Highland Gladiator

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Since his heated encounter with Isabail, life at Auchnacree had come to a standstill because of the horrendous storm that had moved in over the past few days. Nearly everyone had been confined to their cottages, unwilling and unable to move about in rain so heavy it was almost like fog, obscuring the land and creating slick hillsides that made travel very difficult.

  As of this morning, however, the rains had subsided and people were out and about, but the truth was that when there had been a knock on his door, Lor had hoped that it was Isabail. He hadn’t seen her in days.

  Ewan and Ossian were not a welcome sight.

  Lor watched the pair busy themselves in his cottage. Ossian shook out a tunic and tossed it to him so he could put it on as Ewan tried to bring some heat into the room.

  “The elders are convening this morning.” Ossian, usually the silent one, spoke. “We’re tae bring ye, but we thought we’d show ye the village first.”

  Lor pulled the woolen tunic over his head. “What is there tae see?”

  Ewan stood up, brushing off his hands. “Lots of things,” he said. “Aunt Clova, mostly. She asked tae see ye first. But we’ve got tae show ye where the important people live, the boundaries of the village, and where the trouble comes. Things ye should know.”

  Lor straightened out the tunic, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. “Ye realize I was born in Careston,” he said. “I know these hills, too, some of them as well as ye do.”

  “But ye dunna know our village.”

  Lor shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “As a lad, I was instructed tae stay away from the Keith. Everyone in Careston was.”

  Ossian handed him his cloak. “It must seem strange tae ye tae be here, Lion.”

  Lor looked at him. “My name is Lor.”

  Ossian grinned, displaying a great gap in his front teeth. “Ye are the Lion of Caledonia,” he said. “That is what they called ye when ye tamed the Beast.”

  Lor thought Ossian’s wide-toothed grin to be fairly comical. “Too bad for ye,” he said. “Yer sister told me that ye wanted the Beast tae return tae Auchnacree with ye.”

  Ossian shrugged. “We wanted the best man,” he said. “But ye were the best. I’ll not hold it against ye.”

  “I’m glad tae hear ye’ll be holding no grudges because I whipped yer lad.”

  He said it in a jesting manner, but Ossian looked at him rather seriously. “Issie had her eye on ye from the start,” he said. “I suppose there was never any question that ye would be the warrior we brought home, though we put up a good fight. In the end, she always gets her way.”

  “Does she?”

  “Always.” Ewan spoke up, moving for the door. “What Issie wants, she gets, and she wanted ye. I hope ye can live up tae her expectations.”

  Ewan and Ossian were heading out of the door into the icy morning beyond. Lor watched them go, lifting his eyebrows.

  “I hope I already have,” he muttered.

  But they didn’t hear him as he followed them outside. At dawn, Auchnacree was already bustling, villagers wanting to conclude their business before more rains inevitably came. Cartloads of winter root vegetables were being brought into town, and hunters were carrying lines of grouse and other small birds to sell to hungry customers.

  “This time of year, the hunters come down from the mountains with their catches,” Ewan said. “The shepherds drive their sheep up high for the winter but bring the cattle down. Some days ye’ll find cattle in town.”

  Lor was interested in his surroundings, this bustling village tucked away from the world. “’Tis the same in Careston,” he said. “We even have men come in from the sea with fish and seal hides.”

  Ewan dodged a dog as he walked alongside Lor. “Have ye seen Careston since ye left for the Cal?” he asked. “Have ye ever gone back?”

  Lor shook his head. “Nay.”

  “How long have ye been gone?”

  “Since it was burned.”

  Ewan glanced at him. “They’re rebuilding,” he said. “Trying tae, anyway. There are people living there.”

  Lor thought on his village, as he knew it. He felt a huge amount of loyalty to it, and hearing they were trying to rebuild, he felt some guilt for not helping, for not being there to raise walls and restore his village. But he felt strongly that his path lay elsewhere, with punishing those responsible.

  “Not everyone was killed,” he said. “Many were, but not everyone. Those who live in Careston are strong.”

  “Will ye ever return?”

  “There is nothing there for me any longer.”

  “I’m not sure I could return tae Auchnacree if it had been burned away.”

  “Hopefully, ye’ll never have tae find out.”

  Surprisingly, Ewan let the subject drop. He may have been tactless at times, but he knew what a sore subject the fall of Careston was for a man who’d suffered through it. If there had been any animosity between Lor and the brothers before, Ewan was trying to make amends.

  Looking for a change of subject, he could see his great-aunt, Clova, as the woman sat in front of her cottage on the hillside holding her customary bundle of smoking weeds. He pointed to her.

  “We’ll visit Aunt Clova first,” he said. “Even more than my da, she controls things in Auchnacree.”

  Lor could see the old woman as they headed up the rocky path. “What are those weeds she’s holding?” he asked. “She had them the other night, too.”

  Ewan was leading the way, trying not to slip on the slick mud. “Hemp,” he said. “She burns hemp and inhales the smoke. She travels with those smelly weeds everywhere she goes, but sometimes that bloody smoke makes my head swim.”

  Lor thought it was all a bit odd as he followed Ewan all the way up to the cottage where the old woman sat in her chair, tendrils of blue smoke curling around her face. Ewan lifted a hand to her in greeting.

  “Aunty,” he called. “I’ve brought the Lion tae ye this morning.”

  Old Clova fixed her gaze on him, and as Lor drew near, he could see that one of her eyes was clouded over. He hadn’t noticed that before.

  “Good morn tae ye, m’lady,” he said.

  Clova cocked her head. “Ah,” she said. “The Lion has arrived. Come closer, lad.”

  Lor did, stepping next to her chair. The woman reached out and collected one of his big, callused hands, holding it up to look at it in the weak morning light. Lor glanced at Ewan, who simply lifted his shoulders curiously. When the old woman smelled his fingernails, Lor very nearly pulled his hand away, but he didn’t want to be disrespectful.

  Finally, she dropped his hand.

  “I smell smoke on ye,” she said. “Ye work with fire.”

  Lor nodded. “I was a smithy once.”

  “I smell Isabail on ye.”

  Lor had to make a conscious effort to keep from reacting. “I am not sure how that is possible,” he said. “I’ve not seen her since the night we arrived.”

  He was very careful in his reply, not exactly lying, but not exactly telling the truth. He didn’t want to tip off Ewan and Ossian, but the old lady’s words had him off-balance. As she eyed him with her one milky orb, Ewan spoke up.

  “Dunna insult him, Aunty,” he said. “I saw him tear apart a man twice his size, so we dunna want tae anger him.”

  Clova took a long drag of the smoke from her weeds, exhaling slowly. Then she pointed to a fairly large rock that was right next to her chair.

  “Sit,” she commanded.

  Lor did as he was told, sitting down and facing the woman who said she could smell Isabail on him.

  “I’m told ye’re from Careston,” she said.

  “I am.”

  “Ye lost much.”

  “Aye.”

  She continued to stare at him, inspecting every inch of him. Lor was begin
ning to feel uncomfortable because he didn’t like being stared at like that. She was harmless enough, unless she started talking about smelling Isabail on him again. Finally, she looked away.

  “Careston always seemed tae breed fine, strong men and I see that in ye.”

  “Ye have my thanks.”

  The old woman looked at Ewan and Ossian. “Go away from me,” she said. “I want tae speak tae the Lion alone.”

  Ewan gave Lor an expression of sympathy as he turned away, following Ossian back down the trail. Clova waited until the pair was out of earshot before speaking again.

  “Ye look like him,” she said softly.

  Lor looked at her curiously. “Who?”

  The old woman smelled her weeds again before replying. “Him,” she said. “I never married, ye see. I had a love who lived in Careston, and my da forbid me tae see him or even love him. When we were separated, I knew I could never love again. It was so long ago, but I remember his face as if ’twas yesterday. Shall I tell ye his name?”

  Lor had no idea why she was speaking on a lost love, but he nodded his head, anyway. “If ye want.”

  “Nikolaus. Do ye know the name?”

  That brought a strong reaction from Lor. “Nik…?” he sputtered in disbelief. “But…but that’s my grandfather’s name.”

  Clova sat back, a smile playing on her lips. “When I saw ye the night ye arrived, ye looked so much like him that I knew ye must be a relation,” she said. “I couldna say anything, of course, but I’m sure ye wondered why I was staring at ye. ’Tis why I asked tae see ye this morning.”

  Lor was genuinely shocked. In fact, one of his last conversations with his grandfather came back to him in a rush, and he remembered Nikolaus speaking of a Keith lass he was once fond of, but the hatred of the clans had kept them apart.

  He found himself staring at his grandfather’s lost love.

  He could hardly believe it.

  “I dunna even know what tae say,” he said. “I’m astonished tae hear such a thing.”

  Clova waved him off. “The world is small, Lion, and Lindsay lands are even smaller. When I was a lass, I met Nikolaus one morning while I was foraging. After that, I would escape to the Gleann Gadainn, the Vale of Morning, and wait for him. When my da discovered our meetings, he forbade me tae see him again. He told me he’d kill us both, so being young and afraid, I listened tae him. I have always regretted it.”

  Lor could see the sorrow in her face, the same sorrow he’d seen in Nikolaus’s when he’d spoken of her. It nearly broke his heart to realize that.

  “I never knew about the Keith lass my grandfather was fond of until recently,” he said. “I never knew her name, but he spoke of her, briefly. It was ye?”

  Clova grinned, displaying yellowed teeth. “It was,” she said. “I’m surprised he would tell ye. Why did he?”

  Lor didn’t want to tell her that it was because his grandfather was trying to prevent him from having the same heartache that Nikolaus had known.

  “I dunna remember,” he lied. “Mayhap it was simply an old man speaking of the days of his youth.”

  “Is he gone?”

  “Aye. And I miss him greatly.”

  Clova’s smile faded. “As do I,” she murmured. Then she lifted the burning weeds, watching the smoke as it snaked into the air. “This helps me tae forget. My kin think I smell my weeds because I have visions, but that’s not why. I smell it because it makes me…forget. Forget what I have lost, forget the life I have led. I hate this place and everything about it. It cost me Nikolaus.”

  There was sincere sadness in her tone, and there was much Lor wanted to ask her but he sensed that now wasn’t the time. She’d bared her heart enough to a stranger. Moreover, talk of Nikolaus would only make him sad.

  “I wish I could bring ye comfort,” he said after a moment. “Does it help if I tell ye he lived a good life?”

  Clova’s gray head bobbed faintly. “Was he happy?”

  “He was.”

  Clova thought on that a moment before taking a deep breath as if to fortify herself. “Then I am content,” she said. “But I’ve never told anyone what I’ve told ye, so let it be our secret. ’Tis simply that I recognized Nikolaus in ye the night ye came. The resemblance is too strong tae be a coincidence, so I had tae tell ye.”

  “I willna repeat it, I swear.”

  Clova’s eyes twinkled as she inhaled her smoke again. “If I was thirty years younger, I’d give Issie some competition for ye.”

  It was a devilish thing to say, lightening the mood, and he fought off a smile. “I dunna know why ye think there’d be any competition at all. Isabail is the daughter of the man I am sworn tae and nothing more.”

  Clova leaned forward, looking at him closely. “I saw the way she looked at ye,” she said, tapping her head as if to suggest she wasn’t so muddled as everyone thought. “I know what I saw. The last time she looked at a man like that, it was Mitchel. The big dolt broke her heart, Lion. See that ye dunna do the same. All she wants is tae be loved.”

  Lor didn’t deny anything this time. Evidently, the lady who smelled the smoking weeds was the sharpest one of all of them. He was coming to like her.

  “I hear that the elders want tae see me again this morning,” he said. “Can I escort ye tae the hall?”

  If Clova thought he was obviously changing the subject, she didn’t say so. She simply nodded her head.

  “Aye,” she said quietly. “Will ye let me hold yer arm? ’Twill be like holding Nikolaus again.”

  Lor did smile then. Standing up, he reached out a hand to her and the old woman took it, strongly. They shared a little secret now, something that would forever link them, and a connection to his beloved grandfather he hadn’t been expecting. Clutching her smoking weeds to her chest, she held on to Lor tightly as he helped her down the mud-slicked hill.

  * * *

  They’d kept him from her.

  That was the conclusion Isabail was coming to.

  Rising early under fair skies, she went to Lor’s cottage only to discover he wasn’t there. Further investigation showed that her brothers had taken him to visit Aunt Clova, and after that they’d ended up in the village’s hall for another conference with the village elders.

  Clova kept a tight latch on Lor throughout the meeting, which Isabail found rather sweet until the old woman hissed at her when she tried to get near him. Confused and just the slightest perturbed, Isabail backed away as Clova and Niall took Lor out into the village after the meeting, with Isabail trailing behind them like a neglected puppy.

  But she stayed close, following Lor as her father and great-aunt showed him the village and introduced him to villagers. Ewan and Ossian were part of the tour group, and they seemed to be engaging more with Lor than ever before. Isabail was pleased about that, considering Lor hadn’t been their candidate of choice, but they were monopolizing his time just like everyone else and Isabail couldn’t get close to him. He was being paraded around like a prize, and everyone wanted a piece of him.

  Especially Isabail.

  But so many people wanted to talk to Lor that she didn’t have the chance. Feeling left out, she simply followed the group as they moved around the village. But as they spoke with people and introduced Lor to the villagers, Isabail noticed that something else was happening.

  The women were quite interested in him, too.

  Young or old, it didn’t matter. They were all very interested in the big, blond warrior, and as handsome as Lor was, Isabail didn’t blame them, but by midafternoon she was flaming with jealousy.

  Finally, she gave up following the group altogether and headed back to her father’s cottage to do a few chores before suppertime.

  Niall had taught all of his children how to feed themselves so they wouldn’t starve, so Isabail had a general knowledge of preparing a meal even thou
gh she didn’t like to do it. There was a woman in town that would make extra bread and sell it, so the first thing she did was visit the woman, only to discover she had two loaves remaining, which Isabail then quickly purchased. With bread for their meal, Isabail built a fire outside of their cottage and put a pot on it to warm.

  Into the pot went the mutton and gravy from the previous night’s meal, water, cabbage, onions, and beans, of which they had plenty. She didn’t particularly like mutton because they ate it so much, but it was all they had after having been gone for so long, so she brought the stew to a boil and let it bubble.

  And that was the extent of her cooking.

  She hoped it was edible.

  As the meal simmered away, Isabail settled down to look over the weapons they’d left behind when they’d gone to the Ludus Caledonia. Sitting outside as the day waned and the sky began to cloud over, she could see nearly the entire village from her vantage point, and she kept an eye out for Lor and his entourage.

  Overhead, the thunder began to roll, signaling that soon they would find themselves ankle-deep in pounding rain. So Isabail made the decision to move the pot of stew inside to the smaller hearth so it wouldn’t be ruined by the downpour. Fortunately, she moved it just in time because shortly thereafter, it began to storm. Isabail brought in the weapons, too, and shut the door.

  Once the storm started, she didn’t have long to wait before her father and brothers returned. The old oak door flew open and in they came, shaking off the water, with Lor bringing up the rear. He was soaked, too, and in the larger common room of their cottage, the men began to peel off their wet tunics. Droplets of water were spraying everywhere.

  “Ye’ve a good fire going, Issie,” Niall said as he hung his tunic up on a peg near the hearth. “Sorry I left ye tae cook supper alone. Ye dinna hurt yerself, did ye?”

  He meant it as an insult and she scowled. “I have all my fingers, if that’s what ye mean. I dunna know how good it is, but at least it’s hot.”

  Niall pushed her out of the way as he tasted the stew, smacking his lips as he did so. Then he began to forage around, tossing in a palmful of salt and stirring it around. As her father tended the meal, and Ewan and Ossian dried off, Isabail finally had the opportunity to focus on Lor unimpeded.