Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance

by Kenna Kendrick

  Lord Jessup waved the tavern owner off before turning around. He leaned his back against the bar, scanning every one of the patrons in the tavern with a scrutinous expression. “A rather filthy lot,” he said. “Savages of the highest sort…”

  Lord Jessup starting walking through the tavern, folding his hands behind his back as he looked from one Highlander to the next. They all shuddered in fear, averting their eyes and not wanting to provoke the knight.

  Lord Jessup drew a breath, squinting as he looked around the tavern. “I am not here,” he said, “by happenstance. I am here to address a recent indiscretion that was committed in these lands. A knight was slain. Granted, this has happened before, but this particular knight was a man who was close with the King. Our King. He was murdered in a savage and desperate act, and we have been dispensed to discover the identity of the killer, or killers, and bring them swiftly to justice…”

  Sean and Rose exchanged a subtle glance, the two of them clenching their fists and doing their best to not indicate anything. Sean shook his head at Rose, letting her know all was well and to not give Lord Jessup an inch.

  Lord Jessup hung his head. “I know all of you,” he said, addressing everyone in the room as he turned in a circle, “are loyal to one another. You are like dogs in that way. But this silence will not be tolerated.” There was a bite in his tone, his cordial demeanor feigning. “I need to know if any of you possess knowledge of who murdered the King’s nephew, otherwise you will all be tried as traitors and punished accordingly.”

  No one said a word. The entirety of the room felt like it was holding their breath. At their table, Rose and Sean remained vigilant, never showing any signs of emotion as Lord Jessup began to turn a shade of red.

  Lord Jessup approached the tavern owner, crooking a finger in his direction. “You,” he said. “What is your name?”

  The tavern owner cleared his throat. “W-William,” he stammered. “Me name is William.”

  “William,” Lord Jessup said with a crooked smile. “How would you feel if your entire establishment was burned to the ground because your patrons remain loyal to a pack of murderous thieves who broke the law?”

  William the tavern owner’s mouth was open, but no words escaped. He held up his hands in submission—and then Lord Jessup grabbed him by the collar and pulled him halfway over the counter.

  “Talk to me, you treacherous slime,” Lord Jessup seethed. “What do you know? The knight that survived said a woman was leading them.”

  Sean looked at Rose, seeing her shudder, clearly worried that the moment of truth was now upon her.

  William shook his head. “I know of not a thing!”

  “Lies! You speak nothing but lies to me. Someone here knows of what happen to the slain knight, and I will start slitting throats if no one answers me!”

  Sean was seething, his distrust of the English getting the better of him. Enough, he thought as he stood up; his chest puffed as he made it a point to clear his throat.

  Lord Jessup picked up on this, feeling the eyes staring at him and slowly turning his head and squinting as he stared fire in Sean’s direction. “You have something to say, Highlander?” he said with a hiss.

  Sean took a step forward. “No one here knows of what ye are talking aboot.”

  “We’ll soon know, won’t we?”

  “By murdering everyone in this tavern?”

  “If need be. Mainly the women. I was told a woman was the one who lead these group of savages.”

  Sean felt his heart skip a beat. He pondered quickly if Lord Jessup knew that Rose was there, knew exactly where she was seated and just toying with the two of them simply because he could. No, he thought. Just pretend as if ye really do not know…

  “What does she look like?” Sean

  Rose closed her eyes, turning her head slightly to hide her appearance—the knight by the door taking note of this and looking at her curiously.

  “My knight died of a wound he sustained,” Lord Jessup said, “before he could give a description of this devlish woman, unfortunately. He only gave a name: Rose MacGillis. Who that is, I do not know. But That is why I am here. I am here to find this woman, and the ones that were with her.”

  Sean spotted Rose creeping her hand toward her weapon, clearly as worried as she was that something was about to happen. He offered up a subtle shake of the head, warning her off and seeing her retreat her hand from her bag.

  Lord Jessup swiveled his gaze around the room. “Do any of you know of this Rose MacGillis? Any of you?”

  Sean sighed. “Ye are in the wrong place, Englishman. No fool would kill a knight and stay around to talk about it.”

  “I will find them. I’ll take every woman in this bar into my possession for questioning, if necessary.”

  “Quite a few women in this establishment. That might be difficult between ye and yer companion to accomplish.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  Sean pouted his lips. “Sounds like a fool’s errand to me…”

  Lord Jessup released William, pushing his away as he turned and faced Sean. His face morphed into a scowl, like a rabid dog seething at a trespasser. “What did you say to me?”

  Sean shrugged. “I think ye heard me,” he replied.

  Lord Jessup pointed. “Watch yer tone, Highlander.”

  “Ye sound drunk. Ye come walking into this establishment with a belly full of liquor and make accusations. Honestly, Do ye really think that the men who killed yer man would be foolish enough to linger into a town not far from the scene and share drinks over the matter?”

  Rose twitched, the truth hitting her and making her feel anxious.

  Lord Jessup motioned to the others in the tavern. “Perhaps they might have,” he said. “You filthy Highlander rats do many things that do not abide by logic. You band together like animals and commit nothing but acts of savagery.”

  Sean smirked. “Ye seem privy to throwing the word ‘savage’ around with this lot. Perhaps it’s not a bit of a reflection of yer own nature.”

  Lord Jessup stepped forward, his hands on his hips as he looked inquisitively at Sean. “Who are you, Highlander? Are you one of them?”

  Sean inched his hand toward the grip of his sword. “One of who?” he replied.

  “The Scots,” Lord Jessup said. “The knight that survived the attack is one of my men. He says that he was attack by the rogue group of bandits known as the ‘Scots.’ They wear masks. No one knows who they are…” He came closer to Sean, standing just three feet away from him. “But I’m starting to think that you are someone who is capable of leading them.”

  Sean debating pull his sword, his gaze alternating between the knight lingering near the entrance and Lord Jessup. “I am just an ordinary man,” he said. “Not a thing more.”

  Lord Jessup shook his head. “That’s not good enough. And I have it on the King’s authority to bring anyone in I sit fit for…questioning.”

  Sean breathed in deep through his nostrils, mustering his courage, ready to defend himself. “No one is going anywhere with ye, me friend. Ye wandered into the wrong tavern. Ye have picked a fight with the wrong people.”

  Behind Sean, Rose felt the foreboding sense of an incoming assault. Her hand drifted toward her bag, ready to unsheathe her weapon and join in a fight if need be.

  Lord Jessup’s eyes looked black as he squinted at Sean, his fury welling up inside of him and on the cusp of breaking through the floodgate holding it all in. “You have instigated me for the last time, Highlander…You’re coming with me. And you have no choice in—”

  Before Lord Jessup could finish, one of the Highlanders with long hair and a set of hazel eyes rushed up behind Lord Jessup and placed the tip of his dagger into the small of his back. “I think we have heard just aboot enough, aye?”

  The knight escorting Lord Jessup walked in briskly, reach for the grip of his sword—but he was stopped short when Rose produced her blade, whisked it around, and pressed the edge agai
nst the skin of his neck. The knight froze, the edge of the blade so sharp that the sounds of the metal scraping against it were audible.

  Sean shrugged, looking at Lord Jessup with a pair of unblinking eyes coated with lethal intention. “See what I mean?”

  Lord Jessup gritted his teeth, his hands held by his side in surrender. “You have made a huge mistake, Highlander. I will report this. Believe me—you will feel the wrath from the repercussions.” He glanced around with his eyes at the other patrons. “All of you will.”

  Rose, still holding her sword level against the other knight’s throat, nodded over her shoulder to the door. “I think it’s time ye left,” she said. “Both of ye.”

  Lord Jessup took a moment, trying his best to not give into defeat—but after a few more seconds of stale air, he did, nodding his contrition as he held his hands up higher. Rose and the Highlander holding Lord Jessup at knife point stepped away, allowing Lord Jessup and the knight to exit the tavern.

  Lord Jessup reached the door, his companion fetching their horses out front. Then he turned around, taking one last look at the collective of Highlanders in the tavern before saying: “Your time draws near, you scum. Marks my words…” And with that—he left, mounting his horse and riding off fast and hard back to his English stronghold.

  Rose and Sean sighed, Rose sheathing her weapon as Sean thanked the Highlander who had come to his aid.

  “See what I mean?” Rose said.

  Sean approached her. “What Do ye know?”

  “Ye attract plenty of trouble on yer own…” She turned and left, Sean taking a beat before following after her.

  Rose headed toward the stable area where the Scots had left their horses upon their arrival in the village. Night had fallen, and the ground was covered with a bright blanket of silver moonlight.

  Rose was moving swiftly toward the stables. She was wasting no time, moving in quick strides and forcing Sean to jog next to her to keep up.

  Rose cast a quizzical glance at Sean. “Do ye plan on telling me yer name?”

  Sean shook his head. “No.”

  “Good. Then let’s keep this to services rendered.”

  “Fine by me.”

  The tension between the two was thick as they walked to the stables—but they couldn’t help from stealing the occasional glance, both of them squaring off like a pair of tigers in the wild—testing one another. Curiously drawn to one another.

  They entered the stables, Kelly, Brandon, and the other Scots walking out with their horses beside them, their equipment and supplies stored on their saddles.

  Brandon eyed Sean with a pensive scowl in his face. “So,” he said, “yer the one they call the Wanderer.”

  Sean sighed. “I’m here to provide ye with directions to a remote area of the Highlands. Not a thing more.”

  “I have heard the stories aboot ye. Some good. Must of them bad.”

  “That is not me concern.”

  Brandon closed the gap between him and Sean. “Not. It is mine. I don’t trust ye, Wanderer. Yer the filthiest sort the Highlands has to offer.”

  Rose put her hand on Brandon’s bulging forearm and squeezed. “That’s enough, Brandon. I will not have any of this kind of conflict brewing while we are on our journey.”

  Kelly, mounting her horse, said: “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll find out when we get there,” Sean said.

  Under his breath, Brandon muttered: “Unless he stabs us in the back first…”

  Rose leered at Brandon. “Enough.”

  Brandon mounted his horse, clenching his jaw to make sure no other words evacuated from his mouth.

  Sean, fetching his horse from one of the stables, began securing his saddle. “We are riding east,” he said to the Scots. “It will be a five to six-day ride. We will have to stop for provisions at some point. Keep that in mind.”

  “What was going on?” Kelly said, pointing to the tavern. “We thought we saw a pair of redcoats enter.”

  Rose nodded. Sighed. “They did. There was a problem, but it was quickly dealt with.”

  Brandon asked: “What kind of problem?”

  Rose looked to Sean—he nodded his approval.

  “They were asking questions about the King’s nephew,” Rose said.

  The Scots exchanged a look. “Good God,” one of them said. “They are already onto us.”

  Rose mounted her horse. “As I said: they have been dealt with. We ride east. Follow the Wanderer’s lead. Stay sharp. If ye see anything out of the ordinary, Do not hesitate.”

  The group spaced out as everyone mounted their horses and prepared to ride. It was a group of eight in total, with Rose and Sean leading the pack and Brandon and Kelly right behind them. They rode into the dark of night, concealed from view as they entered a field and set about the first leg of their journey.

  In her saddle, Rose, her hair blowing in the wind and briefly catching Sean’s eye, looked in his direction. “I will say this once, Wanderer.”

  Sean turned his head, his cold heart somewhat softened as he looked at her profile, her delicate features exuding an abundance of pride and confidence in the way she rode her horse and jutted her chin. “Gae on…”

  “If anything happens, if ye attempt to bring harm to me or me people…”

  “You’ll kill me?”

  Rose took a moment. “I was going to phrase it in a more graphic way, but I shall abstain.”

  Sean smiled, nodding his head and amused at Rose’s antics. And then he frowned, realizing that it had been the first time that anyone had elicited any kind of amusement or emotion out of him in a long time. No, he thought. Do not indulge this woman. She is merely a person playing for yer services. Not a thing more.

  Sean made it a point to not look at Rose after that, keeping his eyes on the terrain in front of him as he led the pack of Highlanders into the furthest recesses of Scotland.

  Chapter Four

  Lord Marcus Donovan sat with his arms draped over the chair he had positioned in front of the fireplace. His angular and falcon-like features were glowing in the roar of the fire, coating his ocean blue eyes with a lethal and unblinking glimmer. In his hand was a glass of wine, filled to the brim, as it always was, Lord Marcus taking the occasional swig as he stroked his upper lip and tried not to think of anything in particular. He was a troubled man, a man with a soiled past defined by death and coated with heartache.

  He was in his quarters inside an English stronghold, a former castle belonging to a Highlander Lord who was expelled from the land several months prior. Lord Marcus had led the charge, the most fearful and fearless of all the redcoats in the King’s guard. He was feared by many—including those in his employ, a man of the highest caliber of fighter who took lives just as easily as he drew breath into his lungs.

  In the corner of Lord Marcus’ dark room, lit up only by the glow of the fireplace in front of him, was a Scottish fiddler, playing a soft and sad number on his battered violin. Lord Marcus had retained the man’s services after coming across him in a village during a campaign. He only allowed the man to play for him and him alone, and the fiddler serenaded him almost every night as Lord Marcus stayed locked into his quarters and drank himself into a slumber. It was the only way he knew how to fall asleep for the past few years, and though he knew that the drink was inching him closer to death’s door—he almost welcomed it.

  Two knocks sounded on the door outside his chambers. Lord Marcus closed his eyes and sighed, holding up two fingers to the fiddler and indicating him the time had come to cease playing.

  Lord Marcus turned his head toward the door. “Come in,” he said with a depleted timbre.

  The massive wooden door opened and standing in the doorway was a lanky Englishman with soft features not yet weathered by the passing of time, a young man who Lord Marcus knew had just been sent from England for his first campaign in the Highlands. Lord Marcus did not recall the young man’s name, nor did he bother to make any effort to do so.
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  “Lord,” the young man said, “a Lord Jessup has arrived. He wishes to speak with you.”

  Lord Marcus shook his head and drew a sip of his drink. “Lord Jessup, you say?”

  A nod from the young man. “Yes, Lord. He’s says it is a matter of the utmost importance.”

  “At this hour?” Lord Marcus said, glancing out the window to his left, the dark of night having consumed the land with nothing but the soft glow of the moon cutting through it.

  The young man nodded. “I’m afraid so, Lord. Again—he says that time is of the essence, and the matter is most pressing.”

  Lord Marcus shook his head, grunting as he shifted his weight. “So be it,” he said, waving a hand dismissively at the young messenger. “Send him in.”