The Highlander

by Terry Spear

  Anora realized just how honorable the Highlander was and couldn't help but admire him for it. She removed her outer léine, and laid it upon the chair, then climbed into bed and pulled her sheepskin covers over her shoulder.

  Niall chuckled.

  She smiled, envisioning Charlie curling up with him. “Have you a guest?”

  “Aye, it seems Charlie thinks I have joined him on the floor.”

  Anora laughed. “Good, 'tis too warm for him to sleep with me. I am glad he has decided to sleep with you.” After some silence, Anora worried about Niall. “He is not hurting your injury, is he?"

  "Nay, wrong side." The straw moved some more and then everything was quiet. "Who were your parents, Anora?"

  A prolonged silence ensued as Anora thought of what to say that would keep her secrets as her guardians had warned her to do. “Did I not tell you? I am a princess who has lost her kingdom. A kind sheepherder and his sister took me in."

  The room was quiet for some time, except for Charlie’s whimpering as he dreamt his dog dreams.

  Then Niall broke the silence again, jarring Anora fully awake as she was just drifting off to sleep. “So you truly do come from France?”

  “How would I know that for certain? I was very little when I came here. If I spoke another language, I have forgotten it in its entirety.” It was true she never had spoken it since she was little. Jane made sure of that.

  Niall turned to face Anora, then said, "Comment vous appellez-vous?"

  Surprised to hear him speak French to her, Anora responded with some hesitation, realizing she'd remembered quite a bit. "Je m'appelle Anora."

  “How do you know French if you did not come from France?” he asked.

  “Some of the villagers are French.”

  “Oh? I would suspect they would keep this to themselves,” Niall said, sounding suspicious. "So if your father died last year, when did your mother die?”

  “The queen? Well I do not know if she has even died yet.”

  Niall chuckled and she liked the sound of it. She loved to tell stories and was glad Niall didn't mind. “The shepherdess who was your mother,” he said.

  “I never knew John’s wife. She died before John's sister, Jane, brought me here.”

  Niall had to know the truth about the lass and the more she spoke of her family, the more he was concerned that they had come from France. Whether she was the woman he sought was another story. Was she truly Asceline? The French count's niece, a countess in her own right?

  Niall placed his hands behind his head as he stared at the shadowy form of the dark timbers crossed high on the ceiling above. “You are a fine story-teller, lass.”

  “Thank you. My father always told me stories before I retired to bed for the evening.”

  “Your guardian, the sheepherder.”

  “Of course. I am sure my father, the king, would not have had time to tell his children any stories at night.”

  “I will be sure to tell my children stories before they retire in the evening,” he said, thinking of how no one had done that with him or his cousins growing up and how much his own children someday would most likely enjoy such a thing.

  After some silence, Anora said, “I did not know you were wed. Is she a fine lady from a fine background?”

  He smiled. “I am no' married, Anora. I only meant when I have wee bairns one day...”

  “Oh.”

  “Have you no sisters or brothers?” he asked.

  “I imagine my father, the king, would have had many to ensure he had an heir for the throne. Such a thing is very important for the continuation of the kingdom, you know.”

  “Aye, I know.” He only just managed not to shake his head even though she could not see him in the dark.

  “As for John, he had a son and two daughters, but his wife and children all died before I arrived, his sister told me.”

  “Why did he take you in instead of one of the other villagers? Or if you were the king of the Franks' daughter, why not the local laird?”

  “John's sister brought me to him.”

  “Aye, but why would the laird of the local area no' have taken you in since you were a French princess?” Niall imagined she would have made a good bargaining tool for someone. Not that she was truly a princess, but that she was one of the French nobility.

  “How would I know that? I was only six at the time. But John and his sister were very kind to me.”

  “How do you know you were a princess and not just a little girl?” Had she been so young at the time that she truly didn't remember who she was?

  “My father always called me his little princess.”

  Niall chuckled. “I see. Which father, Anora?”

  “Both to be sure.”

  "But… you said John was not your father."

  "Aye. I was never to call him that, but I still fondly think of him in that way."

  “Are you certain that your mother was not John’s wife?”

  “Do you not think I would remember my own mother?” Without waiting for a response, Anora added, “I do not really remember my real mother, but I know the lady who lived with John was his sister. They fought often, just like sisters and brothers always fight. Just like the English king and our Scottish one and their brothers fought while they were growing up together, I imagine.”

  “Aye,” Niall said. "My cousins and my friend Gunnolf, who are like my brothers, were like that. Silly squabbles about naught. Who fought better, which of us was a faster runner, who was the best swimmer among us. Unlike King Henry who continues to fight with his brother over the rule of England."

  “Among you and your cousins and Gunnolf, who fought the best? Ran the fastest? Was the best swimmer?" she asked, curious as to what Niall would say.

  "Me."

  Anora laughed. "Aye, because your cousins are not here to dispute your claim."

  He chuckled.

  She grew quiet then. She was tired, but… she had to admit, she hadn't had anyone to talk to like this in well over a year, and she knew she needed to sleep. She couldn't help wanting to speak with him further.

  "You really will not stay very much longer, will you?” she asked, not truly wishing he'd leave, but she couldn't say that—knowing he'd be gone, and she was afraid she'd feel a terrible loneliness. For a time. Like she did when Jane had died. And then John. But she reminded herself it wasn't the same because they'd been like family to her. Once Niall was gone, she'd be back to her usual life—such as it was.

  “I will remain here as long as is necessary," Niall said. The straw scratched the floor when he rolled onto his side.

  She frowned, wondering why he would want to stay any longer than necessary when she was certain he had business to conduct. Then she realized he hadn't meant that he wished to stay, but his injuries most likely made it necessary. And he had no horse.

  If things had been different between them, she'd love to have more of his kisses when he was no longer hurting from his injuries. She enjoyed his companionship and wished he would stay longer. Though she knew that was not a good idea. Not when men could be after him and wish to kill him. And not when it could hurt her reputation as an unmarried miss. Just as Matthew had said, distant cousins married, and even closely related ones did. So that would not keep tongues from wagging.

  But then the news about Asceline and the French spy began to nag at her again.

  Anora said, “You know, you must not tell anyone that I am a princess. John and his sister always told me to tell no one.”

  “Then why have you told me?” he asked, sounding as if he didn't believe a word she told him, which was the way she hoped it would be.

  “I believe you are in a similar predicament in that you cannot tell anyone who you are for fear that those who attempted to kill you will try again." After some silence, Anora said, “I must graze the sheep in the pasture in the morning, but afterward we could search for your friend.”

  That had bothered her also. She wasn't certain Niall was
strong enough for the task though. She thought she could look for his friend, and prayed he would not be dead somewhere near where Niall had been struck down.

  “It would be too dangerous until I have healed some," Niall said.

  "I could look for him," she said, not to be dissuaded if he thought she could help his friend.

  "Nay. 'Twould be too dangerous for you as well, lass. But I appreciate your offer of help. Anora, you seemed worried about the French spy who was murdered. Did you… know him?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. How would she know the man? Matthew had said nothing about what he was called. “I thought you were tired and wished to sleep.”

  Niall let out his breath and sounded exasperated. "Answer the question, Anora."

  Her heartbeat sped up a bit. She'd only believed Niall had been a traveler in the area and thieves had attacked him to steal his horse. But what if he was not? What if he was trying to discover her identity and wanted her dead?

  She bit her lip and frowned. Now what was she to do? Or say without giving herself away? Who was he really? Who did he work for? The French? The English?

  Oh, aye, he was a Highlander to be sure. His brogue and clothes and commanding attitude were more than enough to prove just where he came from. But the French or the English might very well have hired a braw Highlander to learn where the French lady was living and bring her to them.

  She never suspected she would have to worry that Niall was someone like that.

  She closed her eyes, irritated with herself for the further predicament she was in. God's teeth, what if he realized who she was and she had to kill him? And then dig a hole large enough for him in her garden, and somehow drag the Highland warrior out to the hole and bury him?

  Oh, aye, that would be an easy task. Well, and the killing also. Not that she wanted to even think of such a thing. Or that she could do such a deed.

  Niall chuckled, breaking into her dark thoughts. “I believe your dog is chasing something in his dreams.”

  She smiled. No matter what she worried he might be, the Highlander was endearing—to an extent. “Sheep probably.”

  “If you were a princess...”

  Anora laughed—the sound fake even to her ears. “I should not have mentioned it.”

  “Do you have any proof?”

  “I need no proof.” She only jested. No one ever believed her. She was a teller of tales. Always had been.

  "Anora," Niall said very seriously, "I am cousin to James of the MacNeill Clan, laird of Craigly Castle."

  She barely breathed, waiting for him to say something further. Why was he telling her who he was now? When she didn't say anything, he continued. "Do you know of us?"

  "Why… why would I know of you? I know no Highlanders. Not until you came upon my cottage." Which was true.

  "My cousin, James, and his brothers all fought in the Crusades. A man called Jacques Ponsot, Count of Carcassonne, saved James's life during a battle with the Saracens. He begged James to take care of a wee lassie living in this region should he return to France and learn she was in harm's way. Do you know him?"

  Chill bumps raced up her arms. Aye, she knew him. The uncle who had shared with her many a tale after her mother had died before Anora had been sent away. She said nothing. What was she to say that would not give her away?

  "He said if he ever sent a missive to James, it meant the lass's life was in grave danger. He said he wouldna be able to state such in the missive, but that James was to assume as much. He knew if he sent it, it could very well be intercepted by those who could do her harm. He intended to meet us at Craigly Castle as soon as he could."

  "Oh?" she said, very softly.

  "He asked that James send someone who he regarded as the most honorable and capable of men to fetch her and return her to Craigly Castle for safekeeping until the count could come for her."

  "And you are the most honorable and capable of men," she said, a smile curving her mouth. She couldn't help it. The poor Highlander had lost his horse, his companion, and was sorely wounded.

  "Aye," Niall said, as if he was ready to take her on the rough journey right this very moment, that would no doubt kill him in his current condition.

  She didn't say anything, still thinking about his injuries and how he couldn't manage the trip when he said, "Anora?"

  "I have no cousins," she said softly, repeating her dying guardians' words—you have no family. They are all dead. Trust no one.

  "He would be your uncle. You have no relations nearby, so Matthew said," Niall countered. "Did this uncle never mention us to you? That if you were ever in danger, we could take you away to safety?"

  Again, she said nothing.

  "Lass?"

  "I have never heard of you or your kin or of an uncle who fought in the Crusades alongside your cousins. You—if you think I am the lady—are mistaken." She hadn't known her uncle fought in the Crusades, or anything about the MacNeills, so she was being truthful. And certainly, she had never received any word from him in all the years she'd lived here.

  "Mayhap he wasna able to send word to you, afraid someone else might intercept the missive," Niall continued, his voice gentle, coaxing, as if he was attempting to cajole the truth from her. "And as of a certainty, he still didna know your exact whereabouts."

  The room grew quiet, except for the brushing of Charlie’s foot against the floor as he chased something in his dreams.

  Niall shifted on his bed of straw again, and she worried he might be hurting and unable to sleep. “If you were six when you came here, and you are now...,” he said, and paused as if waiting for her to fill in her age.

  She sighed as she thought the matter over.

  “Are you still awake, Anora?”

  “I was counting.”

  After much silence, Niall said, “Dinna you know how to count?”

  “Of course I know how to count. How would I be able to keep track of my sheep if I did not know how to count? How would I know if I had received the correct payment for my sheep when I have sold them in the village or know...”

  “I am sorry, Anora. So how old are you?” Niall sounded slightly amused—to her further annoyance.

  “I just count more slowly when 'tis this late at night when I have to rouse so early in the morn.”

  “Just answer this for me and you can sleep.”

  “I am one and twenty.” Anora rolled onto her side, then closed her eyes.

  Niall sat up on his makeshift mattress. “If you are one and twenty now, and you came here when you were six, that was five and ten years ago.”

  “Aye.”

  “If that is so, the English were having trouble with the French at the time.”

  “From what I understand, they are always having difficulty with the French of one kind or another.”

  “'Tis true.” Niall lay back down and stared at Anora’s bed.

  “I am a shepherdess.”

  “No' a princess?”

  “If you will let me sleep tonight, I will be a shepherdess again or a princess or anything you desire, as long as you allow me to rest.”

  "Anything I desire?" he said, a teasing tone to his voice.

  She shook her head. But she assumed Niall was awake because he was in pain and wanting to learn if she truly was the one he sought.

  The question kept running through her mind—was he truly a friend of the count, her storytelling uncle, and intended to take her to safety, or was Niall good at telling stories also and was truly working for her enemies?

  Chapter 8

  At daybreak, Niall left Anora's cottage in search of Gunnolf. Feeling relatively sure she wouldn't have any trouble at the moment, he wanted to see if he could locate his friend, and together, mayhap they could determine if the lass was the one they sought. He was fairly certain she was.

  His side ached with every move he made, and he hoped that once he walked a bit, the stiffness in his muscles would lessen, but the pain wouldn't subside. He had walked too much as
he'd followed Anora about to ensure she didn't run off the day before, not that his concern could have been helped. But he was sorely paying for the effort this morn.

  For a while, Charlie chased after him, though Niall repeatedly told him to return to Anora. She needed Charlie's protection, and Niall didn't want anyone to be suspicious if he saw him with her dog.

  But Charlie continued to chase along the burn and return to his side as if Niall was taking him for a jaunt in the woods. Niall was anxious to return to Anora as soon as he could, but he had to learn what had become of Gunnolf if possible.

  He would never forgive himself if he found Gunnolf nearly dead, and he had not come to his aid.

  No matter how hard he looked, he could not find any sign of the man. Had he gone in a different direction? Found refuge with a farmer?

  Niall stopped to breathe through the pain again, gritted his teeth, and forged on.

  ***

  Early that morn, Anora rubbed her eyes, then reached over to her table to light a candle. “Charlie,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb Niall if he finally was able to sleep. Her dog did not greet her like he normally did.

  A shiver of dread crept up her spine. He should have been poking at her with his wet, cold nose long before this, eager to go outside.

  She fumbled with the candle. After lighting it, she stared to see the straw bed had been shoved away from the door. Niall and Charlie were gone.

  No matter how much she told herself Niall must have needed to leave the cottage for personal business, she couldn't help worrying he was trouble. Yet, the cottage seemed so empty without his domineering presence. She should be glad he was up and about and not languishing from a fever.

  Anora quickly climbed out of bed, then reached for her léine. She lifted it off the chair in a hurry and something fell to the floor with a clunk. Looking down, she found the lovely torque Niall had offered her in payment for his stay, sitting in a coil on the floor. She leaned over and picked it up, then ran her hand over the smoky quartz. No one had ever given her a gift such as that. It was precious and she would cherish it always.

  After pulling the chain over her head, she slipped into her gown, and carried the candle with her as she opened her door to the main part of the cottage. She stared at the room left unchanged from the night before. She peered out the window facing the sheep’s pen. Still seeing nothing amiss, nor any sign of Niall or her dog, she set her candle on the table, and blew it out.