The Highlander's Claim (Highland Romance)

by Jessica Knight

  My brother steps into the room behind James, his gaze flitting to me then to my uncle, an expression of curiosity touching his features.

  “What is happening?” Morgan asks. “Why is she in your office?”

  James turns to him and smiles. “Your sister has become a problem for us,” he says. “A very big problem we must address immediately.”

  Morgan’s eyes widen. “Wh - what do you mean, Uncle?”

  “It seems she has been conspiring with the Scots,” he says. “They are planning to attack Caldryn House and murder us all. And your treacherous sister is a party to the planning.”

  “That is a lie!” I shout.

  “Why else would you be rifling through my things?” James asks smoothly.

  “Sister, tell me this isn’t true.”

  “It is not true. This is a fiction. A farce,” I spit. “Our uncle is the one who schemes. He has ordered conscripts from −”

  “Yes, I know about the conscripts,” Morgan says. “I didn’t know that you were conspiring with those animals though.”

  “You knew about this?” I gasp, shock upon my face.

  “It is the only way we can bring this war to an end − to wipe them out,” Morgan says like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world.

  “The war is over, you idiot,” I shout, unable to hide my frustration. “Father signed a peace treaty −”

  “Father capitulated to those beasts to save your skin, sister,” Morgan bristles. “He did not want to give in, but he feared they would murder you if he didn’t.”

  “There is peace here,” I say, exasperated. “For the first time since we’ve been here, we have peace, Morgan. Why would you jeopardize that?”

  “Sister, we will never have peace as long as these animals are allowed to live among us.”

  “You do not know what you are saying, Morgan,” I shake my head. “You are absorbing our uncle’s hate. If you are going to control these lands when Father is gone, you will need to learn to think for yourself and not be a bloody lapdog.”

  Morgan stands up straighter and sets his jaw. I see that stubborn glint in his eye and know I crossed the line. My brother never fails to bristle at the notion that he is not his own man − even though he is not. But any chance I had of pulling him to my side, to stand against our uncle, have fled like smoke on the breeze. My uncle, sensing that the tide has now shifted, gives me a slow, leonine smile.

  “Tell me Morgan, do you believe your sister has conspired with our enemies?” he asks.

  “I do not think there is any doubt,” my brother replies.

  “So she is guilty of treason,” James goes on. “And what is the penalty for treason?”

  “Death,” Morgan says simply.

  “And are you okay with executing traitors?”

  “Of course I am,” he replies.

  A lightning flare of fear shoots through me. He really intends to let our uncle murder me. He really intends to do nothing as this farce is carried out.

  “Morgan −”

  “I think you’ll find that your father − though heartbroken, of course − will find our actions just. I also think, given her conspiring with the Scots, we will finally have an ally in our fight against them,” James croons. “He will no doubt correctly assume that she allowed herself to be compromised. Tainted by them. And when I let him know that she has carried on a sexual affair with their leader, his outrage will outstrip even ours.”

  Malcolm gapes at me. “You’ve been fucking one of these animals?” he croaks. “Truly Sister? You have let one of these beasts put his cock in you? What on God’s green earth possessed you to spread your legs for him?”

  “She is a whore,” James says simply. “And she prefers to lie with beasts than good, moral men.”

  “This is preposterous,” I spit. “Father will have both of your heads on pikes.”

  The parchment still in my hand, I stride to the door and push my way past them. Morgan grabs my arm, and I round on him, my hand lashing out, seemingly of its own accord. The sharp crack of my hand meeting his cheek fills my ears. He looks stunned and pauses for a moment − which is just long enough for me to break his grasp on me.

  I turn and start to run toward the staircase, intending to barricade myself in my chambers until I can figure out what to do. But I feel a hand clamp around my arm again. It feels as strong and unbreakable as a steel band. I am wheeled around, and my head is rocked to the side as the sound of the slap echoes off the stone walls. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and bright bursts of light flare in my eyes.

  I look up at my uncle, who is grinning like a fiend. He tightens his grip on my arm and delivers another vicious slap to my face. I feel the blood, warm and viscous, spilling from my nose.

  “Stop,” I gasp. “Please stop.”

  A hard backhand is his reply, and I can’t stop the flow of tears as pain pulses in my face. I cast a look back at my brother, putting as much heat into my expression as I can.

  “Are you going to stand there and let him do this to me?” I croak. “Are you going to do nothing?”

  “Traitors must be dealt with harshly,” he says simply. “They must be made an example of.”

  James laughs as he slaps me across the face one more time. I hate the keening wail that flows from my mouth as he beats me. As he grabs me by the hair and starts to drag me off, I catch sight of Maggie hiding around a corner. Tears flow down her face, and her eyes are wide with fear. She looks like she wants to step out and do something, but I give her a subtle shake of the head. There is no sense in pulling her into this. I do not want her to be hurt.

  “To the cells with you,” my uncle says, sounding gleeful. “You will die a traitor’s death for conspiring with the enemy.”

  He drags me down the stairs and throws me in a cell. It is dark and smells of decay. As he steps closer to me, I shrink back from him. As much as I want to stand up to him, to be courageous and unafraid, I can’t. James flashes me that cruel grin once more.

  “You are going to die, whore,” he growls “And believe me when I say that I will enjoy swinging the sword.”

  I open my mouth to reply, but his fist suddenly fills my field of vision. I am so shocked by what is happening to me that I barely register the burst of pain in my face as his punch connects with me. All I seem to be aware of is that I am suddenly staring straight up at the low, lichen-covered ceiling.

  But then the darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision, and it is not long before it pulls me under.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Malcolm

  I watch the last of the day’s petitioners file out of the hall, and I am glad to see them go. Colban and Patric give me a wave before they walk out behind the crowd, and I let out a deep breath. Despite having done nothing more than sitting in this uncomfortable chair and listening to people argue and whine, I am utterly spent. Gaven chuckles at me from his chair on the dais.

  “How did my father do it?” I ask.

  “With plenty of strong drink.”

  We share a laugh as we get to our feet. I follow Gaven out of the hall and into the market. The sky is gray, and there is a chill in the air. The storm that pounded us last night has let up, but the low rumble of thunder in the distance promises more rain will be coming. But for now at least, it’s holding off, which means the vendors in the market will stay open for the time being.

  Gaven takes a couple of mugs of warm mead from old Grady and hands one to me. I give Gaven one of the spits of smoked meat I got from Annis, and we find a place to sit down for a bit. We eat and drink in silence for a bit as I try to decompress from the day.

  “You need to find a woman,” Gaven breaks the silence.

  I laugh. “Is that right?”

  “Aye. That’s right.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You need an heir,” he states. “So I can kick his arse too.”

  I chuckle and take a long swallow of my mead. “If memory serves, I kicked your a
rse,” I say. “That’s why my arse is in the Chief’s chair.”

  His laughter is low and booming. “Your memory’s as shallow as a puddle,” he says. “You’re only in that seat because you kicked me in the cock.”

  We share a laugh together, then I take a long swallow of my mead, enjoying the blossom of warmth in my belly. Gaven wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and belches, his gaze returning to me.

  “I’m serious though, lad,” he says. “You need a woman. The people expect you to have an heir. We’ll need a new leader when you get yourself run through; you know.”

  I flash him a grin. “I appreciate your confidence in my survival skills.”

  “Oh, I have no confidence in your survival skills,” he laughs. “Apologies if I gave you the impression I did.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You’re a right prick.”

  “Aye, that I am,” he replies. “But stop dodgin’ the bloody subject.”

  I tear off a piece of the meat and pop it into my mouth, wiping away the juices that spill down my chin with my hand. I chew slowly, mostly to give myself time to think. I am dodging the subject, Gaven is right about that. But it is only because it is not a subject I care to discuss since the one I want is beyond my reach.

  Gaven looks at me with knowing eyes, a small frown pulling his lips downward, as if he can intuit my thoughts.

  “You know that’s a bad path. Nothing good can come from pursuing her,” he says soberly. “You know that don’t you lad?”

  I let out a long breath and nod. “I know that,” I reply. “But the heart wants what the heart wants, doesn’t it?”’

  “Aye. But sometimes the heart can make us do stupid things. It can make us long for things we ain’t never gonna have.”

  I know he’s right. About all of it. The need to produce an heir is important. The clan needs continuity in leadership. Which means I should probably find a woman to marry myself to. But I know that no matter who I choose, she’ll never live up to Catherine in my eyes. I’ve longed for her for more than ten years now, and to have tasted her, even for such a brief time, has given me a taste of what heaven must feel like. And I know that nobody else is ever going to compare.

  Catherine has my heart. My soul. She has every bit of me. And I know I won’t be able to give that much of myself to another.

  Gaven thumps me on the shoulder and chuckles low. “Don’t worry lad,” he says. “We’ll find you a fine beauty you can have a ton of babies with.”

  “Aye,” I mutter and drain the last of my mug.

  We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, and I survey the crowd in the market. I see the usual faces milling about and think about what Gaven said. But then I see a face I didn’t expect to see pushing her way through the crowd. The expression on her face concerns me, and I get to my feet. Gaven is beside me in a heartbeat, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I respond. “But I get the feelin’ it’s not good.”

  Maggie threads her way through the crowd until she’s standing in front of me. Her hair is askew, and she looks like she’d ridden as if the Devil himself had been chasing her.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Her uncle − Catherine’s uncle − he beat her. Locked her in a cell,” she exclaims. “Says she’s going to be executed for conspiring with you.”

  Her voice is hoarse, and nothing she’s saying makes any sense to me. The girl is wild-eyed and looks half out of her mind.

  “Okay, calm down,” I tell her. “We’ll get this sorted.”

  Gaven and I take her back to the hall, locking the doors behind us. As I get a fire in the long pit going, Gaven fetches some mulled wine and pours out three glasses. Maggie takes one and gives him an expression of gratitude before swallowing half the mug down in one go. With the fire casting warmth into the chilled room, we all pull chairs closer to the pit and sit down.

  Maggie takes several deep breaths, then drains the last of her glass and looks to Gaven for a refill, which he promptly gives. My stomach is in knots, and I want to know what is going on with Catherine. But I know that until she calms down, she won’t be able to tell the story in any coherent fashion, so I have no choice but to wait.

  “Thank you,” she says after a moment − and another long swallow. “Suppose I needed it. I had a hard ride here.”

  “That’s okay, love,” I tell her. “But now, what is going on with Catherine? Is she okay?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “She’s bein’ held in the cells underneath the castle,” she says. “Her uncle − he’s goin’ to kill her.”

  I take a deep, steadying breath. “Okay, you better start from the beginning and tell me everything.”

  She does. Maggie tells me a story that, by the time she’s finished, has my blood boiling. My fists are clenched tight, and rage is flowing through me. I cut Gaven a look and incline my head. He nods then tops off Maggie’s mug again before he sets the pitcher down and follows me over to the far corner of the hall.

  I turn to him, my face burning with anger. “I need to go to Caldryn House. Tonight,” I growl. “I’m not going to let that son of a bitch kill her.”

  Gaven nods. “I understand,” he replies. “But let’s take a breath and get the clan together. Let us −”

  “We don’t have time,” I hiss. “They’ll want to argue and talk − her uncle is going to kill her.”

  Gaven runs a hand through his hair and looks down at the ground, knowing I’m right. The rest of the clan doesn’t have a stake in this − they won’t see the need to put their skins on the line for an English noblewoman. And I can’t fault them for that. I put a hand on Gaven’s shoulder and squeeze it tight.

  “This isn’t their fight, Gaven,” I tell him. “I can’t ask anybody to go into Caldryn House on my behalf.”

  An expression of frustration crosses his face. “Malcolm, there has to be another −”

  “There isn’t,” I interrupt. “This is my fight. I just − if I don’t come back, I need you to lead the clan. I need you to be the one to protect them. Honestly, it probably should have been you all along.”

  “Shut your hole, boy,” he says, his voice low. “This is your rightful place. You are the Chief, not me.”

  “Aye, but if I get myself killed tryin’ to save her, you’re going to need to step up,” I urge. “Can you do that? Can I count on you to do that?”

  He hesitates for a long moment then lets out a frustrated breath. He gives me a small nod and then puts his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me to him. Pressing his forehead to mine, he looks me in the eye.

  “Then make sure you get your arse back here,” he tells me. “Because I sure as hell don’t wanna have to deal with petition days.”

  We both laugh and clap each other on the shoulder. I give him a firm nod and then walk back to Maggie, dropping to a knee beside her. She stares into the flames in the pit with a look of sorrow on her face, as if she’s already grieving Catherine. I close my hand over hers, but she doesn’t acknowledge me.

  “I’m goin’ to fetch her,” I say. “I need you to stay here with Gaven. He’ll take good care of you. I’m not goin’ to let anything happen to her.”

  She finally looks up at me, and I see the fear in her eyes. “Wait. Before you go, you should know how to get into Caldryn House,” she says.

  I give her a nod, and she tells me the secret way into the castle − the way she’d gotten Catherine out to see me, and the way she herself had gotten out as well. It’s good information to have, and once I gather my gear and saddle my horse, I ride off into the night.

  Chapter Thirty

  Malcolm

  After leaving my horse tied to the trees at the edge of the forest, I cross the open field behind Caldryn House. Maggie was right; the English think the only threat is to the north, so the southern walls aren’t guarded. I make it to the small hidden door in the southern wall unchallenged. My dagger in one
hand, I unlatch the door with the other and slowly open it. I don’t hear any shouts of alarm or see any soldiers milling around, so I slip through and into the bailey.

  “I’m coming to get you, Catherine,” I mutter.

  Moving from shadow to shadow, the walk from the bailey yard and up the hill to the castle is agonizingly slow. My stomach is in knots the whole time, and my body is taut with tension, waiting for the alarm to be raised at any moment. But I make it to a secret door in the stone wall without being seen. Maggie had been right again, very few of the Duke’s men patrolled the southern side of the castle.

  The secret door was a means of escape in case the castle was overrun. But Maggie said she and Catherine had been using it to sneak out since they were kids. I pull it open, slip through, and then slide it shut behind me. I pause where I am, my heart hammering in my chest, and wait. Hearing nothing, I creep down the corridor, clutching my dagger tight.

  I see a couple of liveried servants cross the hall ahead of me. I press myself against the wall, clinging to the shadows and do my best to melt into them. Not that I needed to work too hard at hiding since the servants were engaged in an animated but whispered conversation − the only words that echoed to me down the stone corridor being ‘James’ and ‘prick’. A sentiment I couldn’t possibly agree more with.

  Recalling the directions Maggie gave me, I find my way to the staircase that will lead me to the cells below. But the light from a torch and the sound of muffled voices floating up the stairs freezes me in my tracks. I dash behind a nearby pillar, doing my best to remain tucked up enough to avoid being seen.

  A couple of moments later, I hear Catherine’s whimper of pain, followed by her outraged shouts of anger. A sharp crack is the next sound I hear − the unmistakable sound of somebody being slapped − and Catherine falls silent.

  “Bitch,” a man’s voice − it has to be James’ − sounds. “I told you to shut your bloody mouth.”

  Clutching my dagger tight, I risk a glance around the pillar and see the Duke’s brother dragging Catherine by the hair. They’re moving away from me. There aren’t many torches lit − at this hour, the household is likely preparing for bed − so I can’t see her that well. What I do see of Catherine though, freezes my blood. I see blood on her face and dark patches that can only be bruising. Her uncle has worked her over but good, and it fills me with the purest, most animalistic rage I’ve ever felt.