Highlander’s Buried Identity (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Shona Thompson

  Chapter Three

  Upon reaching Duncan’s keep, they were swiftly enveloped into the warm embrace of his loving family. Marra MacDonald was an exquisite beauty with her warm smile and scarlet tresses. Their son, Ewan, was a bubbling bairn of little over a year, with hair as bright as his mother’s. Duncan swept them both up into his arms giving his wife a resounding kiss. He tousled his son’s hair, smiling from ear to ear. “’Tis good tae be home.” He kissed his wife once more, then turned to introduce Robbie. “My love, this is Robbie MacDonald o’ the Isle o’ Skye, brother tae James. Robbie, may I present my wife, Lady Marra MacDonald, Lairdess o’ the Isle o’ Jura.”

  Robbie bowed low over Marra’s hand. “My Lady.”

  “Mr. MacDonald,” Marra inclined her head in greeting. “’Tis pleased I am tae meet ye. I have heard many good things about yer prowess in battle.”

  “I thank ye, My Lady. Please call me Robbie.”

  “And ye may call me Marra. Yer brother is wee Ewan’s godfather after all. That makes ye family does it nae.”

  Robbie bowed once more, smiling in gratitude for the warm welcome. “And this must be young Master Ewan,” he remarked gently shaking the wee lad’s tiny hand.

  “Aye,” Duncan grinned proudly at his son. “And another on the way,” he laid his hand affectionately on his wife’s abdomen.

  “My congratulations tae ye both.”

  “Aye, I was greatly sorry tae miss the weddin’ but ‘tis best nae tae be travelin’ just now,” she ran her hand over her protruding stomach with a tender smile.

  “Ye were greatly missed, my love, but James understood. He sends ye his verra best wishes and asks that we send word when the bairn’s time has come,” Duncan reassured his wife.

  “Well come in, and we will find ye a good hot meal and a warm bed,” Marra waved Robbie toward the keep, and he followed the couple inside. “Will ye be stayin’ with us long?” She asked with a kind smile.

  “Nae, I will be leavin’ upon the morrow, with yer husband’s blessing o’ course.” Robbie inclined his head to Duncan in deferment as the laird of the castle.

  “That is tae bad. It would appear that there are several young lassies among our kinswomen who would wish it to be otherwise.” Marra gestured with her head toward the kitchens where a gaggle of lassies were staring at him, blushing and giggling.

  Robbie shook his head. “I am nae o’ a mind for a lass at this time, but I thank ye for the compliment.”

  Marra paused and looked up into Robbie’s eyes, reading what reasoning might lie behind their blue depths. “Ye are in pain,” she murmured, her compassion for him clear on her face. “I ken the truth o’ yer birth and ken well the cruelties o’ yer faither, but hear me, Robbie MacDonald, ye are nae tae blame for any o’ it. Yer faither’s actions are his and his alone. A man is more than his faither’s misdeeds. Ye are more than yer faither’s savage legacy. Dinnae let it take ye from those who love ye for verra long. It is tae easy tae lose ourselves in the sin o’ others if we attempt tae face the world without love.” Robbie looked down into her eyes and was struck by the knowledge and sincerity that he found there. James had told him of the suffering that Marra had endured in her young life before she had wed Duncan. He knew that she was all too familiar with pain, betrayal, and the dishonorable conduct of evil men. “Ye may try tae run for a wee while, but remember in the end, that ye have a home with people who love ye verra much, with a brother that loves ye verra much. In the end love is the one thing that will defeat the darkness that ye fear marks yer soul.”

  Marra moved away seeing to the arrangements for supper, but her words hung in the air long after she was gone. “My wife is a wise woman,” Duncan murmured, laying a consoling hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “Heed her words, lad, as best ye can,” he advised then motioned for Robbie to follow him.

  Duncan led Robbie up a flight of stone steps and down a long hall. Robbie could not help but notice the marks upon the floor and walls that were the remnants of an attack on the castle a little over three years before. “Ye will stay in my maither’s auld room for the night. Come the morn, I will have a horse and provisions awaitin’ ye in the courtyard. Are ye certain that we cannae persuade ye tae remain a while longer?”

  “I thank ye, Duncan, but nae. I am set on my course. Ye are a good friend tae offer, mind.”

  “Think nothin’ o’ it, lad. As my wife said, ye are family.”

  Duncan saw Robbie to his room, then went below stairs to see to his wife. The bathwater was brought up, and Robbie cleaned and changed himself for the evening meal. By the time he descended the stairs, the hall had transformed into a lively medley of food, people, music, and conversation. Duncan, seeing him, waved Robbie up onto the dais at the head of the lines of tables. Robbie joined him, and Duncan raised his arms in a sign for silence. The room went quiet and all heads turned to their laird. “A toast tae Robbie MacDonald! May yer journey be a safe and productive one, and may ye return tae yer people whole and happy. Tae Robbie MacDonald! Slainte!”

  “Slainte!” the room echoed back, and everyone raised their glasses to Robbie’s success.

  The room returned to blissful chaos as food was brought out and laid upon the tables. Large platters of venison from the Isle of Jura were brought out, followed by bowls of boiled root vegetables, kale, bread, cheese, apples, and other delectable treats, including a large pigeon pie. Robbie’s mouth watered after a long day of sailing with naught to eat but bannocks. He dove into the meal with relish, devouring his food with such gusto that the castle cook actually came up to him and pinched his cheeks in delight, filling his trencher with another helping of everything. Ale flowed freely around the room, and Robbie allowed himself to be swept up in the revelry of the evening. The laird of the castle had returned, and his people were happy to have him home. Robbie would never know such respect as that afforded to a laird, but he admired men such as Duncan and James who had it.

  When the supper had concluded, a space was cleared for a bit of dancing and friendly competition. A bonnie fair-haired lass asked Robbie to dance, and he acquiesced, allowing her to lead him out onto the floor for a reel. When the music ended, Robbie released the lass, declining to dance further after seeing the unhappy face of a man who he guessed to be either her brother or her suitor. Robbie slipped outside, escaping the heat of so many bodies in one room, and breathed in a deep cleansing breath of sea air. A voice from behind him interrupted the brief peace of the moment. “Is it true what they say about ye?”

  “That would depend on what is bein’ said,” Robbie answered. Hearing the confrontation in the man’s voice, he turned to face the intrusion.

  “That ye are the bassard son o’ Alexander MacDonald born o’ a kitchen whore.” The man sneered out the words in a drunken hiss.

  “’Tis true that I am the bassard son o’ the Laird Alexander MacDonald, but my maither was nae whore. She was raped.” Robbie knew when his mother had decided to support James and come forward with the truth about Robbie’s conception that word would travel. He had also known that there would be repercussions to the revealing of the truth, but he had not expected it among the people that his brother had worked so hard to save from ruin. No one other than Marra had said a word to him about it until now, and he knew that even now it was nothing more than a drunken utterance of jealousy.

  “Bassard son o’ a whore.” The man spat at Robbie’s feet in disgust. “Ye stay away from my woman. Ye keep yer bloody hands off o’ her, ye hear.”

  “I have absolutely nae intentions toward the lass. She asked me tae dance, and I didnae wish tae be rude and refuse her. That is all.”

  “A man o’ yer ilk cannae be trusted with a bonnie lass such as my Irene. We dinnae allow our women tae be whored as ye MacDonalds o’ Skye have done.”

  Robbie moved forward and stared hard down into the face of the drunken man. “Rape is nae whoring. It is a cowardly attack, the perpetrator o’ which is tae be punished severely at the end o’ a sword. I wi
ll nae stand here and listen tae ye malign the name o’ good and faithful women who have done naught wrong.” Robbie turned away in an effort not to do violence upon a clansman of whose Laird he was guest.

  “Bassard son o’ a whore,” the man sneered at his back in triumphant disgust, believing himself to have emerged superior from the discussion.

  Unable to contain his temper any longer, Robbie turned and punched the man square in the face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed everywhere, soaking his hand and the stones at their feet. “My maither is nae a whore, and the next time I hear ye say such a thing, it will be my dirk that ye will answer tae, nae just my fist.” Robbie stepped over the prone body upon the ground as it rocked back and forth, crying and moaning in pain.

  Duncan met him at the door. “What happened?”

  “Ask yer man there. I am sure he will be all tae glad tae tell ye,” Robbie replied, and moving through the hall, he retired to his room for the rest of the night. Come the morning, Robbie set out for London and never looked back.

  Chapter Four

  It was a long hard ride through the highlands and lowlands of Scotland, as well as the length of England, before Robbie arrived at the London docks. The varied landscape was stunning to behold with its lochs and bens, crofts and castles. As he rode, Robbie allowed the peace of his surroundings to soak into his soul, easing the bitterness of the night before. He rode past dry stacked stone fenced pastures of sheep, over burns of cool, clear, flowing water, through stretches of seemingly endless emerald and russet moorland, along rocky dirt roads that went on for miles and miles. Each night he slept out under the stars and rode through the day, whether rain or shine. It was a time of quiet inner reflection only broken up by the odd passerby. By the time he arrived in London, he had overcome any reticence that he had previously felt in leaving Skye and was ready for the next phase of his journey.

  Entering the city, he made his way toward the shoreline. When he reached the London docks, he stopped a man who appeared to be in charge of the comings and goings there and asked him where he might find a ship bound for the Americas. The man pointed him toward a large cargo vessel at the end of the docks called the St. Anne. “Her captain’s name be Acton Carlisle III,” the man informed him helpfully. “Do ye have business with her, sir?”

  “Aye, mayhap. Do ye ken if she be takin’ on any crew?”

  “I can’t be sure, but it never hurts to ask.”

  Robbie thanked the man and moved down the docks toward the ship in question. Sailors were rolling casks of what smelled like grog up the ramp and onto the ship. A peg-legged man passed him carrying a large sack of what appeared to hardtack over his shoulder. Robbie followed him aboard the ship and inquired as to where he might find the captain. The man with the peg scowled at him and hobbled off without answering. Robbie frowned, debating on whether to follow and force the man to answer him or to leave him be. “Perhaps I could be of service, sir?” a young man asked from behind him.

  Robbie turned to find a young lad of about thirteen standing there, brows lifted in respectful inquiry. “Aye, lad, perhaps ye could point me tae the captain?”

  “Yes, sir, if you would just follow me, I will take you to him.” The lad’s way of speech was more cultured than Robbie would have expected on such a vessel. He would have expected to find such lads on a ship of the Royal Navy, but not on a cargo ship.

  “What is yer name, lad?” Robbie asked out of curiosity.

  “Asa Bradstreet, sir.”

  “Robbie MacDonald,” he introduced himself, inclining his head in thanks for the lad’s aid. “’Tis a pleasure tae make yer acquaintance.”

  “And you, sir.” He took in Robbie’s way of dress and smiled. “What brings you to London, sir?”

  “I seek employment aboard a ship bound for the Americas.”

  “Then you have come to the right place, sir. We are bound there presently and could use an extra hand.”

  “I am pleased tae hear it.” Robbie followed him across the deck to the captain’s cabin.

  “In here, sir.” Asa Bradstreet pushed the door open and led him inside.

  The room was dark after the bright light of day, and it took a moment for Robbie’s eyes to adjust. When his sight cleared, he found the captain sitting behind a desk backlit in front of a bank of windows. “Captain, sir, may I introduce Mr. Robbie MacDonald. Mr. MacDonald, this is Captain Acton Carlisle III,” Asa made the introductions, bowing in deference to the ship’s captain. “Mr. MacDonald has come seeking employment on a ship bound for the Americas.”

  “Sir,” Robbie inclined his head in respect.

  “Hmmm,” the captain appraised Robbie, his steel-blue eyes were curious with an edge of calculation to them. “I could use a man who knows his way around weapons. You look to be just such a man,” the captain gestured to the sword, dirk, and pistols at Robbie’s belt. He had come armed with the tools of his trade.

  “Aye, I do, sir,” Robbie nodded once in admission.

  “Do you know aught of sailing ships?”

  “Aye,” Robbie nodded again. “I am a man o’ the islands, sir.”

  “Oh? Which one?” the captain’s brow raised in interest.

  “The Isle o’ Skye.”

  “A beautiful place, is it not?”

  “Aye, ‘tis bonnie indeed.”

  “And yet you left your home to come here?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “I see,” the captain mused and sat in silent thought for a moment. “A man’s business is his own, but I must ask the question nevertheless. Are you on the run from the law?”

  “Nae, sir,” Robbie shook his head.

  “Good,” the captain answered, leaning back in his chair. “And you are not opposed to putting your skills as a mercenary and that of a sailor to my use?”

  “Nae, sir. I seek only honest employment.”

  “Excellent.” The captain went on to discuss the amount of payment for Robbie’s services and what he could expect as a member of the ship’s crew. “You will crew the St. Anne to the Americas and back again. It is a journey of about six months given weather and the like. Is that satisfactory to you, Mr. MacDonald?”

  “Aye, sir, it is.”

  “Very well.” The captain pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote down the terms of their agreement, which they both signed. “Welcome aboard, Mr. MacDonald. Mr. Bradstreet here will show you to your quarters and then give you a tour of the ship. Please familiarize yourself with the vessel before we set sail.”

  “Aye, sir.” Robbie nodded in gratitude, then turned and followed Asa from the room.

  On the way out of the captain’s cabin, a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head to find the most beautiful ebony eyes he had ever seen staring out at him from behind the curtains of the captain’s bunk. He was so caught off guard that he nearly stumbled into Asa. He opened his mouth to greet the mysterious lass but was cut short by the slightest jerk of her head warning him to keep silent. Her eyes darted furtively to the captain in fear and then back at Robbie. Robbie frowned but inclined his head ever so slightly before stepping out of the room and back onto the ship’s deck.

  “Mr. Bradstreet, who was the lass in the captain’s cabin?” Robbie asked once they were out of earshot.

  Asa turned and leveled a look of warning. “That is the captain’s woman. You would do best to steer clear of her for the sake of your good health, Mr. MacDonald.”

  “Robbie,” he corrected, seeing no need for formality.

  “Asa,” the boy smiled.

  “A jealous man, the captain?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. The last man to lay a hand on Miss Talise had it cut off and fed to the sharks.”

  “I see,” Robbie mused, frowning. The lass had not looked happy at all. In fact, she had looked terrified. “Here o’ her own free will, is she?”

  “I cannot speak to that, sir, but she has very little choice in the matter either way.”

  “And why is that
?”

  “She is a slave, sir, a woman of the Iroquois, a native people of the Americas. The captain bought her from a French fur trader when she was but a girl not much older than I, but that was five years ago now.”

  “Please tell me that he didnae take her tae his bed so young?”

  “I could not say, sir, but he waited to wed her until this past year. He performed the ceremony himself as the captain of the ship. I do not understand how it is that she can be his wife and a slave, but there it is.” Asa shrugged his shoulders as if such things were perfectly normal and not the grotesque twisted evil that it was.

  Robbie had the urge to barge into the captain’s cabin, run the man through, and carry the girl off of the ship, but as she was his legal wife there was not much that could be done about it. He supposed that if she wished to leave, she would have done so long ago. The idea of the thing did not sit well with him at all. If he had not already signed a contract that bound him to the ship for the journey, he would have walked off of the ship right then and there.