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

  That evening, Mrs. MacLeish asked Peigi to take Hendry’s dinner to him, as he would be dining alone, and she did so, carrying the tray full of food and wine to his study.

  “Come in,” Hendry called when he heard the knock on the door, and Peigi did so, placing the tray on the only table that was not covered in papers or baubles and trinkets.

  Thinking that the Laird was busy, Peigi gave him a quick curtsy and turned around to leave, but Hendry’s voice stopped her.

  “Peigi . . . are ye in a hurry?”

  “No, m’lord,” Peigi said. “I thought ye’d want to be alone. Ye seem busy.”

  “Aye, but I dinnae work when I eat,” Hendry said. “Come . . . sit, join me.”

  Peigi was hesitant. “But, m’lord . . . there isnae enough food and—”

  “Nonsense,” Hendry interrupted. “There is plenty of food for both of us.”

  Peigi glanced at the tray, which held a plate of roast meat and vegetables, a single bannock, and a sliced apple; hardly enough for a grown man, let alone the two of them, and yet Hendry was more than happy to share it with her.

  Peigi couldn’t hold back a small, grateful smile. She grabbed the tray once more, placing it on Hendry’s desk, where he was making room for it. Then, she sat across from him, keeping her hands clasped tightly on her lap, even though Hendry had given her permission to eat as well.

  Unlike Peigi, Hendry had no problem digging into the food as soon as it was placed in front of him. He still had enough manners left, though, to pour Peigi a cup of wine, while he used a previously discarded cup that was standing on the corner of his desk for his own drink.

  “Dinnae be shy,” Hendry urged Peigi when he saw that she wasn’t eating. “Ye dinnae have to wait for me to eat first. Come, eat . . . I like to have my dinner with company.”

  Peigi gingerly reached for some food, taking a small bite. She hadn’t had her own dinner yet, and the taste made her salivate; it was enough to make her eat more, joining Hendry as he had his meal.

  “Would ye mind terribly if I asked ye a question, m’lord?”

  Henry looked up from his food, smiling at Peigi. “No need to call me that when we’re alone, Peigi. Ye can simply call me by my name. And yes, ye can ask me anything . . . my men say that I enjoy talking, and they’re right, so I’m warning ye, if ye ask me a question, be prepared to hear me talk for a long time.”

  “M’lord . . . Hendry,” Peigi said, testing the sound of his name on her lips. “How did ye get that?”

  Perhaps it was a rude question, but everyone Peigi had asked had either told her to mind her own business or had given her wildly different accounts of the event. So Peigi had soon realized that if she wanted to know what had really happened, she would have to go to Hendry and ask him about it.

  Besides, he didn’t seem to mind his eyepatch. He didn’t seem to remember anything about it, cheery as he was all the time.

  “Ach, this,” Hendry said, his hand coming up to trace the edge of the eyepatch. “Ye must have asked the others, no? Did they tell ye stories of my legendary battles and conquests?”

  “Those who spoke to me told me that either ye fought a feral cat and lost or that ye got it as a punishment from a lad from another clan whose father ye killed,” Peigi said with a small shrug. “But, I think that neither is the truth.”

  “Then yer a wise woman,” Hendry said around a mouthful of chicken. “Did they really say that I fought a cat and lost? I must rectify that, I must.”

  Feeling that the conversation was being derailed, Peigi placed her cup of wine down and cleared her throat. “Hendry . . . if it wasnae a cat and it wasnae a lad, what was it?”

  It was the first time that Peigi saw Hendry change in an instant, his face darkening as though a cloud had passed over it. This was not the Hendry she knew, but somehow Peigi knew that the Hendry in front of her was just as real, just as much himself, as the Hendry that she knew.

  There was pain there. That much was clear. It was the kind of pain that even someone like Peigi couldn’t fully grasp, and it made her breath stick to her throat like molasses.

  “I was traveling with my parents once . . . It was ten years ago. I was ten-and-five years of age. We were almost back home. We were so close that I cannae help but wonder if things would be different had we not stopped to rest. Perhaps we would have come back earlier, and none of this would have happened.”

  Hendry paused then, but Peigi didn’t rush him. She let him simply sit there in silence, the food long forgotten, while the wine was anything but. Hendry drained his cup before filling it up again and doing the same for Peigi’s own, even though she still had plenty of wine left in hers.

  “There were these brigands,” Hendry continued. “I dinnae ken if it was an ambush or if they happened to be there while we were traveling by. It doesnae matter, not really. I had never seen men like them before, men with so much . . . so much hatred in their eyes. For many years, I didnae ken why they were so angry at my family, but I think I ken noo. I think it was because the Dunbar clan was rich then, and all our people lived comfortably. We had gold, plenty of it, and the brigands . . . weel, I think they envied that. They wanted the gold for themselves.”

  “Aye.” Peigi knew all about brigands and what they wanted. They wanted all the riches in the world for themselves, and they would do anything to get them.

  There was a sinking feeling in her stomach as she listened to Hendry. Everything that he spoke of sounded terribly familiar, like each and every one of her father’s tales. There was always a noble family traveling, perhaps stopping to rest at some point, and there was still gold and death involved.

  Hendry’s words brought back the sort of memories that Peigi wanted to forget, but she wanted to listen to his entire story. She wanted to know what had happened to him and his family.

  “They took all the gold. It wouldnae have been so bad if they had stopped there. We had more gold, a lot more gold here, in the castle, after all. It wouldnae have ruined the clan,” Hendry said. “They didnae stop, though. They wanted my father and my mother dead, I could see it in their eyes . . . I could see the hatred they had for them. My father and his men, they tried to stop them, but there were too many. I remember thinking there was an entire army of them, but thinking back, they must’ve been about a dozen. That was enough to murder my father and his five men, though, and so they did. I watched them fight, and I watched one of them pierce my father’s heart with his sword, and I . . . I didnae do anything. I didnae do anything to stop it. I stayed by my mother’s side, holding a sword that my uncle Paedar had given me before he marched into the fight.”

  Peigi listened to Hendry’s story, transfixed. She could have never known that behind his usually cheery and playful temperament, he was hiding such a past, though she supposed that it was his own way of coping with what had happened to him.

  “When the brigands had killed all the men, they came to me and my mother. I tried to fight them, I did . . . I kent how to use a sword. I’d been training ever since I was a wee lad, but it wasnae enough. None of it was enough. I couldnae fight all of them on my own, and my mother, she was pleading, screaming at them to not hurt me. Then this man . . . the leader, he told all his men to stop. I thought he would take mercy on my mother and me, but . . . weel, he had other plans. He asked me to fight him, just him. Just me and him. I couldnae verra weel refuse, so I did as he asked, and I fought him. I remember that it was easier, having only one man to fight, but he had the might of five men. I remember thinking that he was a giant, he towered over me then, but I ken noo that he must have been only slightly taller than an average man. At the time, he seemed colossal, but I still fought him. It must have only been minutes, but it felt like an eon, clash after clash of iron against iron . . . I thought it wouldnae stop. But then it did. He struck me over the face with his blade, and he took my eye. And that is the story.”

  Peigi gulped, swallowing the knot that was blocking her throat. She took a sip of her wine with a
trembling hand, miraculously managing to not spill any on her garments.

  “Yer mother?” she asked. “What happened to her? Did she survive?”

  Hendry shook his head. “No . . . no, she didnae survive. Once the man wounded me, I was in a panic. I couldnae see from my right eye, I couldnae stop the bleeding. Then he struck me again when I couldnae even defend myself. His sword pierced me in the stomach and, weel . . . I fainted. When I woke up, I saw my mother. Her throat had been slit open, but she wasnae even bleeding anymore. The brigands were gone, and they had left me there to die. I would’ve died, had I not had some luck. One of the farmers that lives on our lands found me, and he took me back here, to the castle. If he hadnae found me, I’d be dead.”

  Hendry’s story only added to the weight that Peigi carried with her. Her father and his brigands had all but destroyed the Dunbar clan, but could her father really have been so cruel as to wound a child so terribly and leave it in the woods to die? As much as she didn’t want to believe it, she had to know for certain.

  “Hendry . . . I’m so verra sorry,” she said. “Do ye ken who the men were?”

  Hendry looked up at Peigi, giving her the sort of glance of disbelief that told her she should already know the answer to her question. “Aye, I ken,” he said. “It was the Black Stags, the verra same men who have been stealing from us for years. Anything they haven’t stolen, I spent trying to chase them down and defeat them, and that is why the clan is poor the noo. I spent everything we had left trying to take revenge, but no more. It is time to rebuild the clan. It is time to focus on the people who are still alive, still with us.”

  Peigi had stopped listening to Hendry after he spoke the name of her father’s gang. Part of her wanted to scream, part of her wanted to curse her father for what he had done to Hendry and his family, but the last thing that she needed was exposing her real identity. Instead, Peigi stayed silent, nails digging into the flesh of her palms as she clenched her fists tightly, trying to hold back the wave of regret and guilt that was washing over her.

  Even though she had not taken part in the ambush, and she could not have possibly done anything to prevent it, she still felt a pang of guilt. The leader of the Black Stags was her blood, and the same vile blood ran through her own veins.

  “Are ye alright, Peigi?”

  The question took her by surprise, and she couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh. Even after telling her such a story, Hendry worried more about her than he did about himself.

  “I’m fine, Hendry, I am,” she assured him. “Are ye alright, though? After . . . after everything that ye spoke of, I cannae imagine the pain that ye must be feeling. Is there something I can do? Anything . . . anything that ye need.”

  Hendry reached over the table and placed a gentle hand over Peigi’s own. The moment his hand touched hers, a tingle ran down the skin of her arm, giving her goosebumps. A part of her, a big part of her, wanted nothing more than to hold Hendry’s hand, and she did so for a few moments at least. Then, she had to pull her hand back as a wave of shame crashed over her. How could she hold Hendry’s hand when her father was the reason for all of Hendry’s suffering?

  Hendry didn’t seem to be too fazed by her reaction. He simply smiled at her, soft and gentle, just like his touch.

  “I’m alright, Peigi,” he said. “I’m quite alright. It’s been ten years since then, and though the pain never goes away, it lessens. When I remember my mother and my father, I remember them before their deaths. I remember them the way they’d want to be remembered, and though I would kill those brigands if I saw them, I have other priorities noo. My clan is my priority, not revenge.”

  Peigi didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say, shaken as she was by the news of her father’s cruelty, though she supposed it wasn’t exactly news. She had always known what kind of man her father was and what he had done to people, but knowing that he had murdered Hendry’s family so cruelly and that he had wounded him so terribly made her blood boil in her veins.

  If Hendry didn’t take revenge, then Peigi would do it for him.

  Chapter Seven

  “Mrs. MacLeish, where is the flour?”

  Peigi had looked everywhere for it, in every kitchen cabinet, every room where they kept a stock of goods, and still, she hadn’t managed to find even a small bag of flour. She also hadn’t managed to find any salt, but she hadn’t looked for it as thoroughly as she had looked for the flour.

  Mrs. MacLeish abandoned her task of plucking the feathers out of a chicken, and she walked to Peigi, who frowned at her. Mrs. MacLeish normally shouted orders and answers back at the women who worked in the kitchen; she didn’t approach them to talk unless it was serious.

  “We dinnae have any left,” she told Peigi, which only made her frown in confusion even more.

  “How can we not have any?” Peigi asked. “It’s . . . it’s flour. Everybody has flour.”

  Mrs. MacLeish shook her head. “Not us. Some of the people here might have some left if they have kept some rations, but the castle has none. We finished it yesterday.”

  “How could we use so much flour?” Peigi asked. “When will we receive more?”

  Mrs. MacLeish sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “I dinnae ken, lass. The clan doesnae have money for flour or for salt. We dinnae have money to pay the merchants, so we must make do. We’ll be eating from what the land gives us for a while. Remember those snails ye had? Ye should try to find more.”

  It sounded impossible to Peigi, who had always had staples in her father’s keep, even at the worst times that they had gone through. Hendry had never told her that the clan was in such a bad shape, and she would have never thought that he couldn’t afford even the most basic goods.

  Then again, Hendry didn’t have to tell her such things. He was the Laird, and she was nothing more than a girl who worked in his kitchens.

  “What about those who live outside of the castle walls?” Peigi asked. Many people were living on Dunbar land, after all, people who were poor and depended on the clan’s stability and the protection it offered. If the castle didn’t have any flour or other staples, then the poor must be starving.

  Mrs. MacLeish didn’t need to say anything for Peigi’s fears to be confirmed. The look that the other woman gave her, full of sorrow and regret, was enough to tell her that she was right; the poor were suffering.

  Peigi turned around and ran out of the kitchens, even as Mrs. MacLeish’s voice followed her, asking her where she was going. Peigi didn’t stop, and she didn’t even look back; she knew what she had to do.

  She made her way to the stables, where she knew she would find William. The two of them had developed a tentative friendship ever since Peigi was returning from the woods one day, and she saw William struggling with a particularly feisty mare. Peigi, who had helped her father tame his horses ever since she was a young child, had stopped by the stables and helped him, day after day until the mare was tamed and docile.

  After that, Peigi made sure to visit the stables every few days, so she and William found themselves thinking of each other as friends one day.

  “Weel, weel . . . to what do we owe the pleasure of having Miss Peigi here?” William asked when he saw her. “Ye were here yesterday. Missed the stench of manure so much that ye had to come back?”

  Peigi rolled her eyes at William. She didn’t have time for jokes.

  “I came here because I need yer help,” she said, and that seemed to sober William up fast as he approached her with concern.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Is anyone treating ye badly? Do ye need me to do something?”

  “What?” Peigi asked, dumbfounded. “No . . . no, it isnae anything like that. Tell me, how has it been for ye and yer family these days? Do ye have enough food to eat?”

  “Weel . . . I try to take as much food as I can from the castle to my mother, so she can feed herself and my little brothers and sisters, but dinnae tell anyone that,” William said. “Whenever I cannae brin
g them any food, then no, they dinnae have much to eat. I ken that my mother gives most to my siblings and to the people she kens who are in need. She keeps little for herself. Everyone in clan Dunbar is starving, didnae ye ken?”

  Peigi shook her head. She had never realized how privileged her position was, even as a woman working in the kitchens. She didn’t always have much to eat; neither did the highest-ranking members of the clan, but she had never gone to bed with an empty stomach.

  It was the first time that she understood just how bad the finances of the clan were.

  “William, I’m so sorry,” she said. “But dinnae fret about yer family anymore. I’ll help the clan if ye help me do so.”

  “What do ye mean?” William asked. “How will ye help the clan? Do ye have a hidden treasure?”