Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance

by Kenna Kendrick

  Sean squinted as he looked at the leader, a strapping man with a pensive and scrutinous gaze riding tall on his horse. This is the man in charge, Sean thought, sensing a highly authoritative and unforgiving essence about the Redcoat. I do not recognize him though.

  A twig then broke in the wooded area on the opposite side of the road where Sean and Rose were hiding. Sean clenched up. The wood snapping was subtle, but for a man with highly reactive sense, as he did, it was enough for him and possible others to notice—including the Redcoat in the lead who held up his hand and ordered his riders to come to an abrupt stop.

  Damn! Sean chided inside his head. Which one of those fools made noise?

  “What it is, Lord Marcus?” one of the Redcoats called out to the leader, Sean making a mental note of the man’s name as he once again pressed his back into the tree.

  Sean looked at Rose, Rose fuming at whoever was responsible for stirring up a sound. They waited, Sean sensing the group of Redcoat riders behind them staring in their direction, their gaze feeling as if it was piercing through the wood and staring right at them.

  “I thought I heard something,” the voice of Lord Marcus called out. “The breaking of wood.”

  Sean heard as the riders shifted their weight and looked around. “I didn’t hear anything,” one of them said.

  But it clearly made no difference to Lord Marcus, being that Sean then heard the man’s booted feet land with a crunch on the ground, and the sounds of leather twisting beneath Marcus as he clearly went about dismounting his horse.

  Damn it! Sean screamed inside his head, hand drifting toward his sword. It’s too late. He knows we are here.

  But Sean still remained composed as the booted steps approached. He could make out that they were thirty feet away…twenty…and then they came to a stop. It felt to Sean like all the air had been snatched out of the woods they were taking concealment in, an unsettling feel of anticipation as he waited for whatever was going to happen next.

  Sean and Rose waited…and waited…and waited.

  “Nothing,” Lord Marcus finally called out. “Must be the animals lingering in the trees.”

  Sean released a breath as Lord Marcus walked back to his horse and climbed into the saddle. “Continue,” Lord Marcus said, the group going about their journey and leaving Sean, Rose, and the others behind before disappearing from sight.

  Rose and Sean made their way out of hiding, the rest of the Scots following suit as they gathered together and made sure the coast was clear. Though they were relieved, they looked more than perturbed as one of the riders leveled his gaze square in Rose’s direction.

  “Well, that’s just great,” the rider said. “We just got rid of the horses. Now what do we do?”

  “We go back and fetch them,” Rose said. “You know they are not lingering far away.”

  “That still means we have to waste the time gathering them up.”

  Kelly stepped in and placed a hand on the rider’s shoulder. “That’s enough,” she said, annoyance in her tone and winking at Rose to let her know she had her support. “We had to make a quick decision when those riders approached. Being on horseback would have pointed them straight in our direction.”

  “Still,” the man said. “This entire journey is starting to feel unsafe.”

  Kelly stepped toward the man. Sean saw the loyal look in Kelly’s eye, ready to defend her leader and friend Rose against anyone’s defiance including that of her own people. “And when was the last time we’ve felt safe in years? Enough, Shane. We can fetch the horses and continue about our way. We lose a small part of the hour retrieving our rides. So, what?” She turned to the group. “All of you. Retrieve your animals. Then meet back here.”

  The Scots set about doing an about face down the road, all of them spilling into the fields where they had forced their horses to break free. A few were gathered up quickly. The rest took a moment to wrangle.

  “Your confidant Kelly,” Sean said as he walked alongside Rose to retrieve their horses, “is quite loyal.”

  “Aye,” Rose said with a nod. “She always has been.”

  “Is she your blood?”

  Rose shook her head. “No. I met her five years ago. She was much younger back then. A child, really. Her village had been burned and her mother, who was the only member of her family still left alive, was killed. She was wounded. Without food for quite some time. On the verge of death, if ye ask my opinion. So, I took her into my care. She has been the most loyal person to me as a result.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates it.”

  “She’s a skillful and formidable warrior,” Rose said. “Without question. She earns her keep.”

  Sean smirked. “You make it sound like it is a business transaction.”

  “It’s not. I just make it a point to give credit to all of my people when I can. Without them, I am nothing.”

  Sean glanced at Rose. “I very much doubt that. I’m sure ye would able to hand yerself without the assistance of others. Ye are clearly loyal to these people, and they are loyal to ye. It’s not a bad thing to have. Quite rare, nowadays.”

  Rose glanced at Sean. “Is that why ye live the way ye do?”

  “I don’t prefer it.”

  “Did ye have a clan?”

  “Once.”

  “And what happened to them?”

  Sean felt the memory return with an abrupt and head-inducing flash—the fire consuming his wife and child burning brightly in his mind, harsher than the sensation that came with staring directly into the sun. It seared. It burned. It reminded of the day that not only his family died—but hope itself as well.

  Sean couldn’t answer Rose, but he could feel her stare, clearly trying to break him down with his lack of response.

  “I could probably safely assume,” Rose said, “that whatever happened has something to do with yer recent nightmare?”

  Sean stopped in the middle of the road, looking at Rose with a slack and saddened expression. Don’t tell her, he said. You’re already crossing a line again with these silly queries of her. You said you wouldn’t do it—so stop doing it!

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sean said. “And we’re breaking our own rules again.”

  Rose looked back at Sean with an empathetic gaze. Sean could feel, though she was still maintaining a stern expression, that she was connecting with him, her soft and pleasant looks assisting the lowering of Sean’s guard to an even greater degree. Sean may have limited his words, but the weighted look in his eye was clearly reflecting a history he had still not come to terms with. “Fair enough,” was all that Rose could think to say as they parted and set about retrieving their horses.

  “The village is not far,” Sean said, Rose and the rest of the Scots having fetched their rides and making it a point to ride a significant distance away from the group of Redcoat riders they had seen earlier.

  Rose jutted her chin to the road ahead of them. “Is that it?” she asked. “I see the outline of some buildings.”

  Sean opened his mouth to reply, but the voice of the one called Lord Marcus erupted from the center of the village: “Talk to me, Highlander? Where is the woman called Rose?”

  Rose looked at Sean, the two of them ordering the riders to come to a stop. “All of ye,” Rose said to her companions. “Take the horses and ride back into the forest. Wait there for us.” She looked to Kelly. “Kelly,” she whispered.

  Kelly approached, read to do Rose’s bidding. “Aye.”

  “Take my horse,” Rose said as she dismounted.

  “And where do ye think ye are going?” Sean inquired.

  “That Redcoat is talking to my people. I’m sure of it.”

  “Ye can’t just go wandering up there—”

  Rose was already in a crouch and heading for the building on the right side of the village resting 50 feet away, quiet as quiet could be as she slowly made her approach.

  “Damn it,” Sean seethed as he hopped off his horse and followed after her, Kelly
taking both of their horses and riding away from the rest of the Scots.

  Sean came up behind Rose as she pressed up against one of the buildings, slowly inching her way toward a sliver of separation between the two with a small vantage point of the courtyard resting in the center of town. Sean watched as Rose peeked through the sliver, her face slackening and eyes closing before whispering: “Oh my God…”

  Sean cozied alongside Rose, curious as to what was causing her to go slack as he brought himself up to the opening and peeked through—he saw Brandon, on his knees, his hands bound with rope with Lachlan and Eamon positioned on other side of him in the same conditions. Standing in front of them was the one called Lord Marcus, a sword in hand and clearly readying himself for an execution.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rose shuddered when she saw three of her fellow Scots on their knees, the entire village gathered around in attendance as the Redcoat who went by the name of Lord Marcus paced back and forth. He leered at each man, gripping onto his still with white-knuckled enthusiasm. Rose spotted the bruise on the left side of Brandon’s cheek even from a distance, the swelling puffing up his features and causing Rose to grit her teeth with rage and dismay. Lord, she pleaded inside of her head. Do not let harm befall them…

  “I know that you are in league with the wrong people,” Lord Marcus said. “You three sport the look of the kind of savages I have had to deal with on a repeated basis.”

  “We’re not who ye we are,” Brandon said. “I don’t know why ye insist—”

  Lord Marcus strike a right backhanded blow against Brandon’s face, Brandon falling to the ground and caking him with mud and dirt. Rose wanted to jump out from hiding, raise her sword and strike down the Redcoat striking her men—but she knew she couldn’t. There were Redcoats all over, and it was a fool’s errand to try and intervene.

  “That vile man,” Rose whispered to Sean. “If I had things my way…” She huffed, looking away as two Redcoats assisting Lord Marcus hauled him up by the arms and brought him back onto his knees.

  “Let’s try this again,” Lord Marcus said, pointing the tip of his sword at Brandon. “Tell me your name. Tell me who you are. Tell me what you know about the one called Rose MacGillis.”

  Rose felt her stomach twist in a knot. How can the Redcoats have caught up with us so quickly? News of my name has spread through this land like wildfire!

  Brandon shook his head, a depleted quality in the way he hung his head. “I told ye,” he said, “I do not know of whom ye speak.”

  Lord Marcus struck Brandon again, Brandon remaining upright despite the force of the blow. He began to turn red, at his wits end with his compliance. He was clearly growing tired, wanting to leap out at Lord Marcus and show him a thing or two.

  “Ye can continue to strike me as you do, Redcoat,” Brandon said, his tone soaked in a thick layer of defiance and spit. “But it is not going to change my answers.”

  “You really want to defend this woman? Do ye understand what she has done? She, and these cohorts of hers known as ‘the Scots,’ are responsible for the death of the King’s kin. This will not go unanswered for,” he gestured around the village, “and every Highlander in the land will suffer as a result of it until justice has been served.”

  Brandon remained mute, holding his head high and maintaining his resolve. Rose could sense this even from her vantage point. She knew Brandon well. He would never give any of their people up. It was unfathomable, not possible. But it worried her now as she watched one of her people on the cusp of defying his captor to the point that it was about to bring almost certain death—and there was not a thing she could do to stop it.

  Lord Marcus, shaking his head, turned his focus to Lachlan and Eamon. “What about you two?” he asked. “You have sat in silent defiance this whole time. Do you have nothing to say?”

  Lachlan and Eamon, just as loyal as their companion Brandon, remained mute and held their chins high.

  Lord Marcus threw up his hands, glancing around at his fellow Redcoats as they shifted their weight and prepared for the inevitable. He then got down on one knee in front of Brandon, grabbing his throat with one hand and applying the slowest of squeezes.

  “I’m going to ask one more time, Highlander,” Lord Marcus said, “and then there is nothing I will be able to do to help you. I know that you possess knowledge of this woman. Every part of your reaction since we first cross paths just oozes secrets that you do not wish to dispel. So—tell me what I want to know or give me something to stave off your imminent death.”

  Brandon’s gaze was unblinking, his eyes alive with that same defiant fire. He shook his head, leering at Lord Marcus as he said through puttered breaths: “Go to hell, Englishman…”

  Lord Marcus released his grip, taking a step back and holding his sword up to the light. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “so be it, then…”

  Rose clenched her fist, Sean reaching out and squeezing her on the arm as they watch Lord Marcus raise his sword, line it up on Brandon’s neck, pull it back, and then strike. Rose closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the final act as a gasp was passed around the villager’s in attendance.

  Lord Marcus, standing back from Brandon’s body, nodded to two of his men. “Take care of the other ones,” he said. “And then mount your horses. We’ll continue to ride until we find this Rose and her little band of murderous miscreants.”

  Rose pushed away from the building and retreated in a crouch, Sean following after her as they heard the muffled screams of Lachlan and Eamon cry out before being swiftly cut off. They distance themselves from the village, Rose holding a hand to her mouth as her eyes widened from the anger.

  “Rose,” Sean said, attempting to turn her around as they came to a safe distance inside the forested area. “Hold on.”

  Rose batted Sean’s hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she said with a hush. “I just allowed three of my men to be killed.”

  “There was nothing ye could have done. There were too many men in that village. We wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

  Rose shook her head repeatedly, well past the point of angered. “How?” she said. “How could news have travelled so fast about the King’s nephew? How is this possible?”

  “Because the King seeks vengeance,” Sean said. “He’s not going to stop until he institutes every measure imaginable to see that justice, at least what he believes to be justice, is properly doled out.”

  Rose wanted to cry. She wanted to fight. She wanted to break down as much as she wanted retribution for those that she had just lost. She felt worthless, incapable of properly leading her people to safety. I was safe for so long, she pondered. I kept my people out of harm’s way for so many years. How? How have things fallen apart so quickly for us? What is it that I’m doing wrong?

  “I can see your conflicted,” Sean said. “But don’t blame yerself. This are troubled times. The English are like a plague in these lands. You’re doing the best that you can.”

  Rose shook her head. “Two of my men are still dead. That cannot stand.”

  “It will have to. And they died honorably. They kept their word to you. They kept their oath to you.”

  Rose glanced around their surroundings, none of the other Scot visible in the tree line. “I have to tell the others,” she said. “They have probably burrowed deep into the forest.”

  Sean nodded. “We should join them. We have to wait until this Lord Marcus departs from the village. We won’t be able to travel far until they have gone.”

  “And what are the chances that we won’t run into more?”

  Sean took a step forward. “As I said—these are troubled times. The best we can do is keep moving. Once we reach our destination, I can guarantee that ye will be far and away from any Redcoats for the rest of yer lives.”

  Rose crossed her arms, her mind still troubled by what she had just seen, her own skills as a leader being called into question by her own mind. But Sean is right, she thought. We have to press on�
��I just cannot believe I failed my people.

  Rose turned and faced Sean, her body trembling slightly from the nerves. “Why do I shake so?” she said, perplexed as to how a woman like her, a woman who and been through and survived so much, could shake as she was in this moment.

  Sean stood forward, reaching out and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Because it is family,” he said. “And that is never easy to deal with.”

  Sean dropped his hand, his fingertips lingering towards Sarah’s left hand. Both of their fingers then began to slightly flutter, and with an unseen magnetism, the same one that seem to draw them toward each other upon first meeting—they grazed each other’s flesh and pressed their fingers gently together. Their touch was like subtle brush stroke, light enough that they were not holding hands, but still possessing enough of a pressure that both of them could feel the other making gentle strokes at the other’s flesh.