Highlander's Sinful Desire (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Maddie MacKenna

  “I am Sir William of Staffordshire. We are tracking down a missing noblewoman, the Lady Rowena! She disappeared from St. Martha’s nunnery in Jarrow last night. We found tracks which we believe to be hers and those of two men. Tell us, sir, what do you know about it?”

  Taran shrugged, shook his head and said, “Nothin’. There is nay Lady Rowena here. Ye are mistaken.”

  Sir William shook his head. “Well, sir, I believe you are mistaken. The tracks, which are quite fresh, have led us right to this place . . . right here. Are you the owner?” He glanced around at the surroundings and his eyes settled on the lodge.

  Taran said, “Aye, me clan owns this property.”

  Sir William nodded. “We need to search your property.”

  Taran did not even try to hide his disdain for these English intruders. “I cannae help ye with yer search, Sir William. Too bad ye’ve come this far for nothin’. Now, ye and yer men, sir, ye have nae authority here. Ye are trespassin’. Ye’d best be leavin’ now.” Taran waved his crossbow at them.

  While Taran was trying to defend his property rights against the English knights, he had not noticed a young squire had gotten off his horse and was walking around the birch grove looking at the ground.

  Everyone looked at him when he suddenly shouted, “Halloo, Sir William! What’ve we got here?” The squire was standing at the place where Rowena had been praying just a short while ago. He bent down and picked something up. It was a piece of clothing.

  The squire held it high in the air and shouted to his commander, “Sir William, have a look at this!” It was a lady’s cloak.

  Taran quickly realized it was the cloak Rowena had knelt on to pray. Good Lord, have mercy on us now, Taran prayed silently. They had been caught. He slowly began to load an arrow in his crossbow.

  Sir William yelled, “Bring that here, Squire John! Let me see it!”

  With Rowena’s cloak clutched in his hand, the squire brought it to his commander, who was not going to turn his back on Taran. Squire John passed the cloak to Sir William and said, “See here . . . it has a symbol right on the shoulder, there!”

  The men’s exchange confirmed for Taran that Sir William was the leader of this band of English cavaliers. Sir William grabbed the cloak from Squire John and turned it over and inside out, examining it. He found the embroidered symbol on the shoulder.

  Without looking up, he said in an officious tone, “Well, I believe this is indeed a lady’s cloak. It appears to be made of the same grade of wool that I observed the nun were wearing at St. Martha’s. And look,” he pointed to an embroidered cross with the letters “St. M A” stitched beneath it. “Tis’ indeed the insignia of St. Martha’s!”

  While the knights were distracted by the cloak, Taran made his move. Gripping his cocked and loaded crossbow in one hand, he swiftly pulled his knife from its sheath. With all of the skill and stealth of a seasoned warrior, he was ready to strike. Malcolm gripped his own knife in one hand and had his other hand on his sword handle, poised to draw it.

  Unaware that the two Highlanders had their weapons drawn and ready, Sir William turned to face Taran and arrest him. But before Sir William could utter a word, Taran moved in close to him and drove his knife as hard as he could into the knight, burying it into his stomach all the way to the hilt. It was a mortal strike. As Sir William doubled over, Taran fired the arrow in his crossbow right into the heart of a knight who was holding Rowena’s cloak. The knight dropped the cloak and fell backward, dead.

  Once the other knights realized what had just happened, three of them leapt from their horses to engage Taran and Malcolm. Taran fired another arrow from his crossbow and pierced the neck of one of the knights. The knight dropped to the ground as if felled by a lightning bolt. Malcolm gripped his long sword with both of his hands and with all of his strength slashed the second knight across the middle, slicing open his torso and spilling his guts as he fell.

  Taran had no time to reload his crossbow before the last of the three knights attacked him. He dropped his crossbow and drew his long sword. Their swords clashed furiously, but the English knight was no match for the Highland warrior. As Taran fought, Malcolm held the remaining two knights at bay by waving his bloody sword and knife at them.

  Finally, with one mighty, well-aimed blow, Taran struck the knight’s sword out of his hand. He hit the sword with such force that it flew through the air, spinning crazily, and landed on the ground near the knights’ horses with such a clamor that one of the horses spooked and bucked its rider off.

  The disarmed knight stood still. It was Squire John. He waited for Taran to finish him off. Taran noticed that the knight could not have been more than eighteen years old. Instead of killing him, Taran said, “What is yer name, lad?”

  The young fighter said, “S-squire John. Please sir, don’t kill me.”

  To the Scots, survival required a victory in every fight. Every fight was to the death. And among the Scots, the Highlanders were the fiercest and most able fighters. Taran was no exception. At an early age, Taran’s father made sure he excelled in every aspect of combat. But Taran thought better of it this time. He said, “Well, Squire John. I have won this fight. Go back and tell yer Lairds next time we will nae be so kind to ye. Dae nae return here unless ye’re ready to die. Now go!”

  Squire John said nothing. He bowed his head in a show of respect and gratitude for the Highlander sparing his life, then turned and got back on his horse. He rejoined his two comrades, and they collected the horses that had belonged to the knights killed by Taran and Malcolm. They galloped away back toward England.

  Once the knights were out of sight, Taran picked Rowena’s cloak up and looked at Malcolm with a knowing look. “We best be goin’. Now they ken where the place is. Will nae be long before they send out a revenge party.”

  Malcolm nodded his agreement. “Aye, but first, we need to get some answers from Sister Rowena.”

  Taran said, “Aye, Malcolm. I fear she has lied to us and put us in real jeopardy. Ye lock the door and windows, I’ll fetch the Sister. I told her I would find her when it was safe, and then we’ll be on our way. I dae nae wish to spend any more time here, we must be goin’. We can get the answers we need from her while we travel.”

  “Good then. Glad ye’re seein’ clearly now,” Malcolm replied and went inside to finish locking up, Taran went around to the back of the lodge and called Rowena.

  “Sister Rowena!” He surprised himself at the gruffness in his voice. I’m still on edge from the fight with the English. He tried to settle himself down and called again, keeping his voice calmer. “Sister Rowena!” Still no answer.“Sister!” He shouted. Where was she? he wondered. He peered through the thick woods but saw nothing. Growing impatient and feeling even more betrayed, he called again. “Sister Rowena! Come out! We’ve got to go, now!”

  Nothing. Taran turned to go. The hell with it. The hell with her! Tis’ her own choice now. He heard a rustling behind him. He spun around. There she stood, her braided hair and robes covered with leaves and brambles. “What the devil? What have ye got into?” Taran inquired.

  Rowena answered quietly. “I covered myself in leaves and brush. I did not want to be found.”

  Taran still held her cloak in his hand. He threw it at her. She picked it up off of the ground, brushed herself off, and put the cloak around her shoulders. Taran grabbed her hand and pulled her roughly along behind him.

  When he could hold his temper in check no longer, he pulled her around so she stood facing him. He grabbed her by her shoulders and put his face close to hers. In a low, rough voice he said, “I daenae ken who ye are, Sister, but ye’ve nae been honest with Malcolm and me, have ye. Tellin’ us ye’re some kind of nun and puttin’ us all in great danger. The English will be back for ye . . . for all of us now that we’ve killed two of their men. I’ve half a mind to leave ye here to fend for yerself.”

  Rowena opened her mouth to speak, “Taran, you don’t—“

  Taran quic
kly cut her off. “Hold yer tongue, Sister! I’m in nay mood to listen to yer lies at the moment!” Wide-eyed, Rowena merely looked at him. She could do nothing but bow her head and accede to his wishes.

  Just then, Malcolm came out and gave Rowena a cold glare. Malcolm had bolted the window shutters closed and anything of value was now stashed inside. Then he looked at Taran and said, “All locked up. We’re all set to leave now.”

  Taran said, “Thank ye, mate.” Taran pulled an iron key from his belt and locked the door. He checked it to make sure it held. He deposited the key in a concealed hole under the roots of a pine shrub. The place would be ready for the next time Taran, one of the clan’s sheep herders, or one of the local Highlanders needed shelter. They all knew where to find the key.

  As they turned to go, Malcolm gestured toward Rowena. “What’re yer plans for the Sister here?”

  Taran sniffed. He said, “For now, she’s comin’ with us. We daenae have time to waste here while she tells us another story. She can explain herself while we’re movin’. Let’s hear what she has to say for herself, then we can decide what to dae with her. Let’s get movin’. . . quickly now.”

  The three fugitives sprinted down the hummock away from the lodge. At the bottom, they waded across a wide, shallow creek, then ascended the gentle slope of the next hill. It was the tallest one in the range visible from the lodge, the one that Rowena had admired from her perch in the birch grove. At the crest, a ridge ran along the top and sloped off to one side.

  Malcolm reached the ridge top first. He turned around to survey the countryside, looking for anyone who may be in their path or in pursuit, but when he looked back at the lodge, what he saw stunned him.

  “Och, nay me Lord!” He exclaimed. “Taran, have a look back at ye lodge.”

  Taran turned around and looked back across the valley. His lodge sat atop the hummock below them, shielded from the main trail by pines and birch trees. He gasped at the sight below. Black smoke was billowing up into the sky. Flames were shooting out the windows and licking the walls. He saw the Englishmen running around carrying blazing torches in their hands.

  Taran’s jaw twitched. He steadied himself against a pine tree, as though he might collapse. He pounded a fist against the tree. Through clenched teeth he muttered, “Ye foul Sachsannach bastards! I swear to ye, I will kill ye for this!” His voice rose to a yell. “For me brother! Me sisters!” Then he roared, “For all of Scotland!”

  Rowena put her hands over her mouth. “No! Oh, Taran, your beloved lodge! It’s awful! I’m so sorry!” She laid a hand on his shoulder to try to comfort him.

  Taran jerked away from her. “Daenae touch me!”

  Malcolm went to Taran’s side. He put a hand under Taran’s elbow and urged him on. “Taran, let’s move. The lodge is gone. We can dae nothin’ to save it now. Ye’ll get yer revenge later.”

  “Aye, me friend,” Taran said grimly. “God help me, I will take me revenge!”

  After one glance back at the burning lodge, he led them away and found the path he was looking for. The path was not easily visible but was used often enough that it was not overgrown. It led them almost directly north, toward the town of Carneluke and the castle of Taran’s clan.

  Taran positioned Rowena so that she walked between the two men. “Malcolm,” he said, “keep yer eyes open for a Saxon ambush sneakin’ up behind us. And keep an eye on the Sister here; make sure she does nae leave anythin’ behind for her kinsmen to find.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Aye, Taran.”

  11

  Earl Strongbow rode into the St. James courtyard flanked by his two knights. A monk rushed out to greet them. “Eala, my Lord! Welcome to St. James! I am Brother Robert. What brings you here?”

  The monk spoke with a clear English accent. Thank goodness, Earl Strongbow thought. I won’t have to confront any Highland loyalty. Perhaps the friar will regard me as a kinsman and cooperate!

  Without dismounting, Earl Strongbow said, “We are in search of an English noblewoman. Actually, an English nun. We understand that she was traveling here to St. James last night and planned to seek refuge here. She may be in the company of two Scotsmen; whether voluntary or not, we cannot be certain. Tell me, have you seen her?”

  Brother Robert shook his head. “No, sir. This is the first I have heard about such a thing.” As they spoke, other monks were coming out to see the English visitors. A red headed young boy of about twelve years old trailed behind them. He wore the typical clothing of Highland youths—raggedy breeches just below the knee, a loose shirt, and boots that seemed to be too large for him.

  One of the monks put a protective arm around the boy, while another monk approached the knights. He said, in a heavy Scottish brogue, “Good day, brothers. I am Brother Ian, the abbot here at St. James.”

  Earl Strongbow gave a brief bow of his head. “I am Lord Strongbow, Earl of Strongbow. These men are my knights. We are looking for a lovely English nun who left St. Martha’s last night on foot. We have been told she was coming here but we have no additional information about her intentions. Do you know anything about this, Brother Ian?”

  Brother Ian looked genuinely confused. “Nay, Laird Strongbow, I know nothing about this.” He looked around at the monks and asked, “Does anyone know of an English nun who may be on her way here?”

  The monks all shook their heads. The young boy kept his eyes on the ground. A couple of the men mumbled, “Nay.”

  Earl Strongbow stroked his chin and thought for a moment. “Hmm,” he said, pondering what to do. “Perhaps she is hiding somewhere here. Would you mind if we look around for her?”

  Earl Strongbow studied Brother Ian’s reaction. For a moment, Earl Strongbow thought his face showed a flicker of concern about what was happening, but Brother Ian simply spread his hands, smiled, and said, “Nae, me Laird.We dinnae mind at all. Help yerselves. We’ve nothin’ to hide. We want nae trouble here.” Clearly, he had decided to avoid conflict and let them see for themselves that Rowena was not here.

  In a sinister voice Earl Strongbow said, “That is very wise of you, Brother Ian. Very wise indeed.” Strongbow believed Brother Ian, but he still needed to look around and make sure Rowena had not secreted herself away somewhere on the grounds without the brothers’ knowledge.

  Earl Strongbow and his knights got off their horses and made their way inside the old monastery. They peered into every closet, under every bed and table, and behind every door. Then they went outside and rode around the grounds. There was no sign of Rowena, and no sign that she had been there.

  After searching for an hour, the knights got ready to leave. Earl Strongbow thanked Brother Ian for his cooperation, then said, “If she does show up here, or if you hear of her whereabouts, please get in touch with us. We’ll be staying at St. Martha’s. You can send word to us there.”

  Brother Ian said, “Certainly, me Laird. Ye can count on that.”

  The monks watched Earl Strongbow and his men canter away. Brother Ian looked at Brother Robert and winked at him. “By the grace of God, that was a close one, was it nae, Brother Robert?”

  Brother Robert said, “Yes, indeed it was. It pays to have loyal, church going parishioners in these parts. You Highlanders do stick together, I’ll grant you that!”

  Brother Ian agreed. “Aye, we’re a tightknit lot, we are that!” He called to the boy. “Donald, me boy-o! Come over here laddie!”

  As the boy came forward, Brother Ian murmured to Brother Robert, “I cannae tell ye how many times one of the MacDonnelly’s lads has given us warnin’ about strangers wanderin’ through these hills, lookin’ for trouble. Word does travel fast in these parts. Tis’ the best way to protect our lands and ourselves!”

  Brother Ian clapped Donald MacDonnelly on the back. “Good job, Donnie. Dae ye ken where Taran and Malcolm were goin’?”

  Donnie shook his head no. “They were on the path goin’ north within the last hour. I dinnae ken any more than that.”

  Brother Ia
n said, “Aah. Most likely they’re goin’ to Carneluke to Taran’s place there. They’ll be safe.”

  Donald said, “I can follow them, if ye’d like.”

  Brother Ian said, “Nay, Donnie. Ye did a good job here. Stay out of trouble now. Da nae go followin’ the soldiers. Yer faither would nae fare well if anythin’ were to happen to ye. Da nae be talkin’ to people about this, understand?”

  Donnie nodded. Then he turned and scampered off.

  Brother Ian turned back to Brother Robert and said, “Brother Robert. Thank ye for keepin’ mum about all this. Ye’ll make a Scotsman yet!”

  The two monks laughed together. For his entire jolly demeanor, Brother Robert knew the abbot was a deeply religious man. He also was deeply patriotic and loyal to Scotland. Brother Ian said, “Be so kind as to tell the brothers to inform me if any one spots an English nun meanderin’ around the area. If she needs refuge here, she’ll have it!” Brother Ian said.