“I am appreciative of you caring for me,” I say, “so please do not think me rude if I ask who you are.”
He cocks his head, a small grin quirking his lips upward. “Do you really not know me?”
I look at him for a long moment, straining my memory. I’ve been to so many villages over the years and have met so many people that I am having difficulty placing him. I won’t deny there is an echo of familiarity. I feel like I know him, but his identity continues to elude me. Finally, I shake my head.
“I apologize, but I do not,” I say.
He grins again. “Finish your meal then. You need to regain your strength,” he says. “And don’t worry, it’ll come to you.”
His smile widens, and he winks at me as he leaves the room, chuckling to himself as I sit wrapped in confusion and curiosity. The pull of familiarity I feel for him is strong. But not strong enough to crack the opaque shell that surrounds him.
He speaks with that thick Scottish brogue, but there is something about the way he speaks that sounds more cultured to me. More refined. My head is still clouded, so perhaps I am hearing things that are not there, but to me, he somehow sounds more educated than most of the Scots I’ve gotten to know. I just hear something in his voice, in his word choices maybe, that speak to a formal education to me.
The logical portion interrupts my musings to remind me once more that I should be scared. Terrified. I do not know this man or what he’s about. It’s a thought that makes my heart beat harder, but then absolute certainty that this man would never lift a finger to hurt me steals over me once more. I do not know where it comes from or why it seems so absolute, but I know it every bit as surely as I know my own name.
I finish my meal, savoring every last bite of it, and set the tray aside, my stomach full, and my hunger sated. I lean back against the pillows, feeling exhausted. I have many questions for the man in the next room, but the pull of sleep is strong. Darkness dances at the edges of my vision, the siren song of sleep calling to me. I fight it, try to beat it back, but the darkness wins, as it always does, and I’m pulled beneath the warm, comforting blanket of sleep.
Chapter Ten
Malcolm
I buckle my saddlebag and cinch it down tight. The sky above me bears the faint brushstrokes of sunrise, purple and pink streaks across the canvas of a new day. I turn and walk back into the house to get the rest of my things prepared for the trip to Weykirk.
It’s not the ideal time to make the half-day ride down to the town, what with a recovering English noble in my bed and all, but there is business for me to attend to. I grab a bag and fill it with bread, hard cheese, and a couple of apples for the trip down.
“You are leaving?” she asks. “Where are you going?”
I turn at the sound of Catherine’s voice. She’s leaning against the doorway for support, still not strong enough to stand on her own.
“Your color seems better this morning,” I tell her.
A weak grin touches her lips. “I do not feel as if I’m being sliced open by a thousand daggers,” she replies. “Merely a hundred.”
I flash her a grin. “Well, cheers to an improvement then.”
“You did not answer my question,” she presses. “Where are you going?”
I hesitate, not sure how much I should tell her right now since I don’t know what I’m going to do with her just yet. The smart thing, of course, is to put her on a horse and send her back to her uncle. I know that keeping her here could have violent and bloody repercussions for my people. James Seeley has never been shy about using violence and murder to press his agenda.
But on the other hand, Catherine Seeley, the cherished daughter of the Duke of Lancaster, is a valuable chit to be holding. The Duke might be willing to give unprecedented concessions for her safe return. It is possible we could negotiate his withdrawal from the Highlands altogether. Which is why I’m not so keen on handing her over and getting nothing in return.
Of course, there is also the other reason I don’t want to turn her over just yet − my own personal reason. I have thought of Catherine Seeley every day since we spoke in the market as kids. There was something about her I found compelling − still find compelling. And I’m not ready to give that up unless and until I’m forced to.
“Sir?” she says. “Am I to go with you? Will you be taking me home?”
I give her a smile. “No, not just yet. You’re not fit enough to ride,” I reply. “And the last thing I want to do is turn you over while you’re still recovering. I’d hate for there to be any misunderstanding as to how you came about your wounds.”
“Oh that is no trouble, I’ll just tell them what happened −”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t trust that your family will just take your explanation at face value,” I cut her off, my tone sharper than I’d intended it to be. “My people have a somewhat checkered history with House Seeley.”
She looks away as her cheeks redden once more. I can see she knows what I mean and has the grace to feel remorseful about it. But she clears her throat and stands up straighter, lifting her chin and glaring at me with the bearing of a proper noble − which is to say, with a heavy dose of disdain.
“Then what is to become of me while you’re away?” she asks, her voice icy cold.
“Well, for breakfast, I laid out some boiled eggs, cheese, and bread for you. And there is stew in the pot on the hearth for your supper,” I tell her. “While I’m away, I’d suggest you get some rest. You’re still recovering. And you’re free to roam our grounds, such as they are.”
“Your grounds?”
I smirk at her. “Our farm,” I chuckle. “I know they’re not the palatial estate you’re used to, but it’ll do for a bit.”
She casts me a gaze that’s as icy as her voice. “And what is to stop me from simply running away while you’re gone?”
I shrug. “Nothin’. Of course, there’s a lot of forest around us. It’s easy to get lost out here,” I tell her. “People have been known to wander off, never to be heard from again. And since you don’t know where you are or where you’re goin’…”
I let my statement trail off, leaving the veiled threat of her being lost forever, hanging in the air between us. I’m relying on her not being familiar with the land this far north of where I found her to keep her in line. The fear of getting lost up here in the Highlands is all too real, and I’m hoping she knows that.
I don’t know her well, but I know that she’s feisty. Stubborn. I remember that about her and truth be told; it’s one of the things I liked most about her. And now I have to hope those things I like about her don’t come back to bite me in the arse. I don’t want to leave her here, but I don’t really have a choice. I can’t take her to Weykirk with me. Until I know what they’re thinking, I won’t risk her being taken or hurt. Or worse. Some of my clansmen can be rather − intemperate.
Her green eyes sparkle, and her gaze is direct. Piercing. It’s as if she can see straight through me and can lay all my secrets bare, with nothing more than her eyes. I have nothing to hide, though, so she can look as deep as she wishes − which she does. A small frown pulls her lips downward as she looks, as if she’s frustrated that she can’t divine my innermost thoughts.
“What are your intentions for me?” she finally asks.
“Well, right now, my only intention is for you to heal up,” I tell her honestly. “You need a bit of time to recover from your wounds.”
“And after that?” she presses.
I give her a gentle smile, one I hope looks comforting, rather than threatening. I spread my hands out wide, palms up to reinforce the idea that I’ve no wish to hurt her.
“We’ll worry about that when you’re fit to ride,” I tell her. “My only concern right now is to make sure you recover.”
She purses her lips and stares at me as if she’s trying to determine whether I’m being honest or not. To be fair, I’m sure this has to be a strange and scary situation for her. She doesn�
�t recall who I am. As far as she knows, I’m a complete stranger to her, and of course, she doesn’t know my intentions. I imagine she feels like she’s being held captive by a madman, and who wouldn’t be scared of something like that?
But that’s a matter for another time. Right now, I need her to stay put while I get things with the clan sorted. After that, I’ll figure out what to do about Lady Catherine.
“I have to go,” I tell her. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’d prefer it if you stayed here and got some rest. You’re deep in my clan’s land. You’ll be safe.”
“Will you at least tell me your name?”
I flash her another grin. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” I ask. “I have faith you’ll figure it out while I’m gone.”
I give her a wink as I grab up my things, pointedly ignoring the look of consternation on her face as I get myself saddled up and head out.
Chapter Eleven
Malcolm
“The time to strike back is now!”
The call is met with roars of approval and similar sentiments by about half the men crowded into my father’s great hall. The other half are busy shouting them down. Standing on the dais before my father’s chair, I raise my hands and call for quiet. It takes a moment, but everybody eventually quiets down.
The outpouring of emotion is understandable given that I’ve just told them the Duke’s men murdered my father, brother, and other clan leaders at that meeting by the loch. While the question of going to war with the English is sharply dividing the clan, the one thing everybody seems to agree on is that we have all suffered a great loss. My father was respected by all and lifted our clan to heights we’d never known before, and his death is being felt deeply by all of us.
When I have everybody’s attention again, I give them all a firm nod. “We need to make the English pay for what they took from us. And we will,” I announce. “But not before we are ready and properly prepared. I will not lead you all into a slaughter.”
Gaven MacTavish, a large, burly man about a decade older than me with a head of wild black hair, eyes blacker than the nighttime sky, and thicker through the arms, chest, and shoulders than a bull steps forward. He stands at the base of the dais, looking me up and down, malice in his face.
“And who the fuck said you were leadin’ us anywhere, boy?” he sneers.
“Well I suppose it’d be the fact that I’m the new Clan Chief,” I tell him.
I square my shoulders and look down at him, trying to appear as menacing as I can. Colban and Patric step forward, flanking Gaven on either side, their hands hovering near the hilts of their swords. I look at them, more than a bit surprised. Apparently, I inherited my father’s personal guards as well as his title. It gives me a small amount of comfort, so I give Patric a nod, doing my best to not look as relieved as I feel. Gaven is about twice my size, and I’d be a fool to not be wary of him. And if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a fool.
“Clan Chief my arse,” Gaven spits. “You’re not our Chief.”
About half the crowd behind him roars their agreement, and the other half raises their voice, arguing with Gaven’s people seemingly for the sake of arguing. There are two things Scotsmen do better than anybody else in the world − drink and fight. And both of those attributes are on display here today.
“The laws of our clan are clear,” I reply. “I am my father’s only living heir and −”
“You been gone these last ten years,” Gaven cuts me off. “And now you think you can waltz back in with your fancy boots and declare yourself Chief?”
I give him a smirk. “Aye. I do,” I reply. “It’s the law of our clan. If you say it’s not −”
“Aye. I say it’s not.”
I sigh and look around, hoping for some support among the people but find none. I’m on my own here − except for Colban and Patric, but they’re just two voices amongst a screeching horde. Half of the people standing in the hall are with Gaven, and the other half seem to be straddling the fence, waiting to see how this all plays out with me like the bunch of weasels they are. Still, I figured more would throw their support behind Gaven, so I’m doing a wee bit better than I thought I would.
“Then I suppose there’s nothin’ for it but −”
“Aye, that’s right,” Gaven shouts triumphantly. “I challenge you.”
The hall erupts into cheers, and vocal calls for a challenge to be fought. Gaven throws his arms up like he’s won already and howls like a beast. Colban and Patric both shoot me a dubious look and raise their eyebrows in unison. Their message is clear − I’m going to get myself pummeled. Glad to know my bodyguards have such faith in me.
Gaven, his arms still raised ridiculously, leads a crowd of his cheering sycophants out of the hall and into the yard. The fence-sitters follow them out, and I bring up the rear of the procession with Colban and Patric falling into step beside me. As if they’d practiced it, they both turn and give me a crooked grin in unison.
“That’s a big man you’re about to tangle with, lad,” Patric says.
“Very big,” Colban confirms.
“A man that big probably hits hard.”
“Very hard,” Colban says. “Man that big is likely to put his fist clear through a smaller man.”
“Clear through.” Patric agrees.
“If you’re tryin’ to motivate me, you lads will need to work on your tactics,” I laugh.
Patric turns to me and grins. “Motivate ya? We’re tryin’ to terrify ya,” he says.
“Tryin’ to make ya call off this madness,” Colban says.
“He has the right to challenge me,” I tell them. “You lads know that.”
“Clan law is on your side,” Patric says. “You don’t have to accept the challenge.”
“I don’t, and I’ll lose the support of the clan.”
Colban chuckles. “Didn’t sound like you had much support in there to begin with.”
“I have plenty of support − I have the both of you,” I smile.
We step out of the hall and walk down the steps to the yard. The yard is ringed with onlookers − some of the more curious folk from the market seem to have filtered into the crowd, nearly doubling the size. Gaven is on the far side of the yard, foot propped up on the low wooden fence that surrounds the hall, talking and laughing with some of his supporters. They obviously believe his ascending to the Clan Chief’s seat is already all but assured.
“Remember,” Patric says, “your father was always underestimated, and he did fairly well for himself.”
“Also remember,” Colban chimes in, “don’t let Gaven get his hands on you or you’re gonna be in a world of hurt, lad.”
“Put his fist straight through you, he will,” Patric grins.
The two of them chuckle together as they take up a position at the foot of the stairs. They both give me a nod of encouragement, but neither seems overly optimistic about my chances. A fact that’s reinforced as I look around at the crowd and see that nobody seems to be giving me much of a chance. Judging by the faces around me, it seems like most want to see me take a beating. The rest just seem to want to see a beating in general. Which is perfect. I want everybody thinking I don’t stand a chance against that monster.
I know this is a critical moment for me. I win and I earn the respect of my clan. I lose and I slink home, tail tucked between my legs to live a life of shame and dishonor. No pressure or anything.
As I watch Gaven loosening himself up, laughing with some of his friends, somethin’ my father once said to me echoes through my mind. He said the easiest way to make a strong impression and gain the respect of the people was to find the biggest, ugliest prick in the lot and knock his dick in the dirt. Which makes a certain amount of sense − you take down the biggest in a crowd, and the smaller ones are more apt to fall into line.
Gaven is looking at me like a hawk that’s about to swoop down and put an end to a wounded rabbit. He grins maliciously, already believing this challenge is nothin
g more than a formality. His arrogance plays in my favor since it wasn’t only books I was studying when I was abroad.
“First to yield,” I call.
Gaven nods. “First to yield.”
Like my father, I know everybody is underestimating me. And like my father, I’m about to shock them all. Everything I’ve done today has been orchestrated. I’ve intentionally tried to get under the big man’s skin. Tried to rile him up and get him feeling overconfident. Gaven may be bigger than me, but I have two distinct advantages − I’m smarter than him, and I’ve got more stamina. A man that size may be able to punch a hole through me, but he’ll be winded long before I am.
“You ready for the worst beating of your life, lad?” Gaven calls to me.
“Why? Is your wife here to deliver it?”
Excited laughter ripples through the crowd as Gaven’s face darkens as the people titter, waiting for some blood to spill. Gaven rushes me with murder in his eyes and bellowing a deep snarl. He raises a fist that I swear is bigger than a blacksmith’s hammer and cocks it back. I stand my ground, waiting for him to get closer. And as he brings that ham-sized fist down, I quickly spin to the side, leaving him driving his hand through nothing but air.
With a growl, he turns around and comes at me again. He throws a wild haymaker that I easily sidestep, once again leaving him punching nothing but air. The crowd around us is laughing uproariously, and a vicious scowl crosses Gaven’s face. He’s red and is breathing heavy already, and I know if I can just keep dodging his blows, I’ll wear him out pretty quick.
The Highlander's Claim (Highland Romance) Page 8
