A Very Highland Holiday

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  “May I join you?” he asked.

  It was a British accent, so James figured he couldn’t be too much of a threat. He nodded, motioning to the other chair. The man pulled off his cloak, his scarf, and hung both upon a peg near the hearth. Pale and slender, he sat in the chair James had indicated.

  “’Tis a difficult night for man and beast,” he said, holding out his hands to the fire to warm them. “I saw the common room. You are wise to be in this small chamber, away from that chaos.”

  James tried to nod, but it threw him off balance. “I-I walked into the chaos when I arrived.”

  The stranger grinned. “It looks as if the entire room has been upended.”

  “T-The ruffians were on the loose.”

  The stranger noted the remains of the meal before looking to James. “My name is Rafe,” he said. “And you are far from home, my lord.”

  James glanced at him. “H-How would you know that?”

  Rafe’s smile broadened. “You don’t speak like a Scotsman,” he said. “Where are you from?”

  James sighed heavily. “A-A million miles away.”

  “English?”

  “Aye.”

  “You are very far from home,” Rafe said. “Are you simply traveling to see the glories of Scotland in winter?”

  James shook his head and nearly teetered off his chair. “N-Nay,” he said, grabbing the table to steady himself. “I-I’ve come looking for someone.”

  “It must be important.”

  “I-It is.”

  “Can I possibly help?”

  James was drunk. That was established. Unfortunately, drink had a tendency to loosen his tongue and he didn’t stop to think that the man was asking a lot of questions, questions he was quite happily and freely answering. He was speaking to the man as if he had known him, and trusted him, all his life.

  “N-Not unless you can bring back the dead,” he said quietly.

  “I see,” Rafe said. “Then I am sorry for you. May I ask who has died so that I might say a prayer?”

  The chamber door creaked open and the brown-haired lass appeared, again bringing more food and drink. James assumed it was for Rafe. As she sat it on the table, James leaned back in his chair and nearly fell over. Frustrated, he grabbed at the table again to steady himself.

  “I-I have come to find my brother,” he said. “B-Before you ask, he perished on the Culloden moor back in April of this year and my mother has not stopped weeping. I promised the woman I would find him and bring him home, and that is what I intend to do. His name is Johnathan should you care to name him in your prayers, but it will not do any good. He was not a pious man.”

  As the brown-eyed woman began to slowly clean up the remnants of James’ meal, listening to the conversation, Rafe was focused on his inebriated tablemate.

  “I am very sorry for you,” he said with soft sincerity. “It is a sad mission that you are on, then. I’m sure your mother appreciates that you are a good son.”

  James sighed faintly, chewing on his lip because it was a bad habit of his. When he was frustrated or weary, or both, he tended to chew. His gaze was on the fire but his mind was on the brother he’d lost.

  So long ago…

  “A-A good son,” he muttered. Then, he snorted bitterly. “I-If you must know, I am a terrible son. I was supposed to go with him, you know. My brother, I mean. To Culloden.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  His expression was filled with regret, with irony. “I-I had been struck down by a fever,” he said. “I-I could not leave my bed, so he left without me. Like a weakling, I stayed at home while he went north with the Lancaster Foot Regiment. A friend of his returned during the summer to tell us that he had been lost. And do you know how it happened? My heroic, foolish brother stepped in to help a failing regiment. They had lost their officers, so he went to help them. It cost him his life, the idiot. And he left me with a burden that is impossible to bear.”

  Rafe was listening with sorrow. “I am certain he did not do it purposely, whatever it is.”

  James smacked the table, pointing a finger at him. “T-That is where you are wrong,” he said. “H-He never wanted the duties that were expected of him, the burdens that the title would bring him. Did I mention that? He was the Earl of Worcester and hated the trappings. And that’s why he hated me.”

  Rafe frowned. “Hated you? I do not believe one brother would hate another so.”

  James drunkenly waved him off. “T-That is where you would be wrong again,” he said. “H-He hated me because I had freedom he did not. He hated me because I would never know the weight of what he had inherited. But I do know because those burdens are now mine. I believe he charged into that battle a-purpose simply to push those burdens onto me.”

  Rafe had gotten more than he bargained for when he’d asked to share a young lord’s table. As he looked at the man, his expression was almost… gentle.

  “What is your name?” he asked quietly.

  James sighed heavily after his tirade and turned back to the fire. “J-James de Lohr, Earl of Worcester, Viscount Leominster, Warden of the South Marches, Lord Pembridge and Marston,” he muttered. “A-As you have noticed, I have a catch in my speech that is unworthy of such a position, as it has been suggested to me. School masters tried to beat it out of me, but it didn’t work. When Johnathan and I were young, he would tell me that I sounded like a Billy goat, which would only make it worse and when we would argue, which was frequent, I had to write him notes and letters because he would have me so flustered that I could not speak at all.”

  Rafe dipped his head in a sign of respect. “My lord,” he said. “It is an honor to meet you. As for your brother… sometimes, brothers fight, but the fact that you are here to find his body and bring him home proves that you love him. As I said, you are a good son. And a good brother.”

  James averted his gaze. “I-I have come because my mother asked it of me,” he said. “T-There is no other reason. Even if I cannot find Johnathan’s body, I must search for something he had on his person when he came here. Something valuable to my family.”

  Rafe regarded him for a moment. “If he had something valuable on his person, more than likely, it was stripped of him,” he said quietly. “You are a soldier and you know this to be true. Bodies in battle are stripped.”

  For the first time, James showed a measure of pain in his expression, but he didn’t answer. He knew that very unpleasant fact, even if he couldn’t speak of it openly. To speak of it would make it real, and as much as he shared a dysfunctional relationship with his brother, he couldn’t stand the thought of the man being unceremoniously stripped of his possessions, his dignity…

  Everything.

  “I-I know,” he said, closing his eyes for a brief moment as if to ward off the mere thought. “M-My hope is that Johnathan was removed from the field of battle before the scavengers came. Perhaps there is a chance that the family heirloom is still on his body, though I know there is a good chance it is not.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A-A ring.”

  Rafe lifted his eyebrows as if expecting more of an answer. “Just a ring?” he said. “A signet?”

  But James shook his head. “N-Not any ring,” he said. “A-A family heirloom, passed down from earl to earl. A ring with the head of a lion that has been etched into the purest gold, with rubies set into the ocular cavities as if the blood spilled by the apex predator reflected in its very eyes. At least, that is how the ring is always described, even in old family documents. The lion’s head of the House of de Lohr is our mark of excellence. It is a privilege to wear it and, as the earl, it is my right. That is what I am looking for.”

  Rafe nodded faintly. “Then I wish you well, my lord,” he said. “But what if you do not find it?”

  James averted his gaze, agonizing over that very possibility. But something moved in the shadows and he looked over, realizing the serving wench with the pretty brown eyes had been in the chamber
the entire time. She had cleaned up the meal, but she had never left.

  She had heard everything.

  Not that he cared. He’d never see her again after this night.

  “Y-You, there,” he said, avoiding Rafe’s question. “I-I need a chamber. I will pay handsomely for the privilege.”

  The woman came into the light, her big eyes looking at him rather fearfully. “I will speak with Carrie, m’laird,” she said. “I think that all the beds are taken, but I shall ask.”

  James’ half-lidded gaze looked her over, the pretty brown-eyed woman who had caught his eye before. “I-I took you from the common room when there was fighting,” he said. “Y-You’ve been like a wraith, moving in and out of this chamber. What is your name?”

  “Gaira, m’laird.”

  “G-Gaira, if you will bring me some blankets, I can sleep right here on this floor.”

  The woman dashed from the chamber and James turned to Rafe, reaching out to take the last of the man’s ale. In fact, Rafe hadn’t touched any of the food brought, so James shoved a piece of bread into his mouth.

  “W-We shall sleep this night,” he said, chewing the bread. “Y-You have asked me of my purpose in this unpleasant little inn, but what is yours? All I have done is speak of myself to no good end.”

  Rafe didn’t seem to mind that James had sucked down the last of his ale. “I am here only for the night, too,” he said, avoiding the question for the most part. “I am a healer, my lord. That is my gift and my vocation.”

  James looked at him with interest. “H-Healer, eh?” he said. “A-A physician? A noble profession. But you are too late for all of those gallant lads at Culloden. They could have used you months ago. My brother could have used you months ago. A bayonet to the neck, I was told. Only there is no recovering from that.”

  Gaira returned to the chamber with Carrie in tow, both of them carrying blankets and pillows. James’ drunken chatter ceased at that moment as the women arranged a pallet for him in the corner, next to the hearth. They didn’t bring anything for Rafe and when James started to say something about it, the man waved him off and James let the subject drop. If Rafe didn’t want a bed, so be it.

  Truthfully, James didn’t mind sleeping on the floor. He’d slept on worse. He was grateful for the blankets and the fire, and for the company of a rather silent man named Rafe. He’d spoken more of his brother to Rafe than he had spoken to anyone in a very long time and there was something decidedly cathartic about it. But there was also something undeniably depressing, like a stench of tumultuous brotherhood he simply couldn’t shake.

  A brother he’d not parted on the best of terms with.

  He slept.

  Part Three

  GAIRA

  There was something in her face that suggested… shock.

  Surprise?

  Astonishment?

  Rafe saw it in Gaira’s face as she’d listened to James drunkenly spout his tale of woe with regard to his relationship with his brother. James had been oblivious to the fact that Gaira had been trying not to be obvious as she listened to him.

  But Rafe was aware.

  When James finally fell into an inebriated stupor, Rafe left the chamber in search of the eavesdropping young servant.

  Something in her features suggested that she might have known something.

  The kitchen was mostly dark at this hour, the only light coming from the wide-mouth hearth that was spitting smoke into the room. As Rafe entered, he spied a big man with a cap on his head bent over a table. Rafe could see that the man was counting money, more than likely the receipts of the day. Rafe moved silently, as he always did, until the man caught movement out of the corners of his eyes and looked up.

  “Where did ye come from?” he asked, a mouthful of bad teeth reflecting in the firelight. “I dinna hear ye enter.”

  Rafe smiled politely. “I did not mean to startle you,” he said. “Are you the proprietor?”

  The man nodded. “I am Balthazar,” he said. “What can I do for ye?”

  Rafe looked around the big kitchen to see if there was anyone else in the room that he had missed. “I’m looking for a woman,” he said. “She brought food and drink. She also brought…”

  Balthazar cut him off. “Oh, her,” he said. “That’s my daughter, Carrie. She’s a good lass even if she is a wee bit talkative. Did she tell ye that she’s looking for a man tae take her tae London? If she did, then just know I willna let her go. She’s been looking for a man tae take her away since she sprouted tits. Eh… I probably shouldna have said that, but ye get my meaning. Ye canna have her.”

  Rafe was looking at him with a bemused and slightly horrified expression. “I have not had any conversation at length with her,” he said hesitantly. “There was another lass with her. Brown-eyed and pretty.”

  “Ah,” Balthazar said knowingly. “That’s Gaira. She’s a good lass. She’s not giddy like Carrie can be. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, that one. If ye think she looks different from the rest of the rabble here, she is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Balthazar leaned back in his chair. “From nobility,” he said. “Comes from a family of mormaer.”

  “Rulers?”

  “Earldom,” Balthazar said. “Her grandfather was the Earl of Forth until the family fell out of favor and their lands taken. Gaira lives with her mother in a home on the edge of town. No menfolk, no armies. Just Gaira and her mother, who cleans chambers for me, although the woman is going tae need more help given the state of my establishment. It looks like we had our very own battle out there in the common room.”

  Rafe nodded. “I saw,” he said. “And that happened only today?”

  Balthazar shook his head. “Nay,” he said, dragging out the word. “Yesterday we had a war out there. Tore up the room and other chambers as well. We just started picking up the pieces until this happened today. I think I might leave it alone for a few days. Surely someone else is going tae come and try tae tear it up again.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  Balthazar sighed wearily. “’Tis the season for peace and madness,” he said. “It seems tae bring out the best and the worst in people. But this year, ’tis particularly bad.”

  Rafe smiled faintly. “Because it is the first holiday season after the battle at Culloden,” he said. “I cannot imagine that those who experienced the battle as you did are finding much peace this season.”

  Balthazar shook his head, sobering drastically. He suddenly appeared quite weary, as the mere memory was sucking everything out of him.

  “It would take a few lifetimes tae overcome what we saw,” he said. “We nursed wounded, at least those who could make it here from the field of battle. By the time they reached us, some couldna be helped. Carrie even went tae the battlefield tae look for more wounded, but there were none left. So she collected what possessions she could find and brought them back here so the scavengers wouldna get them. People heard that she was collecting things and some brought her what they’d found.”

  He trailed off, sadness in his tone, but Rafe was listening intently. “What did you do with all of it?” he asked.

  Balthazar lifted a hand in the general direction of the rest of the tavern. “Put it away,” he said. “We have a whole chamber full of things from the battle. Someone tried tae destroy it, the same people who ruined the common room yesterday, but the chamber still stands. It still has things from the dead and as long as there is breath in my body, it’ll go untouched. Carrie calls it the Chamber of Sorrows. That’s what it is, ye know… a place full of sorrow. But it’s also a shrine tae the brave dead.”

  Rafe turned his attention in the direction the old man had indicated. Chamber of Sorrows, he thought. A memorial to the dead of Culloden, preserved by an old tavernkeep and his daughter. Rafe thought that perhaps his new friend, James, might find something of his brother there, something from the man that had him so tormented.

  But first, he had a woman to see.
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  “That was kind of you,” he said. “Gathering possessions that were important to someone, once. I should like to see them sometime if Carrie will show me, but Gaira… I wish to speak with her. Can you tell me where she is?”

  Balthazar allowed himself to reflect on the horrors of Culloden’s aftermath for a moment longer before shaking himself, returning his focus to the question at hand.

  “She’s gone home for the night,” he said. “But she just left. If ye hurry, ye might catch her. Her mother’s home is down the main road, at the end of town. Ye’ll see a two-storied, stone house with a walled yard. ’Tis where Gaira lives.”

  Rafe thanked him swiftly and dashed out into the night.

  The snow was falling lightly and it wasn’t difficult to see. Cottages along the avenue were lit from inside, just enough light to see by as Rafe made his way down the avenue, hoping to catch Gaira before she entered her mother’s home. But he had a feeling the conversation with Balthazar had cost him time.

  Still, it was important he speak with her.

  The house Balthazar described came up quickly. There was, indeed, a walled yard, but the wall wasn’t any taller than a man’s chest. He could see the two-storied home, simple and modest, and faint light emitted from a window on the ground floor. Entering the walled yard, and hoping there weren’t dogs to chase him off, he went to the heavily fortified entry door and rapped firmly upon it.

  He could hear voices inside. Women’s voices.

  He rapped again.

  “I’ve come seeking Gaira,” he said loudly, hoping they could hear him. “I have no weapons and I mean you no harm. I’ve come from Balthazar’s. He told me where to find Gaira.”

  More voices. After a moment, someone threw a bolt and the door creaked open. In the dim light beyond, he could see Gaira’s suspicious face. Once she got a look at him, however, recognition dawned.

  “I know ye,” she said, opening the door a little wider. “I served ye food and drink.”