My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5

by J. L. Langley

  “We havenae had any skirmishes in over a month.” Maggie started shaking her head. “Nae. They must go. Ye should be trying tae find our cattle.”

  “And our chickens,” Gavin added. It figured Gavin would be the one to bring up the chickens, not that he’d missed many meals. Once a strong warrior but now in his seventh decade, Gavin had gone soft. Fiona jokingly referred to him as a big bear, and she wasn’t far off the mark. Gavin had a grizzly beard, which still hinted at the brown it used to be, and a round body. He wasn’t overweight, but he was burly. “Last night when ye were out, someone reaved our chickens.”

  Again they all started talking at once.

  This was getting them nowhere in a hurry. “Enough!” Ciaran moved forward a few steps, making those on the love seat and chair look up at him. “The guests are staying. We dinna ken that the attacks have stopped fer guid. Actually….” He did not want to say anything until he knew for sure, but he also didn’t want to listen to more talk about ousting Red and Louisa from the castle. “I have reason tae believe that the outsiders who attacked us are in league with the MacLeans. Yestereve, while searching fer our missing cattle, I came upon men building a structure on MacLean land. I’m going tae set up a scouting party tae watch the structure and report back tae me.”

  “How do ye ken it’s outsiders? Mayhaps it’s MacLeans?” Frasier asked. Raising one bushy brown brow, he stared at Ciaran, waiting for his reply.

  Ciaran shook his head. “Nae, the MacLeans are nae so advanced. The building process is much tae quick, and the building is tae large, fer them tae have made this kind of progress. There was nothing there yesterday, and today they have an entire foundation. The cement is tae smooth. They poured it from barrels, instead of mixing it, and spread it there.”

  Sniff. Gavin raised his chin. “Then how exactly do ye ken these outsiders ye’ve brought home with ye are nae involved?”

  “Why would these outsiders stop their attacks and then suddenly start building here? That makes nae sense. They have tae ken we would fight them,” Maggie asked at nearly the same time.

  “There have been great advancements in cement. How close were ye?” Owen wanted to know.

  Ciaran’s head swam with all the questions flying at him. He chose to ignore Maggie and Owen and focus on Frasier. “Nae that close. We were on the ridge. The building is directly between the ridge and Dris Abbey. I am going tae have my men keep watch on the ridge, starting today.”

  Frasier reached up and stroked the gray-and-brown braid hanging from his chin. “Ye are going tae spy on our allies?”

  “They arenae our allies.”

  “The MacLeans arenae our enemy,” Owen said.

  Ciaran sighed. “They arenae our allies either. Are ye forgetting that they refused tae join in our patrols tae help fight off the outsiders?”

  “Aye, but we dinna want tae make them enemies by spying on them,” Owen said as if it was quite logical.

  It was the most asinine…. Ciaran ran a hand through his hair.

  “Ye have given us nae proof this building is nae the MacLeans’,” Maggie interjected.

  “Call it a hunch,” he continued. “They were dressed like outsiders, and Patrick agrees with me.”

  Gavin’s head jerked up. Sniff. “Ye are conspiring with the Campbells without notifying us? Ye overstep, boy.”

  “I am the laird.”

  “Then act like it!” Maggie stood and walked around the edge of the desk. “This is ridiculous. While ye were out cavorting with outsiders and trying tae avenge ye father, we lost a dozen chickens and all the eggs they laid. Ye need tae have ye men out looking fer our cattle, nae spying on the MacLeans.”

  “Aye.” Frasier nodded his agreement. “Breakfast was verra slim this morn, and ye have brought more mouths tae feed.”

  “I say we give the lad some time. Let him interrogate the prisoners,” Owen said.

  “They arenae my….” Ciaran stopped. Red and Louisa were not technically prisoners, even if he was having them guarded.

  “Ye have a day. Then they need tae be gone.” Standing straight, Maggie peered down her long nose at him, daring him to argue.

  “I am laird, and they leave when I say they leave.” Ciaran dipped his head and started toward the door. “Now if there is nothing else….”

  Frasier’s voice brought him up short. “Ye may be the laird, lad, but we can vote ye out as chieftain.”

  Ice water ran through Ciaran’s veins, and his jaw clenched so hard, it was painful. The removal of a chieftain had not happened since before Ciaran’s great-great-great-grandfather, Lachlan MacKay, was rewarded an earldom from the king for his bravery in the civil war. From then on, the position of chieftain became an inherited position, handed down to heirs along with the title, and Ciaran wasn’t about to give it up. He turned to confront Frasier, but Stuart’s voice cut him off.

  The old man stood and turned toward Frasier and cut his hand through the air. “Everyone needs tae calm themselves.” When the council quieted down, he turned to Ciaran. “We arenae without compassion. Ye outsiders may stay a sennight as long as they are always with a guard. After a sennight if their people have nae rescued them, ye will have tae find them somewhere else tae stay. And ye must stop this foolishness with the MacLeans. The attacks have stopped and ’tis time we move on.”

  With his heart in his throat, Ciaran stared at the old man through a blind haze of anger. He would never be done with seeking revenge for his father, and he’d never stop protecting his clan. With a crisp nod, Ciaran left the room, slamming the door behind him.

  § § § §

  “Turn on the lights, plea….” Bannon groaned at himself as he started down the narrow, dark stairwell. He’d forgotten all about the lack of… well, everything. The conditions here were, plainly put, primitive. He risked a peek over his shoulder at the man who’d been stationed outside his room. His guard, he supposed. The idea of being watched irked Bannon, but he understood it. He’d have done the same thing in Ciaran’s place. Still… couldn’t he at least have a friendly guard?

  The glowering man had stopped a few steps above Bannon. His hair was dark and fell down his back past his shoulders. He wore a kilt of brown-and-green plaid. Well over six foot, he looked like all the other men on Skye who Bannon had seen so far. Huge. Must be something in the water.

  Maybe you should drink some.

  I already have. It’s not working. Then again, he’d only been here for a night. Abandoning his conversation with Timothy, Bannon smiled. “Do you have a name?”

  The big man’s brow furrowed even more, making his dark eyebrows merge into one. “Aye?”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  He shrugged. “Hamish.”

  “Well, hello, Hamish. I’m—”

  “Red.” He nodded. “Ciaran told me.”

  Bannon sighed, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. “Actually, it’s Bannon.” Bannon turned and resumed going down the stairs.

  “Ye go by ye family name?”

  What? “You think my name is Red Bannon?” With a chuckle, he shook his head.

  “It’s nae?”

  “No. It’s Bannon Tho—it’s just Bannon.” He’d nearly forgotten about not giving his name. After talking to Agatha last night, he felt a little more secure that the MacKays were friends not foes, but he couldn’t be too cautious. From what he’d learned, it seemed the MacKays were being attacked. From the description of the attackers Agatha gave, Bannon was pretty sure the IN was behind it. So it seemed they had a common enemy. Damn, he wished he’d paid attention to dinner conversation more, but that would have meant paying attention to politics and….

  That is just soo boooring….

  Yeah, well, now we are at a loss. And stuck on a planet where he didn’t know who to trust. And what was worse, he didn’t know if, with the lack of technology, he could get word to his family. He’d actually had to use a garderobe, and he did not even want to know where that hole led. He’d seen dayligh
t through it and felt a breeze on his arse.

  With a shudder, he continued down the steps and yawned. The small passageway opened up into a huge room with trestle tables, a high ceiling, and four fireplaces that held blazing fires. There was even a raised dais with a table and a fireplace behind it with a huge sword with dark spots on the blade hung over it. Next to it was a door. He stopped and stared in awe at what could only be the great hall. There were trenchers—actual trenchers, like in medieval times—on the tables, and it looked as though everyone had just finished breakfast and left. The maids were obviously running behind. Wait, did they even have maids?

  He’d seen the hall last night briefly, but it had been dark, and one of his eyes had been swollen shut. It was still swollen, but apparently the potato Agatha had put on it had helped because it wasn’t nearly as bad.

  I have got to find something to sketch with.

  Shaking off Timothy, he continued into the room and looked around. He had to get his arse off this planet is what he had to do, but first he needed to find Louie. Then he needed a plan….

  Past the tables was a grand staircase made entirely of stone. It was directly opposite the stairs he’d just descended. A boy crouched beside the stone baluster. Finally, someone my size. The boy seemed to be waiting for someone to descend the stairs. No doubt intent on mischief. His knees stuck out from beneath his kilt and his boots looked way too big. He must be at that awkward stage where his feet and hands were bigger than the rest of him.

  Bannon walked to the end of the table and cleared his throat. “Excuse me? Do you know where I can find….”

  The boy gasped, looked up at him, and…. It was a girl not a boy. Small breasts pressed against her thin shirt, and her hands were definitely not big. They were quite dainty and, well… female. She jerked her head around so fast, her long blond braid, which had been concealed before, swung around and wrapped around her neck. She put her hand to her forehead, her chest, her left shoulder, then her right—crossing herself.

  “Umm….” He was speechless.

  She rose up and came closer, putting her finger to her lips. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes wide, giving her a pretty milkmaid sort of look. She wasn’t very old, maybe in her early teens. When she leaned forward, the scent of baked scones followed. “The bogles dinna like it when we’re loud and nae one is in here.”

  “Bogles? Wait, we are in here.”

  “Aye, spirits. And we dinna count. The bogles still come unless the hall is full.”

  Okay. Primitive castle, check. Purple-haired witchdoctor, check. Crazy person, check. Maybe the MacLeans hit him harder than he’d thought.

  The girl stepped closer, still whispering. “I’m Fiona. Ye must be Red.”

  He wasn’t sure what stunned him more, the fact that she was whispering and looking around like an actual ghost was going to jump out at her or the fact that she’d just called him Red. “I… yeah.” Whatever. It wasn’t like he was going to be here long, so if they wanted to call him Red, then so be it, but the “spirits” thing he couldn’t let slide. “Fiona, there is no such thing as—”

  “Bannon!” Louie stepped out of the room next to the dais in a flurry of swishing skirts that were not hers. She held what looked like a piece of bread.

  Crash!

  Out of his peripheral vision, he saw something fall to the ground behind Fiona, and his elation at seeing Louie quickly diminished. Only the three of them were in the hall, and none of them stood near the fallen wood dish.

  Fiona screeched.

  The hair on Bannon’s arms stood straight up, and despite his hurt knee, he managed to keep up with Fiona when she bolted. Ghosts… er, maybe? That trencher had not just fallen; the movement had been too quick for a simple fall. It was like someone had swiped it off the table. They grabbed for the big iron ring that served as a door handle at the same time and started pulling, but it was not easy; the blasted door weighed a ton.

  Louie’s laughter rang out behind them, coming closer. “Why are the two of you running?”

  Fiona jostled his hands out of the way and turned the ring. After that the door opened easily. She stopped pulling long enough to make the sign of the cross again, then continued to tug.

  Once they saw daylight, Fiona decided to go through it at the same time as Bannon. Thankfully it was a large door. He didn’t wait around to answer Louie. He stepped out on the steps of the keep, and the possibility of ghosts didn’t seem nearly as important as the reality that stood before him.

  He was in a real honest-to-goodness castle. Oh sure, he’d seen it from the inside and from the window, but somehow that had not captured the magnificence. Bannon stepped onto the grass and turned around, taking it all in. The sights, the sounds, the scents. Whew. Okay, the scents weren’t that good, but the rest of it…. He peered up at the keep and nearly swallowed his tongue. Like the inside, the stones were clearly hand-tooled. It must have taken years to build. The artistry was breathtaking. Why oh why didn’t I bring my sketchscreen? When would he ever see this again?

  “I think the bogle is Laird Ewan,” Fiona said.

  Bannon stopped gawking at the keep and looked at Fiona.

  Louie stood next to Fiona, and Hamish stood behind the both of them with a smirk on his face.

  Bannon sighed. He must have looked like a complete ninny running out of the castle. Maybe he could bribe Hamish to keep quiet.

  Louie broke a piece off of the bread she held and stuffed it into her mouth.

  “Hey, where did you get that?” he asked, reaching for the other half of her bread.

  “The kitchen. Didn’t you eat breakfast?”

  “No.”

  Fiona snatched the piece of bread from Louie and handed it to Bannon.

  “Thanks.” He stuffed it into his mouth. Mmmm….

  Louie frowned at Fiona, then Bannon.

  He chewed and asked with his mouth full, “Who is Laird Ewan?”

  “Ciaran’s father.” When Fiona said father, it sounded more like faither.

  “Where is Ciaran?” Bannon asked and glanced back up at Hamish, wracking his brain for things to bribe the man with. He did not want Ciaran to know he’d run out of the hall like a nick-ninny.

  Fiona shrugged. “He is hiding from the elders.”

  Ciaran hiding? Bannon would have thought the man never hid from anything. “Elders?”

  “Aye, the council. The laird answers tae them.”

  “Oh, I see.” Actually he didn’t—on Regelence a lord only answered to his king—but he didn’t care, because he wasn’t going to be here long enough to learn clan hierarchy. “Do you know where he’s hiding?”

  Fiona shook her head. “Nae, but I’d check the lists or Agatha’s cottage.” She glanced at Louie, then back to Bannon, and bit her bottom lip. “The council wasnae happy about him bringing ye both ’ere, but they said ye can stay, and they dinna find out about the black square.”

  Bannon’s brows pulled together. He opened his mouth to ask what Fiona was talking about, but Louie beat him to it.

  “Black square?” Louie moved to stand next to him.

  “Aye. Ciaran found it where ye vessel crashed. It was really more of a rectangle and only one side was black; the other was blue with sparkles. I couldna see it well in the stables last night, but Agatha told me about the sparkles this morning. All I saw last night was a smooth gray slate about like this….” She held up her hands about nine inches apart, then turned them and moved them closer to about six inches.

  He and Louie looked at each other as realization dawned.

  “Bloody hell. He has a com-pad,” Bannon growled.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Ruggedly handsome men are not to be trusted.”

  —Timothy on relationships.

  “Would you slow down?”

  Bannon shook his head. “I’m on a mission.” They’d already been through the lists, and while there were several men practicing with swords, Ciaran was not one of them. So now his destination was A
gatha’s cottage, which, according to Fiona, was “outside the main gate and tae the left, right before the woods.”

  “Well, can you be on a mission at a slightly slower pace, please,” Louie panted as she jogged to catch up with him.

  Frowning, Bannon slowed his pace slightly, but only because he wasn’t exactly certain where he was going, and his knee, though better, still ached a little. Fiona’s directions were vague. Glancing over his shoulder at Hamish, who was following them at a distance, he asked, “Is this the right way?”

  Hamish nodded. “Aye.”

  With a crisp nod, Bannon turned back around and continued his quick trek. At least having a guard was good for something.

  Groaning, Louie turned back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Hamish.” Then to Bannon she hissed quietly, “You don’t have to be so rude.”

  “Rude? I was not rude. I was….” Fine, maybe he was a little rude, but why did he have a guard and Louie didn’t? She’d even had breakfast. He wanted some breakfast. “Thank you, Hamish.”

  There was a soft chuckle several paces back. “Ye are welcome, lad. Take a left.”

  Bannon raised a hand to let the man know he’d heard him, and turned left after crossing the wood drawbridge and under the portcullis. They passed people coming in with carts and baskets slung over their shoulders. Oddly there was no moat under the drawbridge, which was probably a good thing. Because how terrible would that smell be, then?

  Now that they were outside the gates, Bannon took a cautious sniff. Surprisingly the scent was nice, crisp, and green like any spring morning back home. And there was a lot of green grass and shrubs. As he turned left, he saw the tops of trees. It was rather beautiful and picturesque. Like a fairy-tale castle, if the fairy tale had men in kilts rather than knights in shining armor.

  “I wish you would calm down.” Louie jogged to catch up again.

  Bannon hadn’t even realized she’d fallen behind. “I’m calm.”