyone who wanted to participate could, even if they had no clan to associate with. Cameron had balked at the idea initially, but it was rare that he went against his wife to begin with, so when the missive was sent to the clans, it didn’t specify how many people could participate.

  His eyes flickered over the crowd, and Will found one participant in particular that he had wondered was going to be part of the games. The lad was of slight build, and the way he was clutching his cloak made it very obvious to Will that he was hiding something.

  Well, it wasn’t a he at all. It was a she, and she was masquerading as a lad. When Will had caught her from falling earlier, he was surprised to see how fine her features were, the soft body that was wrapped up in the cloak far too big for the likes of her.

  She had looked horrified that he had seen her face, and before he could stop her, she had disappeared into the crowd.

  Despite everything he had to do today, he had spent the remainder of the afternoon looking out for her as he walked through the crowds of Scots that had gathered. The tents had all finally been erected, and now the clans were reveling in the free-flowing ale and the whiskey that was being passed around.