by Barbara Bard
The knights said nothing, but each of them couldn’t help but see the anger that was brewing inside of Sir Jessup.
“I want them to suffer,” Sir Jessup said, the pain of his past flooding his mind due to Lord Torstein’s words. “I want them to suffer as I have suffered…”
Though the man could not admit it out loud—he knew full well that the words Lord Torstein had spoken to him about loss were more than true.
Chapter 8
The Bairdsmen arrived at the top of the hill overlooking the town nestled in the valley of the Highlands. Smoke rose from chimney’s in thick plumes as the collective groupings of tan buildings sat quietly as the sun finished its ascent.
“We are here,” Gavina said, pointing to the center of the town. “The tavern rests in that location right there.”
“We shall ride ahead,” Lachlan said, “Gavina and myself.”
“The rest of you will wait until we are settled. Wait an hour before you head into town. You will check in at the inn in separate rooms. Dinnae lave or attract any attention. Understood?”
“Aye,” the group collectively answered. “And what shall the plan of attack be should a problem arise?”
Gavina pointed to the tavern. “See the tavern?” nods. “Now, look across the way, just a short distance over. That is the inn we will be staying at. The windows above look directly into the tavern. Lachlan and I will position ourselves there. Should I give the signal,” she looked to Tessa, “ye will attack first. Dinnae kill Lord Torstein. He is on our side.” Her thoughts drifted to Christian. “Dinnae kill the man he is with either. Only kill Sir Jessup.”
“How will we know what he looks like?” Tessa asked.
“I shall raise me glass taeo him upon his arrival. That will tell ye.”
Ava squinted. “Any sign of the Sassenach? Hae they arrived yet?”
The group surveyed the town for a few moments. “I see nothing,” Glenn said.
Tessa shook her head. “Neither do I.”
“Leave your horses here,” Gavina ordered. “You will come in on foot. Approach from the east. There is proper concealment in that forested area on that side of the town. No one will see you coming.”
After going back over the plan and finalizing the details, Gavina and Lachlan rode ahead into the town. The closer they came—the more nervous they felt themselves become.
The village was quiet as they rode through, with only the occasional glance of a local villager being tossed in their direction as they headed for the inn that Isla had told them about. After posting their horses outside, they walked in and were immediately greeted by an older woman with withered hands and a face that had never showcased a smile.
“Help ye?” the old innkeeper said.
“Aye,” Gavina said, gesturing to Lachlan. “Me husband and I wish tae hae a room.”
The innkeeper told them the right, took their money, and showed them to a room at the top of the staircase. “Ye hae it fer two nights,” the innkeeper said.
“Thank ye,” Gavina said as Lachlan closed the door behind them.
They moved over to the window overlooking the tavern. “Perfect,” Lachlan said. “Whichever room the other Bairdsmen will be in will provide a good view of the tavern.”
“We will be seated at that window,” Gavina pointed. “They will be able tae see us well.”
“There is also a perfect opening if Tessa needs tae take a shot with her bow.”
“Aye…I thought the same.”
“When should we gae?”
Gavina thought about it, her eyes scanning the village for any signs of the Sassenach—as well as Christian. “We gae noo,” she said. “There is naw mair time tae waste.”
The tavern was ripe with Scotsmen drinking whiskey and seated at the various tables peppered throughout the establishment. The owner, a rugged man with a big chest and hair-covered arms, said nothing as Lachlan and Gavina approached. “Whiskey,” she said.
He poured them two glasses, took their money, and stepped away as he went about lighting the lanterns around the tavern to give a little glow to the otherwise darkened establishment.
Sticking to their plan, Lachlan and Gavina moved over to the table by the window and saw that a drunken Scotsmen was mumbling to himself as he downed what appeared to be his third glass of whiskey.
“Get rid of him,” Gavina said.
Lachlan nodded to the man. “Good man,” he said. “We require this table. Would ye be so kind to allow us tae hae it?”
The man spit back something that sounded like a curse as he once more became lost in his drink. Lachlan, knowing that he would only request nicely once more, said: “Come, noo. There is a lady presence. Try tae stave off yer pished antics.”
The drunkard stood and pointed a finger. “Get lost! I dinnae need—”
Lachlan grabbed the man’s finger, spun him around, pinned his arm behind his back and said: “I think ye are done drinking, naw?”
The man, his arm on the cusp of breaking, nodded repeatedly. “Aye…Aye, indeed.”
Lachlan shoved the man off before the man then quickly retreated out of the tavern. The tavern owner, an irritated gaze leveled in Lachlan’s direction, stood with his chest puffed and arms crossed. Lachlan tossed the man two coins which then seemingly bought off the man’s chagrin.
Gavina and Lachlan sat, sipping their whiskey but knowing that getting drunk was not an option at their current juncture.
“I wonder when they will arrive,” Lachlan said.
Gavina nodded, gazing out at the window and spotting the other Bairdsmen quickly shuffling into the inn across the way. “Soon,” she said. “Very, very soon…”
Lord Torstein, Sir Jessup, and Christian arrived at the tavern. Several townsfolk took note of their Sassenach garb and gave them a wide berth. The town was under control of the Sassenach, and the people that dwelled there knew that the peace could only be sustained if they kept their heads low and did as they were told.
“Christian,” Lord Torstein said. “Head inside. See if our Highlanders have arrived.”
Christian dismounted his horse. “Yes, my lord.”
Sir Jessup and Lord Torstein then waited as Sir Jessup occasionally tossed a glance over his shoulder and hid a smile at the fact that his knights, most likely, were somewhere waiting in the rear to do his bidding.
Christian entered the tavern, the patrons immediately diverting their gaze as he slowly traipsed through. Gavina, spotting him immediately, could not help herself from feeling that odd tingling in her stomach once again resurging as she laid eyes on the handsome knight.
“They are here,” Gavina said as she stood. “I will speak with him.”
Lachlan kept a grip on his sword as Gavina approached Christian, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.
Christian swallowed as the beauty that was Gavina approached him. He had never recalled feeling something as potent as he was experiencing in that moment. Christian had heard so many tales in his life about love at first sight and was beginning to suspect that the moment might have arrived that he was experiencing his own version of that story.
“My lady,” he greeted with a nod as Gavina stood before him.
“I am nae a lady,” she said. “Remember?”
Christian shook his head. “Yes. Of course. My apologies. I seem to be forgetting.”
Gavina perched her elbows on the bar and ordered another whiskey. “Is something making ye nervous, Sir Christian?”
Something was making Christian nervous, and it was Gavina. He just knew that he wouldn’t dare admit it to her. “I am merely weary from the ride,” he said. “It feels like a lifetime’s worth.”
“Quite pessimistic talk makes ye seem like a less than capable knight.”
Christian was taken aback at Gavina’s bluntness. “Is that so?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. I am only going oaf of first impressions.”
“Well,” Christian said, cozying up next to her at the countert
op, “then maybe you get to know me better before passing judgment.”
“Yer a Sassenach knight—what mair dae I need tae ken?”
“I am more than just my country, Gavina, as I am sure you are as well.”
“Me people and me country are everything tae me. A Sassenach knight from wealth and privilege cannae fathom that kind of loyalty.”
He smiled. “Well, I surely am not a man of wealth and privilege. It was only by happenstance that I managed to become a knight. I never wanted to be one.”
“Then why did ye?”
He shrugged. “Not much choice, I am afraid. I always found my talents to lay somewhere other than the yielding of sword.”
Gavina couldn’t deny the fact that she was intrigued. “Is that so?”
He nodded. “Indeed. I always wanted to be a poet. I always appreciated the written word and reading of battle then partaking in one.”
Gavina flexed her brow, incredulous. “A poet, ye say?”
“Yes,” he nodded over his shoulder. “I keep a journal still of some of my works, though I do not dare let anyone read it.”
A pause. “What kind of poetry dae ye write of?”
“Oh, all poetry and literature revolve around the same concepts that people have always discussed—life, love, loss. I do not think that what I write is any different from the countless pieces that have been crafted over time.”
Gavina faced him and found the whiskey lowering her inhibitions more than she had intended. “Ye write of love?”
Christian nodded. “Sometimes.”
“And what dae ye hae tae say about the subject of love?”
Christian moved in closer. “Many things.”
“Give me an example.”
Christian bit his lip and thought back on his writings. Gavina was unable to help herself from staring at his lips as he pondered. “Love is double-edge notion,” he recited. “It can cure as much as it can cut. Love is not defined by a sole definition, but that of many. It can be liberating—or it can be lethal.”
Gavina pouted her lip and rested her hand on her chin. “I supposed it is fine,” she said. “I dae believe the notion that love is lethal.”
“I do not.”
“Yet ye wrote of it.”
“I guess that is true. I suppose that I merely strive for the day when I meet that love who shall cure my notions of the more dire examples of love that I have been witness to.”
“What dae ye mean?”
Christian thought of that past. “It does not matter. We all have our stories of loss and love. We have all been down the road of heartbreak before.”
Gavina thought of her own stories, of the lovers she had been with. Never before had she felt love for any of them. She had been under the impression that she had all but written off the concept of love. For years she thought she had held love in such a high regard, being that she had been witness to the potent and undying love of Isla and Finlay for so many years. In many ways—she felt like that kind of love was one that she could not acquire.
“You are thinking of something,” Christian said.
She shook her head. “Nothing important.”
“No…I do not believe that to be true.”
Gavina turned to him with a defensive posture. “Ye dinnae ken me.”
“I am aware.”
“Yet ye press me so.”
“Is it getting to you?”
Neither of them been aware of it—but both were moving closer toward each other.
“Perhaps,” Gavina said.
“In a good way?” Christian said.
They were but inches from one another, the invisible magnitude that was kindling inside of them like a raging fire was burning brighter than either could acknowledge. But before a word was spoken—Gavina straightened up at the sight of Lord Torstein and Sir Jessup, standing tall and at attention with pensive expressions on their faces.
Lachlan, seated in the corner and perking up, gripped the handle of his broadsword with a white-knuckled grip. “Here we gae…”
Chapter 9
Lord Torstein and Sir Jessup approached the table with a tension lacing the air so thick one could cut through it with a broadsword. Everyone, from Christian to Gavina to Torstein and Jessup stood a few feet apart from one another, gazes shifting from one person to the next as everyone waited for the other to speak.
Sir Jessup huffed. “Well,” he began. “Are we going to stand here all day, or shall we proceed with the discussions?”
Gavina motioned to the table in the corner where Lachlan stood, his chin jutted and hand still planted firmly on his broadsword. The group approached, each of them sitting a few feet away from one another, like an invisible barrier was dividing all of them.
Lord Torstein nodded to Gavina. “Where is Finlay?”
Sir Jessup pointed to Lachlan. “Is this not him?”
Lachlan said nothing, his gaze held on Sir Jessup.
“Lord Finlay,” Gavina said. “Has fallen ill. He will nae be able tae attend these negotiations.”
Sir Jessup shook his head. “The agreement was to meet with Finlay Baird.”
“I hae come in his stead.”
“Well, I don’t know who you are, my dear.”
“My name is Gavina. I represent the Baird clan.” A nod to Lachlan. “This is Lachlan. He is me counterpart.”
“Your husband?” Sir Jessup inquired.
Christian heart beat faster upon Sir Jessup’s inquiry.
“Naw,” Gavina said. “He is merely one of me warriors.”
“A shame,” Sir Jessup said. “A lady as fine as yourself should be married at this point. Have you merely not found the right suitor, my dear?”
“We are nae here tae discuss personal matters,” Gavina said. “We are here tae negotiate a truce between our people.”
A shrug from Sir Jessup. “Then by all means.” He looked around the tavern. “But first—tell me there is something better to drink than the Highlander swill in this establishment.”
“Whatever ye wish tae hae,” Lachlan said. “I suggest the whiskey.”
A sigh from Sir Jessup. “Whiskey is a commoner’s drink. I prefer wine.”
Lachlan signaled the tavern owner, requested a drink for Sir Jessup, and settled back into his chair.
Lord Torstein nodded to Gavina. “How are you? How is your family?”
Gavina had never met Lord Torstein in person but she knew of him well enough from his years of secret messages between Finlay and Isla. She could see that he had kind eyes, honest eyes—an overall look not far off from Christian. “They are well,” she said. “They send their regards.”
Sir Jessup shifted his weight, still irked at the notion of Lord Torstein’s private conversations with the Baird clan. “Enough pleasantries,” he said. “We are here to discuss a very pressing matter”
“Aye,” Gavina said. “So, let us proceed.”
“You seek a peace, yes?”
“Aye.”
“You seek to stay in this…mysterious place that you and your clan call home.”
“Aye.”
The tavern owner returned with Sir Jessup’s wine and placed it down in front of him. Sir Jessup sniffed the liquor, raised it to his lips, and drank. He winced—“What swill,” he said with disdain as he pushed the cup away from him.
“We seek a lasting truce,” Gavina said. “We seek tae end this turmoil between yer people and ours.”
Sir Jessup shrugged. “You do understand that it is a difficult proposition.”
“And why is that?”
“Because no one has answered for the death of Lord Henry of Sanford. The king demands that the proper restitutions be made.”
Gavina shook her head. “Lord Henry was a savage. He murdered many members of my clan and kidnapped me during the course of his actions.”
“I do not deny that Lord Henry was a despicable man, but he was royalty nonetheless.”
Gavina perched forward. “What are ye under th
e impression of? In regards tae Lord Henry’s demise?”
“I was told that yer people murdered him.”
