The Highland Curse (Scottish Strife Series Book 2)

by Dana D'Angelo

  “What will ye be having?” A woman inched forward, while a wee bairn peeked out from behind her skirt.

  “I’ll take a dram of your whisky.” Then as an after thought, he added, “And bring a cup of sweet heather ale for the lass.”

  She gave them a quick nod. And for a moment, she shifted her fearful gaze to the two foreigners before she scurried away to get the drinks.

  “She seems quite nervous,” Adrina observed.

  “Aye,” Duncan agreed. “’Tis odd indeed.”

  He caught the eye of the tavern keeper, and beckoned him over.

  “There’s something different about Cannpach,” Duncan said casually.

  The tavern keeper eyes narrowed, assessing him from his head down to his kilt. “A MacGregon, are ye?” he said, his voice low and cautious.

  “Aye, Duncan MacGregon is the name. And ye are?”

  “Torin MacGin, owner of this establishment since my uncle keeled over last spring.” His voice dropped further. “I havenae seen a MacGregon in these parts for many years.”

  “We keep tae our own lands,” he said shrugging. Something was happening in this town, and Duncan had an inkling that Torin knew what it was. “Tell me, what has changed here?”

  Tension gathered at the corner of the other man’s eyes and his lips became pinched and white. “Many things,” he said. Then he shook his head slightly, and slanted his gaze toward the two interlopers.

  Duncan leaned back slightly on his stool, and surreptitiously followed the man’s line of sight. The two rough men were still immersed in their conversation.

  Adrina also shifted her gaze to the strangers, and when she looked back at him, her brows raised in alarm. “Those men are sassenachs,” she hissed. “We should leave now!”

  “Ye stay here,” he said, ignoring her alarm. He pushed his stool back and started to get up. There was no way that he would leave this town without finding out more information about the Englishmen.

  “What are ye doing?” She reached over and gripped his forearm. “’Tis certain that they will kill ye.”

  “I’m nae that easy tae kill,” he said, shaking off her hand.

  “Are ye mad?” she asked, her voice rising an octave. She clapped her hand to her mouth, but it was already too late. At her outburst, the younger man at the table glanced over at them. The bored expression on his visage disappeared as soon as his scrutiny lit upon Adrina. Suddenly he slapped both palms on the table as if to draw everyone’s attention to his menacing presence. Pushing himself up from his seat, he sauntered over to where they sat.

  “Is there a problem here, mistress?” he asked.

  “Nay, there’s nay problem,” Adrina said, averting her face as if to dismiss him.

  “’Tis certain that this bastard distresses you,” the man insisted. His leering eyes slowly scanned her slim body, and lingered on her breasts. He licked his lips. “I can take you away from him,” he said, flashing his yellow teeth. “You’ll like tumbling with me, I vow.”

  For a split second the shock of his proposition drained the blood from her countenance, but then she thrust her chin into the air. “I dinnae lay with any man,” she said, her voice turning icy. Her gaze fixed on the foreigner while her hand lowered to the hilt of the dirk which she carried at her belt. “But if I did, I would definitely nae lie with a vile sassenach.”

  “Och, she’s a clever lass,” Duncan interjected, drawing the other man’s attention away from Adrina.

  “A Scot.” The man screwed up his face as if he smelled something rotten.

  “Aye, ye will find many a Scots in Scotland,” Duncan said sarcastically.

  His companion on the other side of the room let out a bark of laughter.

  “Shut up, Jop,” the lad said through clenched teeth.

  Ignoring him, Jop let out another snort. “Leave them be, Harman,” he said before tilting his cup to his mouth. “We have far better things to do than associate with these dirty Scots.”

  Harman leaned closer to Duncan, the smell of whisky on his breath. “I don’t like you,” he snarled.

  “I dinnae like ye either,” he said. Standing up abruptly, he shoved the other man out from his space.

  A startled yelp escaped from the lad. Losing his balance, Harman toppled to the ground like a heavy sack of grains. When he recovered enough to look up at Duncan, animosity radiated from his eyes, and angry red splotches sprang to his cheeks. He pushed himself off of the floor.

  “You bastard!” he roared. “I’m going to slaughter you!” He started to pull his sword out of its scabbard when he caught sight of the small group of highlanders gathering behind Duncan.

  “Ye can try it,” Duncan replied calmly, his hands clenched underneath the table. “But I doubt my friends will take too kindly tae that.”

  “Then you’ll all die!” he said, glaring at them. He withdrew his sword and pointed the tip at Duncan. “You’ll go first. Jop!” he roared, calling for his friend to join him. He then gnashed his teeth, and lunged heedlessly at Duncan.

  Before Harman could reach him, Duncan swiftly slid his claymore from its leather sheath. And when the man came at him, he deflected his sword blows, evading the knight at every turn. In a surprising move, the guard sallied his attack, relieving Duncan of his weapon.

  But the hulking knight was exhausted. For a split second, he curved his back while his hands rested on his knees. It was during that moment of weakness that Duncan rushed at him. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he lifted his knee and rammed it into the other man’s solar plexus. Harman grunted as he lost his grip on his blade. With one hand covering his chest, he groped for the sword on the ground.

  But Duncan was already upon him. Summoning the power from his core, he snapped his iron fist back and connected with the bottom of Harman’s jaw. The violent blow jerked his head backward, arching his body, and sending him sailing through the air. A moment later, he crashed down on the wooden table behind him. He picked himself off of the floor, and staggered to his feet even though blood gushed from the side of his head.

  Meanwhile, as Jop heeded the cry of his companion, he burst from his seat to help his friend. But before he reached halfway across the room, the tavern keeper had picked up a stool, and smashed it down over the man’s head. The wooden furniture splintered upon impact.

  “Got him!” Torin shouted gleefully.

  “They’re still alive,” someone from the crowd pointed at the tottering Englishmen.

  “Charge!” another person from the crowd shouted. With that, the entire tavern came alive with fighting. By the end of it, neither Harman nor Jop stood a chance against the rabid highlanders.

  When the sassenachs were beaten down to a bloody heap, Duncan ordered the mayhem to cease. Torin tossed him some rope, and he bound the two prisoners.

  “Tell me why ye are here,” Duncan said, grabbing Harman by the neck of his tunic.

  “I’m not telling you anything,” the man said, straining against the ropes. Even though he was defeated, he was defiant. “’Tis none of your business.”

  “I’m afraid ye have made it my business,” he said tightly. “Are ye one of Harold’s men?”

  His lips curled into an ugly sneer. “What if I am?”

  “Then ye will regret the association,” Duncan said, trying to resist the urge to wipe the smirk from his enemy’s face.

  The man cringed visibly. But Duncan didn’t care. The old anger and hate resurfaced, and churned in his gut. He knew first hand how much devastation and grief that the English could cause.

  “Should we execute them, MacGregon?” the tavern owner asked, his face flushed with battle fever.

  “Aye, let’s do it!” an angry voice shouted from the crowd. “Let’s kill them, and get rid of the vermin!”

  Kill them, kill them, the words echoed in Duncan’s mind. A red haze filled his vision, the bloodthirsty energy pulsing through him, urging him to complete the deed. This was his chance. If he eliminated these sassenachs, there would be
two less Englishmen in the world to cause suffering for the Scots. He would be serving his countrymen, and avenging those who had died by the hands of the enemy.

  Duncan’s hand tightened on the grip of his claymore. And then almost as if it had a mind of its own, his sword arm lifted above his head. It was a simple act, and it would finish swiftly. He had terminated enough men in battle that he would feel no remorse afterward.

  Harman’s eyes bulged from its sockets, the pupils shrinking to tiny dots as he watched the sharp blade above him. The bravado that he demonstrated earlier had disappeared like the morning mist. “Please,” he rasped. Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip. “I don’t want to die.”

  Duncan lowered the sword tip, and placed it at the base of the other man’s throat. Harman’s Adam’s apple bobbed frantically up and down.

  “Did Harold send ye here?”

  “Don’t say —!” Jop cried. But someone in the crowd struck him in the mouth, abruptly cutting off his words.

  “Tell me the truth!” Duncan growled, the sharp tip of the sword piercing Harman’s skin, drawing a line of blood.

  “Aye!” he said, his voice filled with panic. “’Twas King Harold who sent us.”

  Jop let out a moan and cursed at his friend.

  “Are there more of ye here?” Duncan demanded.

  “Nay,” Harman sobbed. “’Tis only us!”

  The man’s choked, desperate cry penetrated into Duncan’s consciousness. Slowly the red haze lifted from his eyes, and his grip on his sword relaxed. As much as he wanted to annihilate the sassenachs, he couldn’t do it. Honor forbade him. Duncan knew better to slaughter unarmed men. That was akin to murder, and he wasn’t a murderer. He also knew that no matter how much he wanted to make these two men suffer, it was wrong. The punishment for the crimes committed against him and his countrymen were not theirs to carry alone.

  “I will spare your life for now,” he said, sheathing his claymore.

  “’Tis foolish tae keep them alive.” A man pushed himself to the front the crowd, his face red with rage. “If ye willnae do it then I will.”

  “Nay one touches them,” Duncan said sharply, stopping the man in his tracks. “These bastards possess information useful to the queen. Killing them prematurely willnae help our cause.”

  “Aye, the queen will hear of this,” Torin said, agreeing with Duncan. The feverish flush on his countenance was now gone. Although Duncan was certain that if he gave the order, the tavern keeper would have eagerly helped him butcher the enemies. Indeed every single person in the room would have participated, and none of them would have harbored any regrets afterward.

  However common sense dictated that destroying the bastards wouldn’t solve their immediate troubles. Harold had thousands of knights at his disposal. Killing two of his lackeys made no dent in the invading troops that would soon flood Scotland. Once their adversaries were within their borders, they would attempt to seize everything that he and his people held dear.

  “’Tis fortunate that ye came along,” Torin said, wiping his hands on the front of his shirt. “These sassenachs arrived into town yesterday, poking around, asking questions about the terrain. We were suspicious of them, and didnae tell them anything. Still, they lingered here.”

  Duncan studied the cowering men. “They’re here tae scout the land, and tae spy on us,” he said, his tone grim.

  The men in the room looked at one another, unease creeping into their faces.

  “What will ye do with them?” Adrina asked. She had come to his side, and regarded the prisoners as if they were snakes. “How do ye ken that their people wouldnae come here, and search for them?”

  “’Tis unlikely,” he said. “Scouts are sent ahead of a troop, and are usually nae expected tae return straight away — especially if other spies are sent tae different locations.”

  A shocked silence filled the air.

  “Then they are here tae gather enough intelligence tae report back tae their commander,” Adrina said. The anxiety on her delicate features was palpable. While the spies were a concern, the bigger threat was determining how many knights waited to invade Scotland. How many men were they actually up against? He reminded himself once more that he needed to get the lass home, obtain the facts he needed, and be on his way. There was much work ahead.

  Duncan surveyed the men that gathered around the prisoners, and saw a strapping lad standing off to the side. Even though the Englishmen were only scouts, they were still too unpredictable to be trusted. There was no time to escort Adrina home, and then return to Cannpach to retrieve the prisoners. Unfortunately he couldn’t allow an untrained commoner to accompany the adversaries either. What he could do was to employ the youth as a messenger.

  “Ye,” he said to the lad. “Send word tae Queen Gertrude that we found two spies. Her men will come get the bastards, and will force the information out of them.”

  “I’ll go now,” the youth nodded, and broke away from the assembly.

  “Ye will leave the bastards here?” Torin asked incredulously. “They’re dangerous.” A muscle jerked at his jaw, and he glanced behind him, taking in the chaotic mess.

  “These men arenae as dangerous as the seasoned warriors in their prime. The auld man can easily be subdued, and the lad is wet behind the ears. Ye will be able tae hold your own against them.”

  The sound of crying caught his attention. Turning, Duncan saw the woman standing nervously with the small bairn in her arms. Torin’s wife and child. She walked cautiously over to them, and the tavern owner put his arm protectively around his family. Duncan now understood the other man’s fear.

  “Tie the prisoners tae the stable poles sae they’ll be away from your family. The queen’s men should claim them soon enough.”

  “What’s really going on here?” Torin asked, his dark eyes scanning Duncan’s face. “Are the English coming?”

  “Aye, they’re coming all right,” he said, his tone somber. “But they willnae be entering our bonny land without a fight.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Duncan set a fast clip, wanting to put as much distance as possible between him and the town. Since he first set eyes on his enemies, he struggled to contain the anger and hate that had surged to the surface. His fists clenched over the leather reins. Somehow seeing the prisoners brought back the dark and painful memories that he had fought so long to bury. And even though he tried his best to rule over his responses, the hatred took over, consuming him. God knew that if he stayed in Cannpach, all reason and sense of honor would have fled his mind. No doubt he would have slit those English throats. Of course the queen’s men wouldn’t get the opportunity to question the prisoners. And Duncan would have had blood on his hands.

  Fortunately his head cleared enough for him to revert back to his analytical ways. The knowledge that could be extracted from the spies might be invaluable in defeating their foe. Conquering the English was a must, and he couldn’t allow his feelings or his past to jeopardize this.

  After a while, he slowed his horse, satisfied that there was enough space between him, and the dark memories that were roused by the recent event.

  Adrina reduced the speed of her horse as well, and sidled next to him.

  “I didnae think ‘twas a guid idea tae go into Cannpach in the first place,” she said. “But we went, and the savages that we met there were subdued. We could have stayed at the tavern a wee longer, and had a bite tae eat. Instead, we flew out of the town as if demons were after us. I still dinnae understand why we left in such haste.”

  “’Tis because I would’ve murdered those bastards if we lingered,” he said shortly. He stared straight ahead, not wanting her to see how close to the truth that she had come. He did have demons after him, but they weren’t what she thought.

  “Ye said ye didnae want tae execute them,” she said quietly.

  “Och, I verra much wanted tae destroy them.” He breathed in deeply through his nose. Once more, the fury and enmity churned in his chest. “I
have half a mind tae turn around, and finish the deed.”

  “That wouldnae be wise,” she said, frowning. “What if ye get hurt? After all, there are two of them and one of ye. I think that the queen’s men are best equipped tae handle the prisoners. As for me, I only want tae return home, nae go looking for more trouble.”

  “Aye, ye are right, I have enough trouble as ‘tis,” he said, looking pointedly at her.

  She snapped her mouth shut. “I was merely voicing my concern over your welfare, but I see that I shouldnae have bothered.”

  “I never asked for your concern.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and glared at him. “My view of ye hasnae changed, MacGregon. I still dinnae like ye.”

  “Well, ‘tis unfortunate for ye,” he said. “Because I dinnae care.”

  “Aye, ‘tis unfortunate that I ever met ye,” she said under her breath. Giving him a scornful look, she brought her hand to her hair and flicked it over her shoulder. “I understand now why I dislike ye.”

  “It disnae appear that ye will spare me your opinion,” he said, his tone mocking.

  She raised her chin a notch and ignored his comment. “’Tis your gilded tongue,” she declared. “I dinnae trust it.”

  “I assume that ye would rather pin your trust on the prisoners in town.”

  She glared at him. “I didnae say that,” she said fiercely. The distress that she displayed in the tavern was gone, and the fighting woman he had come to know showed herself once more. At the moment, her cheeks were flushed and her lips were set in a pout. His gaze dropped down to her mouth, and he felt a sudden urge to kiss away the anger. Any thoughts he had of the past seemed far away…