Highlander's Rage: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance (Unbroken Highland Spirits Book 2)

by Alisa Adams

  In her startlement, Aoide tripped for a moment on the wooden flooring but was quick to claim her steps once more. Her shoulder brushed against the stone wall, and she darted away from its cold surface, bumping into Lachlan as she went. With his broad shoulders blocking out most of the torchlight, it was hard to see in the thin corridor. Lachlan had to duck under the low ceiling.

  In the chamber beyond, windows provided little light, and the open space was chilly without an open fire in the hearth. Torches, however, burnt well to ensure that the men inside could see.

  Despite it being a short walk from Lachlan's horse to the desk of a man with a bare pate and a large mustache, Aoide was practically panting with exertion. Lachlan had long legs and did little to accommodate for her shorter stature.

  "Taxes from Mackenzie provinces," Aoide heard Harris report from the other side of his commander. The man with the mustache looked towards the chest revealed from under the blanket and then nodded to the three men in livery that stood with marked interest. They jumped forward to take the chest and then spirited it away into a side room.

  That had been the taxes for the entirety of the Mackenzie provinces?

  Aoide felt particularly weak and shaky. Had Old Garrett got his hands on that, there would have been so much suffering by so many. She couldn't imagine the king would have been likely to take the loss of so much gold lying down. He would have surely been furious.

  With a moment of pain, Aoide realized that Lachlan would have been the man to take the brunt of that fury, forced to accept punishment for his failure to protect the chest.

  While it seemed counterintuitive to care more for the man about to send her to jail than the one that had given her a place with his people for the last few years, Aoide could not truly help it. This day not included, Lachlan had shown her more kindness in the time she had known him than Old Garrett ever had.

  "What are these?"

  The man with the mustache—a royal official by the look of the golden embroidery on his jacket—pointed with the fluffy end of his quill towards Jacky, Eric, and Mikey. She could just about see them around the towering height of Lachlan and watched as their pallors faded several shades greyer. She snatched a handful of Lachlan's sleeve.

  "Please..." she whispered. "Please let them g—"

  "Thieves, Master Treasurer," Lachlan said. His hard and stoic voice overrode anything that had trespassed over Aoide's lips. She felt as if her heart had been hollowed out and then squeezed dry. For a moment, she had forgotten that look upon his face. It was the same expression he had worn when he told Harris that any man causing issue after dark was to be flogged. Despite his face rarely changing, Aoide missed the subtle differences she had noted in the last few days. She missed the kind man that had taken to caring for her.

  Now, he seemed absent from the room.

  "You bring them for imprisonment?" the man asked. His eyes were sharp with disgust, and his mustache twitched upwards as he pursed his lips.

  "If that is the verdict at trial, aye," Lachlan confirmed.

  Aoide felt herself shake. She should have known.

  The man beside her was honorable enough to ensure that she was not raped or attacked by his men but that same honor would do her no service now. It was his honor that had him bound to duty and law, that would see her marched into a jail cell beside the boys charged with equal crime.

  The very idea had Aoide jumping when the treasurer's gaze fell upon her.

  "And this one?" he wanted to know.

  Aoide closed her eyes and ducked her head. Her stare was focused on her bare feet. Perhaps if she appeared contrite, she would be given a lesser punishment? She wondered if that was why Lachlan had given her a scarf and made her look more feminine. Perhaps she would receive better treatment if they knew that she was a woman?

  "A bystander," came the report beside her. "The town leaders here should know of some occupation she might take up. I was hoping to leave her to be distributed at your discretion."

  Aoide blinked. She stared at her toes and counted them. Yes, still ten. She blinked again, but the words ringing in her ears did not change. Had Lachlan just...

  There was a scuffle behind her as one of the soldiers clapped a hand over Mikey's mouth. His eyes bore into hers with a look of disgust that she was sure she would recall until her dying day.

  There was no doubt in his eyes. It was clear what he thought she had done to garner this privilege.

  Shame curled her belly just as quickly as hope started to reinflate her heart.

  "I can see what is to be done. Leave them all here and bring the guards from the door. They'll escort the boys to confinement pending trial."

  The ghost of a smile flickering over her lips, Aoide was looking around the room as activity started up and bodies changed hands. She spun towards Lachlan, intent on thanking him, on breaking down crying at his feet or reaching out to embrace those large shoulders. And yet, the moment the final word of the verdict had left the treasurer's mouth, the hand upon her arm had relinquished her and the commander had turned away. A heartbeat later and he had managed the three long strides that saw him across the room and out of the door before anyone else could react. Harris was still securing the ropes that bound the boys, and the other soldiers were ensuring their hand off to armed guards.

  No one seemed to have even noticed Lachlan's immediate departure.

  But Aoide had.

  Feeling strangely bereft, despite the future that was now possible before her, Aoide didn't move from the dusty spot on which she stood. The world moved around her; the boys were taken away, the soldiers left in the wake of their officer,, and the treasurer continued to make marks and notes upon the parchment in front of him.

  Aoide touched the scarf about her head.

  "Now then..."

  Her attention was snapped and caught by the man behind the desk. He set down the quill, clearly finished with the markings that she couldn’t read. As he looked at her, his eyes were a little kinder.

  "Just what are we to do with you?"

  9

  Lachlan wasn't interested in whiling away time in Scone. He and his men had journeyed here for a particular purpose, and now that purpose was complete. They had delivered the taxes that had been under their protection, concluded the responsibility that had been given to them by their laird, and was now entrusted to make a speedy and safe return to the rest of the unit that Lachlan commanded on a day-to-day basis.

  It was as simple as that.

  There was no reason to linger beyond the purchase of a few sacks of potatoes and enough bread to see them through the journey back north, all of which Lachlan had delegated to Harris. This meant it was perfectly appropriate that he stormed through the streets of Scone like the wind was at his back and walked Merlin back through the gates alone, ahead of everyone else. His soldiers knew where to make camp and they had been given the instructions to return before nightfall. They would stay at the little site they had made for themselves in the nearby woodland the previous eve and then march home tomorrow. The sooner Lachlan returned to camp, the faster he could ensure that preparations were made.

  At least, those were the excuses he gave himself.

  In truth, Lachlan left Scone with a speed that would deny him all opportunities to change his mind.

  He had left Aoide at the mercy of the officials in town but without the sentence of “criminal” over her head. With any luck, the treasurer would direct her to a councilman who would know of a family needing a maid or a sailmaker in need of an apprentice. She would find some kind of work that would permit her a crust of bread, a roof over her head, and a chance to live without the constant terror and thievery that her last family threw her into. Under the circumstances, it was the best that he could do for her. And it was more than she technically deserved.

  So, why did he still feel as if he had made a mistake?

  With the temptation to turn on his heel and ride back to Scone's gates dogging his every step, Lachlan deci
ded to take a diversion before heading back to his tent and the privacy it kept. Mentally conflicted, he didn't feel able to face his men yet.

  A commander needed to keep a clear head.

  Headed for a glen-like gully amongst the nearby trees, Lachlan led Merlin through the branches until they came to a suitable outcropping. The jutting rock was smooth across the top as if a giant had swept a sharpened blade across its tip and rendered it blunt. Lachlan took a seat upon it, one boot raised to brace against its forward face. On his upturned knee, he rested an arm, and on his arm, he rested his chin. The entire pose was one of such forlorn contemplation that he almost rolled his eyes upon his own melodrama.

  Merlin blew out an exhale that set his nostrils rippling.

  He thought it all through. The way that Aoide had thanked him when he had first taken her captive. He thought of that little rock, still sitting in his saddlebags. He thought over the moment he had first seen her face without dirt and sweat obscuring her features. How she had begged for the lives of those who had given her not a second thought. How she had helped the child that had been knocked down in the street.

  It had been in that moment that Lachlan had been forced to give in and accept that he could not witness her be taken to jail. He had had to do something.

  Dressing her up like a girl and offering her as a civilian rather than a criminal had been all that he could think of doing. He could hardly keep her. Still, the sense that he had forgotten something—that he had done wrong by her somehow—persisted.

  What felt like minutes, but could have been hours, passed by before Lachlan had a strong enough control over his thoughts to recognize what he was doing. He, the captain of his men, had secluded himself in a fairy garden and turned to sad and thoughtful fantasies over a woman he hardly knew, instead of securing the food and resources needed to make the return journey back home.

  Disgusted with himself, Lachlan jumped down from the rock and mounted Merlin with the skill of frequent practice. This was obscene. He, Lachlan Dunne, shunning his duties. Had his brothers seen him now, they would have sworn that the sun tomorrow would rise in the west. And the fact that such a phenomenon was sparked by a woman? The seas might as well turn clear and the lochs salty. It was unnatural for Lachlan to think with anything but the honor that bound him to his oath as a soldier.

  As he rode back towards the encampment, however, meeting Harris and his men along the way, the thoughts that had plagued Lachlan on that rock refused to remain abandoned in the glen. They followed him back down the main street and around the hillocks and slopes that masked their militia from view from the road.

  Just what would happen to Aoide now? What would become of her? Where would she go? Would she be fed? Would she be treated with kindness? What if she was required to work in a forge?

  What if they made her cut off her hair so it wouldn't catch the flame?

  It was a bizarre idea but it had gripped at Lachlan's belly like an iron fist. The idea of her losing those ringlets of scarlet was gutting.

  Still, it would regrow. And she could not lose her eyes. Those vibrant, emeral—

  Lachlan shook his head and buried his thoughts. He could not afford to be this distracted over a female that was now several miles behind him. She would begin her life again; she would take on a new identity and world. And he would return to Mackenzie lands and be the captain that he was before—the man that everyone believed was made of stone.

  Funny how rumors of his stoicism were more easily spread than that of his rage.

  When his men had rushed for Aoide—when that soldier had struck her across the face—Lachlan had been manic with anger. He had stormed into the fray, removed the soldier from his feet, and reunited him with the ground. Aoide had been the only reason he had kept his composure enough to issue punishment instead of bloodshed, and taking her back to his tent was his only means of escaping the situation altogether.

  He had been livid.

  And there were other times too. When Finn was young and had first joined the militia, he had been ragged on by older men until Lachlan had, at the age of eighteen, come down on them with all the skill and strength that he was already beginning to possess. He had defended Tomas when a fellow brother had accused him of theft and nearly seen him taken to the court marshall gallows. He had almost ripped a man limb from limb when his militia had stayed in a small town and discovered a woman raped by her neighbor.

  In truth, his outbursts were few and far between, but they came from a place of wrath that Lachlan knew was simmering at all times, hidden beneath years of practiced stoicism.

  Perhaps one day, he would find a means of easing the fury that glowed from his core. But, for now, he maintained his composure enough for him to retain his reputation as a staid and uncompassionate man of granite.

  For years he had held that mantle without concern. And yet now, curiously, it cast a ripple of irritation through his heart.

  Lachlan gritted his teeth and ignored it.

  By the time he was back at the encampment that his militia had carved from amongst the trees, Lachlan had shifted from irritable to foul and then into murderous. The further he had traveled from Scone, the worse it had gotten.

  He barked his orders in a tone that saw the men hop to their duties with the speed of startled fawns and refused to apologize for the way he then ran them ragged. Knowing that it was unfair but unable to stem the tide of his frustration, Lachlan directed his anger to his men and felt little satisfaction when everything bar the meagerest of necessities were packed up and made ready to go. Come first light, they would be headed north, and he would be returning to a world that he understood—rather than one where his heart felt like it was two sizes too large for his body. And every thought he had cycled back to gorgeous red curls.

  "Captain!"

  The call came from one of Lachlan's newest recruits. Dennie Moyer was a young man of just twenty and the son of a wealthy merchant. He had been one of the more intelligent intakes of that year and had signed up with the noble intention of earning glory and steeling his nerve. Despite his fresh face and his soft hands, Lachlan hadn't had the right to deny him his opportunity to become a man. Now, recently promoted from basic squire to a regiment soldier, the boy carried the sword at his hips like it was an awkward addition to his frame but wore his tunic of Mackenzie colors with pride.

  "What is it, Moyer?" Lachlan barked, when the boy wasn't immediately forthcoming.

  Dennis, who seemed unable to find the right words, simply pointed.

  Looking up and over the heads of two men polishing tack, Lachlan felt his eyes grow wide. There, across the clearing, stood a young girl with flaming red hair beneath a forest-green scarf.

  Aoide.

  Despite having thought of nothing but her for the entire afternoon and now feeling an abundance of emotions rising in his chest, Lachlan could distinguish only one of them.

  Rage bubbled to the top and took over his movements as he stormed towards her, carving his path between his men and bearing down on her with all the force of a charging bull.

  "What in the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his tone nasty and sharp.

  Aoide's eyes flew wide, and she took a hesitant step backward. From the shock on her face, it was clear that this was not the reaction she had expected of him. Lachlan couldn't blame her, for it was not the reaction he had expected either. Where Aoide was concerned, Lachlan had run the gambit of sentimentalities over the last few days but never had anger been one of them. Then again, were he able to stop and assess his feelings, he would have known that his fury now wasn't exactly directed at her personally, but at the fact that she was back within his world—a weakness he had thought he’d rid himself of.

  Reaching out, Lachlan took hold of her arm as he had done back in Scone and turned to march her towards his tent. Just as it had that morning, his heart squeezed as he tested the skinniness of her arm. His lips thinned, and his ire only grew hotter.

  He didn't like this.
He didn't like her presence. He didn't like the way it made him feel. He didn't like having his nerves always on high alert. He didn't like trying to keep his mask in place over his features when, for years now, it hadn't been out of place once. He hated feeling as if a little of him were dying inside each time she looked at him with pleas in her eyes.

  The girl named Aoide was breaking him from the inside out and turning his world upside down and he was damn well sick of it.

  "I-I was just..."

  Her voice played him like an instrument, lulling his mind and soaking into his skin. It was as if she were stroking his skin from the inside.

  How was it possible for a sensation to be at once stoking and calming?

  Despite both reactions, the fact that there was a reaction at all made him angrier.

  "Shut up," he grunted, well aware that he had just asked her a question and was now ordering her to bite her tongue. A soft gasp was squeezed from her as he dragged her faster than her legs could manage.

  Across the camp, they went. He was only a few strides from the tent now.

  He would make her go. That's what he would do. He would scare her into leaving his militia. He would frighten her so that she returned to Scone and never came back again.

  Never again would she twist him into knots and upset his world order.

  Pushing the flap to one side, Lachlan shoved the girl into the room. He didn't let her go until the backs of her legs hit the end of his cot, and he could send her toppling over with a single push.

  Her back hit the thin mattress. The wooden frame protested and cracked. Aoide gasped as the scarf slipped from her head, and all those wondrous curls spilled in every direction.

  Within a heartbeat, Lachlan was upon her, using his weight to pin her down and stifle any chance of her escape. Yet, she tried even so. Her body wriggled under his, stirring a response from him that was entirely natural and very male.

  "What are you—no! Get off!"

  The girl protested, but Lachlan only saw it as encouragement to continue. A little more and she would run scared, all the way back down the high road to Scone, and she would stay there.