Highlander’s Lost Pearl: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Read online

  The people, too, looked as though it had been a while since they had last seen a good day. They all seemed healthy enough, with the plump, rosy cheeks and the bright eyes that came with having enough food to eat, but their clothes were patched up in several places, while others wore torn garments.

  Perhaps they preferred to feed themselves, Peigi thought. Maybe they didn’t have enough money and goods to feed and dress themselves, all because of her father’s greed and his desire to take what was not his.

  That was one of the reasons why Peigi had wanted to go to Dunbar in the first place. She knew that it was the only place around there with enough guards to make her feel safe, but she also wanted to give back a part of what rightfully belonged to them. She wanted to help them, to repay them in some small way for what her father had done.

  Peigi thanked the merchants, leaving them to their business before hopping off their wagon and making her way to the two guards that stood by the entrance to the castle.

  The moment she walked up to them, Peigi knew that she was not welcome.

  One of the guards, the shorter one with a gap-toothed grin and a pair of meaty, hairy hands gripping his weapon hard enough to make the wood creak, appraised her from head to toe. Immediately, he decided she was not going anywhere near that castle if the look of disgust on his face was anything to go by. Still, Peigi had to at least try and get inside the walls.

  “Good day—”

  “Ye cannae go in,” the other guard said, a towering man with thin, blonde hair and a patchy beard, without even hearing what she had to say first. “We dinnae allow beggars in.”

  Peigi would have taken offense at that, had the days she had spent on the road not left her covered in filth and reeking worse than a barn. She didn’t think she looked like a beggar, not even at her worst.

  “I’m no beggar,” she said. “I’m looking for work, I have traveled for days to get here. Please, I beg of ye . . . there must be some work that needs to be done in the castle.”

  The two guards glanced at each other, and then back at Peigi. Their matching smiles filled her with hope for a moment, until the shorter one spoke.

  “Aye . . . I’ll hire ye to clean my chamber pot.”

  “With those things, she’ll topple right over!” the other man said, as he pointed at her.

  Peigi followed the man’s eye line and looked down to where he was pointing; her breasts. Red with embarrassment and fury, Peigi grabbed her jacket and wrapped it tightly around herself, covering her bosom.

  The two men laughed, much to Peigi’s annoyance. Her mouth twisted in a frown, ugly and scornful, but she was not about to give up so easily.

  “Any work in the castle, I’ll do it,” she said. “If ye need a cook, I can cook . . . I can cook and clean, I can sew, I can even work with the horses. I’ve tamed all of my father’s horses, I can do it, and I can do it weel. Please . . . please, at least ask if the Laird needs one more pair of hands.”

  “We willnae bother the Laird for a beggar,” the taller of the two guards spat, before taking a step towards Peigi and slamming his boot down on the ground, startling her. “Away wi’ ye! We dinnae need another mouth to feed! Leave!”

  Peigi considered offering to pay them for a moment. No man in the world would refuse some coins, but she couldn’t know for certain that the two guards wouldn’t become greedy after knowing that she had gold on her. Perhaps they would try and take it all from her, and there would be no one to stop them from doing so. Peigi had to put her safety first, so she retreated, shuffling her feet on the ground as she walked away.

  One defeat didn’t mean that she was going to give up, though. Just because those guards wouldn’t let her in, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t sneak into the castle. The same merchants who had brought her there were still by the entrance, chatting away to another clansman, and when everyone was distracted, Peigi finally had her chance.

  There were empty barrels in one of the carts that the merchants had brought with them. Peigi knew, as she had seen them carry three of the barrels with ease when they rolled off the wagon after hitting a bump on the road.

  She quickly opened the lid on the one closest to her and snuck inside as gingerly as she could. Though she made plenty of noise, no one heard her over the buzz of the locals and the merchants talking and laughing with each other, and Peigi smiled to herself, satisfied, once she settled inside the barrel.

  The barrel was just the right size for her to fit inside, though it was terribly cramped, and she knew that she couldn’t stay there for long. She just hoped that the merchants wouldn’t stay and chat for much longer, as her legs had already begun to cramp up.

  Peigi didn’t have to wait long. Soon, she felt the cart move, and though she didn’t risk cracking the lid open and glancing outside, she knew that they were going inside the castle grounds. Now, all she had to do was sneak back out once the clansmen put the barrels away, and then pretend that she already had permission to be there.

  Deception seemed to come awfully easy to her, Peigi thought. It seemed to be something that she had inherited from her father, but unlike her father, Peigi only used it when she had no other choice. She didn’t like deceiving people or lying to them; she, too, had been fooled several times by her father and his men, and she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such cruelty. When it came down to choosing between saving her life or telling the truth, though, then Peigi would choose the former every time.

  Inside the castle grounds, there was more noise than she could have imagined. She could hear the voices of tens of different men, some laughing and talking with each other, others yelling commands to those who worked for them. There were women’s voices too, Peigi realized, and suddenly, she was filled with excitement.

  She had never had a chance to have a friend, another woman in whom she could confide. The brigands in her father’s service had all been men, naturally. The only women with whom Peigi had had any contact were the women that the brigands brought for a night of fun, gone by the morning light, while the servants who took care of the keep were either older or refused to talk to her, just because she was her father’s daughter.

  If she were lucky, she would not only be safe, with a job and a roof over her head, but she would finally make some friends, she would finally get to know some women who were just like her.

  She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she were not lucky.

  The cart soon stopped, and Peigi had to brace herself as the barrel threatened to topple over. Thankfully, she remained upright, and then she settled back into her previous position, trying to get as comfortable as she could.

  It would be a long while until she would be able to get out of the barrel. Surely, the courtyard would not be empty until late at night, and even then, she would have to be careful. She didn’t want any guards to see her coming out of the barrel, especially not the same guards who had refused to allow her to enter the grounds. She was certain that if anyone found out that she had snuck into the castle, she would be executed, and all her troubles would be in vain.

  Soon, she heard voices once again, this time louder, as though the men were standing around the cart. Peigi tried to be quiet and even forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, with as little noise as possible, even though she doubted that anyone could hear her breathe, not when they were conversing so loudly among themselves.

  Peigi could catch phrases here and there, and she listened to the men intently. They were talking about their trade, it seemed, about how much they would be charging for their goods. She heard two of them discuss the Dunbar clan’s finances, and how much they each thought they could get away with overcharging when the financial state of the clan was so dire.

  The conversation made her frown, and she had half a mind to jump out of the barrel to reprimand the merchants, consequences be damned. Perhaps if she would expose them to the Laird, then he would be kind enough to let her live.

  She couldn’t bring herself to
do it, though; she couldn’t bring herself to risk her life or, even worse, her freedom, now that she had had a taste of what it meant to be truly free.

  Just as she was trying to convince herself that the best plan of action was taking no action at all, Peigi heard a sudden interruption in the conversations of the merchants and the clansmen, which was then followed by half a dozen ‘m’lord’s. Her breath caught as Laird Dunbar approached the cart. What was he even doing there, among the merchants, hay, and dung? Surely he had better things to do?

  It didn’t matter what he was doing there though. Peigi was more concerned about the fact that he had come there in the first place. Surely, a Laird would not be there unless there was something wrong.

  Could he possibly have found out that she was hiding in the barrel? It could not be. If anyone had seen her, it would be a clansman, not the Laird himself, she thought.

  “Did ye come for the inspection, m’lord?” Peigi heard one of the merchants ask, and his words made her heart sink to her stomach. She didn’t know that inspections were a common occurrence in castles, and suddenly, she felt incredibly stupid, cursing herself under her breath.

  She should have been more careful; she should have found a less risky way to sneak inside the grounds, one that would not bring her face to face with the Laird of the clan himself.

  “Aye,” Laird Dunbar said. Peigi could hear his footsteps, loud and heavy, as he circled the cart, sometimes coming closer and sometimes walking away from her. She could only hope that he would skip the cart that she was in since there were a lot of other carts to inspect.

  “What have ye brought with ye?” the Laird continued. “Did ye bring everything that we asked for?”

  “Aye, m’lord,” a merchant assured him. “We brought ye grains and wine, and we brought some thread for cloth too, as ye asked.”

  “Did ye find any trouble on the way here?” the Laird asked. “Those darned Black Stags, did they get to ye? Did they steal from ye?”

  Peigi had known that the Dunbar clan was her father’s biggest target, but the ferocity in the Laird’s voice told her that it was worse than she thought. He sounded like a man who had gone mad with hatred, as though he could hardly contain his rage against the thieves, and Peigi couldn’t blame him. She could only feel sorry for him, for everything that her father had done to him and his people.

  “No, no, m’lord. There was no trouble at all this time,” another merchant said. “We thought it was odd, at first, but we have been fighting back more . . . the weapons ye gave us have saved our lives and our goods many times. Perhaps the Black Stags have seen that we are stronger now. They ken that we can defeat them.”

  Peigi knew for certain that that was not the case. Her father and his men were not afraid of anyone, especially not some merchants, and she also knew that the merchants, no matter how well-armed they were, were no match for the brigands. Once they were sober once more and they had spent and eaten everything they had pillaged, then they would return, and they would do so with a vengeance.

  “We cannae defeat them,” the Laird said, as though he could read Peigi’s mind. He was a smart man, she thought, if he knew that there was no beating her father. “Not yet, not like this; but one day we will . . . I will make sure of that.”

  There was a short silence among the men, none of them willing to point out that Black Stags had beaten them every single time they had tried to fight them, but it was quickly over after the Laird spoke again.

  “Show me what ye brought. Make sure to open everything, I dinnae want any Black Stags making their way inside castle grounds, ye hear?”

  There was a chorus of agreement from the other men, but Peigi could hardly hear it over the sound of her thundering heartbeat. She thought her heart would jump out of her chest; if she didn’t faint first, that is. Her ears buzzed loud enough to cover any other sound, and she could feel her fingertips go numb as she waited for the inevitable.

  The lid of her barrel opened with a whoosh, but Peigi didn’t see the sudden flood of light before her eyes fell closed, plunging her in darkness.

  Chapter Three

  Hendry had a quill in his hand. It was dripping ink on his desk, staining the dark wood black, but he didn’t even notice. His mind was elsewhere, and he was staring at the stone wall opposite him absent-mindedly.

  Those brigands, Black Stags, would be the death of him.

  Clan Dunbar, of which Hendry was Laird, was not a particularly wealthy clan. It had been once, but for many years, his clansmen and women had been suffering in poverty, and his castle was in disarray, the building slowly falling apart as the clan had little money for upkeep. Hendry could afford only the barest of necessities for his people.

  It was all because of the Black Stags, something that Hendry would never forget, something that kept him up at night, ever since he had the misfortune to come into his position as a Laird at only five-and-ten years of age.

  What money the Black Stags didn’t steal from the clansmen, Henry spent trying to fight the brigands. It was not easy fighting a war against them, not when Hendry’s forces had already been depleted in the first place. His men were hungry, their horses were dying, and their swords were left without repairs, making the fight against the brigands an uphill battle.

  Hendry would sooner give his own life than stop fighting them though. If he was going to achieve one thing as the Laird of clan Dunbar, it would be killing every single one of the Black Stags.

  With a sigh, Hendry stood up, abandoning his now dry quill on the desk. He walked to the window, eager for some fresh air to clear his mind. The weather had turned bad in a matter of hours, with dark, rolling clouds covering the sun and obstructing its rays. It was going to rain soon, but hopefully not too much, or Hendry feared that some buildings would not withstand the rain and get flooded.

  They had no means to fix them if that happened. Hendry didn’t even want to consider the consequences of a simple storm.

  As he looked out of the window, Hendry’s gaze fell on a woman, one that he had never seen before. She wasn’t a local; otherwise, Hendry would have met her before; he made sure that he knew everyone in his clan.

  He could see that the woman was pale, with honey blonde hair that was pulled back from her face in a simple plait, but that was all he could see from where he was standing. She looked dirty, as well, as though she hadn’t had a bath in days, if not weeks, and Hendry felt a sudden weight in his chest. He felt compassion for her, as he did for every man and woman in need that walked up to the castle’s doors, seeking help.

  His clansmen had often told him that it would be his downfall in the end, but Hendry disagreed; a good deed was always rewarded if only by the knowledge that he had helped another human being.

  There was no other reason for the woman to be there, really, Hendry thought. No woman who looked so battered and poor could want anything other than some help, and Hendry was happy to give that help to her, so he headed for the door. He had to tell his guards to let her in, as they didn’t seem particularly inclined to do so, judging by how long the woman had been talking to them.

  Before he could take two steps, though, there was a knock on the door, and when it opened, Frang, one of his clansmen, stepped inside.

  “Frang . . . what is it?”

  “M’lord,” Frang said before he hesitated for a moment, nervous fingers fiddling with the hem of his jacket. “I bring ye bad news.”

  It was the last thing that Hendry wanted to hear. He had been hearing bad news for months, ever since winter had begun and his clan had an even harder time keeping everyone warm and fed.

  “The cattle . . . there seems to be something wrong with the cattle,” Frang said. “We found three dead cows this morning, and two yesterday. We dinnae ken what it is that is killing them, but they are dying fast. At first, we thought that it was only those two, but when we saw the three cows dead today, weel . . . we kent there was something wrong.”

  Hendry let out a long sigh, his hand comi
ng up to brush the mop of red hair off his face. Saying it was bad news was an understatement. The cattle were one of their main sources of food, and now that, too, was being depleted faster than they could ever possibly stop it.

  “What noo?” Hendry asked, sounding just as lost as he was feeling. It wasn’t becoming of a Laird, but he doubted Frang would blame him for it; the man knew better than anyone what Hendry was going through.

  “Fergus and Tasgall are trying to save as many of the cattle as they can. They’re trying to find out what’s killing them, but we dinnae ken how many will die before they cure them.”

  “If they can cure them, that is,” Hendry pointed out, adding the part that Frang didn’t want to say out loud. “As ye said, we dinnae ken what is happening to them. They could all be gone within the week.”