by Fiona Faris
“It is an ambush! We have been betrayed!”
The General’s voice echoed in his mind. Betrayal. They had been betrayed by those they trusted. He wished he could go back in time, so he would never have trusted them. His chest ached with emptiness, and his mouth was bitter with the aftertaste of his vomit and the medicine that he had just drank.
He was full of loss, sadness and rage; someone needed to pay. He needed to make them pay. He forced himself to stand up, but he had greatly miscalculated his strength. Nausea hit him the moment he was upright, and for the second time, he collapsed to the ground, succumbing to the darkness of a faint.
Chapter Two
His nightmare had started two weeks ago. He had been standing on the balcony in his chambers with his brother beside him.
“I am nae sayin’ that I dinnae like her. She is beautiful and intelligent, and by God, I am drawn to her. What I am sayin’ is that she terrifies me sometimes,” his brother Alexander had been saying, confiding in him the state of his romantic affairs with the daughter of the Laird of the Kellgan clan. As heir to the Lairdship, Alexander needed to get married soon, and he was betrothed to Elaise, the daughter of the Kellgan Laird, who was quite the woman from what Maximus had heard. Maximus had been laughing at his brother.
“Oh, please. Ye are just scared of her because she can best ye with a sword,” he had teased, causing Alexander to fix him with a sour look.
“Ye take that back right now!” his brother had demanded, making him guffaw. Elaise was known as the strongest woman in the Highlands, fighting as a warrior, just as though she were a man. She bested soldiers in battles for her own entertainment, and she was a brilliant strategist. Maximus did not blame his brother for being somewhat worried.
He had been in the middle of dodging his brother’s playful slaps when a guard interrupted them, bowing at the waist.
“I am sorry, Alexander Younger, Commander,” he said, greeting them first. “There is an emergency council meetin’, and ye two are urged to attend immediately.”
If Maximus had known that would be the last time he would laugh so freely with his brother, he would have tarried a while longer. Instead, he had exchanged a glance with his brother and hurried off towards the council room. Maximus still remembered the somber look on the faces of his father and General Grant as he walked in with Alexander.
The council had been called because their spies had brought them news that assassins were after Alexander’s life. An anonymous request for his death had been put out with a high reward, and so several assassins were gearing up to try their luck at taking his life. His expression had mirrored his brother’s surprised one at the news.
He had not understood why anyone would want to kill his brother. Their clan was successful, but they were also peaceful, having alliances with almost all the nearby clans. Alexander had also been one of the most unproblematic men in all the Highlands, so there was no way he could have culled anyone’s wrath.
Alexander could handle himself in a battle, but with the number of assassins who were reported to have taken interest, it was cause for great concern. Alexander was the Younger of the clan, and his security was a priority. The council had assigned soldiers who would be beside his brother at all times, and although Maximus had wanted to be the commander in charge of protecting him, his father and General Grant had refused.
He had instead been placed on General Grant’s team, and they were tasked with finding out the source of the request. He had been unhappy about it, having wanted to stay beside his brother and protect him, but he saw the sense in finding the source as that person was the main enemy.
Their first lead was the money. Who would have that much gold to put on Alexander’s head, and why? While the council was debating that, Maximus had watched his brother, who remained quiet while staring at the floor. Alexander was very intelligent, so he knew that he was trying to solve the problem with logic, looking over every possibility.
As such, it was Alexander who first pointed out that the source was one of the bordering clans, and narrowed it down to the small clan, Ross. He came to that conclusion after fighting off three attempts on his life in the space of a week. He had then come to the dungeons while Maximus interrogated the assassin he had caught. He had asked where the assassin would have gone to collect his reward, and the assassin confessed that they were directed to wait in the forest bordering the clan, and they would receive their pay that very day and be on their way.
The members of the council were skeptical when Alexander told them his suspicions as Ross did not have the forces nor the wealth to go against them. It made no sense because there was nowhere that Ross would get such gold. His brother had been adamant, however, trusting in his instincts.
He had been right, and Maximus wished that they all had taken his word for it. The council had refused to go after a clan with nothing but speculations, and Maximus and General Grant had been put in charge of investigating all the bordering clans, as they accepted, from the confession of the assassin, it was probably a bordering clan. He had seen the tired look on his brother’s face as they left the council room and followed to ask him why he thought it was Ross.
Alexander had confessed to him that at his betrothal feast to Elaise, the Laird Donald of clan Ross had been a bit strange, and that he had been unable to shake the feeling that the man was up to something foul. He had also compared all the other neighboring clans and their Lairds, knowing that none of them would want his life.
His brother had given him a tired smile then, and waved off his conviction, saying that Maximus did not have to take him too seriously and should focus on the investigation of the neighboring clans equally. Maximus had believed him, and he wished that he had told him that. He had gone against the council’s wishes after that, focusing on the Ross clan in his investigation. He finally was able to bribe a castle servant who told him that carts full of gold had been snuck into the castle every night in Ross. The servant who talked said that he had no idea where the gold came from, but any servant who caught sight of the smuggling and mentioned it was immediately killed.
He had hurried home to tell the council of this, pointing out that Alexander was most likely right. If Ross was smuggling gold, then it not only meant that they did indeed have the money to hire so many assassins, but they also were not up to anything good. Telling the council was the worst mistake he ever made. He had a moment of gratification as the council seemed to finally take Alexander seriously, and his brother had sent him a grateful look. However, it was that moment that led to their downfall.
If he had been more suspicious, he would have told only his father, brother, and General Grant. If he had been more willful, he would have gone after Ross himself. Anything would have been better than telling the council. They played their parts well, commending Alexander for being so smart and beginning the preparations for a battle with Ross if necessary.
He wished he had known that it was all a trap that day. They had prepared everything for battle, and General Grant had taken Maximus along with three other commanders and their soldiers. They had begun the march to Ross and were halfway there when a lone soldier had come riding from the castle, covered in blood. “The castle was under attack,” he said to Maximus and General Grant who were bringing up the rear with one of the other commanders.
Not long after they left, the enemies who had been disguised as members of the clan attacked. Some members of the council allowed them in, and they had led them straight to his father and brother. The guards and all the members of the council who were innocent and still stood for Mackay were slaughtered.
Maximus had seen red at those words, but he did not even have the time to react. In the next second, the commander beside him lopped off the head of the soldier who had brought the news. He had been unable to do more than blink in shock for a few seconds as blood splattered his clothes. It was not just the council who had rebelled, but the commanders too.
General Grant was quicker to rea
ct, and he had his sword out and swinging at the offending commander in a second. Suddenly, men who had been part of their army were attacking the soldiers under him and General Grant. Suddenly he was shedding the blood of his own clansmen who were trying to take his life.
All he had wanted was to break through them and return to his father and brother, but General Grant had told him to run away. Stubborn as he was, he refused to believe that Alexander and his father were dead. Maybe if he was able to fight and go back, he would get there in the nick of time to help them stay alive. It was a childish dream, and it was snatched away from him when Donald Ross appeared with the Ross soldiers, dragging the bodies of his father and brother behind his horse.
He should never have left the castle. He could not even remember what his brother’s face had looked like before he left. Had he even seen his face? He was so focused on going to fight the enemies that he had not paid attention to Alexander who was surrounded by guards and waving at him. He had waved back and given a confident salute, but he should have gone to him and hugged him, maybe made a joke that would make them both laugh, something so that their last moment together would have had more meaning.
How could things have gone so wrong? It was his tears that woke him from his slumber the second time, and the first face he saw was that of the maiden who had treated him. She looked so concerned, leaning over him with her hands cradling his face and wiping his eyes. He was sobbing like a baby, his pain pouring out from deep within him. He had lost everything, even General Grant.
Perhaps if he had stayed, he would have been able to save his brother. If he had left when General Grant told him to, then maybe General Grant could have escaped as well. Instead, his stubbornness had led to the death of the one man who was still on his side in the clan. What was he going to do now? What use was he to the clan in his state, all battered and broken?
“I dinnae ken what has happened or how to help ye, forgive me…” she said sorrowfully. Maximus could not have moved if he wanted to. His body was not responding to him, and all he could do was cry.
Ye are so pathetic, Maximus. Is this the face ye want to show yer father and brother? Where is yer strength?
Despite his harsh thoughts, he still could not bring himself to stop crying. He was too weak to pretend to be strong. He knew that it was only a matter of time before they would look for him. Now that the usurper had killed his father and brother, he was the only other person who could stake claim to the Lairdship. The only reason why they had not given chase immediately was probably because the usurper had more important tasks at hand.
He would need to solidify his position as the new Laird, asserting his place with the nobles and getting rid of all those who did not accept him. Besides, what good would Maximus’s return be if he could not find any supporters among the noblemen? Additionally, he would need to deal with the Lairds from the neighboring clans as well. Not everyone would be happy to have an alliance now that the Lairdship had changed hands, and if the usurper was not careful, he might have a war on his hands. It was a delicate situation, one certainly more important than finding Maximus.
Maximus was also as good as dead from the usurper’s point of view. He had been badly injured and running away into the freezing night with nothing but his horse. If not for the woman who had saved him, he would surely have died.
After the usurper finished setting thing up to his liking, he was going to look for Maximus’s body. If he did not find it, then he would know that Maximus was alive and come for him. All he could hope for was that the search took long enough for him to recover; otherwise, when they came, it would lead to his death and the death of the woman who had saved him.
His savior… She was still wiping his tears, cradling his head in her lap as though he were a child. She had begun to sing, her voice like the quiet laps of the loch against the shore. He closed his eyes, his sobs dying down as her voice comforted him. She knew nothing about him, or how he came to be so injured, yet her voice carried such warmth, and her hands were so tender.
I dinnae even ken her name, was his last thought before he drifted again into a deep sleep.
…
He had finally stopped crying, his soft breathing letting Rosallyn know that he had fallen asleep again. She breathed a sigh of relief, brushing his hair out of his face. Whatever had happened to him, it was obviously bad, soul-crushingly bad. It had woken him despite the medicine that she had fed him after his outburst and collapse.
She had been panicking, trying to remember what it was that she said that caused him to react that way. He had been dazed after he woke up, obviously in too much pain to think, but something she said had stirred his memories. Memories which obviously were way more painful than his physical injuries.
She was shocked when he began to thrash about, forcing himself to his feet despite her worried cries and his many injuries. He had lost so much blood she knew his body would be too weak to do anything. However, his anguish had propelled him. He looked so tortured that she could not even reach out to him in that moment. His eyes seemed to see something else beyond her.
When he collapsed, she had been expecting it, yet her hands flew to cover her mouth. She had only just treated his wounds, and his outburst had made them worse. He had opened the freshly closed injury on his arm and put his weight on his bad leg. He had managed not to open the injuries on his back but instead, had fallen on the dirty shed floor, and he was completely naked.
With her face as red as her hair and her eyes focused on his face so that they would not stray, she knelt beside him and fed him the medicine. It would help him recover his blood, but it would also weaken him and keep him asleep for a while. It seemed that being conscious was only going to make him hurt himself. She had then drawn a hot bath in the bath house and carried him there on a cart with his horse. She slid him into the hot water to help soothe his aches as well as wash him a second time now that his injuries were dealt with.
She massaged his leg again in the hot water, and when she was satisfied, she pulled him out and put him back on the cart, taking him inside the house by herself now. She had never been happier about the fact that their home had no stairs. She pushed the cart as far in as she could and transferred him to the bed where she dressed his wounds and bandaged them, pressing his ankle again with ice and bandaging it tighter.
It was already evening by the time she was finished, and her stomach growled violently, reminding her that she had not eaten anything since breakfast. She had taken the cart back outside first and swept the dirt out of the house before going to return his horse to the stables and feeding it again.
Content that everything was in order, she returned to the house to light the fire pit when the moon had already risen in the sky and crickets chirped. She ate her pottage lukewarm and took some broth to feed the injured man. She was hungry even when she had eaten breakfast, so she knew that he was probably ravenous. She could not feed him anything solid, but the meat broth she managed to make him drink would nourish him a bit. She had just finished feeding him when he began to cry in his sleep.
She removed his head from her lap tentatively, a worried frown etched on her face. What could be so bad that it would make a grown man cry that way? His anguish was so heavy that it filled the air, and she could feel it. Her worry grew as she once again thought of her father. He was kind and compassionate, just like her, so he would have taken in such a man as well. However, he might have been better at comforting him where all she could do was put him to sleep.
She had dressed him in her father’s clothes, which had been left in his room. She had never dressed a man before, nor had she bathed one. She was so embarrassed that simply thinking of it had her holding her hands to her red face. If he were less attractive, then perhaps it would have been easier on her, but the man was incredibly handsome, causing her heart to skip a beat every time she looked at him.
She had thought his back muscles were impressive, but looking at him from the front had her blessin
g the heavens that he existed. He was so impressive, every inch of him honed to near perfection. His stomach sported the proud muscles of a six pack beneath his muscled chest and his obliques stood out in lined ridges. He was beyond impressive.
She stretched tiredly; it was time to go to bed. Since she had put him in her room, it meant she would have to sleep in her grandmother’s bedroom. She stopped at the bedroom door and looked back at him. He was sound asleep now, but she wondered if he would be alright all through the night. What if he woke up and began to weep again? Even worse, what if he had another moment where he got up and injured himself?
She sighed and went to bring her grandmother’s blankets so that she could sleep on the floor. She set up her sleeping space and, after some deliberation, went to put out the fire pit, lighting a candle in the room instead. If he did wake up at night, he might be less inclined to panic if he found light instead of darkness. She dropped the candlestand on the table and yawned.
The hard work she did to rescue him was finally catching up with her. She was exhausted, and her body ached. She nestled into the blankets gratefully and hugged her pillow.
