The Highlander’s Hellion

by Eliza Knight

  “There’s an extra plaid in the satchel as well, my laird. Looks like a storm’s coming.”

  Roderick nodded his thanks.

  “The skins are all filled with water, as ye requested, my laird.”

  The men would have liked whisky, especially with the storm coming. Tonight would be cold, and the whisky would have warmed them, but Roderick wasn’t willing to risk anyone. Not for a dram.

  Moments later, the men arrived and mounted up. Using only the hand signals they’d all become accustomed to over the years, he motioned for them to move out. It was imperative in any operation that they be able to communicate without their voices. Especially in an ambush situation, or when they had to hide from an enemy who outnumbered them.

  Though the sky was white, and the wind blew in gusts, Mother Nature was kind to them, not allowing the skies to open until they reached the first herd. Spotting his missing livestock was easy. The branding symbol of the MacCullochs—a fist holding a dart—was plain as day in every flash of lightning. The first two of their missing cattle and one sheep. Two hours later, they’d managed to wrangle five cows and four sheep, and tie them up to leading ropes.

  It would seem the men who’d gone raiding had separated out the bounty to various crofters. Easier to hide a few amongst many.

  The victory of reclaiming nearly all of the livestock lost was dampened by the certainty that the Ross clan was definitely behind the missing animals. It wasn’t as if Ina and her rabble were lacking for livestock. In fact, they appeared to have a plethora. This had been purely about offending the MacCulloch people.

  What motive could the Ross clan have for such a move? They’d done nothing to offend Ina. They minded their own business.

  Och, but why was he even asking?

  MacCulloch lands bordered Ross to the east. As small as they were, the MacCullochs were situated on fertile lands and occupied a space at the firth. Perhaps the most important part, considering it was up to them to guard the mouth and make certain no one passed that didn’t have permission. He recalled being a child and hearing his father’s stories about Ross men trying to vanquish them, laying siege on any day that ended with Y. When the Sutherlands, Murrays and Sinclairs, along with the Bruce’s support, had gone against Ross, and then his daughter and her viper of a Sassenach husband, they’d thought all their troubles would come to an end. They’d thought for certain Ina would never come back to bother them. What fools they’d been to trust her again.

  Bloody hell.

  “Ye go ahead. Take the livestock back to Gleann Mórinnse. I’m going to find someone and ask a few questions.”

  “I’ll come with ye,” Angus said.

  “Nay. I can better escape alone, and if the men run into trouble on the way back, they’ll need your help.”

  Angus looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded instead.

  “Get some rest when ye return, and first thing in the morning, come to the castle, and we’ll figure out what to do next.”

  “Are ye certain?” Angus prodded.

  “Aye. Trust me.”

  The men agreed and disappeared into the night. With their figures long since turned into shadows, Roderick took a moment to climb from his horse and rub at his sore thigh. Though the wound had healed on the outside years before, something on the inside had never felt quite right. Ballocks, but tonight it pained him something awful. And no amount of massaging seemed to help. Gritting his teeth, he hopped back up onto his horse and then picked his way back toward the first herd in search of the Ross shepherd. He found the lad dozing beneath a tree, safe from the rain. It was a sight that made Roderick amused and exceedingly angry all at once, then very suspicious. Was this a trap?

  Roderick pulled out his two broadswords and held one in each hand as he led Twilight forward using signals with his calves and heels. When he reached the snoozing shepherd, he tapped the lad on top of his head with the tip of his sword.

  The poor rascal jerked from his deep sleep with a lot of groaning and gasping, nearly poking his eye out with the tip of Roderick’s sword.

  “Calm yourself,” Roderick commanded, brows drawing downward. The lad slept as deep as any he’d ever seen, and in a storm no less. Why in the bloody hell had he been put in charge of the livestock? “I’ve not come to kill ye, lad, though your laird might if he knew ye were asleep on the job.”

  He might not have seen the lad pale if not for the flash of lightning that showed his fear. The lad’s eyes were wide and nearly black from the dark. His mouth was agape in a silent scream and tremors wracked his whole body.

  The shepherd waved his hands in front of him, as though doing so would ward off Roderick, who he seemed to think was a demon in disguise. “Wh—what do ye want?”

  The lad glanced wildly around, and then found and grasped his staff.

  Roderick tsked. “Is that any way to greet an elder? And I’d not try anything with that staff, either.”

  The lad shuffled backward on his hands and feet, trying to put distance between himself and Roderick, a feat that was crushed by the tree at his back. “Take the cattle. Take them all.”

  Roderick clenched his jaw. “Again, I’m quite certain your laird wouldna appreciate your tactics. Ye may be the worst shepherd to grace beloved Scotland.”

  “What I get paid is not worth my life.” The lad flashed him a defiant sneer.

  Roderick shrugged. That was a fair point. “I tell ye what. I’ll let ye go and not steal any of your cattle.”

  “What?” The shepherd glanced from side to side as if waiting for more demons to leap from the dark.

  “On one condition.”

  The lad nodded vehemently. “Aye, anything.”

  “Tell me, lad, what is Ina Ross up to?”

  “What?”

  Roderick clenched his jaw. He supposed he’d have to deal in more plain terms with the lad. “Why is your laird raiding other clan holdings?”

  “Oh…” The lad sounded as though he’d just discovered the earth wasn’t flat. “Well, she wants only the best for her new husband.”

  “Husband? She’s wed?” Roderick tried not to sound like that bit of news had surprised him, when the truth was, it had hit him like a boulder falling from a crag.

  “Aye. A great and powerful man.” The lad sounded enamored.

  “And who might that be?”

  He shook his head, then ran his hands over his face, swiping at the rainwater. “I canna say.”

  “Or what?” Roderick lifted his sword, letting the lad see that his weapon was still close enough to do damage. “Because if ye truly need a reason, I’ll gladly cut out your tongue right now, lad.”

  The shepherd’s gulp was so loud the rain did not drown it out.

  Roderick made a move with his sword, knowing he wouldn’t need more than a flick of his wrist to get the lad talking.

  The shepherd’s hands went up in front of his face as his tongue spilled the news. “Another great English lord, sir, Lord Ughtred.”

  Roderick had never heard of him. “What can ye tell me of this Ughtred?”

  “He is young. Half her age, I should think. And he’s chomping at the bit for land. More and more. He’s been granted a constableship in the north of England, but he believes his true claim to glory will be conquering the Highlands.”

  “And how do ye know so much?”

  The lad’s shoulders squared, his chin jutting a little with pride. “I heard him tell it.”

  “When?”

  “When he was ordering my da and some others to start raiding again.”

  Roderick pressed his lips together in thought. If Ughtred had been the one to order the raids, and the men had only done the bare minimum of stealing a few cattle and sheep, did that mean the Ross men were not completely behind their laird’s new husband? Or had they only been ordered to steal a few?

  “What does your da say?”

  The lad shook his head vehemently. “I’d rather ye cut out my tongue.”

  “Dinna
play games with me, Shepherd, for I’m not likely to be kind in turn.” Och, but the pain in his thigh was growing with the increasing rain pelting against his forehead. He still had a long ride ahead of him, and he needed the lad to open up.

  Perhaps a few breaths or more went by before the lad finally spoke. “He wasna pleased. Said he’d hoped to live out the rest of his life without warring between clans, when we were already warring with England. Please, dinna say anything. Go now. Else my da will be killed.”

  “I’ll nae be telling anyone about your da.” At least not giving his name. “And do the others think the same?”

  “I dinna know. I didna ask.”

  “Have ye a sense of it, lad?”

  “My da says I have no sense.”

  “Ye’re still alive, are ye nae?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then ye must have some sense.” Roderick rubbed his thigh and found his patience had worn extremely thin now.

  “All right.” The lad sat up a little taller. “My sense is they are nae happy. Ughtred and Laird Ross married over three years ago when she made a secret trip to the border. She’s lost at least two bairns since then, and threatened death to anyone who spilled their secret. Now all the sudden with her husband here, she’s got a thirst for land. My ma says ’tis because she doesna have any bairns to keep her busy.”

  “I reckon your ma is a smart woman.”

  The lad smiled and then jumped at a crack of thunder and a bolt of lightning.

  “Thank ye for your time, lad. And I’m certain ye know already, but in case not, dinna mention I was here.”

  “But—”

  “If ye must say anything, say I knocked ye into sleep, else ye just may get that tongue cut out, and I’d hate for that to happen.”

  The lad nodded emphatically, covering his mouth with his hand.

  Roderick retreated, heading back toward his own lands, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ina Ross was back—and this time, she had nothing to lose.

  Chapter Three

  Greer was in trouble.

  Serious trouble.

  And not the kind where she spilled strawberry jam on a light-colored gown, or accidentally knocked one of her father’s men off the currach with one of her oars.

  Nay, this time she was in serious danger of dying.

  And there did not appear to be any way out. There was no one here to help her.

  She should have listened to her father. Should have stayed inside and waited dutifully for the feast that would make her a bride. But nay. She’d succumbed to the strong desire to sail out to sea one last time—for that was what she’d presumed it would be, given her father had forbidden her from sailing until the feast where she would find herself shackled.

  What could it hurt to go for one last sail?

  Everything had been going well. She’d been on her way back to the castle, pleased that she’d decided to ignore her father’s rule. What was wrong with a little rebellion if no one got hurt?

  And then the skies had opened up. Her currach had capsized on a massive swell, dumping her headfirst into the water, her dog with her. The skies were dark, and she’d been floating in the water forever—her gown long since shed to keep the weight of it from dragging her down to the dark depths and her death. Mother Nature’s cruel jest.

  Her teeth chattered in the cold, and even with her head above water, she got no reprieve. Rain pelted against her forehead. Her limbs were frozen, aching, and the idea of going to sleep seemed very…nice.

  A muzzle bumped her face. Jewel, the large black hound she’d been given as a gift by her aunt and uncle, and who had a love of water as profound as her own, had not wanted to be left home. Now Jewel might die along with her.

  “Go,” she croaked, trying to point away from her, in hopes the hound that had more energy than she and could swim away.

  The only thing that helped her stay somewhat afloat when her muscles cramped was the single oar she’d been able to grasp as she was tossed into the water, for she didn’t want to lean her weight on Jewel. But even that didn’t help much. When she put her weight onto it fully, she felt herself sinking into the darkness. And then Jewel would push her body back into wakefulness.

  Any moment, she was likely to succumb. Whether to cold, exhaustion, or a shark. She just knew it. And there was no fantasy selkie coming to find her. No amount of praying would make that dream come true.

  A warm tongue licked her face, and Greer couldn’t hold back tears. Jewel had to be exhausted, and still she stayed beside her. Greer couldn’t let her do it any longer.

  “Oh, God, Jewel, go!” she cried, her voice breaking.

  The dog panted beside her, just as exhausted, but ever faithful.

  Not for the first time, Greer regretted disobeying her father immensely. They’d all been busy, and with the sky only marginally filled with clouds, she’d decided to take one last row. Just one. That was it. But one time was all it took for her mother’s fears to come crashing down around her. After today, if she survived, she was going to hang up her oars and only do as her father allowed.

  In the distance, she could make out lights. Whether they were from Sutherland lands or the other side of the firth, she couldn’t say. Perhaps an hour or two ago, she would have delighted in the sight of blessed lights, of civilization, but they seemed too far away now. No one could hear her shouts, and she’d not the energy to swim toward them. That bit of salvation was not remotely within reach. But maybe it was for her pet. “Go to the lights, Jewel. Go to safety.”

  She managed to lift her arm from the water, to snap and point toward where she thought there was land, and at last, her faithful hound swam away.

  If one of them were to die, better it were she, instead of the sweet and faithful friend she’d raised from puppyhood.

  And so, Greer floated, waking whenever she tried to draw breath and got a mouthful of water.

  Och, but she was so thirsty. So tired. Maybe it would be all right to slip into oblivion. To let the water take her forever.

  Lightning flashed around her, jolting her awake, and she almost wished for the shock of it to slam into her body, if only to warm her. Right about now, her entire clan would be in an uproar. Just before the evening meal, her maid would have informed Lady Arbella that Greer was not in her chamber. Her mother would have then rushed to find her father, and then the two of them would have searched and asked questions. They would have torn apart the castle. But her father, knowing better, would have gone straight to the docks, and that’s when they would have noticed she’d taken the currach.

  They would have felt the first drops of rain as soon as they readied a great birlinn to go out in search of her. But they’d go anyway. They would risk their lives for her.

  But it would all be for nothing. And not for the first time, Greer wished she could be more like her sisters, and less of a resister. If only she had listened. If only she could find it in herself to follow the rules.

  Too late for that now.

  She closed her eyes.

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  By the time Roderick returned to his own lands, the sun was starting to rise. Soon, he’d be meeting with his men to go over the rest of their plans.

  Without thinking, he rode Twilight down toward the beach, only realizing where he’d inadvertently traversed once his mount’s hooves sank into the sand. Roderick dismounted, letting his steed wander over to nibble on some of the nearby vegetation. He pulled off his boots and sank his feet into the rough sand, the coolness of the damp beach a relief from his hot boots. The rain had stopped, and the sky had only a few fleeting clouds. The pain in his leg had dissipated somewhat.

  He often came to the shore to think. There was something about the sounds of the waves lapping against the beach and the chill water against his feet that brought him clarity. He was planning on sending a messenger to the Sutherlands, but maybe it would be better if he took a birlinn across the firth to speak with
Magnus Sutherland himself.

  That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he couldn’t see it any other way. He’d been the one who’d spoken to the lad about Ina and her new husband, so sending a messenger could mean some information would be lost in the translation.

  “Ballocks,” he grumbled.

  Movement up the beach caught his attention. And then the sound of a dog barking had him focusing. A massive black dog barreled at him. He might have mistaken it for a bear, if they were not extinct in Scotland. The dog then turned around and retreated up the beach to where a shape was being rolled with the waves. Perhaps a seal. They sometimes were pushed onto shore. But this was too light in color to be a seal. Too flesh colored.

  The hound was barking and trying to find somewhere to grasp on the form with its teeth, mouthing an arm, tugging at a piece of fabric near the shoulder.

  Och, bloody hell… That looked like a body. A woman or child.

  Roderick didn’t hesitate. He ran down the shore, leaping over an oar…

  Someone had been out in that storm last night.

  But there was no boat.

  The closer he got, the more he could see, and the more his stomach plummeted. A lass. Mo chreach. Dark tendrils of hair matted with sand and seawater. Pale white skin, blue in places. A soaked-through chemise showed every line and curve of her young and lithe body. No shoes. No gown. No jewels.

  Flashes of Jessica tormented his mind, gutting him. He ran faster, ignoring the searing pain returning to his thigh. He had to get to her. To save her. Whoever she was. Was this God’s way of sending him a message? Giving him a second chance?

  Why else had he been drawn to the beach at this particular moment?

  If he believed in mysticism, he might have thought she were a mermaid come to shore. But Roderick didn’t. He believed in solid facts. This was a woman. The oar was evidence she’d been on a boat, mayhap a currach, that had capsized during the storm the night before. Were there others? He squinted behind him and ahead, but saw no other bodies lining the shore. There had to have been others with her. They must have died at sea, for how could a lass and her hound have gone out in a currach alone?