Highland Gladiator

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “I was told ye were a smithy before ye went tae the Cal,” Ewan said, eyeing Lor from across the table. “Da says ye’re from Careston.”

  Lor, who had been in the process of removing his cloak to dry, didn’t respond right away. He’d had barely any conversation with either brother on the trip north and that had been by his own choice. He didn’t want to socialize with the enemy and he didn’t want to get to know them on any level, but at the moment he was a rather captive audience.

  He didn’t have a choice.

  “I was,” he said. “And I am.”

  Ewan was expecting more of an answer. “Ye’re tae come and live with us, but no one knows much about ye,” he said. When Niall tried to hush his bold son, Ewan waved him off. “’Tis true. He’s not said two words to Ossian and me this entire journey. Are we not good enough tae speak with? Yer fealty is with my father now, and when he dies, it’ll be me leading the clan. I want tae know about a man we are supposed tae trust.”

  Isabail jumped in. “Ye dunna demand tae know of a man like that,” she said. “Have ye no manners? Ask him politely and he may answer, but if he doesna wish tae speak, ye dunna press him. He’s come tae help us against the Lindsay, but he’s not yer servant. Ye dunna make demands of the man.”

  “Oh? And what do ye know about him?”

  She knew far more than she was willing to tell at the moment. “I know his name, and I know he’s a man of honor,” she snapped. “’Tis all I need tae know, and it is all ye need tae know as well.”

  Ewan wasn’t satisfied. He sat back in his chair, eyeing Lor, who was staring at him in return. It wasn’t a challenging stare, but it wasn’t one of welcome, either. Ewan sighed sharply.

  “Then I’ll ask ye nicely,” he said. “Would ye tell us of yerself?”

  Lor thought about refusing, but if his plans against the Keith were to know fruition, he would have to make some effort to gain their trust. He couldn’t do that if he was silent and sullen. Soon enough, they would figure out that something was wrong, and he didn’t want that. Therefore, he forced himself to answer the brash young Highlander.

  “I was a smithy,” he said. “My grandfather was a smithy, also.”

  Ewan was interested, but only because he was nosy, not because he was politely curious. “Were ye there when Careston was burned?”

  That wasn’t the direction Lor expected the conversation to go, and he struggled not to stiffen. Wendell had said that he was good at holding his temper, and he was.

  It was oh so difficult.

  “Nay,” he said evenly. “I was at a smelter in Brechin, purchasing ingots of iron for my trade. I was returning home when I saw the flames and smelled the smoke.”

  “Ye had family in Careston, did ye?”

  Lor stopped short of telling him that it was none of his affair. Mercifully, Isabail interrupted.

  “Ye dunna ask a man such questions,” she said, exasperated. “Ask him about the weather, or his trade, but ye dunna ask him a question like that.”

  Thank God the woman had such sense. Lor wasn’t sure he could have even uttered a word in answer to that question. He glanced at her only to see that she was looking at him, and when their eyes met, she smiled timidly.

  A flicker of a smile crossed his lips before he looked away.

  The serving wench made her way to their table at that point, and Niall ordered supper and drink for everyone. Lor got up from the table to stand next to the hearth, pretending to warm his hands and dry out when he really did it to get away from Ewan and his questions. He didn’t want the man asking him something more about family because he was going to have to throttle him.

  The food came quickly and Lor rejoined the table, hoping the bread and drink would keep Ewan’s mouth too full to speak. There was chicken stew with herbs and grain, fresh bread and butter, and stewed apples with cinnamon and honey. Isabail quietly and efficiently made sure all of the men were served before accepting a portion for herself. She ensured that Lor had enough bread and stewed apples, and they all ate in relative silence.

  Lor welcomed it, but as the seconds ticked away, he began to think that Ewan had a point. They knew nothing about him, and he knew he was going to have to remedy that. Perhaps if he told them just a little about himself, it would ease their curiosity. Perhaps it would even begin the process of establishing that important trust. For the man who didn’t make friends easily, it was an effort for him to speak up.

  “If I seem quiet, ’tis only my nature,” he said, watching four pairs of eyes look at him. “But ye should know that the last time I was in the Highlands, it was tae see my village burned. This is a strange journey for me, but I swear tae ye that I will not fail ye in whatever ye would have me do.”

  That was as much as he had said the entire trip, and Niall seemed surprised by it. “I have no doubt of yer abilities,” he said. “I saw ye fight the Beast. I know what ye’re capable of. As tae returning tae the Highlands, ye have my sympathy. ’Tis a strange and desperate journey for us as well.”

  “Why?”

  Niall sighed faintly, looking to his warmed wine and collecting the cup. “That’s something tae discuss when we reach Auchnacree,” he said quietly, taking a drink of his wine. “’Tis a long story, and not one tae be spoken of in this place.”

  His answer had grabbed Lor’s curiosity. From Isabail, all Lor knew was that her father was in need of a good warrior, but she’d never really said why. Now, he was starting to realize there was a reason behind his acquisition. It wasn’t simply because they wanted to spend all of their money to buy a good warrior—there was a reason they wanted to.

  “Ye dunna have tae tell me,” he said. “I serve ye, m’laird. I do what ye tell me tae do, and ye dunna need tae explain yer reasons.”

  Niall had a mouth full of chicken stew. “’Tis yer right, lad. If ye’re tae wield a sword for the Keith, then ye should know why.”

  Lor’s curiosity was growing as, across the table, Ewan spoke up again.

  “Have ye ever been tae battle?” he asked.

  Lor hesitated. “I’ve not fought on a field with a thousand men around me,” he said. “But I have little doubt that I can do what is needed tae be done in battle.”

  Ewan regarded him as he shoveled more stew into his mouth. “’Tis not often ye meet a Highlander who hasna seen battle. I—” He suddenly yelped, shoving at Isabail. “Stop pinching, Issie! I’m only speaking civilly tae the man!”

  Lor looked at Isabail, who smiled wanly. “He has little diplomacy,” she said.

  As Lor fought off a grin, Ewan made a face at his sister and rubbed his leg under the table where she’d pinched him. “I’ve got no diplomacy, and she’s got strong fingers,” he said, his focus returning to Lor. “I’m not trying tae be ill-mannered. I’m just trying tae ask questions so we can come tae know ye. If we’re tae put our lives in yer hands, then I want tae know about ye.”

  It was the first nonbelligerent statement Ewan had made. Lor lowered his guard a little.

  “Ye canna come tae know a man all in one day,” he said. “It takes time. Ye know I was a smithy. Ye know I was born in Careston. Ye know I trained for a time at the Cal.”

  “Did ye train at the Cal because of what happened tae Careston?”

  Lor knew it would do no good to deny it. “Aye.”

  Ewan opened his mouth but Niall caught his attention, shaking his head to ward off yet another question. Satisfied, at least for the moment, Ewan settled down and finished off his meal along with the rest of them.

  After that, the meal wasn’t quite so tense. Lor seemed more relaxed, but when Niall cornered the innkeeper and secured two rooms for the night, Lor simply went over to the enormous hearth and lay down next to it, using his belongings as a pillow and his cloak as a coverlet.

  “Are ye not going tae sleep with the men?”

  Lor peeped an
eye open to see Isabail standing over him. “Nay,” he said. “I’ve slept alongside them for three nights, and they snore loudly enough tae wake the dead. Sleeping in the common room will be a relief.”

  He closed his eyes again and heard her walk away, but when he was certain she was gone, he cracked an eye open to watch her. As she turned for the stairs that led to the upper floor, he was sorry she had to go. But with her father and brothers around, it was for the best.

  Still…he missed her.

  Lulled by a full belly and the warmth of the hearth, Lor quickly drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  It was that dream again.

  Screaming…

  Fire…

  Heart pounding, Lor found himself running again. He was back in Careston, running toward the sounds of screams.

  Fear filled him. His heart was beating faster. Those piles of ashes were in his way again, bodies that had become dust. The road was stretching out before him, and the faster he ran, the longer the road became.

  He could see his small cottage in the distance, but it didn’t look as he remembered it. The walls were running red with blood. Suddenly, he was in front of it, rushing toward the door only to see something lying in the dirt several feet away. He lost his balance and pitched onto the ground.

  On his hands and knees, he crawled toward the lifeless figure, half-covered in clumps of earth because the garden all around it had been torn up. He clawed his way toward the body in the dirt. This time, however, he could actually touch it, and he reached out, grasping at the hands that disintegrated when he touched them. He tried to touch his grandfather’s face, too, but that collapsed until it was nothing but compost.

  Everything gone, swallowed up by the earth. Everything lifeless and still.

  Until a bony hand reached through the dirt and grabbed him.

  In a panic, Lor awoke.

  He was sitting upright in front of the fire in a darkened common room, surrounded by two dozen sleeping strangers, hearing the gasps and snores of the weary. It took him a moment to realize it had only been a dream.

  That same dream he’d not had in months, not since he’d gone to the Ludus Caledonia. But now it was back. With a shaking hand, he wiped his face, realizing that he was sweating.

  “Are ye well?”

  A soft, female voice came from his right, and he looked up to see Isabail seated at the table next to him. She was covered with a woolen blanket, her feet propped up on another chair.

  He frowned.

  “What are ye doing here?” he asked quietly. “If yer father finds ye here…”

  “He’s dead asleep.”

  “It’s not safe, Is.”

  “As safe as it’ll ever be. I must talk tae ye.”

  “Go tae bed, Isabail.”

  Instead of doing as he asked, she came down off the chair, blanket and all, and sat down next to him on the floor. He eyed her, trying to scoot away from her, but she reached out and grasped him by the arm.

  “Nay, laddie,” she said firmly. “Ye’re not going anywhere. We must talk.”

  He couldn’t move much farther away, in truth, because that would put him right into the hearth, so he stopped moving. But he could feel her heat through his clothing, and it made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her. God, he’d missed her so. But instead of acting on instinct, he simply looked away.

  “What do ye want?” he asked.

  “I want tae know what has ye so moody that ye willna even look at me,” she said. “Have I done something wrong?”

  Lor sighed faintly. “Of course not,” he said. “I dunna want yer da tae realize we know each other more than he thinks we do, at least not until I know the man better. I’m trying tae be safe about this, Is.”

  “That doesna mean ye canna smile at me once in a while,” she said softly. “Do ye still love me, Lor?”

  “Thu fhèin,” he whispered.

  Isabail found herself fingering the copper bracelet on her arm, the one she never took off. “Then why are ye so cold?”

  “I told ye,” he said. “I dunna want yer da tae become suspicious. And…and coming back tae the Highlands… It has brought back unwelcome memories.”

  “Is that what ye were dreaming about?”

  He hesitated a moment before nodding his head once. “Aye.”

  “About Nikolaus?”

  He looked at her, sharply. “Where did ye hear that?”

  “From ye, just now. Ye were calling out for Nikolaus.”

  Hearing Isabail mention his grandfather’s name somehow weakened his composure, but it wasn’t intentional on her part. It was simply that hearing the name spoken by another somehow intensified the memory.

  It brought back the grief.

  “I miss him,” he said simply.

  Isabail sat forward, looking at him. She’d spent the past four days watching the man withdraw further and further. The more they ventured into the Highlands, the more withdrawn he’d become until he was a shell of the man she’d known at the Ludus Caledonia.

  Did he still love her? She believed him when he said he did. But there was far more going on inside of him than he was confessing to. He seemed to be incredibly tormented now.

  She wanted to know why.

  “I can only imagine how much ye do,” she murmured. “And I know he’s the reason why ye went tae the Cal tae learn tae fight, but the question is why. Do ye intend tae avenge him someday?”

  Lor sighed heavily, avoiding a question that would produce an answer she didn’t want to hear. “I had nothing else,” he said. “Everything was gone. Why should I not go tae the Cal and learn tae fight? I was forced tae find a new life.”

  He was becoming defensive, and Isabail moved to soothe him. “Ye should do whatever ye feel ye need tae do,” she said. “Lor, look at me.”

  It took him quite some time to turn in her direction, and when he did, his gaze was guarded. Isabail took a moment to look into that handsome face: the straight nose, the square jaw with the dimple in his chin, and the green eyes that were so very tortured.

  “I want ye tae listen tae me because it is important,” she said quietly. “I know ye’re a tormented man, Lor. I’ve seen that since I first saw ye in the arena at the Cal. Ye’ve changed from the man I knew in Careston, the one before the destruction of the village. Ye’ve become moody and sad and angry, and it hurts my heart tae see ye so. I know the death of yer grandfather has caused these feelings within ye, but if ye ever need tae talk tae someone about it, know that I’ll be more than happy tae listen. Dunna close yerself off from someone who loves ye and only wants tae help.”

  They were sweetly spoken words, and Lor knew she meant them. Her love, her compassion were cracking his walls of vengeance. How he ever deserved the love of someone like Isabail, he didn’t know. It made what he had to do to her clan that much more heartbreaking.

  Reaching out, he lifted her hand for a tender kiss before releasing it.

  “Did ye ever tell yer father that we met before?” he asked. “Did ye tell him about the bird eggs?”

  He was changing the subject, back to days that were happier for both of them. Isabail snorted softly. “Are ye mad?” she said. “If he knew what I was doing when we first met, he’d blister my backside.”

  Lor’s lips twitched. “Then if ye dunna behave yerself, I will tell him.”

  “Do ye threaten me, then?”

  “Not if ye dunna give me a reason tae.”

  Their conversation had gone from deeply serious to humorous in a matter of seconds. It was like a weight had been lifted and they could both breathe. This was the Lor that Isabail had known before the destruction of Careston, the man who was open and friendly and sweet.

  Only you.

  This was her Lor.

  “No promises,” she said. “And ye know that if
ye tattle on me, my retribution shall be swift.”

  “I wouldna expect less.”

  She smiled, and this time he smiled in return. Isabail felt a tremendous amount of relief in that small gesture.

  “Ye still owe me the bird eggs,” she said. “And not chicken’s eggs, either. I’ll not let ye forget that.”

  Lor chuckled in spite of himself. “It has been a long time since I’ve gone hunting for eggs,” he said. “My grandfather gave up keeping birds long ago.”

  “Too busy?”

  “His smithy stall was always busy. Sometimes we’d work well intae the night.”

  “Was yer da a smithy, too?”

  “Nay,” he said. “I never knew my da. He was a Northman.”

  Isabail blinked in surprise. “A Dane?”

  Lor nodded. “He was from a place called Konghelle, a prince of his people. They came tae raid Careston and he fell in love with my mother, but I never knew him.”

  Isabail was fascinated. “I’ve never met anyone with Northman blood in them,” she said. “What a pity ye never knew him.”

  “He and my mother were never married.”

  The fact that he was a bastard made no difference to Isabail. She was far more interested in the fact that he was the son of a prince.

  “And yer mother?” she said. “She must have spoken quite fondly of him. If he loved her, surely she loved him.”

  “So I am told,” Lor said. “I never knew my mother, either. She died when I was born. I was raised by her father.”

  “Then we have something more in common.”

  “What?”

  “I never knew my mother, either. She died soon after I was born.”

  Lor simply nodded, falling silent as the room around them was a steady chorus of hacking and snoring. Isabail sat next to him, not wanting to leave him even though it was very late. She was close enough that she could touch him, discreetly, and she did, running her fingers up and down his forearm in a caressing gesture. When her fingers drifted down to his hand, he clutched them tightly.

  “’Tis strange that I find myself in this life,” she said after a moment.