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

  The knock on the door startled him, and Hendry jumped from his chair as though he had been caught red-handed. When the door opened, Hendry was halfway there, already reaching for the knob with his hand.

  “M’lord,” Glenna said, and then also jumped back in surprise when she saw him right there, in front of her. She clutched her chest, taking a step back, and continued once she caught her breath, “They are here.”

  “Who is here?” Hendry asked, his mind still racing from his previous thoughts.

  “Laird Gordon and his daughter, m’lord,” Glenna said. “Dinnae ye remember? Ye told us to prepare for their arrival, and . . . weel, they are here noo. They’re just past the gates. Mrs. MacLeish sent me to tell ye.”

  Hendry gazed out of the window, where he could see a small group of riders that were approaching the castle. He wondered how he had missed them earlier, as the window overlooked the meadow that stretched as far as the eye could see, from where the party had surely arrived. It was no wonder, though; he had been too deep in thought, too consumed by the memory of Peigi to notice.

  “Will ye come to greet them, m’lord?” Glenna asked a little hesitantly when Hendry didn’t seem to acknowledge her words. That snapped him out of his trance though, and he nodded as he made his way to the door.

  “Aye, aye . . . of course,” he said, rushing through the hallways, as Glenna rushed behind him. “That’s what a Laird does, isnae it? A Laird must greet his guests, of course, so I shall greet mine.”

  Glenna frowned, shaking her head to herself. Hendry had always been a peculiar man, but now she feared the Laird was losing his mind, though she did not say anything about it to him, naturally.

  Hendry all but ran to the courtyard where Laird Gordon and Beitris were already dismounting their horses. Seeing her, his old friend, brought a smile to Hendry’s face, even as he frantically tried to push his hair off his forehead and smooth out his clothes in an attempt to look more presentable.

  Despite his own nervousness to see Laird Gordon and Beitris again, the latter didn’t seem to be sharing such a feeling. Hendry watched as Beitris approached him, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into a tight hug.

  “Hendry!” she shouted in his ear. “Ach, look at ye! I hardly recognize ye, ye look so different!”

  Hendry didn’t fail to notice that Beitris didn’t seem to be too interested in the fact that he now only had one eye. It was for the best, of course; he hated it when people treated him differently because of it, and he had had his fair share of pity in his life already.

  If anything, he was relieved that she didn’t mention it.

  “Beitris . . . I can say the same for ye,” he said, as he pulled back and looked at her. She was very different indeed, no closer to the young girl that he had known than he was to his younger self. So many years had passed, and it was no surprise they were different people, but it still astounded him to see her standing before his very eyes.

  Her father, the Laird of Clan Gordon, was right behind her, and even though he was one of the two people who had arranged their upcoming marriage, he didn’t seem to be approving of his daughter’s forward attitude. Once he was close enough, Beitris pulled back from Hendry and stood next to the Laird, clasping her hands in front of her.

  “Hendry . . .”

  It was all that Laird Gordon said at first, and he seemed to be at a loss for words, before he too pulled him into a hug, patting his back with his hand. Hendry remembered the man from his childhood, and he didn’t think he had ever hugged him before.

  Perhaps it spoke of how much he had missed him, though Hendry suspected it also had something to do with the loss of his parents.

  “How are ye, lad?” the Laird asked, and even though he didn’t mention the eyepatch, either, Hendry could see that he could not take his eyes off it, his gaze always drifting back there. He could hardly blame him, though. “It’s been too long, Hendry, too long.”

  “Aye,” Hendry agreed with a nod. “I’ve been verra weel.”

  It was a lie, and they both knew it, but it was also clear to Hendry that Laird Gordon was not going to call him out on it, as he didn’t wish to sour the reunion. Hendry was glad for that; even though it was obvious that his clan was still reeling from their years of suffering, even after the help that they had received, it was a subject he did not wish to discuss in front of the clansmen.

  Laird Gordon took a few steps towards Hendry once more, getting close enough to him to whisper to his ear. “Listen, Hendry . . . ye ken that we came here for yer marriage to Beitris, but I also wanted to come here to offer ye any help ye need. The Gordon clan has been an ally to the Dunbar clan for decades, and we willnae stop the noo. There has been word in these lands that yer clan has suffered, and I owe it to yer father and to ye to help any way I can. Ye’ll be my own son soon, lad, and I can only say that I regret not offering ye my help earlier.”

  So much for not mentioning anything about the clan’s struggles, Hendry thought, but then another thought obscured everything else.

  Why was the Laird apologizing for not helping earlier? If he wasn’t the one who had provided the Dunbar clan with all the food and the goods the merchants had brought to the castle, then who was their secret benefactor? Hendry couldn’t think of a single other person who would have the resources or the desire to help his clan, and it was a mystery that he didn’t like.

  Perhaps there was an ulterior motive to the help that they had received, he thought. Perhaps there was something that he was missing, a piece of a puzzle that he could not yet see, and that scared him. He had learned to distrust the unknown, especially when it came to his clan and its people.

  “Hendry . . . are ye alright?”

  Hendry heard Beitris’ voice, but it seemed to him as though it was coming from far away. His vision went blurry at the edges, but he simply tried to ground himself, taking a few deep breaths.

  “Aye,” he assured her. “I’m alright, Beitris, dinnae ye worry. Shall we go inside the castle? I’m sure yer both tired from yer travels and so are yer men. I’ll have someone show ye all to yer chambers, and then we can meet for supper.”

  Both Beitris and the Laird seemed to be unconvinced, their faces pinched with concern. Neither of them pushed him, though; instead, they nodded and made their way inside the castle, their men and Hendry following close behind.

  Hendry didn’t pay too much attention to where he was going. It was Laird Gordon who was leading the group, clearly still familiar with the layout of the castle that he had visited so long ago. Once the servants had taken the clansmen and Beitris, leading them all to their rooms, Laird Gordon turned to Hendry once more.

  “Hendry . . . I didnae want to tell ye this in front of Beitris, as I dinnae want her to worry,” the Laird said, and that was never a good way to start a conversation. “I’ve heard rumors that the Black Stags are on their way here, lad.”

  “Aye, they come and go, but they cannae attack anymore,” Hendry assured him. “Ye ken what they did to us, to this clan . . . weel, there is nothing for them here anymore, and besides, my men are strong once more.”

  “It isnae the same this time,” Laird Gordon cautioned. “I’ve heard that they are looking for someone and that the Sire has sworn to kill ye.”

  “He tried once before,” Hendry reminded the Laird. “I’d verra much like to see him try the noo. Ye ken that I’m not the same lad that I was the last time I met that man.”

  “Aye, I ken,” Laird Gordon said. “Yer no bairn anymore, I ken that, but that doesnae mean that ye shouldnae be careful, Hendry. The Black Stags . . . they have nothing to lose. Ye have everything to lose.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Hendry promised. He didn’t see the threat in the same way that Laird Gordon did though, as he had spent several weeks without an attack, or at least an attempt of one, from the Black Stags, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. He was still cautious, of course, and he credited his wariness with being the one thing that kept th
e Black Stags away. Hendry was convinced that he was already cautious enough. There was no reason for him to tighten the security in the castle.

  The Laird gave Hendry a pat on the shoulder and then turned around to head to his own chambers, but before he could walk away, Hendry stopped him once more, after remembering something that the other man had said.

  “Who is the Sire looking for?” he asked. “Ye said he is looking for someone, but who could he be looking for here in my castle?”

  Laird Gordon faced Hendry once more with a small frown on his face. He shook his head softly and gave him a slight shrug, not knowing what else to tell him.

  “I dinnae ken,” he said. “I dinnae think anyone kens but him and his men. All I ken is that he is after someone. Do ye suspect no one in your clan?”

  “No.” Hendry’s answer was swift and final. He could never suspect any of his own people, as he knew that they would never betray him in such a way. Everyone in his clan knew about his history with the Black Stags, and everyone knew better than to have any sort of business with the brigands, or even any contact with them that would drive the brigands to pursue them.

  “No one?”

  “No,” Hendry insisted. “I dinnae care what anyone outside of this clan says. My people wouldnae do such a thing, never. I trust them. They are my family. They are as much of a family as ye and Beitris will be soon, and I ask ye to trust them too.”

  Hendry could see the Laird’s face soften at that, and the other man gave him a small, tender smile, one that reminded him remarkably of his own father, a smile that closed up his throat, forcing him to swallow the memories of his parents down.

  “Yer a good lad, Hendry,” Laird Gordon said. “And I ken that yer people think the same of ye. I trust them, I do. But that only means that ye must be even more vigilant when it comes to the Sire. Who kens who he is looking for and what he is planning to do with him? Keep yer people safe, do ye hear?”

  “Aye,” Hendry said. “I’ll do anything I can.”

  With that, the Laird finally walked away and made his way to his rooms, leaving Hendry alone in the middle of the hallway. His words still lingered in Hendry’s mind though, forcing his thoughts to race as he scrambled to figure out the Sire’s plan.

  The man had a history of putting cunning plans to motion, and that was why Hendry was always careful. He was careful when the merchants came to the castle, making sure that he personally inspected every single crate and barrel. He was careful when he allowed any modifications to the castle and its walls, always fearing that a change in the castle’s layout could help the Black Stags sneak inside. Despite the Sire’s plans though, he and his men had only succeeded the first few times, when Hendry had been young and inexperienced. Once he had learned his lesson, no one had managed to breach his defenses again.

  Hendry walked to the window overlooking the courtyard at the end of the hallway. He gazed outside at all the people walking around the castle grounds. He could see his clansmen and women, all of them going about their days, and he could also see the two guards at the gates, keeping watch.

  Hendry had seen several guards in several different castles, who never took their jobs seriously. He had seen drunk guards, guards who spent their time playing cards instead of keeping watch, and guards who took bribes.

  He had never seen his own guards do such things. They were always at their posts, always dutifully watching over the castle, and that was how Hendry knew that he could trust them as much as he trusted his own eye. Even if he let his guard down, those men would make sure that no one who shouldn’t be there would ever come through those doors.

  Hendry let out a relieved sigh, shaking his head a little. Laird Gordon had valid concerns, but Hendry didn’t share them, because he knew his own people.

  He began to walk to his study, eager to go over the clan’s finances and see if they were still improving—though it was much more likely that he would simply continue to think about Peigi.

  Still, that didn’t bother him as much as it had before; as long as his mind allowed him to think about Peigi, it meant that there was no reason to worry about the wellbeing of his clan.

  Chapter Eleven

  The feast that they held for Laird Gordon and Beitris was by no means grand, but Mrs. MacLeish knew how to take care of guests, even when there was little food to spare. There were plates of roasted meat and pies, towers of simple delicacies and treats, and a river’s worth of wine. There was even that new dish that Hendry had been served several times in the previous few weeks and had only recently come to appreciate, as he always refused to eat it until Peigi herself begged him to try it.

  Snails were not for everyone, he had realized, but they were for him.

  Beitris sat next to him, to his left, while her father sat to his right, engrossed in a conversation with the clan’s General. Beitris was dressed in her finest, in a powder blue dress with intricate gold embroidery, a dress that would fit more in an English court than in the Dunbar castle. It complimented her blue eyes beautifully, and Hendry could see that she had the attention of every clansman in the room, though she didn’t seem to know it.

  She was more interested in the plate of snails in front of her, which seemed to turn her face green in disgust as she poked them with her fork.

  “Peigi makes that,” Hendry informed her, glancing at Peigi, who was serving some food a few tables over. She looked nothing like Beitris, naturally. Her dress was a drab brown, thick and sturdy, with myriads of stains on the skirt. Her hair was haphazardly thrown into a bun, and her slender, too slender, figure showed her collarbones and her wrist bones.

  Still, Hendry couldn’t take his eyes off her, even though Beitris was right there next to him, the woman that he was supposed to marry soon, the woman who had clearly put so much effort into looking impeccable that night.

  Beitris followed Hendry’s gaze, also looking at Peigi. When Hendry glanced at her, Beitris gave him a small, almost teasing smile, one that Hendry couldn’t quite decipher.

  “It seems like Peigi has many talents,” she said, which only served to confuse Hendry even more. He frowned at her, and Beitris laughed, a deep, thoroughly amused laugh that reverberated throughout the entire room. It was a laugh that was enough to make a man fall in love with her, and Hendry would wager that many of his clansmen already had. “Ach, Hendry . . . dinnae frown that much, thinking doesnae suit ye. Here, drink some more.”

  Beitris grabbed the carafe of wine and poured him another glass, urging him to drink. She drained her own cup too, the alcohol making her forget her strictly-taught manners and making her return to her childhood self, the one that Hendry knew so well, and that was always a little reckless, always a little too boyish for Laird Gordon’s liking.

  When Peigi noticed that Beitris was pouring her own wine, she rushed to them, offering to take it from her hands, but Beitris only poured another cup and offered it to her instead.

  “Here she is!” Beitris said. “Yer name is Peigi, aye? Peigi . . . Hendry here tells me that ye made these snails.”

  Hendry looked at Peigi, who seemed to be at a loss for words. She fumbled her words and fidgeted with the cup that Beitris had so suddenly thrust in her hands, the pads of her fingers tracing the designs on it.

  “Aye, m’lady,” Peigi said. “Dinnae ye like it? I can bring ye something else to eat, anything ye want.”

  Hendry could hardly bear to look at the two of them as they spoke. There was too much guilt there, a pang of guilt that settled deep in his stomach and cut his appetite short, guilt that would certainly not allow him to sleep that night.

  He was wronging both women, he knew. Even though it was his duty to fulfill his father’s plan and marry Beitris, he knew that he could never love her the way that he loved Peigi. Sure, he loved Beitris dearly, but he loved her as a friend.

  Then there was Peigi, who had to stand there and talk to him as though nothing had happened between them. She had to forget everything, her own feelings for Hendry, a
nd there was nothing that Hendry could do to take her pain away.

  Beitris, unaware of the turmoil in Hendry’s mind, cheeks flushed red with alcohol, shook her head.

  “Plenty of food here,” she said dismissively, waving her hand in front of Peigi’s face. “Besides, I wouldnae wish to take ye away from the Laird, not when he seems to be so fond of ye.”

  Beitris’ words made Hendry flinch, and Peigi stumbled back as though she had been slapped. It was one thing to have whatever it was that they had between them and another having his future wife comment on it. Hendry had never expected her to speak of such matters so freely, especially not in the middle of a feast, but Beitris was drunk, and it seemed as though nothing could stop her from saying what was on her mind.