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

by Kenna Kendrick

  Anne and Thorvald’s enemies lay scattered on the sand in front of their makeshift barrier. Some fled disorderly toward the surf and their landing craft. As Magnus Bain stood up to his full height, waving his axe in the air and letting out a hoarse crowing yell of victory, Neil Gow-Sinclair touched a lit fuse to the powder, and the brass gun fired.

  “Look out, Sir Magnus!” Anne yelled, but it was too late. There was a boom, then a clang like a smith’s hammer upon an anvil, and the huge figure of Sir Magnus swayed. He dropped his axe, and, like a tree falling, he toppled. Time seemed to slow as the gigantic figure keeled over, hands clutching at his gut where the cannonball had hit him squarely, punching a hole the size of a man’s gauntleted fist into the sculpted metal plate of the armour. He fell to his knees first, then toppled forward, groaning, then rolling over onto his back.

  The few remaining pirates reached the shoreline, but they had nowhere to go. They tried to rally round their captain, who was at that moment trying as best he could to reload the gun, but then the Endeavour’s landing craft finally crunched into the rocky surf, and soldiers leapt from every side, led by the grey-haired and grey-bearded older man whom Thorvald had seen on the boat as it had approached. However, while the soldiers did short work of arresting Neil Gow-Sinclair and his remaining men, the grey-haired man ran straight up the beach toward Anne and Thorvald.

  Anne was kneeling by Sir Magnus’ side, speaking to him softly as he groaned and held his wound, and Thorvald stood over them while looking at the newcomer with wary eyes.

  Iain Grant held out both his hands to the young man and smiled.

  “Ah, my boy,” he said. “At last, I have found you!”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It quickly became apparent that it was going to take some time for everyone to fully understand each other’s role in what had happened. Thorvald, standing in front of Anne and the wounded Sir Magnus, only became fully confident in trusting Iain Grant when Father Hallam came forward and – somewhat reluctantly, it seemed – spoke.

  “Iain Grant,” said the priest stiffly. “I am pleased tae see ye. Thorvald, I know this man. He is as he says he is, yer late father’s brother, and has only yer best interests at heart.

  Despite being saved from almost certain death at the hands of the pirates, the little priest seemed both uncomfortable and unhappy. But for the moment, Thorvald had little time to worry about it.

  “Mr Grant,” Thorvald said to Iain, once his identity had been confirmed, “I believe we have poorly misjudged Sir Magnus here. If not for him, we would have died here before you arrived. We fled him at Harrow, but he has been mortally wounded in defending us from Neil Gow-Sinclair. The first thing we must do is to get him back tae yer ship.”

  Out on the water, the pirates of the Caithness Seal had been quickly overpowered once the drilled, professional soldiers had crossed to her decks. Many of the pirates lay dead, but many, too, had been taken, prisoner. A fire had been started belowdeck, but it was quickly quenched, and the battered but still sound Caithness Seal had been given a skeleton crew and fitted with a tow-line from the Endeavour. Captain Morton gave orders to unfurl the sails and catch as much of the wind as possible, bringing them as close as was safely possible to the island. Then, in small boats, they ferried the dead and wounded pirates from the beach, setting up a makeshift hospital on the decks of the Caithness Seal.

  First, they brought Sir Magnus Bain onboard. They lifted him on an improvised stretcher a gently as they could, but he still cried out in pain as they bore him down the slippery beach into the rising surf to put him on a boat. The big man’s breathing was harsh and rattling, and it was clear to anyone who looked that the wound was grim. Sir Magnus would not survive, but he might survive long enough to tell them his story.

  In the last boat, with Anne and Thorvald who both insisted on accompanying him, they brought the body of Seamus McMillan who had given his life to protect them. Anne cried bitterly as they did because now it seemed that they had been fleeing from someone who, in fact, wanted only to protect them.

  It took most of the afternoon to get everything done, and it was in the fading light of early evening that they finally gathered in an open-air tent on the deck of the Endeavour, by the light of a flickering oil-lamp, around the bier on which Sir Magnus Bain lay. The ship’s doctor had been grim and sad when he had looked at the wound and pronounced that trying to remove the impacted plate armour would kill Magnus immediately.

  “Leave it,” Magnus had croaked to him. “Leave it. I’m done for anyway. Just... give me something for the pain and bring the boy tae me, for I wish tae see him and speak tae him before the end.”

  And so they gathered – not just Thorvald, but also Anne, Iain, Alice, John, Earl William, and, hanging back from the scene with a pale and drawn face, Father Hallam. William looked with wonder on the young couple, who sat close together, hand in hand, and Iain noted the fact that the Earl seemed unable to keep his eyes off Anne. But the young people had eyes only for each other, and for Sir Magnus.

  When they were all gathered around, the giant began to speak, first in halting tones and then more vigorously.

  “Bishop Rognvald was my friend,” he began. “Oh, he was a corrupt old sinner when he came to my land at first, and I watched from afar as he took full advantage of the privileges of his position. Money, power, wealth and women, he indulged in them all, even you, young lad, were the result of an early dalliance. But he knew me, and he knew how I hated the church. In those last few years of his life, he reached out to me and asked me why, and when I told him, he was horrified and ashamed of what had been done in the name of his God.”

  Magnus stopped, coughing weakly. Thorvald waited silently for him to go on, but when he didn’t continue, Thorvald spoke.

  “Mr Grant has told me enough for my understanding. The Bishop fathered me by a Norwegian noblewoman. When she died, he had me brought back to Orkney, and now that he is gone, he has left an inheritance for me, desiring that I should use it tae take back control of the islands from the church. He said the church was corrupt...”

  “Aye!” said Magnus, breaking in hoarsely, but with feeling in his voice. “Corrupt. Corrupt as a rotten carcass full of flies and maggots. Riddled with corruption like a sick dog is riddled with parasites! Agh...” he broke off again, gasping with pain. The ship’s doctor moved forward and gave him a draught, something thick and dark. Magnus leaned back with a sigh. After a moment, he felt strong enough to continue.

  “Well,” he said, “when old Rognvald heard about how I kept the old ways in as much as I could, he came up tae see me. We talked, and he came tae trust me, though few knew of his visits, for I had a reputation as one who was not close tae the church. He told me that he was trying tae make amends for his sins and was gathering lands and titles intae his own name. Much of the church’s power rests on the wealth that flows from particular trade interests overseas, and all of these are tied up with the ownership of estates and lands, in Orkney and on the mainland, and in France. Well, he gathered these intae his own hands, having the ownership signed away from the church and over to himself, personally. In this way, he would be able tae hand it over tae an heir, and strip the church of the wealth that it relied upon tae control trade and keep its dominant position in the Islands.

  “Well, some in the church got wind of his scheme and would have done anything tae stop it, but he was smart. He never let anyone see too clearly what he was doing, and he knew things about people. Folk in the upper echelons of the church were afraid to challenge him, for fear their own crimes would be exposed. Ah, he was clever, was Rognvald. He worked for years tae gather the inheritance and tae keep ye safe, Thorvald. He made sure ye were educated too. Then, when it came tae it, at last, he sent for his brother – yerself, Mr Grant – and made ye promise tae see the inheritance delivered.

  “I was on the alert then, knowing that if they were tae strike, it would be as soon as they could after his death. But I got it wrong. Mr Grant,
I expected an attack upon ye and yer folk, tae try tae steal the inheritance and make it look as if it had never existed. I never expected them tae strike for Thorvald first. When I heard of that, my blood ran cold, and I knew I had tae find the lad first and try tae get him back tae Orkney.”

  “But how did Neil know about all this?” broke in Iain. “How did he hope tae profit from it? Was it, as we thought, that Neil hoped tae use Thorvald tae become Earl of Orkney himself?”

  Sir Magnus let out a choking gasp of laughter.

  “Become the Earl? That one? No, no, ye ascribe too much ambition tae that serpent. He was but a playing piece in the hand of the real player. All he wanted was a quiet life for himself, tae be paid well and no more, I’m sure.”

  “Then who?” demanded Iain. “Who paid him? Who was behind it all? I confess, Sir Magnus, that for much of this time I thought that ye were behind the kidnapping, and in league with Neil, and its only now that I realise the folly of that. We would have done better tae trust ye sooner.”

  “Aye, and I tae trust ye, also,” said Magnus, with regret. “But there’s no point in that now. We were both wary of one another’s motives, and I have no doubt that those churchmen there had little good tae say of me, nor anyone else besides, for that matter.”

  “It’s true...” admitted Iain.

  “Aye,” said Magnus through gritted teeth. “That’s their way. They spread rumours and lies, and their networks are such that rumour spreads fast. Well, it’s done now, and there’s a lesson there for ye, young folk, if there is nothing else. But as for who is behind it all, have ye not guessed it by now? Is it not obvious who paid Neil tae do the dirty work?”

  There was a choking sound from the back of the group, and they glanced back to see Father Hallam, as white as a sheet, standing rigid in the lamplight with his hands raised in a warning motion.

  “Father Hallam!” cried Iain Grant in shock. The priest flapped his hands in front of him, shaking his head wildly and moving his mouth silently as if trying to speak. Magnus laughed again.

  “No, Grant, not him,” he said. “He doesn’t have enough blood in him for real crime like that, the shrimp. Look at him! No, no, use yer brain, Grant. Who poisoned yer mind against me from the start? Who sent ye on a wild goose chase west when the real castle was in the east? Who sent his creeping spies out after ye without telling ye beforehand? Who has pockets deep enough tae finance the whole venture? Who stands tae gain more than anybody else from keeping Thorvald from taking charge of his inheritance? Who benefits?”

  Iain felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. The pleasant, fatherly air, the apparent lack of confidence in his new position, the eagerness to help, the unhappy mistake with the map... a smiling, careworn face filled Iain’s mind, slipping away to reveal a cold, cruel, ruthless viper, a man who moved pieces from a distance like a player looking down on a chessboard, prepared to go to any length, even sanctioning kidnap and murder, to protect and consolidate his position.

  “Benedict,” breathed Iain. Sir Magnus lifted his big hands from the coverlet and gave him a slow, sarcastic round of applause.

  “Got it in one, Mr Grant. Got it in one. The bloody bishop-tae-be, already bishop of Orkney in all but name. He awaits the arrival of authority from Edinburgh tae confirm his position. A ship is on its way, we are told, and if he couldn’t get rid of Thorvald before then, he could at least stall you and keep you away from him – and me – until he is confirmed. Once he is confirmed in that role, he will be nearly untouchable, but thankfully these things take time, and it has not happened yet. Ye must get back tae Orkney and place him under arrest, Grant. There is little time tae spare.”

  “The boat is already underway, albeit slowly,” said Iain. “The captain assures us it will be back by dawn.”

  “Ah, well, that’s all tae the good,” said Sir Magnus. “Earl William, ye have enough men tae handle it?”

  “I... I believe I do,” stammered the Earl. “It’s a major undertaking, but I believe I have the men for it, and the authority too.”

  With a sudden passionate cry, Father Hallam burst into their conversation.

  “It’s lies!” he cried. “All lies! This man seeks tae blacken the church’s name for his own ends! It’s well known that he’s a heathen and a blasphemer, and my lord the bishop is a particular object of hatred for him! How can you believe him? There is no proof, none! He’s making it all up! It’s vicious lies, and you’d be mad to believe him, this renegade eccentric, over as high a ranking cleric in the church as my lord, the Bishop.”

  “The Bishop-to-be, not the Bishop yet,” Iain corrected him quietly. “How do ye explain it, then?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Hallam almost screamed, retreating a few steps until his back came up against the tent wall and pointing a finger accusingly at the dying man. “It was him all the time! He wanted rid of Thorvald so that he could claim the inheritance for himself, through some contrived bloodline relationship to the Earldom, and now he is dying, he seeks to wreak havoc and petty revenge because his scheming has failed!”

  “I have been dying for a long time, Hallam,” said Magnus in a quiet, tired voice. “Something has been eating my lungs these past two years, and I am only glad that I have been able tae give my life in a worthy cause at the end. But say what ye like. I have nae doubt that when ye open that packet of papers from Rognvald, ye will find that all I say is true. Also, after I am gone, ye may go tae my house. In my will, which is in the hands of my servants, ye will find instructions on where there is a hidden statement confirming all I have said, written in Rognvald’s own hand. He left it there as a safeguard.”

  “Lies! All lies!” Hallam screeched. “He...”

  “Wait.” Anne Gow’s voice was hushed, but it cut in softly over the young priest’s hysterics. All eyes were turned on her as slowly she reached into an inside pocket of her jerkin and pulled out a long, blue envelope. It was much the worse for wear, but she took it out and held it out toward Iain, who took it with shaking hands.

  “I’d forgotten all about this. I picked that up from my uncle Neil’s papers, that night before we escaped. The ink is illegible now; it’s been soaked in my pocket several times since we escaped, but I remember what it said. It was the letter from my uncle’s client, asking that Thorvald be taken overseas to be sold as a slave in America. It said that a messenger would be sent, with gold for payment. It was unsigned, but... well, look at the seal.”

  They did so, turning the letter over to see where the wax seal was still intact on the back of the envelope. It was clearly visible despite its many travels: a cross within a circle overlaid with a stylised letter ‘B’.

  “The seal of the bishops!” cried William and Iain together.

  “Ah,” Magnus sighed in satisfaction. “The arrogant fool, to use the seal before he was even confirmed. Well, there’s yer proof, if any more was needed. And I have no doubt who the messenger was who was on his way with the gold for the promised payment. He was on his way back when he came across Thorvald in the town. He must have found the castle empty and been heading back to try to find out what had happened. Then he felt that the priority was tae keep ye away from me, and he told ye a bit of the truth tae keep ye on his side. What a twisted web they weave.”

  They turned to a sudden scream from Hallam who, in sudden panic, turned and fled from the tent. To their surprise and shock, the little priest was fleeing toward the ship’s side. He seemed intent on flinging himself overboard, but the Earl charged out of the tent after him.

  “Stop that man!” he roared, and a sailor who had been standing at the side of the ship scooted forward and stuck a foot out, neatly tripping the fleeing priest and sending him sprawling to the deck.

  “Tie him up!” shouted Earl William, and the sailor, shrugging his shoulders, proceeded to do so. The little priest, glowering around at everyone near him but keeping his mouth shut, was carried below decks and locked in the hold.

  After that, there seemed little mor
e to say. One by one, the people at Magnus’ side drifted away to their rest until only Anne Gow sat beside him. He had drifted into sleep, but after the others had left, he awoke and seemed surprised to see her there.

  “Lassie,” he said, “why are ye still here?”

  “I didn’t want tae leave ye alone, I suppose.”

  “Ah, ye’ve a kind heart.” The big man smiled, and she realised that it was the first time she had seen him do so. Sir Magnus Bain did not seem a man who was built for smiling.

  “My estate goes tae Thorvald, too, ye know,” he said after a while. “It’s a rambling, lonely place in many ways, but there’s beauty there, too, of a kind. I made sure in my will that it goes tae the acknowledged heir of my friend, Bishop Rognvald. When ye are there, ye shall find a grave under the chapel. It’s... my mother’s.”

  “Your mother?” she said startled. “Aye,” said Magnus. “She was the daughter of the last true Earl of Orkney before the title became just a meaningless honour. She had some dirt on the churchmen of the time, and was fixing with my father tae use it, and re-establish the power of the Bain Earls. So they... they accused her of witchcraft.”