Fighting For A Highland Lass (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 3)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Neil had been Anne’s hero during those years. He was acknowledged by all who sailed as the best swordsman who ever had a deck under his feet, and he taught her everything he knew. He made her drill relentlessly, until fighting with sword and knife was all she knew, and she worked tirelessly to please him.

  She saw the way the men looked at her as she grew, as her body began to change. Vaguely, she was thankful that her breasts were small and discreet, her hips remaining square and angular. She kept her hair cut severely short, wore leather trousers like a boy, and kept a blade at her side at all times. But she could not disguise the fullness of her lips or the lithe, tight leanness of her growing body. She remembered with a shudder the first time one of Neil’s crew had decided she was no longer a child.

  They had left the Americas, heading back toward Europe, with all the trouble in France, there were rich pickings for a bold privateer, and a broader black market to get rid of stolen goods. The man had come to her at night, while she was on watch. He tried to talk his way closer to her, but when he had put his hand on her, she’d stood and backed away. He flung himself at her, trying to pin her against the bulkhead and have his way with her. She had killed him with a single stroke of her small belt-knife, cut his purse from his belt and hauled his body overboard. When Neil heard of the incident in the morning, he had just nodded slowly, and looked at her, fierce pride burning in his dark eyes. It was her first kill. She practised her swordplay even more diligently after that.

  Everything changed one day about four years ago, not long after that incident. They had come upon a large merchant ship, wallowing her way up the Spanish coast toward Britain. They engaged her, but as they gave chase another sail appeared around a nearby headland, and a sleek, 48-gun ship of the line appeared, bearing down upon them with the wind and flying a Spanish Navy flag. She set herself alongside the Siren and delivered a devastating broadside, even as Neil was giving the order to board her. The grapples flew, and Neil’s crew leapt the gap, fighting like devils upon the deck of the Spanish ship. The Spanish marines and crew were overwhelmed, and the pirates captured the ship, but the initial broadside had holed the Siren below the waterline, and she sank there and then, her hold stuffed with the fruits of a year’s careful raiding. There had been chests of gold and jewels, casks of perfumed oils and rare drink, bolts of fine cloth, rolls of cured tobacco – in short, enough hoarded wealth to set Neil and every one of his men up to live like kings for the rest of their days. And now they had nothing, just a battered Spanish navy ship with nothing in the hold but biscuit and water, and barely enough men to sail her.

  They had limped back up the coast of Spain and France, flying a French flag, a Spanish flag, or a British flag depending on where they found themselves. The coastal waters were bristling with warships, and they went far out of their way, sailing up the west coast of Ireland to avoid the Royal Navy patrols. When eventually they passed the islands of Islay and Jura far off to their east, they knew they were back in Scotland. Months had passed, but finally, they made it to Caithness, anchoring the ship near the coast while Neil and a couple of his picked men went ashore to visit his distant cousin’, the Earl of Caithness. When Neil came back to the ship, he was silent and grim, but he had given the ship over to the Earl’s men, and he and his crew had travelled on foot, overland, to the dilapidated castle which had become their base.

  In exchange for the captured Spanish Navy ship, the Earl had traded them the Caithness Seal, a sleeker, faster vessel better suited to raiding. Neil and his embittered crew had set up in the castle, undertaking small dirty jobs for local tyrants, or raiding on their own account. In their first engagement under the new regime, Neil had been hit with a glancing blow from a flying bullet, twisting up one side of his face into an ugly mass of scarring and costing him the sight in one eye. He had put on weight, stopped fighting himself, and become morose and bitter. Where his men had previously followed him through admiration and fierce love, now they followed him through fear.

  As the years passed, Neil sank deeper and deeper into his cups, and it affected him more, both mentally and physically. Onboard ship, he still held sway with an iron fist, but his commands were now enforced by cruel, loyal Juarez. Three years ago, Neil’s leg had been crushed by a falling block, amputated below the knee, and replaced with a wooden peg. The Captain dreamed, she knew, of landing one big score, one job big enough to allow him to retire, to take himself back out west to the warm, forgiving climates of the Caribbean, where he had been happiest. If he could manage it before he drank himself to death.

  Anne could not pinpoint the moment when Neil’s attitude toward her changed. Maybe there had been no one moment. All she knew for sure was that it had changed, from love to belittlement, from support to scorn. She still craved his approval, sometimes desperately so. Very rarely, like when she fought off six men on the boat and brought Thorvald up single-handedly, she felt an echo of the old pride, but always it was tinged with a sneer or harsh word. Not for years had she felt that he truly loved her.

  Why not? With a shock, she suddenly knew why not. Knew so clearly that it hurt. He was as a father to her, for all his faults. He, the crew, the life – it was all she had ever known. It was all she would ever know. She could never give it up.

  She was sitting on the pile of split logs, their resinous scent all around her. Her head hung down to her knees, and she was weeping. The tears blurred her eyes, and her silent sobs wracked her, making it difficult to breathe. All of her youth flashed before her eyes, and she knew beyond all doubt, why she could never betray her uncle. Everything he had done for her, all the times they had shared. What was the boy Thorvald to her? Yes, she could free him, but why would she? It was not as if he was going to be killed. Perhaps Neil would make enough money from this job to retire, as he wished. Then maybe they could part on good terms, and she could try to make her own way in the world.

  Anne could free Thorvald, but she would not, and wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she began to pack the logs into the sack.

  With the heavy weight of logs over her shoulder, she headed back indoors, clumsily shouldering open the little side door, and shoving it to with her foot. It creaked loudly. If she were to escape that way, she would have to oil the hinges. Angrily, she pushed the thought aside. Had she not just been through that?

  Climbing the stairs, Anne made her way to the main hall. That door creaked too as she pushed it open, crabbing through the gap with the awkward sack of logs on her shoulder. The place was empty, and she crossed the hall to the kitchen and dumped the bag of logs into the hopper by the fireplace.

  “Hey, thanks!”

  She jumped. She hadn’t seen Peter, sitting very still in his chair by the grubby window.

  “Ah, ye are welcome, I cut more than I needed this morning.”

  “Aye, I heard ye, out there for hours, ye were. Are ye alright?”

  She paused for a moment, and a strange impulse to tell the old cook everything in her head bubbled up inside her. She pushed it down firmly.

  “I’m alright, aye. Just needed a bit of time tae myself tae think. And we do need firewood.”

  “He’ll want some in his rooms, I think.” Anne nodded and headed back down the stairs to refill her sack.

  As she approached the Captain’s private room, with another bag of split logs on her back, she heard voices through the door. It was the captain speaking to Juarez, his first mate.

  “...and that will be an end of it. He’ll never be seen again.”

  “The Carolinas? Well, I wouldn’t envy the lad, going there. But I suppose it’s better than death. That’s a long journey, though.” Juarez’s voice sounded clearly through the door. Anne eased the bag from her back and silently brought it down to the floor.

  “Aye,” continued the captain, “it’s a long journey, but the messenger’s letter says that his Lordship will pay handsomely in advance for the transportation, and we will get tae keep the lad’s sale price when we get there.”

&nbs
p; “Ye think the Caithness Seal is up tae that length of journey?”

  “Oh, I should think so.” The captain’s voice was thoughtful. “Unless some... better way could be contrived.”

  There was silence. Anne was raising her hand to knock when the mate spoke again.

  “His Lordship will pay in advance, ye say?” said Juarez.

  “Aye...”

  “The full amount?”

  “Aye...” Anne could hear the smile in Neil’s voice.

  “Captain, if His Lordship is willing tae pay in advance, in full, and is not planning tae send anybody with us tae check...”

  “He has already said that he is not planning tae do so.”

  “Well, in that case, does it not strike ye that maybe...”

  The captain laughed, and Juarez began to laugh as well. After a moment, he said, “Something tells me that the laddie will not make it tae the Carolinas. All kind of things can happen tae a lad at sea.”

  “Or even in a locked castle room!” commented the mate. “Damn! What a fool the great Lord must be if he’s willing tae trust our good honest natures tae see the laddie sent away over the sea, a journey of months, and pay in full and upfront for it?”

  “I think,” replied the Captain consideringly, “that he does not really care what happens tae the boy, so long as he’s got out of the way. Perhaps this is his way of letting us know that while salving his own conscience?”

  “When does he come with the money?”

  “Soon. He’s bringing it in gold or sending someone with it, I’m not sure. We’ll keep the boy alive until then, in case he wants tae see him, but after that...”

  Anne knocked at the door, and the voices ceased abruptly.

  “I’ve brought ye fresh logs, captain,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

  “Ah, here’s young Anne, now!” cried the captain with forced joviality. “And how is our prisoner today?”

  “Well enough, sir. We did not have many words when I brought him his gruel this morning. His head wound is healing.”

  “Ah, well, that’s good then. Now, Anne, do ye have the key tae the tower room on yer person?”

  “Uh, no, sir, it’s in my chest in my room.”

  “Good! As it should be. Anne, in a day or two a messenger may come from... his Lordship. He may wish tae see the prisoner. Make sure that all is as it should be with him until then, will ye? And when the messenger comes, ye can take us all up tae visit him yerself, alright?”

  “Very good, sir,” said Anne. The logs were in the basket by the fireplace. She gathered up the sack. “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Aye, aye, that’ll be all. Thank ye, Annie.”

  Anne bowed to them both and retreated from the room. The weight of the key to Thorvald’s cell bounced heavily against her leg in a pocket of her jerkin.

  Her head reeled. They would kill him, take the money and kill him. Someone – “His Lordship,” Neil had called him – had paid for Thorvald to be got rid of, and now Neil would kill him and take the payment.

  Back down to the courtyard with her sack, she filled another load for Thorvald’s room. She had grown close to him, she thought, as she hauled the heavy bag up the stairs. The strong young man, how could she let her uncle just kill him, like that? She had killed, of course, but in the heat of a raid, or in self-defence. Never in cold blood, killing a defenseless, strong and handsome youth for what... so that her vicious, drink-sodden uncle could make a little bit of money?

  A battle raged within Anne as she climbed the stairs, wavering from one resolution to the other. But finally, as she pushed the door open and looked into his bright eyes gazing out from the handsome face, her heart turned over. The memories of her uncle’s love and loyalty and the last of her respect for him tore away from her like rotten fabric. She could not let this young man die at the hands of Neil Gow-Sinclair. She would set him free. And she would have to go with him!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thorvald was sitting in his spot in front of the fire. He had burned his way through the chair, the table legs, and the bedframe, and had spent some time breaking up the tabletop that morning to keep his little fire going. Keeping warm had become his only entertainment, but the supplies were running low, and the firewood Anne had promised earlier had not yet materialized. Rain leaked through the gap in the shutters, pooling on the stone floor. He was bored and beginning to wonder how long he could keep his mind together in this confinement.

  He was a young man used to a simple, wholesome life, plentiful exercise, regular meals, and pleasant, friendly companionship in the small village community. Now that the shock of his kidnap and transportation had worn off, the steady monotony of his imprisonment was beginning to wear on his nerves. Again and again, he rebuked himself for pushing Anne too hard on her state of mind. Are ye happy? The question ran through his mind as he sat in front of the fire, or lay wrapped in his blanket, trying to sleep. It was such a stupid thing to say. He had hoped to get through to her, make her his ally, even try to get her to help him to escape, but in the last few days when she had visited to bring him food and water, or to check the dressing on his head wound, she had been cold and distant, not meeting his eyes. Again and again, the uncomfortable thought that he had blown his one chance to get out of this situation came back to haunt him.

  The key rattled in the door.

  Deep in his gloomy thoughts, it took a moment to react. The door swung open, and he saw Anne standing there, a heavy bag slung across her shoulders. She pushed the door closed with her foot as she swung the bag down. It hit the stone floor with a deep thud. He looked up, and his eyes met hers. She seemed, he thought suddenly, to be torn by some great trouble. Her eyes were red as if with crying, and her back was bent as if with care. But as their eyes met, he saw something change in her. Her back straightened and her mouth became a flat, determined line, and then – very unexpected in that cold countenance – a hint of a smile flickered at the edges of her lips.

  “What’s this?” he asked, looking at the bag.

  “Firewood.”

  She upended the sack, spilling logs out onto the ground by the hearth, and suddenly his heart lifted.

  Of all the things grating on him, the inability to keep himself properly warm, or to dry out his damp clothes, had been weighing the heaviest. He stood, his cloak around his shoulders, and smiled. She glanced away from his eyes, an answering smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Then, to his surprise, she looked up and met his eyes again.

  “They are going tae kill ye,” she blurted out suddenly, before clamping her mouth shut again.

  He did not speak but could feel his heart thumping tightly in his chest.

  “They are going tae be paid tae transport ye tae the Carolinas, tae be sold intae slavery. But the man who is paying them is not careful, and he will pay them before the deed is done and not ask for proof of yer fate. They plan tae keep the gold, and then tae do away with you.”

  “How do ye know this?” he asked quietly.

  “I... I overheard them speaking about it when I went tae deliver logs tae the captain’s room. Him and the mate. They were laughing about it. I... Thorvald, I do not want them tae kill ye.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Ye... ye must escape. The messenger comes with the gold tomorrow, or perhaps the day after, tae pay for the transportation. Ye are safe until then, but after that...”

  “How on earth can I escape, Anne?” He wanted to move closer, but kept still, seeing how tense she was. He feared that if he made a sudden move, she might flee. To his surprise, she stepped toward him, within reach.

  “I must let ye go, I must... I must free ye. I know that now. It’s been eating me all day, but I know it now. But I am the only one with the key, and if they find ye gone, they will know that it was me and... oh, I do not know what they would do.”

  He allowed himself to move, reaching forward to take both of her hands in his.

  “Ye must come with me, then. We must
go together.”

  “Oh, but ye do not want that,” the idea was almost laughable; she plainly thought it ridiculous.

  “Actually, I really do want that,” he said without thinking and found that it was true. He had the same feeling like the one on the ship, the one before they had spoken, but stronger this time –like a line drawing taut between them. He pulled her closer, and this time, she did not resist.

  “Ye... ye do?”

  “Aye. I do. Please, Anne, will ye take me from this place, and come with me? Please, it would mean a lot?” And with those words, he folded her trembling body into his arms. She resisted, but only for a moment. As she relaxed, her own arms came up and wrapped about him as she laid her head on his chest.