A Knight for her Highland Heart: A Historical Scottish Highlander Romance Novel

by Barbara Bard

  Finlay sighed. “Speak what ye are trying tae say, me love.”

  She took a step forward. “I think it is a risk having him here. I think that allowing him tae step foot in our village was a mistake.”

  “What is done is done, Isla.”

  “But perhaps we maist be wise aboot having him around.”

  “What dae ye ken?”

  “We should lock up him in the cell in the stable until we decide his fate. I dinnae trust him, Finlay. I am worried aboot the safety of our people. We hae been down this road before…”

  Finlay took a long moment to think through the options before agreeing with his wife. They spoke for a few more minutes, formulated a plan, and then entered the cabin.

  The Bairdsmen looked up. “Is everything alright?” Gavina asked.

  Finlay jutted his chin toward Christian. “Christian,” he said. “I need ye tae stand.”

  Christian, his heart beating fast and with a nervous tick, stood up. “Yes?”

  “Hand yer weapons tae Lachlan. Noo.”

  Christian squinted. “I do not under—”

  “Noo, Christian.”

  It took Christian a moment, but he surrendered his arms to Lachlan. Once he was relieved of his weapons, Finlay then looked at Lachlan and said: “I want ye tae take this man to the cell in the stables. Shackle him well. He will stay there until we can decide his fate.”

  Gavina’s eyes went wide. “Finlay! What are ye doing?”

  Finlay pointed. “This is nae open fer discussion, Gavina. Treason has been committed. Our people hae been taken hostage. I dinnae want anyone I dinnae ken walking freely through our village until this matter is settled.”

  Christian’s mouth was open, but no words evacuated as Lachlan pinned his arms behind his back. “I am sorry,” Lachlan whispered into his ear as he hauled him away.

  Gavina grabbed Finlay by the arm. “I maist protest, Finlay.”

  “Protest all ye want,” Finlay said. “But this maist be done.” He then followed Lachlan out of the cabin and made sure that Christian was locked away tight in the cell.

  Christian, fearing for his life more than ever before, watched as Finlay stared him in the eye and tried to deduce his true intentions. After a few moments, Finlay departed, and Christian began to suspect that he was living out the last few hours of his life.

  Sir Jessup was in his quarters. The fire was once again raging in the stone fireplace, his feet up and a flagon of wine, as usual, gripped firmly in his hand. He knew that Marcus the knight’s arrival was imminent, and he gripped his fist with fury as he awaited his arrival.

  Two knocks sounded at the door. “Enter,” Sir Jessup said.

  The door opened and Marcus entered, beaming as usual with an arrogant and prideful demeanor. “You requested my presence?” he said.

  Sir Jessup nodded. “Yes. Indeed. Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”

  Marcus closed the door behind himself. Sir Jessup glanced to the door and knew that Sir Renly was waiting outside as per Sir Jessup’s instructions.

  “Would you like a drink?” Sir Jessup inquired.

  Marcus, a glossy look in his eye from already having indulged in several glasses, nodded. “That sounds more than welcomed…”

  Sir Jessup handed over the wine and gestured for Marcus to sit.

  “Quite luxurious quarters you have,” Marcus said. “I am rather envious.”

  Sir Jessup waved him off. “It suits me fine enough. It is not as luxurious as the comforts that the homeland possesses.”

  “Yes,” Marcus said. “I do miss home. I fancy returning as soon as this campaign is finished.”

  “Soon, hopefully. It all depends on locating the Bairds.”

  Marcus laughed. “A fact that you have evaded to grasp onto. That is why I am here.”

  Sir Jessup laughed. “Yes, indeed. That is why you are here…”

  Marcus sipped his wine. “I do not have a taste for this place,” he said. “I find it rather…savage.”

  Sir Jessup sighed. “I cannot even begin to tell you how often I have heard our countrymen label this place with that same word.”

  “Well, it is an accurate one, nonetheless. They are savages. And savages must be dealt with in such a fashion.”

  “Yes, indeed. Tell me, Marcus, how many battles have you engaged in.”

  Marcus’s face went slack. “Too many to recall.”

  “Is that so?”

  Marcus turned and faced Sir Jessup. “Indeed,” he said. “I do not like to keep a tally of all the wars I have been involved in. I do not think in such terms.”

  Sir Jessup smiled. He could smell the lies oozing out of Marcus’ mouth. “I understand,” he said. “I am sure you have fought in many a battle before.”

  “Yes,” Marcus lied. “Many a battle.”

  Sir Jessup stood, a drunken swagger in his step. “Tell me,” he said, “who is your father?”

  Marcus swallowed his pride. “Earl Damon of Freedville. He is a most prominent man in the kingdom.”

  Sir Jessup held up a finger. “Ah, yes. That is correct. I have heard of the man. It must be difficult trying to live up to the expectations of a man like him.”

  A nervous shrug from Marcus. “I believe I do well to live up to my namesake.”

  “Yes,” Sir Jessup said. “I imagine that the pressures of appeasing a rich father can be quite cumbersome.”

  Marcus could sense the dig that Sir Jessup was taking a squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing really. I have just heard stories of you, is all.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “That you come from a rich family. That you work hard to appease your father’s expectations.”

  Marcus scowled. “Such words are not true.”

  Sir Jessup held up his hands in submission. “It was merely a rumor I heard,” he said. “I did not say that there was any truth in it.”

  “Well, there is not. I am my own man. I strive hard to appease only one person—myself.”

  “And so, it is.” He circled around Marcus. “Tell me—what are your intentions.”

  Marcus took a moment to answer. “I do not think that I understand.”

  Sir Jessup lingered near the window looking down into the courtyard. “Why are you here?” he asked.

  Another moment taken from Marcus. “To see that you carry out the king’s orders.”

  “That much is clear. But I fear that there are certain things you are keeping from me, my friend.”

  “I have stated my intentions to you.” He was growing nervous. “I merely represent—”

  “A clan of assassins?”

  Marcus swallowed his fear. “I do not under—”

  “Spare me your lies, Marcus. I have heard rumors of why you are here. You have been sent to slay me at some point during this campaign. Is this not true?”

  Marcus swallowed again. “No. It is not.”

  Sir Jessup laughed. “You do not have a truth-telling style, my dear Marcus. I know of why you are here. I know that you will attempt to strike me down the moment the opportunity arises.”

  Marcus stood. “Lies!”

  Sir Jessup shook his head. “No, they are not.” He faced Marcus. “And I do not know what is more insulting—the fact that the king would try to have me slain, or the fact that he sends a weak errand boy of wealth with no spine to do his bidding for him.”

  Marcus turned red, his hand reaching for the dagger at his hip. “You bastard,” he said, his face morphing into a lethal look. “I should just kill you now!”

  Sir Jessup smiled. “So, it is true. Thank you for your honesty, weak man.”

  Marcus charged—but he only marched a couple of feet before Sir Jessup took the knife that he had resting on the window sill, threw it overhand, and watched as the blade buried itself into Marcus’ neck. Marcus fell, bleeding profusely and clutching onto life for only a few more moments before fading into oblivion.

  Sighing, Sir Jessup wal
ked over, took the flagon of wine, and sipped. Moments later, the door opened, and Sir Renly walked inside. He laid eyes on Marcus’ body and sighed.

  “So, it is done,” Marcus said.

  Sir Jessup took a long, hard swig of his wine. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is done.”

  Sir Renly shook his head. “What should we do with the body?”

  “Dispose of it.”

  A beat. “His men will be dismayed. Marcus’ father will raise hell over this.”

  Sir Jessup shrugged, walked over to the window, sat on the sill, and swigged. “So be it,” he said as Marcus’s blood began to pool around his lifeless body.

  Chapter 24

  Christian couldn’t fathom being in the position that he was in. He had been in the cell that Finlay had placed him in for several hours, waiting anxiously with every morsel of fear in his body screaming inside of his brain as he awaited what he was sure would be his imminent demise. He contemplated during his time in the cell where he could have gone wrong, what he did to put himself in the place he was in. But it didn’t matter. He was here. And there was nothing he could do about it.

  After three hours, Gavina entered, her hands folded in front of her as she forced a neutral expression on her face. Christian stood up the moment she entered, anxious and eager all at the same time. “Gavina,” he said as she walked in. “Is all well?”

  She said nothing for several moments, looking at Christian like he was a wild dog about to be put down. Christian could see the conflict in her eyes, and he shook his head when he saw it.

  “What?” Gavina asked. “What troubles you?”

  Christian’s eyes went wide. He laughed. “I cannot believe you even have to ask such a thing.”

  She stepped forward. “I dinnae want this tae happen, Christian.”

  “Then stop it!” he pleaded. “Tell yer people that I am nae their enemy.”

  “They cannae just take ye at yer word. Understand—”

  “I understand perfectly the hesitation of you and your people. I am an English knight, a disgraced one and a rogue one at that, but an Englishman nonetheless.” He gripped onto the bars in front of them. “But, Gavina, they are going to kill me. You know this to be true.”

  She shook her head. “That is not a guarantee.”

  “Quit lying to yourself.” He stepped away from the bars and diverted his gaze. “About everything…”

  Gavina crossed her arms. “What dae ye ken by that?”

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  “I beg yer pardon?”

  He turned back around. “No. I will not. I will not continue to play this charade with you.”

  “I dinnae like yer tone, Christian.”

  He stepped forward. “But you like me. Do you not?”

  Gavina waited a beat. “That is of naw consequence.”

  “Stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Look into my eyes, Gavina. Look deeply into them and tell me that you do not feel the same way that I do.”

  Gavina could feel a sensation rising in the pit of her stomach. It was one that she had not felt before. She didn’t want to admit the truth—but she knew that it was burning inside of her and on the cusp of coming out.

  “Admit it,” Christian pressed.

  “I will admit nae a thing.”

  “Because you know it’s true.”

  “Stop…”

  “I will not…I…I love you, Gavina—”

  She crooked a finger in his direction. “Enough!” she said. “I will nae entertain these fantasies that ye are concocting. I ken that it was a bad idea tae lay with ye. Look at the trouble it has brought.”

  “Because life is not simple. Neither is love.”

  “We are nae in love.”

  “That is a lie…”

  Gavina turned away and moved to leave—but she found herself held back by the magnetism that was her attraction to Christian. She hated herself in that moment, desperate to be able to just merely wish her feelings away.

  Christian sighed as silence held sway. He felt defeated, feeling like no matter what words he spoke they would never get through to Gavina. He wished, like her, that he could tell his feelings to subside. But he knew that would not happen. What was done was done.

  “Christian,” Gavina said. “Me loyalty is tae me people. That cannae change.”

  “I know, but…”

  She faced him. “I hae tae dae what is in the best interests of me people. If they decide that ye maist be exiled or worse…” She shrugged, unable to bring herself to say the rest.

  Christian felt his heart weighing heavier than it did before Gavina had walked into the room. “I see,” he said. “And there is nothing I can say to change your mind .”

  Gavina took a beat. Then she shook her head. “It is how it maist be,” she said. “I will try tae insist to Finlay and Isla that ye are nae a threat, but if they deem ye tae be, there is nae a thing that I can dae tae stop them.”

  The two stared at one another for a long moment, neither knowing what to say. After a few moments, Christian turned away, sat against the wall, and diverted his gaze. “Lie to yourself all you want,” he said. “But I know that you feel as I feel. But go if you must. I will live with the consequences of having fallen for you…”

  Gavina felt the tears welling in her eyes and stormed out of the stable, mad at herself, Christian, and the world for having put her in this predicament.

  As Gavina marched away from the stables and back toward Finlay and Isla cottage, Isla intercepted her halfway through her walk.

  “Sister,” Isla called out.

  Gavina turned and nodded. “Isla,” she said.

  Isla could immediately sense the strain in Gavina’s voice indicating her internal conflict. “What troubles ye?”

  “A silly question,” Gavina said, feeling as if she was channeling some of Christian’s words.

  “Dae ye want tae talk?”

  “Naw. I dinnae.”

  Isla sighed, grabbed her sister by the arm, and stopped her from walking further. “Come with me,” she said.

  “Isla—”

  “It is nae a request. Consider it an order from the lady of yer clan.”

  Gavina sighed. She knew that no protests that she offered up at this point would be given into by Isla. She then followed her sister toward the tavern, Isla fetching a bottle of whiskey from behind the counter and pouring herself and Gavina a glass.

  “Is it nae rather early,” Gavina said, “fer a drink?”

  Isla handed Gavina a glass. “Never.” They began to sip. After a moment, Isla then said: “What is going on with ye and the Sassenach knight we hae in that cell?”

  Gavina shook her head. “Nae a thing.”

  “That is nae true. I can see it in yer eyes.”

  Gavina took her time to answer as she sipped at the whiskey. “We…had laid together.”

  Isla flashed a subtle smile. “I figured as much.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Ye are only human.”

  “It disnae matter. What is done is done. Christian will be held there until ye and Finlay can decide his fate.”

  Isla sighed. “Dae ye love him?”

  Gavina furled her brow, acting as if she were offended. “Pardon?”

  “Answer the question, sister—dae ye love him?”

  Gavina laughed. “Preposterous. I dae nae.”

  Isla tilted her head. “I ken ye, sister. I ken we ye are lying.”

  “It is nae a lie. It was a mistake. That is all. Whatever happens to that Sassenach knight will be of nae consequence tae me.” She took another hard swig, trying to wash her sorrows away.

  Isla sat back. Sighed. “Oh, Gavina…”

  “What?”

  “Ye are nae that different fae me. It has always been that way. Ye were just as precarious as I was when ye were little. And noo, as a grown woman, it is nae that much different.”

  “I dinnae understand…”

  Is
la perched forward. “I will nae ask ye again if ye love Christian. But I can sense that something about his predicament troubles ye. Aye, we will hae tae make a decision about his fate, and it will only be done tae serve the best interests of our people.”