Highlander’s Lost Pearl: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Page 3

  “Aye,” Frang agreed. “But we’ll do anything in our power to stop it, m’lord, I promise ye that.”

  “Aye, I ken.” Hendry didn’t need to be told twice. His clansmen had done everything in their power to keep the clan safe and alive, and they would do the same now. Hendry trusted them not only with his life but with the lives of everyone else on his grounds. “I canna thank ye, Fergus and Tasgall, enough. Anything ye need, ye’ll come to me, do ye understand? Anything at all.”

  “Yer verra kind, m’lord.” Frang gave Hendry a small bow of gratitude. “But what we need, what the clan needs, is more food. If I may, perhaps this war against the Black Stags does more damage to the clan than it does good. Aye, they steal from us, but we’ve lost more men, good men, and more money fighting them than they could have ever taken from us.”

  The topic of the Black Stags never failed to put Hendry in a foul mood, and his fists clenched tightly, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. While he valued the opinions of his clansmen, the problem that the Black Stags had created in clan Dunbar was the one thing that Hendry wanted to take care of on his own. Nothing Frang or any of his other men could say would change his mind about his decision to fight the brigands. He was determined to stop them, even if it was going to be the last thing he would do.

  “I dinnae appreciate what yer saying, Frang,” Hendry said. “Ye ken why we must defeat them, why we must kill them all, dinnae ye? Dinnae ask me to do something that I cannae do. I will never stop hunting them.”

  Frang could only gaze at Hendry for a few moments, disappointment evident in the way he was looking at him. It made Hendry burn red, partly in fury and partly in embarrassment. A Laird who didn’t listen to his men was not a Laird who should be leading a clan, but Hendry was adamant about that one thing. Hells’ Sons were going to pay for what they had done to clan Dunbar, no matter what it took.

  “Forgive me, m’lord,” Frang said, giving Hendry another small bow. “I willnae speak of it again if ye wish me not to . . . I simply wanted ye to ken what the people are saying.”

  Hendry huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head softly. He tried to not be bitter, he really did; it was hard, though, when he did everything he could for his people, and his people rewarded him with gossip and criticism behind his back.

  He wished that there was someone who would appreciate what he was trying to do for the clan.

  “M’lord—”

  “It’s alright, Frang,” Hendry assured him, waving his hand dismissively. “I understand why people are saying what they are saying. I’ll do everything in my power to restore clan Dunbar to its former glory . . . anything but stop fighting Black Stags. If we stop fighting them, then it will only get worse. They already rape our women and pillage our goods. If we dinnae resist them, if we dinnae fight them, then they’ll only hurt us more.”

  Frang couldn’t argue with that, so he simply nodded. “Aye, yer right, m’lord.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, m’lord. That is all.”

  Hendry dismissed Frang, and he took a moment to collect himself after the other man had left his study.

  He understood the people’s concerns, he really did; he too was concerned, after all, that his fight against the Black Stags cost the clan too much money and too many lives. If Hendry didn’t fight them though, who would? No other clan nearby had the means, the men, or even the courage to do so, and so the responsibility fell on Hendry and clan Dunbar.

  Or at least that is what he told himself; it didn’t help that he had a personal vendetta against the brigands.

  His hand came up to gently trace the shape of the eyepatch covering his right eye, the pads of his fingers terribly familiar with the grooves and the curves of the leather patch. He had never liked it; even now, ten years after losing his eye, some people still gave him looks that made his skin crawl under their scrutiny.

  Still, it was better than walking around with an empty eye socket in plain view.

  Hendry glanced at the window, and suddenly remembered the girl that he had seen earlier, before Frang had come to give him the unpleasant news. Even now that he knew that the clan’s food sources were being depleted, he still wanted to help her as much as he could, so he decided to go down to the gates and offer her a job in the castle. Besides, all the merchants were already there, and Hendry had to inspect the goods.

  He never knew when one of the Black Stags’ men would be there, hiding among the sacks of wheat, ready to push a blade through his heart.

  He walked through the busy corridors of the castle that were bursting with clansmen and women going about their day, and eventually reached the courtyard, and then the gates. There were several merchants there, with dozens of carts waiting to be inspected by the Laird himself, but there was no sight of the girl. So Hendry got to work straight away, looking through the goods and the carts and making sure that there were no hidden surprises among them.

  He trusted his merchants, of course, and he made sure to let them know whenever he could; but he couldn’t possibly know if the brigands were controlling them through force, though, or if they had deceived the merchants and hidden from them, unlikely as it sounded.

  Once Hendry found nothing suspicious in the first few carts, his paranoia began to dissipate, though that did not mean that he was going to cut his inspection short. He was in a brighter mood though, chatting with the merchants and asking them about their travels.

  He always liked hearing their tales, since he didn’t travel as much as he would like to. Every time his clansmen would travel, whether to gather the rent from the crofts and the surrounding villages on his lands or for any other clan business, Hendry would have to stay at the castle, so that he could oversee the clan and its people. It was his duty, one that he had long accepted and would not change for all the riches in the world, but sometimes he couldn’t help but envy those who were free to roam as they wished.

  So he listened to the merchants’ tales, and he urged his clansmen to recount their own stories, soaking up everything that he could from them.

  Hendry was done with the first half a dozen carts when he got to the one that was filled with barrels. When the merchants informed him that they were empty, he immediately realized that this was the best place for the brigands to hide. Several of them could fit on that wagon, and the barrels were big enough to hold a man inside, though whoever could fit there would certainly be uncomfortable.

  Hendry approached the cart, his right hand hovering over the hilt of his sword as his left reached for the barrel’s lid, lifting it slowly, carefully at first, and then all at once.

  There was no brigand there, no towering, mighty brute to kill him the moment he pulled back the lid. There wasn’t a man belonging to the Black Stags waiting for him along with his fellow men, eager to chop off his head and the heads of his clansmen and women.

  There was only a girl there; the same girl that he had seen from his window, the one that he had been looking for when he had first gone out to the castle grounds, a girl whose face drained of all color the moment she saw him, and who fainted on the spot.

  Chapter Four

  It took Peigi several seconds to wake up, even as Hendry did his best to help her –though his best was simply grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her, which did little to help her recover.

  When Peigi came to, her eyes fluttering open slowly, she glanced around her with a frown, confused as to where she was and what had happened. Last thing she remembered, she was in a barrel, hiding and trying to sneak inside the grounds of the Dunbar clan castle, but now she was lying on the ground, her skirt and jacket covered in mud and filth.

  Then, Peigi saw the man who stood above her, watching her with one wide, worried eye, the other covered by an eyepatch. She frowned at that, unprepared for it. She had never heard any description of Laird Dunbar, as her father and his brigands only referred to him using epithets that a lady should never repeat.

  There was no question that
he was the Laird. Though he was dressed like the others, the similarities stopped there. His well-kept clothes clung neatly to his strong frame, and nobility graced the man’s features. There was something about him, about the way he carried himself that betrayed his position.

  Peigi stammered, her mouth seemingly unable to form the right words as she tried to find an excuse for herself, but the man hushed her gently, uninterested in what she had to say.

  “Are ye alright?” he asked her as he offered her his hand. Peigi took it and stood up with his help, dusting off her skirt, even though her hands alone could do nothing to clean it.

  “Aye, m’lord,” she said, giving him a small curtsy. It was a terrible one, Peigi unsteady on her feet and lacking any grace, but it was better than nothing, she reasoned. After all, no one had taught her how to curtsy, and she could do it about as well as an average peasant.

  “Ye gave us a fright for a moment, do ye ken? I thought I scared ye to death.”

  Peigi had seen scarier things in her life, more frightening men than Laird Dunbar. He was little more than a boy, young and fresh-faced, with no scar other than the lack of his right eye, and that was not enough to scare someone like her to death.

  “Forgive me, m’lord,” Peigi said. “Yer guards . . . they wouldnae let me in the castle grounds. I ken that is their duty, but all I wanted was to ask for work. I didnae ken what else to do, so I hid in the barrel, hoping that I could get inside the castle and find work that way.”

  The amused smirk that Hendry gave her made Peigi breathe a sigh of relief. Surely, he wouldn’t mean to harm her if he was amused by her antics, and that put her at ease in his presence.

  “Ah, I see,” Hendry said, nodding slowly. Now that Peigi wasn’t afraid for her life, she could see that the Laird’s eye was blue, brilliantly blue, like every sea was there, inside him. She was transfixed for a second, gazing into that blue, until the Laird’s words snapped her back to reality. “Weel, I’ll tell ye this . . . ye shouldnae have gone into that barrel. I thought ye were a brigand, and I’d have killed ye if ye werenae lucky. Dinnae do that again.”

  “I willnae, m’lord, I promise,” Peigi said, though once again, she refrained from pointing out that she could fight him if she had to. Of course, whether she would beat him was not certain, even in her own mind. “But perhaps . . . perhaps if ye give me a chance, there willnae be another time. I beg ye, m’lord, I have nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. I came here in search of work, and I promise ye that if ye give me work, then I’ll do it the best that I can. I told yer guards too, I can cook, and I can clean and take care of the horses. I can do anything ye’d need me to do. I only ask for a chance, m’lord, and if my work isnae satisfactory, then ye can tell me to leave the castle.”

  Hendry had made up his mind before he had even heard Peigi’s plea, so he nodded his head in agreement. “Of course. If we dinnae help those in need, then we are no better than the very brigands that we are trying to fight. Ye can work in the kitchens. I cannae pay you much . . . as ye can see, my clan has seen better days, but ye’ll have food and a roof over yer head.”

  There was more truth in Hendry’s words than the man realized. Peigi couldn’t help but grin like a fool at him; he could not be any further from her father and his men, the Laird who had given her all the help she needed even though he didn’t even know her.

  “That’s all I can ask for, m’lord,” Peigi said. “I cannae thank ye enough.”

  “Ye dinnae need to thank me,” Hendry assured her.

  The crowd around them was slowly dissipating now that nothing was interesting for them to watch. The merchants were going back to their jobs, unloading their carts, and carrying the goods to where they would be stored, while the clansmen and women went about their days, all leaving Hendry and Peigi alone.

  “What’s yer name?”

  Peigi took a small pause, contemplating for a moment whether to give Hendry a fake name. It was something she had considered before, telling everyone who didn’t know her that she had a different name, thinking that it would be safer that way. It would put her father off her trail should he come after her, something that she was certain he would do, once he realized that she had stolen a significant sum of money from him — and it would make it harder for anyone to recognize her, though she doubted anyone would. Her father’s keep never had any outsiders save for some women; women who certainly didn’t belong to the Dunbar clan.

  She decided against it in the end though. Giving the Laird and everyone else in the clan a fake name had the risk of her forgetting herself and not answering when called, something which would only complicate things.

  “Peigi,” she said. “My name is Peigi.”

  “Weel, Peigi . . . let me show ye yer new home.”

  Laird Dunbar offered his arm, as though she wasn’t simply a commoner, as though he didn’t care that they were going to be seen walking like that around the castle by every single man and woman that lived there.

  Peigi hesitated. Above all else, she disliked the attention, as she could never know what kind of trouble it could bring her, but she was also wary of the opinions of those around her. She didn’t want anyone to spread vile rumors about her, which would certainly come if a particularly bitter clansman or woman saw her hanging off the Laird’s arm.

  Hendry didn’t seem to be backing down though, and instead waited patiently for her to take his arm. It was either doing as he wanted her to do or walking away from him and risking getting on the man’s bad side, so Peigi looped her arm around the Laird’s obediently, while keeping an eye out for anyone who might give her a nasty look.

  The looks that she was expecting never came, even as they walked together around the grounds, with the Laird showing her every building that they passed and introducing her to a few of his people. Peigi couldn’t help but wonder what it was that made the sight of the Laird with a woman like her so normal, and though she knew better, she couldn’t help but ask.

  “Why are ye showing me the castle?”

  Hendry, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at Peigi, stopped walking for a moment. “Would ye rather I didnae? The castle is big . . . ye can easily lose yer way.”

  “No, I mean . . .” Peigi hesitated once more as she tried to find the right words to express what she wanted to say, words that wouldn’t offend the Laird, as that was the last thing she would ever want to do. “Why ye? Ye must have better things to do than show me the grounds! Ye have all these people working for ye, surely ye can ask one of them to show me!”

  Much to Peigi’s confusion, Hendry just laughed and then tugged her along once more.

  “Do ye ken why my people respect me, Peigi?” Hendry asked, without giving her a moment to answer before he continued and said, “Because I respect them. It doesnae matter to me whether yer a noblewoman or a peasant. It doesnae matter at all.”

  Peigi found herself smiling at Hendry. Indeed, the Laird, as well as everyone in his clan, seemed so much different than anything Peigi had ever known that she found it easy to like him, perhaps a little too easy. There was still a voice at the back of her head telling her that it could all be a lie, a ruse to fool her, though she didn’t know what the reason could possibly be. It simply seemed a little too good to be true, something that put Peigi on edge.

  When they finally got to the kitchens though, Peigi was too overwhelmed by the delicious, mouth-watering smell of food, from the doughy scent of the fresh pies to the hearty tones of the roasted meat that the women there were preparing, to think about ways that Hendry and his clan could possibly betray her.

  Something must have given away her hunger, Peigi thought, as the next thing she knew, Hendry was shoving a bannock in her hands and pulling her away from the main part of the kitchen.

  “Here, eat it,” he said, “but don’t let Mrs. MacLeish see ye. I still get in trouble with her when I steal food, even as a grown man, and she’ll whip my bottom if she kens I took food under her nose again.”

  Pe
igi would have laughed, had she not been fascinated with the bannock in her hands. She hadn’t had proper food in days, and she hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until her stomach growled loudly at the sight of the bannock.

  It took her seconds to wolf it down, not even trying to restrain herself in the presence of the Laird. It was a little stale, perhaps having been left there, in the kitchen, since that morning, but it was better than the scraps of food that she managed to find or beg for while traveling.

  Hendry simply watched her, and once she was done, Peigi gave him an apologetic look, but didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t ask for forgiveness for being hungry, and Hendry didn’t seem to want that either way.

  Just as Peigi was brushing the incriminating crumbs off her skirt, a woman that she assumed was Mrs. MacLeish approached them. She seemed to have a permanent frown on her face, which set below her two blue eyes, and her grey hair did nothing to hide her age, even as her plump cheeks made her look younger than she was.