“It was necessary,” Lord Marcus said. “The man would have found a problem with any one of my methods at any given point.”
Henry gestured to the body. “What should we do with him?”
Lord Marcus shrugged. “Plenty of wild animals in these woods,” he said. “Just drag out the body further into them and let nature have its way.”
Henry turned to the group of Englishmen on horseback not far away, pointing to two and then snapping his fingers. They approached hastily, neither of them acknowledging the dead body and standing at attention as they said in syn: “Yes, my Lord?”
“Dispose of that,” Lord Marcus said, kicking one of Cutler’s booted heels. “Drag it out as far away from our camp as you can.”
“So,” Henry said. “We are setting up camp?”
Lord Marcus nodded. “We are.”
“Will that not waste time, my Lord? Again, I remain loyal to your decisions.”
Lord Marcus turned his head up and laughed. He then slapped Henry on the shoulder and said: “Do not worry, Henry. I am not going to kill you. I know you are loyal. But no, it is not a waste of time. Daylight is closing out and the Scots have a half-day’s ride ahead of us. They are no doubt tired and are seeking refuge as we speak. They will have to find a brief reprieve if they plan on taking the mountain?”
“The mountain?”
Lord Marcus jutted his chin ahead of him, Henry then taking a look at the sprawling and snow-capped mountains that stretched up and into the heavens.
“Do you really think,” Henry said, “they will attempt to take it?”
“It is their only option,” Lord Marcus replied. “As I said, they could have only gone in one of three directions. Whichever direction they chose—it leads to the mountain. Tell them men to strike a quick fire. We shall rest for no more than 30 minutes, eat, and then proceed to the base of the mountain. Hopefully, we’ll be able to catch the Scots before they attempt to make their ascent.”
Lord Marcus then turned and walked back toward his horse, not acknowledging Cutler’s body as his men set about dragging it away and leaving it for a pack of wolves that would have their fill of it in the couple hours that followed.
The fire was lit, Lord Marcus’ men gathered around it and quickly consuming a meal of stew and beans as they exchanged conversations in hushed tones so as not to attract attention. Henry, seated alongside one of the men that had disposed of Cutler’s body, finished his meal and set the steel bowl down as he wiped his hands free of any residue on his pants.
Henry turned to the man next to him, sensing the apprehension in him in the way he carried himself, the way he ate his meal, the way he drew his breaths. It was apparent to Henry that the young man, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, had clearly never seen a dead body before. He turned to the young man, nudging him with one arm before he said: “Are you alright, my friend?”
The young man shuddered, Henry sensing that he had clearly startled him out of whatever daze he was in. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, my Lord. My apologies. My mind was drifting for a moment. I am sorry.”
Henry held up his hand. “Relax, young man. Do not be so privy to being startled.”
“Apologies, my Lord.”
“Tell me: what is your name?”
“My name?”
“I assume your father gave you one.”
The young man nodded. “Yes, my Lord. And my name is Thomas Granger, my Lord.”
“Thomas Granger,” Henry echoed. “A strong name. Your father is Donald Granger, correct?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“A fine man. A fine warrior. I sense that his penchant for fighting rigorously runs through your veins.”
Thomas smirked. “One could only hope, my Lord.”
“Please,” Henry said, “call me by my Christian name. Just do not do this in front of Lord Marcus. He will think you are being insubordinate.”
Henry glanced out of his peripherals as Thomas swallowed the lump in his throat, clearly still disturbed by having moved Cutler’s body.
“Was that the first time?” Henry said.
“Was what the first time?” Thomas replied.
“That you saw a dead man. I can sense it in you. The way you carry yourself is the way all me do upon seeing their first body. You can tell me if it’s true. No offense will be taken. No questions of your loyalty or strength of stomach will be called up, either.”
Thomas hung his head, taking a moment before nodding his validation of Henry’s words.
“It is never a pleasant experience,” Henry said. “I was much the same when it first happened to me. But understand something—that man Cutler was a nuisance at best. He was a threat to our plight.”
“I do not question Lord Marcus methods,” Thomas said. “Not in the slightest.”
Henry patted the young man on the back. “Very good, my friend. Very good. You are a fine and abled Englishman. You will serve the ranks of Lord Marcus well.”
Thomas, a curious glint in his eye, gestured to Lord Marcus as Lord Marcus kept an unblinking gaze on the fire in front of him, his face lit up and casting ominous shadows over his eyes. “I do not know much of Lord Marcus,” he said. “But I am told he is one of the most feared men in the king’s employ.”
“That he is,” Henry said. “You will never find a more dedicated and, dare I say it, lethal member of the king’s brigade. I have seen him face insurmountable odds in his career. That, and insurmountable heartache.”
Thomas squinted. “What do you mean?”
Henry lowered his tone, leaning into Thomas as he said: “He was married. Once. His wife was with child, too.”
“What happened to them?” Thomas inquired in a dire tone.
Henry huffed. “It is a tragic tale to be told. I was unfortunate to have witnessed it at the time.”
“You are close with Lord Marcus?”
A shrug. “As close as one can be. But yes, I have known him quite a while. The day that…it happened was one that forever changed him. You may not know it, but Lord Marcus was a different man then. Still an able-bodied warrior as he is now, but he was…different. A lot more humorous. Not as much callousness in his tone. A much more youthful look about him. Don’t get me wrong, as different as he was, he was not callow by any means.”
Thomas leaned in closer. “Well,” he said with all the curiosity he could conjure, “what happened to his family?”
Henry took a moment to allow his mind to reach back into the past, complete with all the vivid images that had been burned so vibrantly in his consciousness. “Four years ago was when it happened,” he said. “I was with Lord Marcus fetching supplies in a nearby village. He had left his wife behind in the castle where we were residing. Upon our return…” He drew a breath, his eyes widening as he thought back on the ghastly history. “We found his wife—”
“Gentlemen,” Lord Marcus called out. “It’s time to make our leave.”
All of the men in Lord Marcus’ employ stood, put out the fire, and set about mounting their horses.
“Another time,” Henry said as he nudged Thomas in his side. He stood up, preparing to move toward his horse—but then he could feel Lord Marcus’ gaze on the back of his neck.
Henry turned around, Lord Marcus staring right at him with a look like he had overheard everything he had been dispensing to the young Thomas. With a subtle nod acknowledging what was clearly Lord Marcus disapproval, he mounted his horse, came up alongside Lord Marcus, and promised to himself that he would never attempt to tell the story of the demise of Lord Marcus’ family ever again.
Chapter Seventeen
Rose looked over her shoulder at Sean. She felt the time had come for their group to begin their departure, the glow of the moon casting silver shades across the earth and instilling a sense of urgency in her that should could not shake. We must move, she pondered. Time is of the essence. I call practically smell the English hot on our heels.
Rose rubbed her neck. She fe
lt the tension from all that had occurred gathering in the back of her head, straining and causing her to wince as she sighed and stood up to try and get her blood flowing.
The villagers in the small settlement they had come across were beginning to wind down, depleted from the energy they had expensed from their drinking and celebrating. I wish I could live like they do. Free of guilt. Free of sin. Free of oppression and restraints.
Rose began to ponder on how long she had lived the life she had, one that was defined by war, struggle, and suffering. As she looked at Sean, somewhat mesmerized by his rugged complexion, she began to think back on all the men in her life that had crossed paths with her before them. My God, her mind gibbered. There have not been that many. I have only ever really loved one man, though I have been with several.
Rose’s mind began to drift back to a different period of time, one in which she was still fresh in her leadership role with the Scots. She recalled the time when they had travelled to a wedding, one that her and the Scots were invited to by happenstance. She couldn’t remember who’s wedding it was, but she vividly recalled the images that had been planted in her memory that day—the flowers, the singing, the drinking, the dancing. It was a joyous affair, one that was welcomed by her and her companions during their travels.
Again, an occasion brought about by pure happenstance. They were invited by the father of the woman to be wed as they traversed through the town where the wedding was taking place. What was most noteworthy about that day was the man she met at the wedding; a man called Ian. He was tall, rather lanky but with good definition. Charming, a smile that Rose could not help but note when they first met. He was a kind man. A good lover. Perhaps the first man she had ever truly loved, though she had been with several before. Ian had rendezvoused with Rose several more times after, but life, time, and all the unpredictable elements that life brought about had forced them apart. It had wounded her at the time, but again, time itself was something that was able to heal all wounds once it had passed.
Why do I dwell on such thoughts from the past? she pondered. That was so long ago. Ian and I were never meant to be together. There is still a place reserved for him in my heart, and there always will be…but I never thought I would love again. I do not have time for such things. I do not—
“Rose,” Gavina’s voice called out from behind her.
Rose shuddered, so lost in thought that she didn’t realize the woman was standing but a few feet behind her.
Gavina covered her mouth as a sliver of a laugh slipped out. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to startle ye.”
Rose forced a smile. “My apologies. My mind was merely drifting. The hour is late, and I feel that me and my people should begin making our leave.”
“Nonsense! Ye have just arrived! There is more celebration to be had.”
Rose shook her head. “Not for us. I’m afraid me and my people are far from being able to partake in any kind of celebration on any level whatsoever.”
Rose turned away, once again looking at Sean as he stood and began speaking to Gavina’s husband in a way that was indicative of someone trying to duck their way out of a conversation.
“What troubles ye?” Gavina inquired.
Rose squinted. “I’m sorry?”
“Ye said yer mind was drifting—to what place was it drifting to?”
Rose held up her palm. “Nothing,” she said. “Again, I am just weary. I have been travelling for some time.”
“Do not be silly. Please, tell me. Ye sport a look in yer eye that I have seen in many women before, myself included.”
“Really,” Rose said with a smirk. “And what look is that?”
Gavina smiled fondly. “The one of longing. Yearning. The incessant need we have for another man’s company.”
“I do not require another man’s company.”
“And as well ye shouldn’t. But I have said it before—we are human beings. There is nothing wrong with indulging it.”
“I have indulged too many men in my lifetime. I don’t need to indulge another.”
Gavina doubled over, laughing at Rose’s words. “My apologies, my dear,” she said. “But I share the sentiment. But it’s like a curse—as much as we don’t fancy men in their rugged states, the more we seem to yearn for them when they are that way.”
“A paradox,” Rose said, the smell of the fire wafting at her nose, the crisp and burning wood offering her a moment of pleasure. “A most fundamental one I have seemed to have eluded until now.”
Gavina squinted. “What do ye mean?”
Rose sighed. She could feel her defenses lowering. Weather it was from their lengthy travel, or the death of her companions, she could not tell. But she was feeling vulnerable, on the cusp of all the emotions that were welling inside of her spilling out and flooding everything in sight. With a jut of her chin in Sean’s direction, Rose said: “Do ye know that man?”
Gavina looked. “Yer male companion?”
“Aye.”
Gavina shook her head. “Not particularly. I have not even learned of his name.”
“He calls himself ‘Wanderer.’ I trust that ye have heard of that name through legend.”
Gavina’s mouth was agape as Rose said the words. “That is the one they call the Wanderer?”
Rose nodded. “Aye. It is. And I have retained his services to help us navigate the Highlands. My people and I are in search of a better home, a safer haven. It is said that he possesses a topographical knowledge of the Highlands that no other man does.”
“And ye fancy him,” Gavina said with a nudge of her elbow.
Rose sighed, closing her eyes and drooping her head. I do, she thought. I hate to admit it, but I do. I don’t know what it is. There has been a…gravitation toward this man that I cannot explain. It has been that way since the moment we met. I fight it. I try ever so hard to pretend that there isn’t something stirring inside of me, a…how did Gavina phrase it…a longing…a yearning…
“I don’t know what it is,” Rose said to Gavina. “But I found myself attracted to that man.” She huffed. “My God, it sounds so foolish. I am fighting for my life against the Redcoats, but I still find myself thinking about that man.”
Gavina shrugged. “The unpredictability of life,” she said. “This is usually the way it goes. Ye do not plan on it. Ye cannot anticipate it. It is merely the way that life tends to go.”
“I do not relish it. I despise it.”
“That is yer problem.”
“What is?”
“That yer running from yer feelings,” Gavina said. “The reason that ye feel so displaced is because ye simple do not embrace what is happening. Ye have feelings fer this man. Clearly. The fact is that ye simply must embrace it and run with it.”
Rose sighed. “It is such an awful time. Again, I flee—”
“There will always be turmoil,” Gavina interjected. “That is just the facts of life. But it makes it so much easier to deal with when one has a partner, a lover at their side, someone to help them navigate the tumultuous planes of existence. It takes the edge off…well, living, I suppose.”
Rose continued to look at Sean as he spoke to Gavina’s husband. She found herself melting as she looked at him, completely enamored by his every move, gesture, and breath of air that he drew. What is it about ye? Why do I lust for ye in the way that I do?
Rose felt as Gavina gently laid a hand on her arm, squeezing her reassuringly as she said: “Stop running, my dear. Embrace what is in front of ye. Ye do not want yer life to pass by and think back one day and what could have been.”
Rose then saw Sean turning in her direction, staring at her with a set of eyes that was just as longing as needing as hers. They waited in that space for a moment, the two of them doing nothing more than becoming lost in each other’s gazes. With a nudge of her elbow, Rose felt Gavina pushing her forward toward Sean, and before Rose knew it, she was walking right up to him and forcing a smile that felt silly and nervo
us all at the same time.
“Hello,” Rose said.
“Evening,” Sean replied.
Silence held sway. Nothing but the crackling of the fire was audible as they stood for a moment with the glow of the moon basking over them.
“We should make our leave soon,” Sean said. “I fear the Redcoats are not far behind us.”
“Aye,” Rose said with a nod. “I was feeling the same. How was your conversation with Gavina’s husband?”
“Richard? It was fine. The man is…quite entertaining. The whole village is, quite frankly. I envy their spirit.”
Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Page 15
