An Enemy at the Highland Court: An Enemies to Lovers Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 5)

by Celeste Barclay

  What am I going to do? I can’t stay here. The weather will change soon, and I’ll be stuck in the Highlands if I survive long enough to see the next season.

  The thought of seasons made her consider how long she’d been at Foulis, and unparalleled fear crept into her mind. Cairren laid her hand over her belly as she counted back in her head.

  St Columba’s bones! I’ve been here more than two moons, and I haven’t had my courses. Could I be with child? If I am, this changes everything. I can’t have a bairn here. Not until I ken that my wean would be safe. If I’m carrying a bairn, then I can’t stay. It doesn’t even matter anymore whether Padraig cares aboot me.

  Cairren pressed against her belly as she stretched out on her bed. As she pressed in specific places, she became fairly certain she was pregnant. She considered other signs that she should have noticed. Her breasts were tender, certain smells turned her stomach, but she hadn’t been ill at all. She supposed that was the one warning bell that hadn’t rung, and so she had missed the others. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and eased to the door, once again placing her ear against it. There was no sound in the passageway. She pressed down on the handle and waited, but no one tried to storm into her chamber, so she eased it open. She looked down the corridor; there was no one in sight. She slipped from the chamber, careful as she closed the door.

  Creeping to the stairs, Cairren looked over the side, but once again, no one was in sight. She lifted her skirts out of the way and hurried down them, sprinting down the passageway to the chamber she shared with Padraig. She pushed open the door, half hoping Padraig would be waiting for her. She pushed the door shut, wincing when it clicked. She hurried to her chest and pulled out the parchment, quill, and ink she was yet to use. She marched to the table, forcing a sense of confidence she knew was fake. She looked at the writing utensils she spread out on the table, and she decided what she needed to do.

  Laird Sutherland,

  I write to you in need of urgent help. I shall not mince words with my request. I was a friend of your daughter, Blair, while I served Her Majesty at Stirling Castle. As you are most likely aware, I recently married Padraig Munro. My father told me before he left that should I ever fear for my safety, I should make my way to Sutherland. I’m in danger, but I do not believe I can make it to your land unnoticed.

  My reception among the Munros has been cold at best and hostile at worst. While my husband hasn’t mistreated me, I continue to hear threats and insults. Today they falsely accused me of a crime while Padraig is away from the keep. He is but one man among a sea of those eager to believe the worst of me. I do not look like those around me, and so my oddity has bred hatred.

  As I believe it is not only my own life that it is at risk, I beseech you to help me make it to court. My sister recently filled my position, so I have family there now. My parents will surely make their way as soon as they learn of my arrival. I know the weather will change soon, but I fear being on Munro land through winter as I won’t be able to hide my growing concern for too much longer.

  If you can send an escort within the next sennight, I will ensure I am ready to depart as soon as the sentry spots your party. No one need ride into the bailey, just close enough for them to announce your presence. I can make my way out on my own.

  With gratitude,

  Lady Cairren Munro

  Cairren hurried to seal the missive but put no name on the outside of the parchment. She didn’t press her signet ring into the wax either. She needed to get to Matthew. With Dougal still injured and Peter and Henry still away with Padraig, she could only trust Matthew to ride to Sutherland. It was a day’s ride each way. She prayed he would accept her request. She slipped down the back stairway, knowing the servants would be preparing for the midday meal, the chambers already cleaned. As she neared the door that led to the gardens, she pulled her arisaid over her head and tucked her arms inside. She counted her blessings that she was wearing her Munro plaid because she hadn’t thought about it until she was ready to step outside. She kept her head down and hurried toward the postern gate. She strained to see who had duty there, but she couldn’t see the man’s face.

  Cairren wanted to weep with relief when she recognized Matthew standing before the portal. He was looking in her direction, so she nodded and crept into the shadows of the garden.

  “I will spirit ye away, ma lady. Ma horse is already saddled, and I prayed ye would come this way.”

  “Nay. Matthew. I can’t leave yet. I need you to deliver this message to the Sutherlands. You don’t have to ride all the way to Dunrobin, just to the border. There’s bound to be a patrol. Tell them the missive is from me and urgent.”

  “Ma lady, ye dinna understand. The laird has already passed judgment. Ye’re to burn this eve. Ye canna stay. We must go away now.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Aye. Please, Lady Cairren. I can explain to Padraig where ye’ve gone when I return.”

  “No! You can’t tell him where you’re taking me.”

  “I can’t lie to him.”

  “Then don’t tell him you’re the one who took me. I need more time at Sutherland. If Padraig kens where I am, he’ll bring me back. He can’t overrule his father. He’ll only be punished along with me.”

  Matthew was slow to nod, but he relented. He pulled the postern gate open, and they slipped through. They were mounted and racing away from Foulis Castle within minutes.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Halfway back to the keep, Padraig recognized Dougal galloping toward them, holding onto the reins with his good arm. Something was very horribly wrong if Dougal was taking a bone-jarring ride, undoubtedly to find him. Peter and Henry spotted him too, spurring their horses to a gallop alongside Padraig. All three men laid low over their horse’s withers until the four steeds kicked up dirt as they skidded to a halt.

  “Padraig, they’ve arrested Lady Cairren. Father Mitchell accused her of witchery and practicing the dark arts. Yer father’s already passed judgment. She’s to burn tonight.”

  “What?” Padraig demanded, his head whipping up as though he could spy Foulis from where they sat on their mounts.

  “All I ken is that Matthew got her out, and nay one kens yet. Catriona and Meg didna ken where he would take her, but they made it out of the postern gate. The women came to me after, and I rode out as soon as I kenned.”

  Padraig squeezed his horse’s sides as he pushed the horse to eat up the miles that lay between him and his home. He charged into the bailey and nearly vomited when he saw the stake and pyre in the center of the bailey. People milled about in differing degrees of uncertainty and horror. Padraig jumped from his horse and ran toward the crowd, but Meg darted out in front of him. He nearly barreled into her but stopped short.

  “There was lye in the water,” Meg hissed, but at Padraig’s confusion she explained. “Father Mitchell went to Athne’s while Lady Cairren was treating Douglas. He accused ma lady of being a witch. When he had her dragged out, he splashed what looked like holy water on her, and it burned her skin. I could smell something wasnae right, so I followed the priest back to the kirk. I was right lucky I did. He was aboot to pitch out the water when the laird summoned him. I nabbed the bucket. He used one of his fancy ones, so nay one can say I did aught with it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In ma croft.”

  “Cover it and bring it to me. I need to see the laird and Father Mitchell.” Padraig rushed across the bailey to where his father and the priest stood before the stake.

  “What is the meaning of this? Why did ye accuse Cairren of something that is a blatant lie?”

  “It’s no lie, my son,” Father Mitchell reached out to put his hand on Padraig’s arm, but Padraig knocked it away. “She was accused of being a witch, and the holy water proved it.”

  “Ye mean this water, Father?” Meg called out. She rushed to Padraig’s side and handed him aspersorium, the holy water bucket. Padraig pulled away the linen cover and jerked
his nose back as the pungent odor of lye burned the inside of his nose. A mutinous glare came into Padraig’s eyes as they narrowed. He gripped the aspergillum, the holy water sprinkler, and stirred it before flicking water at both Father Mitchell and his own father. Both men yelped, and Padraig flicked it again and again.

  “It seems ye’re both heretics too since the water burns,” Padraig announced.

  “That—that can’t be,” Micheil stuttered.

  “Smell yer sleeve now, Father,” Padraig instructed, defiance radiated from every inch of his taut body. He was prepared to pounce on either man if he should continue to slight his wife. “Recognize that?”

  “Aye. It’s lye.”

  “And it burns, doesnae it?” Padraig held up the aspersorium. “This is the same water Father Mitchell flung at ma wife to implicate her. He lied, and I want to ken why. Now!” Padraig roared the last word. He also wanted to buy Matthew and Cairren time to flee further from the keep, lest his father send warriors out to search.

  “Because she doesn’t belong here,” Father Mitchell hissed. “It’s unnatural for a person to have such dark skin and be a Christian. Her grandfather was a heretic, a Saracen.”

  “And her mother was raised a French Catholic. Lady Cairren met none of her grandparents. They were all dead before she was born.” Padraig’s voice boomed as he made sure everyone in the bailey listening to the argument could hear. “She attends Mass daily, and it’s obvious that she not only kens but understands the liturgy. She’s been an exemplary model of Christian kindness and forgiveness. She has turned the other cheek at every slight, and yet, this clan continues to see that and accept that as a challenge to wrong her again and again. Rather than thank her for the dowry that has helped provide needed supplies for this clan, ye’ve hissed and spat at her. Rather than thank her for tending injuries and illnesses, ye rail against her. Rather than being decent people, ye make me ashamed that the Kennedys ever entrusted ma wife to us.”

  Padraig paused to catch his breath. He was so angry, he shook. He considered his next words, and he prayed they permeated the hate filled hearts and minds of his clan.

  “So what that her skin is darker than ours? Jesus hailed from near where her grandfather came from. The Lord probably looked more like ma wife than any of us. Have any of ye stopped to think of that? I doubt it. Have any of ye stopped to remember the king decreed this marriage? How do ye think King Robert will respond if he hears of this treachery? Better yet, did ye ken Lady Cairren is friends with the Sutherland’s daughter? How would ye like an angry visit from our neighbors, who will undoubtedly bring the Sinclairs and the Mackays? I’d wager that ye dinna ken that Lady Cairren’s father is Laird Tristan Mackay’s godfather!”

  Padraig glared at his father but lowered his voice. “Ye’re the laird here. It was yer duty to welcome yer daughter-by-marriage. Ye agreed to the marriage and even forced it when it could have been a handfast. This is as much yer fault as it is anyone else’s. Ye did this.” Padraig pointed his finger at Micheil, then at Father Mitchell. “And ye allowed him to do it too. A bluidy man of God spewing hate at an innocent woman. I may have disagreed with the marriage in the beginning, but ye’ve surely noticed that I’ve accepted ma wife. If anyone duped me it was Myrna. I watched Duncan hump her this morn, and I suspect ye’ve kenned aboot that all along, Father.”

  “Your father didn’t, but I did,” Mary spoke up as she approached. “Your brother couldn’t legally have her, but you could. She was a far more suitable bride for you, so you and your brother would have both gotten what you want.”

  “Mother! And Cairren is the one standing accused of heresy when you would have Duncan covet his brother’s wife.” Padraig didn’t bother to hide his disgust.

  “She never belonged here. She chased Myrna away and addled your mind. I needed to get rid of her for your sake, my son.” Mary tried to reach out to Padraig, but he leaned away.

  Padraig looked between his mother and the priest. “You concocted this together. Tell me this, if it had been a woman with skin like yours, would you have been as adamant aboot Myrna staying, or is this purely aboot her skin color?”

  “Everything aboot her is foreign and wrong. She speaks French,” Mary blustered.

  “That’s what you have against her? You made me learn French too! She’d lived in the Lowlands her entire life before moving to Stirling. And we all ken that city is in the bluidy Lowlands for all it’s supposed to unite us. She’s never been to France. She’s nae foreign! She’s a bluidy Scot. She may nae be a Highlander, but at least she’s trying to learn our customs. She’s nearly fluent in Gaelic already.”

  “And how did she learn that, by the way? She arrived here knowing Gaelic, but you claim she’s never been out of the Lowlands.”

  “She asked Blair Sutherland to teach her more than a year ago,” Padraig snapped. “She was trying even before she arrived.”

  Padraig turned to look at the crowd that seemed unable to look away as Padraig argued with his parents and the priest. He cast a speculative glance at several people and noticed that most of them directed their anger at the laird, his wife, and the priest, not at Padraig and he suspected not at Cairren. “Have many of ye have come to ken ma wife?” Heads nodded. “Who here has been treated by ma wife or has family or friends who have?” Hands raised, some slowly while some shot up in the air. “Have ye heard how to she welcomed children to listen to her sing while she tended Meg’s weans?” Most heads nodded.

  “And she didna do it without asking permission,” Meg piped in. “And why was that? Because she respected ye when ye couldnae bother to respect her.”

  “Let me ask ye this, if it werenae for Father Mitchell’s lies and those of ma mother and Lady Myrna, would she still seem so different?” He watched as people glanced sheepishly around them, muttering to those who stood close.

  “Nay, I dinna suppose she would,” an older woman named Bethea spoke up. “But who were we to argue with them? And why would we have known they werenae telling the truth?”

  “Is it still ma wife’s skin that matters so much? She’s learned Gaelic. She wears her Munro plaid. She is kind to everyone.”

  “I dinna think most of us are bothered by her skin too much, Padraig,” a man spoke up, and Padraig recognized him. It was the man he’d been ready to pummel the night of his wedding when he threw an elbow directed at Cairren’s face.

  “And why’s that, Allistair?” Padraig asked.

  “I dinna ken, really. She’s just been here long enough, and we see her around enough that we like her.”

  “I need to ken here and now: if Lady Cairren remains in this keep and with our clan, is she safe? If she isnae, then I will take her away.”

  “To where?” a woman asked.

  “I willna say. If she’s nae safe here, then I willna tell anyone where we are going. The point of leaving is to protect her.”

  “Would you return?” the same woman asked.

  “Absolutely nae.” Padraig realized he meant that with every single fiber of his being. He would find them somewhere else where he could ensure Cairren was safe and happy, and he wouldn’t leave her side.

  Padraig watched with confusion as a buzz of whispers went through the crowd before Adam, his father’s most senior warrior, stepped forward. He was a wizened bear of a man, surly and obdurate. He rarely spoke up, but when he did, the clan listened. He was a respected member of the council of elders.

  “We want Lady Cairren to remain, but the priest must go. We dinna want a man who persecutes the innocent to be teaching us the Lord’s word. We dinna need a hypocrite when we can have our healer.”

  “It’s not your decision to make,” Mary notched up her chin.

  “Actually it is, ma lady,” another clan elder, Martin, stepped forward. “As the clan council, we can vote out a priest, just as we can vote out a laird. We’ve met, and we have decided to relieve Father Mitchell of his duties to this clan. He isnae a Munro to begin with. He’s a Mackintosh. He can return
to them. We never liked them anyway.”

  “You did not meet,” Micheil spoke up, disliking how things had slipped out of his control.

  “We did,” Arnold, the oldest member of the council pushed forward, using his walking stick to smack the ankles of people who didn’t move out of the way. “We dinna have to meet in yer solar to meet. We’ve been speaking since this clishmaclavering began. The priest goes, the lady stays, and unless ye care to see yer son oust ye, and nae the worthless one, ye’d do well to mend yer ways. I like Lady Cairren. She eases ma gout.”

  Several chuckles rippled through the crowd. Arnold had become more reclusive by age and wasn’t known to be keen on any strangers, so his approval was close to the Gospel for many people in the clan. Padraig looked to the sky and realized the sun had moved further than he expected. He needed to ride out to find Cairren and Matthew before it grew too late. He prayed Matthew took her somewhere not too far. Now that he was more confident that Cairren would be safe at Foulis, he was ready to hunt down his bride.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cairren was nearly frozen as she waited outside Dunrobin’s gates. She and Matthew rode through most of the night to put distance between them and the Munros. But they’d had to stop for fear of injuring the horse. She’d caught a few of hours of sleep while Matthew was on watch. She felt horrible for this man, who’d left his wife and newborn bairn to spirit her across the Highlands on no sleep. They hadn’t dared a fire, so once Cairren became chilled, she struggled to get warm. The temperature had dropped traveling a day’s ride north and toward the eastern coast. She stamped her feet as she breathed on her hands. They’d met a patrol near the border, and she’d breathed a sigh of relief when she recognized Blair’s brother, Lachlan. He’d sent a warrior to escort them to the keep, but they’d been ordered to wait while someone delivered her missive. She realized it was just as well that she’d written the letter because it might be what gained them entrance after all.