Highland Legend

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Did you seek out the Ludus Caledonia to learn to fight?” she asked. “Or did they find you?”

  His grin was back. “They found me,” he said. “And it wasna the Ludus Caledonia. It was the Ludus Antonine in Glasgow. I’d gone there after I was released and ended up fighting in the streets for money. It was Axel who found me in the gutter after one nasty brawl, beaten and bloodied. He told me he could take me tae a place where I would be taught tae fight properly. And here I am.”

  “Why did you not go home after your release?” she asked.

  “Because I had no home tae go tae,” he said. “I know ye dunna know much about me, and ye’ve had the good sense not tae ask. Because ye’ve not asked, I’ll tell ye. My father is a duke and my mother was a lady-in-waiting tae the duke’s wife. I was the bastard no one wanted. When I was born, my mother and I were sent tae my mother’s family at Blackwood House near Stirling. I was a tiny lad when Ambrose Stewart came looking for me and took me away tae Culroy.”

  Diantha was listening intently. “But how did he even know about you?”

  The smile on his face was without humor. “Because the man has spies everywhere,” he said. “Did ye not know that? He paid someone at my father’s home tae tell him about the bastard son who lived in the Highlands. When he came for me, my mother’s family had no choice but tae give me over. One doesna deny the Duke of Ayr and not suffer the consequences.”

  Diantha shook her head sadly. “You were so young,” she said. “And you lived at Culroy most of your life?”

  Magnus nodded, trying not to let those dark memories overwhelm him. “I lived there for fifteen years,” he said. “I managed tae get away seven years ago and ended up in Glasgow until I was taken tae the Ludus Antonine.”

  Diantha was touched by his sorrowful story. “And ye’ve been here ever since?”

  “Aye.”

  “But what about your father? Why did he not come for you at Culroy?”

  “Because my father is the youngest brother of the king and a rebel,” he said frankly. “Ambrose is a cousin tae the king and tae my father, but he sides with the king. Ambrose took me hostage against my father doing anything too stupid, but it dinna work. My father continued tae rebel against his brother until such time as an injury nearly killed him. When he stopped rebelling, I was released because of his good behavior. I was told that my father hates the very mention of me, a reminder of his own indiscretions, and his wife willna have me around.”

  Diantha was coming to feel a great deal of pity for him. “That is why he did not come for you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Even after you were released?”

  “He doesna know of my whereabouts and he surely doesna care.”

  “But what about your mother? Surely you could have gone back to Blackwood?”

  Magnus shook his head. “By the time I was released, I’d not seen my mother in many a year,” he said. “I was a man. Men dunna return home tae their mother’s bosom tae become her burden. I had tae make my own way.”

  Diantha clucked softly. “I am sorry for you, my lord,” she said softly. “You do not deserve such a thing.”

  The dark memories had Magnus in their grip. He could feel the familiar sadness and anguish creeping upon him, filling his veins like it used to. He hadn’t spoken of his past in years, but suddenly in the past two days, he’d been forced to face it again. Speaking of it to Diantha had been so…easy.

  She was getting under his skin more and more.

  “Nay, I dunna,” he said, trying to pull himself out of the familiar depression. “But it doesna matter anymore. I have made a success of myself in spite of Ambrose or my father, and I enjoy prestige and fame here at the Ludus Caledonia. I couldna want for more.”

  He said it firmly, as if he truly didn’t care, but that wasn’t the truth. Deep down, he was still that abandoned little boy with no one to care for him. That’s where he first learned to build the wall around him that he kept so closely guarded.

  But Diantha was succeeding in putting tiny cracks in that wall.

  “You are clearly loved here,” she said, reaching out and impulsively putting a hand on his arm. “I saw it tonight in the way the crowd cheered for you. You are a great warrior and that is something to be proud of.”

  Magnus was midchew when she put her hand on him. He stopped, looking at the hand on his arm and feeling it like a brand. He stared at it a moment, her beautiful hand over his bronzed skin. It made something in his chest churn. He suspected it was all that emotion he kept buried, struggling to get out.

  Slowly, he resumed chewing.

  “This is where I’ve found myself,” he said, swallowing what was in his mouth. “I have found greatness here, but I dunna intend tae remain here forever.”

  To his disappointment, she removed her hand. “What do you intend to do?”

  He shrugged, spooning the last of the stew into his mouth. “Travel,” he said. “I want tae go tae far and mysterious places. I want tae see where the real gladiators walked. I want tae see great mountains and great rivers. I’ve never been out of Scotland.”

  She smiled faintly. “Then you must go to Navarre someday,” she said. “In my town, there are ancient Roman ruins. You can see their avenues, their gutters, and the remains of their homes. When I was a child, I used to play there with other children from the village. We pretended it was our own little village. I even found a coin there once, buried in the floor of one of the houses.”

  Now, it was his turn to listen intently, which was something Magnus wasn’t used to. He wasn’t a good listener because he didn’t really care about others, but with Diantha, he found himself interested in what she was saying.

  “Tell me about yer town,” he said.

  Her smile grew as she thought on the place where she was born. “It is dry and warm most of the time,” she said. “The land is arid and the village is surrounded by mountains, but a river runs near our village, lazy and green. In the summer, you can smell the rosemary on the breeze, as it grows wild on the hills. My father’s castle is a great fortress, built from stone that is the color of gold. At sunset, when the light hits it just so, it looks like a golden castle.”

  He nodded, envisioning such a place in his mind’s eye. “I canna imagine a place that is warm and dry always,” he said. “Even now, during these days in August, it is warm, but that will be brief. In September, the storms will come and it will grow cold again. It would be nice tae have the warmth all year.”

  Diantha nodded. “I cannot wait to return to it,” she said, her smile fading. “I…I am hoping that I still have a home to return to.”

  He could see the melancholy wash over her features. It wasn’t something he understood, longing for a home that he once had, but he could feel sympathy for her nonetheless.

  “How do ye plan tae get there?” he asked. “Ye speak of earning money for passage, but how do ye plan tae go? It willna be an easy undertaking.”

  She nodded, trying to shake off the melancholy. “I know,” she said. “But I shall go to Edinburgh and find passage to Calais. From Calais, I can find passage to Bilbao. From there, it is only four days to Santacara on a swift horse.”

  It sounded simple enough, but travel was seldom so easy. “And ye plan tae travel alone?” he said. “Ye dunna plan tae hire protection?”

  She shrugged. “I had not thought on it,” she said. “I would have to earn more money to pay for protection.”

  “But it isna safe tae travel alone. Ye know that.”

  She nodded, putting on a brave front. “I know, but I must go home and I cannot wait for the time it would take to earn money for protection. I pray that God will protect me. That is good enough.”

  Magnus couldn’t figure out if she was delusional or simply faithful. Either way, he thought it was a foolish stance, but he didn’t say so. But he knew one thing—
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  She wasn’t going to travel alone.

  He wasn’t going to let her.

  He wasn’t going to bring it up, not now, but he certainly intended to at some point. She may have been too honorable to take his money when he offered to pay for her passage, but he wouldn’t let her refuse his money to pay for protection.

  He was going to pay for it whether or not she liked it.

  Or perhaps he would go with her.

  That last thought crept up on him without warning, and suddenly he was reeling from the mere idea. He would go with her? He’d just finished telling her he wanted to travel, so why not? Great bleeding Christ, it was a foolish thought.

  He was foolish.

  He was also exhausted.

  Exhaustion was doing strange things to his mind.

  “I must sleep,” he said, rising wearily. “It has been a long night.”

  Diantha jumped up, rushing over to the hearth where she had a bed warmer waiting. She’d found it in the piles of clutter Magnus had in his cottage, a valuable piece of household equipment, and she immediately began to poke at the fire in the hearth for chunks of glowing peat.

  “Of course,” she said, using a small shovel to put the peat into the pot-like warmer. “I shall have your bed warmed in a few moments.”

  Magnus looked at her, crouched down on the floor. After a fight like the one tonight, he was assured of an array of women to choose from afterward. There had been more than he had ever seen waiting above the holding area, throwing money and coin purses down to him, begging to lick the sweat from his skin. He’d seen some of the women before. He’d even bedded a few of them before. Tonight, he could have had his pick.

  But he couldn’t seem to do it.

  All he could see was Diantha.

  There was a bathhouse attached to the staging area where the men would bathe after the fights, modeled after the great bathhouses of Rome. When Clegg de Lave designed the Ludus Caledonia, he’d left nothing out. Everything ancient Rome had, the Ludus Caledonia had, and the bathhouse was truly a marvel.

  Built next to the Fields of Mars, it was a large stone structure on a raised floor, and servants kept the fires stoked to heat up the baths. There were both male servants and female servants to tend the bathers, whichever they preferred, and Magnus usually had his pick of the female servants.

  Tonight, he’d had two males.

  He couldn’t even comprehend why. He’d never had that before. Usually, he’d take the female servant and expected something a little more than simple bathing assistance, but tonight, he couldn’t manage to do it. When one had tried to change his mind, he closed his eyes to enjoy the experience but all he could see was Diantha. That noble, beautiful woman that had his interest.

  He’d chased the servant away.

  As he looked at her now, carefully putting coals into the bed warmer so she could warm his bed, he could think of a better way for her to warm it but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t even bring himself to do anything about it. She had come seeking his help, hadn’t she? She was sleeping in his cottage, washing his clothes, bringing meals for him, wasn’t she? Doing everything a wife would do.

  A wife…

  So why couldn’t he do to her what he did to every single willing female he met?

  He knew why. Magnus may have been an arrogant man, but he wasn’t a molester. He would never lower himself. Moreover, when he was with a woman, he wanted a willing partner.

  And he knew, deep down, that Diantha hadn’t come to warm his bed in the way he was hoping.

  But perhaps with time, she would.

  Perhaps in time, he could make her want to.

  Magnus continued to watch Diantha as she finished with the bed warmer and dashed into his chamber to warm his sheets, but he didn’t follow. In fact, Diantha had been in his chamber for quite some time, making sure everything was nice and warm, before she realized he hadn’t come into the room.

  Puzzled, she went out into the larger room to see what he was doing only to find him dead asleep on the pallet she had made for herself. He was shoved up against the wall, rolled up in a blanket with his feet on the hearth, nice and warm.

  He was snoring loudly enough to lift the roof.

  With a grin, Diantha set the bed warmer down and went back into his chamber, returning with another blanket. Carefully, she laid it over him, making sure he was tucked in and comfortable.

  That night, she slept on his bed.

  Chapter Nine

  Blackridge House

  The seat of the Duke of Kintyre and Lorne

  She was waiting for him in what they called the Gathering Room, a vast chamber that spanned nearly one entire side of the house, facing out onto the green expanse of meadows to the south.

  The woman had come in a fine carriage but without soldiers except for her coachmen, four of them, who rode fine and fat steeds, indicating wealth. In fact, everything about her carriage indicated wealth and status. He’d inspected the vehicle when he was told of her arrival, but she would not give her name, not even to his majordomo. She was secretive and quiet, demanding to see the duke with the utmost urgency.

  It was pure curiosity that had brought him to the Gathering Room.

  Hugh Stewart stood in the doorway of the enormous chamber, with its stone floor, paneled walls, and two magnificent hearths. It also had heavy damask curtains on the windows, and there were several because his late wife had liked the look of them. He’d never had the heart to get rid of them after she died. They’d cost a small fortune and they were all closed at the moment, giving the chamber a dim and mysterious ambiance.

  Certainly, the unknown female visitor was a mystery.

  “Who are ye?” he finally asked.

  The woman was wrapped from head to toe in a dark-green velvet cloak with a fox lining. It looked very expensive. When she turned to him, her cloak parted near the hemline of her dress and he could see that she was wearing an equally expensive gown with jewels sewn into the hemline. But she had a hood over her head and a veil across the bottom part of her face so he couldn’t make out her features.

  Her eyes glittered in the dim light.

  “Hugh?” she asked.

  She didn’t speak with a Scots brogue. To his ear, it was English.

  The mystery grew.

  “If ye think tae pull a dirk on me, I’ll not let ye get close enough,” he said steadily. “State yer name or get out. I’ve no time for games.”

  “If you will close the door, I will tell you all you need to know.”

  Hugh took a step inside the chamber and slammed the door in the face of his majordomo, hovering out in the hall.

  “There,” he said. “Who are ye?”

  Immediately, the veil came away and she pulled the hood from her head. She took a few steps toward him, but not too close. She didn’t want to spook him.

  “Do you know me?” she asked.

  Hugh thought he might. She had a familiar look to her, a pretty woman who had aged well. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think so.”

  “It has been a while,” she said. “At least twenty-five years, but you have changed little. You are still as handsome as I remember. I am Agnes, Duchess of Ayr.”

  Hugh’s eyes widened at the revelation. “Of course,” he hissed. “Agnes, lass, I’ve not seen ye in ages. What are ye doing here? Where’s Ambrose?”

  “He does not know I have come,” she said. “I can only stay a few moments because I am expected elsewhere. I told my husband I was going to visit my sister, who lives not far from here, but my true purpose was coming to speak with you, Hugh. There is something you must know.”

  Hugh eyed her. “It must be important for ye tae have taken the trouble tae have come.”

  “It is.”

  He scratched his head. “Are ye tae tell me that yer husband
is planning an offensive against me?” he said. “I already know, Agnes. He thinks I’ve allied myself with the Laird of the Isles.”

  “How did you know that?”

  Hugh sighed faintly. He didn’t want to say too much, concerned it would make it back to Ambrose. He couldn’t be sure that Agnes’s presence wasn’t a ploy.

  “’Tis the rumor,” he said. “Everyone knows. Is that what ye’ve come tae tell me?”

  She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I’ve come to speak with you about your son, Magnus.”

  That drew a reaction. “Magnus?” he repeated. “Is he well? Has something happened?”

  With those panicked questions, Hugh revealed how much he ached for his long-estranged son. It was something he kept well hidden, a suppression that had become part of his fabric. That dull ache of longing, of hopelessness, was a constant in his life, only to be revived when Magnus’s name was spoken as it was now.

  His son.

  Seeing his reaction, Agnes put up her hand, easing him. “Nay,” she said quickly. “He is well. You needn’t be troubled. But I want you to know something. When Ambrose told you that Magnus wanted nothing to do with you, it was not the truth.”

  Hugh stared at her in confusion. “What?” he finally said. “But…that is the way of things.”

  “It is not the way of things. It is a lie.”

  “What are ye saying?”

  Agnes took a few more steps toward him. “I am telling you that you were lied to,” she said flatly. “By Ambrose. He told you that Magnus did not wish to see you, and he told Magnus the same thing—that you did not wish to see him. He purposely drove a wedge between you two.”

  Hugh’s eyes widened with bewilderment. “But…but why?” he hissed. “Why should he do such a thing? Agnes, are ye certain?”

  Agnes nodded. “I am very certain,” she said. “You know that Ambrose has always been jealous of you, Hugh. You, the brother of a king, and him…a duke who inherited everything from his father. He never had to work for anything. He allies himself with your brother, the king, because he believes himself to be a great man in politics. What he did to you and your son, he did to control you. That is the truth of it. By keeping you and Magnus apart, he is controlling you both.”