The Highlander’s English Woman (The Stelton Legacy)

by Ruth A. Casie

  Large silk tapestries hung on whitewashed stone walls. A few depicted battles and others portrayed gardens. The familiar wall hangings added color and warmth to the room. The sideboard, dressed with linens, displayed silver plate. Family banners dangled from the rafters. A fire roared behind the grate, and above the fireplace hung the family crest. The hall was warm, comfortable, and filled with the aroma of lavender and spice, but none of that dispelled the melancholy.

  Darla’s head turned toward him. She sprang from her chair, ran to Jamie and hugged him close. A handsome woman, her hair had turned a glistening snow white since last they saw each other. Her face lit up in a smile, although it didn’t hide the stress of the last few days.

  “Jamie, I’m glad you are here.”

  “I was with Herbert when news arrived or I would have been here sooner. He’s sorry for your loss. We all are.”

  She gave him a weak smile and patted his arm. Darla’s tear-swollen eyes said it all and he grieved even more. He offered her his arm and escorted her back to Lord Wesley, their daughter, Laura, and a gentleman who sat with them. Stelton, he assumed.

  “Do you know Alex Stelton?” Darla sat next to Wesley and laid her hand on his. “His mother and I are friends at court.”

  Alex put down his tankard and rose.

  Jamie nodded. Yes, he knew Stelton. He had only seen him from afar, but he was one you didn’t forget. Richard told him Stelton was one of the English king’s favorite knights. Shorter than Jamie, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Stelton had dark, wavy hair with a lock that fell over his forehead. His eyes, a silver-blue held vast knowledge and understanding. The words just and honorable came to mind.

  “You’re not leaving?” Darla asked Alex.

  “I must be on my way. I’ve overstayed my welcome and have drunk too much of Wesley’s ale.”

  Wesley let out a rusty laugh. Alex inclined his head to Darla and her daughter and approached Jamie. “We meet at last. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. Richard spoke of you often and with great respect. Many will miss him. My family and I included.” Alex said.

  “Richard told me much about you and your six brothers, how, as boys you terrorized Edward’s court with your games and antics. There was a time I resented not being English.” Yes, he could see what Richard admired in this man.

  “Someday we will have to sit, drink Wesley’s ale, and talk of Richard. I’m sure we both have stories to keep us up until morning,” Alex said.

  “Any excuse to drink Wesley’s ale. Have you been able to get his recipe?” Jamie tilted his head toward Alex and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. Alex’s eyes lit with laughter.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t try while I was here.” Alex took his great coat off a bench and put it on. “It was good to meet you.”

  “Keep the wind at your back,” Jamie said.

  With a respectful nod goodbye, Alex left the hall.

  Jamie turned to the family sitting around the hearth. Wesley slouched in his chair staring at the fire, grief still raw on his face. He had aged over the year. His gray hair thinned, his eyes rimmed red and dulled with pain.

  “He’s been like this since we buried... the burial.” Laura, Richard’s sister, was next to him. “Father tires easily and stays locked up inside himself. Mother is the sole person who can reach him, although I have hope. Alex did make him laugh.”

  Jamie’s focus turned to Laura, the younger of the two sisters. Laura and Lisbeth were alike from their slender, petite size bodies, long auburn hair, and large green eyes with a fan of thick lashes. The sisters may be similar in appearance, however, not in temperament. Lisbeth was the deep thinker. Laura was head strong and outspoken, the feistier defiant sister.

  “How are you and Lisbeth faring?” He gazed back at Wesley.

  “It’s a challenge keeping everyone’s spirits up. At times, I succeed.” She shrugged. “Other times, I fail miserably. Lisbeth stayed at the Keep for a while then left for the hunting lodge to be alone.”

  Jamie turned to her. Her drawn ashen face disturbed him.

  “The rain has stopped. Would you care to take some fresh air in the garden?” Jamie presented his arm. Laura answered by looping her arm through his and drew him out the door.

  He went willingly. Her warmth chased away any lingering chill from his journey. She’s Richard’s little sister, a warning voice whispered in his head. He took a breath and led her to the garden door.

  “I understand you’re skeptical of Lisbeth’s gift, but she told me she saw Richard’s death before Bryce carried... brought Richard home. Now, she blames herself for not taking action.” Laura sighed heavily. “Everyone blames themselves. Father shouldn’t have let him go, not that he could stop Richard. Mother should have seen this coming, not that she could. And Lisbeth...”

  “I understand all too well. I berated myself for not being with him, protecting his back.” They reached the stone porch.

  Formal gardens sprawled before them with raised flower beds, neat hedges, and bare trellises waiting for next year’s roses. He waited with her in silence, willing her his strength.

  “Is it wise for Lisbeth to be alone?” Jamie finally asked, and gazed past the lawn to the well-worn path on the other side of the garden gate.

  “She’s not unaccompanied. John escorted her to the hunting lodge at Ann’s request, over Lisbeth’s heated protest.” She turned to him. “I haven’t thanked you for coming to us. I know The Maxwell has his demands and travel is a hardship.”

  He stilled her trembling hand. Her brows creased in pain over eyes that stared off without seeing. He waited.

  “I find it difficult to comprehend we’ll not see Richard again.” Laura’s voice choked and she shrugged with resignation despite tears that threatened at the edges of her eye.

  “Me as well,” Jamie said. He had the same thoughts.

  “How long are you staying with us?” Her question was reasonable but he dreaded answering.

  “I return to Caerlaverock tomorrow.” He took a deep breath and saw a momentary flash of disappointment in her eyes.

  “Then we best return to the others. They’ll want to spend time with you, too.” They moved on toward the hall.

  “I have no words, nothing to say to comfort you.” He could barely get the words out.

  “Your presence is enough.”

  He held back a nervous smile. He visited to give the family comfort. Instead, she comforted him.

  “How are my Maxwell cousins?” Laura asked. Jamie guided her toward the great hall.

  “They are well when I last saw them.”

  “You’ll let me know your decision, Wesley.”

  Jamie brought Laura to a halt. An exasperated male voice drifted out of the great hall.

  “I want to make the announcement as soon as possible. With Richard gone and Glen Kirk so close to the Scottish border, you need someone strong to hold back the devils.” Lord Bryce Mitchell of Ravencroft, the manse next to Glen Kirk, stood with Wesley and Darla.

  Standing at the great hall entrance, Jamie stiffened when Laura’s pulse skittered into a panic beneath his fingertips. Jamie’s free hand covered hers until the beat settled into a normal rhythm. If Bryce couldn’t feel sympathetic toward the family, couldn’t he at least curb his speech?

  “You didn’t waste any time getting here.” The rude remark directed toward Jamie raised his temper even more. Bryce’s baiting tactics hadn’t changed since they served Wesley as squires. Bryce wasn’t foolish to pick a fight with him, at least not here.

  When they trained, Bryce took aim at him whenever possible, most often urged on by Reeve. Richard and the girls rallied to his defense, but Bryce’s intolerance of Jamie’s Scottish background stayed near the surface.

  Bryce gasped for air, seething after having lost a foot race to him.

  “You’re nothing. A filthy Scot beggar. Go back to your tribe of mongrels. You’re not fit to be here.” Bryce pushed him hard.

  J
amie didn’t go down. Not satisfied, Bryce rushed at him again, this time with fists. Jamie ducked and backed off. Bryce kept up the assault.

  Jamie didn’t care for bullies or being baited by them. He wouldn’t fight.

  “Here, here Bryce. That’s enough.” Richard grabbed his friend’s arm but Bryce shook him off. Reeve pulled Richard back.

  “Enjoy the spectacle. It’s time he learned his place,” Reeve said.

  “Stay out of this,” Bryce screamed at Richard, then turned to Jamie. “Fight, or are you a puny coward, too?”

  Jamie said nothing. He held his fists at his side and stepped back again.

  The fight started in the yard, progressed to the field, and finished near the pond. A small group of people followed and urged Jamie to defend himself.

  The next punch caught the Scotsman in the chest. He didn’t flinch.

  “You should be lying on the ground by now. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Jamie pulled up his arms to protect his face as best he could against the onslaught of punches. He didn’t retaliate.

  His face cut and bloodied, he still didn’t strike back.

  “Fight, damn you,” Bryce shouted and followed with a quick barrage of solid body punches.

  He held his position and didn’t fight back.

  In a close clinch, Bryce muttered for Jamie’s ear only. Jamie pushed his tormentor away. Years of restraint from insults and attacks disappeared with the maliciously whispered words.

  Bryce threw his punch. Jamie caught the left jab in his palm mid-strike. Alarm and panic flashed in Bryce’s eyes. The bully stared at Jamie’s hand holding his fist.

  Jamie almost tore Bryce’s arm out of its socket as he pushed it aside and set his stance, one foot in front of the other.

  For a moment Jamie thought to stop the madness, but the idea quickly died. Bryce had no idea what he let loose.

  Before Bryce threw his next punch, Jamie exploded with a rapid cannon volley of left jabs at Bryce’s jaw. Stunned, Bryce dropped his defenses.

  Jamie’s right cross burst from his shoulder as he shifted from his back leg to his front, throwing all his weight into the swing. He caught Bryce squarely in the face. Blood exploded in an arc of fine spray as Bryce’s head snapped back. Droplets flew, the warm blood spattered across Jamie’s face.

  Bryce’s head came forward. Jamie followed with a left uppercut and caught him under his chin. The solid strike lifted Bryce into the air, then sent him to the ground. To everyone’s amazement, Bryce laid unconscious at Jamie’s feet. No one said a word as he stood panting over the prone figure. Every ounce of him wanted to drag Bryce on his feet for another round. Instead, he marched away.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I look forward to calling on you soon, Laura. Tomorrow?” Bryce looked down his nose at Jamie. “For now, I’m sure the family would like to be alone. Come, Collins.” Bryce sounded as if he ordered his dog to heel.

  “How considerate to understand our family’s need for time together. All our family.” Laura stressed the word all and tightened her hold on Jamie. “As for tomorrow? I regret I’m not seeing callers. I’m sure you understand.”

  Bryce’s eyes widened at Laura’s cut. The man gave a curt nod, slapped his riding gloves against his thigh and marched out. His footsteps thundered down the hall.

  Jamie ignored the retreating figure. “I can speak for myself.”

  “I’m well aware you can take care of yourself. I had no intention of addressing your leaving as much as responding to his request for an audience.”

  He smiled and inclined his head. Definitely the feistier sister, but he did enjoy Bryce’s discomfort at her cut.

  “What was Bryce doing here? I passed him in the hall. He didn’t appear pleased,” Lisbeth asked as she entered. “Jamie. Ann told me you arrived.” She smiled and pecked him on his cheek.

  “Bryce came to extend condolences from his family to your father and me.” Darla fussed over Wesley.

  “The nerve of the man—”

  “Now, now, Wesley. This is not the first time Bryce made the request. Let’s not dwell on that. We’ll find a solution.” Darla gestured to the table. “Ann laid out our meal. I’m sure Jamie is hungry after a long ride. Besides, I’m eager for news from Caerlaverock.”

  Chapter Two

  It had been two years since Laura saw her Cousin Herbert, his wife, and three sons. Herbert worked on constructing his new Caerlaverock Castle for years, the old one prone to flooding. With work nearing completion, her family held off travel to Scotland.

  “Is Cousin Herbert well?” Laura asked, sitting next to Lisbeth at the table. The enjoyment of visiting her mother’s Maxwell family would be well worth the torture of a four-day carriage ride.

  “Cousin Herbert regrets he couldn’t be here, pressing obligations at Scone Parliament. Besides completion of Caerlaverock Castle, these are hard times. The late season crops did poorly. Grain is rationed and with winter coming it will only get worse. As a result, tempers are short and easy to ignite. People look somewhere to put the blame.” Jamie took a pull on his ale. “Excellent, Sir. Excellent.”

  Everyone enjoyed Glen Kirk’s ale. Only her father and his brewer knew the ingredients and their proportions. Her father enjoyed that his friends and sometimes his adversaries tried to loosen the recipe from him. That often entailed drinking a lot of ale. Her father always had the last laugh. He walked away, not always steady, but he left them no wiser to sleep on, or under the table.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying the ale. To her surprise, her father dipped bread in his soup and ate the morsel. “Now what is this about blame? Everyone understands no one is responsible for a poor yield.” He took the last of the bread from the plate and continued to eat. For days her father had no appetite. Laura passed him more bread happy to see his renewed interest in food.

  Her mother glanced at Jamie and gave him an appreciative smile.

  “The crops did poorly. Of course, you’re right. Poor crops are no one’s fault. But, people want to blame someone. They think they found their suspect. The ghost.” Jamie savored his ale, smacked his lips, then drank some more.

  It didn’t appear he was in any rush to continue the tale. Laura wagged her dangling foot under her chair. Irked by his cool, teasing manner, she tore a piece of bread from the loaf with a bit more force than planned.

  “Ghost? What ghost? There aren’t any ghosts in Caerlaverock. The stones are barely completed,” her mother said as if ghosts were an everyday occurrence.

  The kitchen door opened. A waft of rich smelling spiced meats preceded Ann who carried in a platter. After days of no appetite, Laura’s mouth watered.

  “Our ghost is a new addition to our castle family. Several people witnessed the apparition, including Herbert and his wife.” Jamie closed his eyes.

  “Are you going to inhale the meat pie or put one on your trencher and eat it?” Laura asked. She glared at Lisbeth who daintily took a meat pie from the platter and didn’t try to hide her smirk.

  “Cousin, you have no idea how wonderful Ann’s meat pie smells. For weeks, we’ve had nothing cooked with grain, but I won’t bore you with my misfortunes.” He bit into a pie.

  “Tell me more about this ghost.” Her mother’s eagerness wasn’t surprising. After days of worrying about her parents, Laura was glad to see both engaged in a conversation about something other than Richard.

  She bit her lip and held back the blast of threatening tears. A groan built in her chest and she struggled to keep it at bay. She didn’t want to ignore Richard. Never that. But discussions about him left everyone in tears. She preferred to retire to her room and scream into her pillow. No, a conversation about something other than Richard was good.

  “It’s a thorny issue. Appears to be a love story gone wrong,” Jamie said between bites. “Evan, a footman, was betrothed to Angel, a housemaid. You may remember them, Darla.”

  “Yes, a pretty and lively young woman. She helped me several times when I visited,” Mother sa
id, a wine goblet in her hand. “Angel’s mother is a cook. Evan must be the young man she talked about. She was proud of him. Ah, I remember, Herbert planned to elevate Evan to the castle Marshal.”

  “You’re correct. He gave Evan the position when they moved into the new castle. He made a big show of it. Lots of ale.” He turned to Wesley. “Not nearly as good as yours, Sir.”

  Her father raised his tankard in a silent salute and they both drank.

  “Evan and Angel had been part of the castle staff since they were children, and grew to be very much in love, so Angel said when she attended me. She always made me smile with her enthusiasm,” her mother said.

  “With recent concerns and difficulties, their wedding was to be a welcome distraction.” Jamie stabbed a piece of meat on the platter one of the servants brought. He devoured the venison.

  “Go on, don’t stop telling the story now,” Laura demanded. “What does that have to do with the ghost?”

  He gave a heavy sigh, put the meat on his trencher, and turned to her. He cocked his head to the side, raised an eyebrow and gave her a glassy stare. “After a rather loud argument, a castle servant found Evan dead, stabbed in the chest.” He returned to his meal, picked up the venison, and took another bite.

  “And?”

  He ignored Laura’s outburst.

  “And,” she said, a warning in her voice.

  He drained his tankard dry, then faced her.

  “They found Angel’s dead body under his. Apparently he killed her.” He glanced past her and smiled. “Would you please pass the ale?”

  “Jamie, please. No more teasing,” her mother said.

  He sat back in his chair and wiped his hands on a linen. “The rumor is Angel learned Evan tainted the castle grain. She approached Evan to get his confession. Their ensuing argument turned into an all-out fight. In a fit of anger, he killed her. Distraught over what he did, he killed himself.”

  Her mother dropped her knife. The speared venison flew off and fell to the floor. Duke, her father’s hunting dog, snapped it up. Laura glanced at her mother.