Highlander’s Gypsy Lass (Highlander's 0f Clan Macgregor Book 1)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Declan looked at him. “She’s normal enou’, but it complicates things. Still, she’s like no one ah ever met.”

  He closed his eyes, the sun warming his lids with a rose hue. Rosalie’s wild red curls, her face almost always blushing in his presence, came to him clear as the day. He knew she had feelings for him; that was obvious. But not knowing if those feelings were strong enough to let her say goodbye to those she loved—that tortured him. He held onto the hope of riding back with her and having the time to convince her it would be worth the initial sacrifice.

  “Whoa.” Angus motioned for Declan to stop. He raised his finger to his lips, demanding silence.

  Declan strained his ears and peered in the distance. They were at the base of an ancient ravine. On either side, steep banks rose, loose with dirt and gravel. Trees grew thick around boulders and fallen logs on top of either bank. Declan couldn’t see anything out of the normal. Their horses walked on at a slow, cautious pace, sensing the tension in their riders.

  A twig snapped up above. Declan whipped his head towards the sound. His eye caught the brief blur of a foot, darting behind one of the trees. The sounds around them were unmistakable now. Branches cracked and rustled as the unseen beings maneuvered. Angus kicked his horse with Declan close on his heels.

  Declan peeked over his shoulder. It was a band of men. Some of them drew bows, training them on Declan and Angus. He wondered what they were waiting for.

  “HIYAH!” Declan screamed, whipping his reins.

  “Whoa!” Angus called his horse to a halt.

  Declan, preoccupied with what was behind him, nearly didn’t stop in time. His horse skidded to a halt, neighing and crying out in frustration. Two wagons blocked the entire path, where a portly man stood waiting for them.

  “They flushed us out.” Angus cursed as his horse paced back and forth.

  All around them, more men appeared from the trees. It was difficult to gauge just how many there were, but Declan guessed about twenty. There were three men leisurely walking the path behind them, blades drawn, closing in.

  “We ain’t got any gold!” Declan yelled to the man guarding the two wagons.

  The man was at least a foot shorter than Declan, and twice his width. The mercurial nature of his smile put Declan further on edge. This was a man who liked to play with his food.

  “They all say it, an’ they all lie. Dismount, will ye?” The man walked towards them, reaching for the reins on Angus’s steed. “Come easy, now. No need fer bloodshed.” He laughed.

  “I’m tellin’ ye the truth. We’re in a terrible rush, an’ I willnae part with the horses. Ye’ll have tae kill me first.”

  For the first time, Declan muted his bravado. He couldn’t die—not today. If he did not help Rosalie, there was no hope for her.

  “Aye!” Angus roared.

  Declan looked the men over again. It was difficult to tell if they were travelers, travelers, a part of a clan, or just rogues banded together, fleeing the hardships in the South.

  His hand slipped into his pocket; he’d lied to them. There was one thing of value. His fingers rubbed over an engraved coin. It was a gift for emergencies, and the thought of losing it to a bunch of miscreant thieves sickened him.

  They were surrounded and outnumbered. The horses could only escape by plowing down the men flanking their backside. Even then, they would need to backtrack at least a day’s ride to go around this patch of land.

  It would not do. The only way was through.

  An arrow whizzed past Declan. As it hit the ground, it sent mud up in its wake. Declan’s horse reared up in fright. The men laughed as they shot arrows around the scared, bucking horses.

  One man missed his shot. His arrow sliced through the top layer of skin on Angus’s horse’s hindquarters. The sturdy horse screamed, its front legs kicking wild. Angus flew back in the mud. The bandits split up, allowing the angry horse to run off.

  A couple of men tried to chase it down, but their leader called out, “Leave it! It’ll come back.”

  Declan watched in horror as his friend scrambled to his feet and withdrew his weapon. The men with swords walked towards him. He was outmatched.

  “Let ‘im be!” Declan yelled toward their leader.

  The smug man crossed his arms over his chest. “Get down an’ be a good lad, an’ we’ll let ye live.”

  Heat rose up Declan’s neck, lighting his face with fury. He turned his horse and tried to run down the men clashing swords with Angus. They scattered out of the way. The archers above had a terrific aim; their arrows danced around the hooves until one of them startled Declan’s horse enough to send him flying.

  It was over. Their swords parried and clashed, but with the numbers, it was only a moment before they were disarmed with swords at their throats. The moment they’d spotted to the bandits until the present couldn’t have been longer than twenty minutes. It was a swift and effective operation; no doubt practiced on many travelers.

  Declan and Angus stood, their faces hot with indignation, as their pockets were turned out. The horses whinnied, grazing not far down the trail.

  The young Highlander closed his eyes, hoping his coin was not taken. Having been unable to refuse the generosity in the first place, He had wanted to return it.

  One of the men snatched the coin in Declan’s pocket. He struggled against the man holding him until he felt the point of a blade prod his stomach.

  The bandit grinned, holding the coin up between two fingers, flipping it in the sunlight. He looked at Declan like a gloating child, then turned to the leader. The fat man smiled until he took the coin and looked at it.

  His demeanor changed immediately. “Where did ye get this?” He flipped the coin in his hand and rubbed it to see if the engraving would fade. The color drained from his face. His voice intensified. “Where did you get this?” He closed the distance between himself and Declan, waving the pointed blades back.

  Declan didn’t know what to do. He pointed his chin upward, clenching his fists at his side, clinging to the last bit of dignity and control left to him. Declan stared the man hard in the face, not wanting to bend to anything within his will.

  “The right answer might save your life, boy. Don’t be foolish.” The man held the coin up in front of Declan’s face, pinched between his thumb and index finger.

  The Highland chief looked about him. Four swords pointed at him, the men wielding them smiling and eager to execute for the thrill of the fight. The man in front of him, still holding the coin and waiting for an answer, looked afraid. It unnerved Declan to see that familiar glint in his eyes.

  Declan closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose. Rosalie’s last look over her shoulder to him, sad and scared as she followed her community’s men from his home, played behind his lids. He imagined her like that now—except alone.

  “It was a gift. A gift I’d like tae return.”

  “From who? Tell me on yer life, who gave ye this coin?”

  The man’s eyes were wild. One of the bandits stepped forward, threatening Declan with a parrying thrust meant to make him flinch. The leader raised a hand to steady the man. The two cursed and argued between each other in a foreign tongue before the underling’s face fell and gained the same gray complexion as his superior’s.

  “A man,” Declan fixed his blue eyes on the short man. At that moment, he looked more like a chief than ever. His strength and composure radiated from him in a way that compelled those standing closest to shift in their boots. If he was going to give in, for the sake of his quest, he would not bend or cower. “A man named Alexander. A friend o’ mine kin’ enough to lend it to me in case I come into trouble.”

  “Wha’ the— Angus about jumped into the sword behind him as the small bandit burst into loud, boisterous laughter.

  It startled Declan as well. The two Scotsmen exchanged perplexed looks. Soon all the bandits around them started to share their leader’s good humor, relaxing their grips. Angus attempted a slow, snea
ky move towards his sword. The man in front of him straightened his blade back out and kicked Angus’s hilt away from him.

  “I though’ ye killed him fer a minute. Tell me, how d’ye ken my brother?”

  His words took Declan back. How could the two men be related? They were worlds apart in both looks and demeanor.

  “Don’ be so surprised. He’s ancient compared tae me, an’ only me half-brother after all.” The man smiled. “Have ye met Enoch, then? How’s me lad?”

  A heavy sigh passed through Declan. It made sense now. The bad apples didn’t fall far from the tree, and it only took one to spoil the lot. He looked to Angus, still trying to make near comical attempts at getting his sword. His tiptoed out in front of him, clear as day, and his tongue stuck out between his teeth.

  “Aye, he’s well.” Declan decided it best not to mention how he knew Enoch was doing well these days.

  “Put those down, men. These are guests!” He swiveled on his heel, the palms of his hands open for a showman’s flare.

  “I mean no disrespect, but time is o’ the essence.”

  The man clicked his tongue. “Nonsense. It’ll be dark soon, an’ there are creatures ye willnae be wantin’ tae meet in these parts.”

  Declan looked at Angus. Despite the room the bandits gave him, Angus was still on guard, waiting for a moment to snatch up his sword. “We can handle ourselves. We’ve already lost too much time.”

  Alexander’s brother turned. He still held the coin in his hand. “What is the rush?”

  “Rosalie—”

  The short man heaved up his belt, causing his round belly to bob. He sucked air between his teeth. “The redheaded lass,” he grinned, “Oh, aye, I ken Magda’s strawberry quite well.”

  The way he said that made Declan’s skin crawl. Angus’s eyes lit up. Declan could feel his gaze on him, waiting to see how he responded to the remark. With a cleansing breath, the Highlander managed to bottle his disgust and anger.

  “She’s been stolen by a Sassenach.”

  The man’s brows wrinkled at this. “Unfortunate.” He looked closer at Declan.

  Declan feared the winds were about to change once more. The sooner he could free himself from the situation, the better. “As I said, we’ve wasted too much time as it were.”

  “An’ my brother sent ye to fetch her. An outsider instead o’ Enoch?” The man’s eyes squinted.

  “Aye. Enoch was needed with them.” Declan hoped the lie held. He had a habit of turning red when caught lying. The heat did not rise up his cheeks, and he hoped his features were as calm and unreadable as intended.

  The man looked at the coin. He seemed to ponder it all a moment, bouncing the gold piece in his hand. “Ye bes’ be headin’ off, then.” He offered the coin back to Declan. “Ye might need tha’ again. I’m tellin’ ye though; the wolves are thick in these parts. Watch yerselves.”

  Declan gave a curt nod. The two men moved from their positions, awkward and aware of the bandits still standing around them, staring at them. Their leader moved the carriage. The look he gave Declan was still wary as if he might retract the friendly departure at any moment. The two men mounted, and the moment they made it past the breach, they kicked their horses into gear and took off as fast as they could.

  Declan was grateful Alexander had armed him with the mysterious coin. When he received it, he thought it for spending, not for safe passage. To think they were almost slaughtered by Enoch’s father no less. It was as if divine providence was at work.

  Day and night blended into each other. They slept when they had to and rode as much as they could. There were stretches of days where they ate nothing but oats. There were days when the wind and rain kept them from sleeping at all. In the nights, Declan discovered Angus was a talented storyteller, and Angus discovered Declan’s touch for music.

  Then there came a time when spirits were low and night inked out the color from the world. Between wisps of thin clouds, the stars poked from the velvet sky. The moon was only a sliver in the night. It was not long until the terrain flattened out, much to the men’s gratitude, now that hills higher than their head were possible ambush points.

  The trees were thick on either side of them. Their breath curled from their lips in steamy plumes. The mud froze with night’s chill, cracking and crunching beneath their horse’s hooves.

  Up ahead, they could see where the trees thinned. A feeling rose in Declan’s heart, telling him he was close. When they broke through the trees, they saw a keep, surrounded by woods.

  “We’ll turn back fer the nigh’,” Declan said. His eyes peered into the darkness, hoping for some sign of Rosalie. “An’ return in the morn tae investigate.”

  “Aye,” Angus shook his head as he stared at the steep walls and dimly lit steps, “This place is makin’ me skin crawl.” He shook out the pins and needles crawling up his flesh.

  Declan’s heart stopped. High up, in one of the tower windows, he caught a glimpse of long red curls. He reached his hand out to touch Angus, but he was too far away.

  “Wha’ is it?” Angus looked at him, bewildered.

  “That’s her!” Angus squinted in the dark, trying to follow Declan’s finger. “There! D’ye see her?”

  “Aye, I see a redheaded lass—in Scotland. Ye cannae ken ‘tis her. No’ from here. We’ll come back in the mornin’.”

  Declan looked at him as if he was speaking insanity. Angus turned his horse and gave Declan a firm, look of wary warning. As if he would bolt and start slashing his way through the keep with wild abandon to get to the girl up above.

  The Highlander hesitated, staring out at the yellow window. He knew it was her. The feeling overwhelmed him. He was close—close enough to call out. Yet, he knew Angus was right. One more night apart. It tore at him to turn his back on the keep, and even so, he stole glimpses over his shoulder until the trees engulfed the scene.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rosalie awoke each morning, determined to discover what she could about her birth and the disappearance of Lady Catherine’s daughter. There was a feeling in her gut, women’s intuition or suchlike, demanding that she investigate. If she found out what happened all of those years ago, she would know the truth about herself and where she belonged.

  The young woman found it harder than she’d thought to catch time alone with any of the servants. Even when she found a brief moment, they were nervous to speak with her, always glancing over their shoulders for the sudden appearance of their mistress. As much as she longed to have a family, as much as she wanted to believe she was a noble lady, disdain grew daily for her newfound family. Every time a servant winced or shied from her questions, it strengthened Rosalie’s determination to get to the bottom of what happened.

  Days passed near the same. Gale was in a constant apathetic haze, only broken by cathartic moments of chastising the help. Edward could not look at Rosalie and spent much of his time locked away in his private quarters, hunting game, or overseeing important endeavors, which Rosalie suspected were excuses to get away from his home and life. Lady Catherine’s moods ebbed and flowed, sometimes becoming violent within seconds, only to fade into a blissful, forced cheer.

  It bothered Rosalie immensely how the lady never took the time to get to know her. She treated Rosalie as a young child and often forced the characteristics of her daughter onto her as if no time had passed. One day, the lady brought Rosalie a gown to wear. She’d had it made by Flora’s mother, and cut for a child.

  “It’s your favorite, remember? I had it altered as best as I could.”

  There was a clear line where more fabric had been added to extend the length. It was a hideous gown, and Rosalie had to feign excitement, the lady’s eager eyes on her, threatening to plummet into a disappointed rage at any moment. The woman forced Rosalie to change into the gown, the fabric stretching over her. The Lady’s eyes gleamed with affection, glassy-eyed as if she was seeing someone entirely different than Rosalie. It made Rosalie’s skin crawl. The whole th
ing made her uncomfortable, and yet she endured it out of fear of the woman.

  Rosalie let out a sigh of relief when Catherine left her and Gale alone. During these times, Lady Catherine would lock the door to the study on them, instructing Gale to teach Rosalie her duties. Often, the girls sat in silence. Sometimes Rosalie read, or Gale might finger out a tune on the harp in the corner. On this particular day, Rosalie slumped into one of the couches and let her face fall into the palms of her hands, dismayed and feeling hopelessness spread through her. It seemed she might never find a chance to discover the truth.

  “She’s mad, ye know.”

  Rosalie looked up at Gale. Her blonde hair pressed against the stone window cut out. “Ever since…” Her words wondered off, and Rosalie could feel she was keeping something from her, whether it was opinion or fact.