Highlander's Haunted Past (Highlander's Seductive Lasses Book 1)

by Adamina Young

  “Lady Kenna Fraser,” the guard announced, halting the Queen’s pacing.

  “Lady Kenna Fraser, or most recently, Lady Kenna Gordon,” one of the Queen’s advisors said with a proud huff as if he was stating a fact that none of them had known before, though likely everyone in this pavilion had been present for her wedding.

  He was a stout man with a nearly perfectly round head that was far too small for his body. He was dressed nearly head to toe in Stuart blue, though the plaid draped across his chest revealed him as a Lockhart—a Lowland Scottish clan with very little to distinguish them.

  Kenna curtsied, not sure what else she should do. She sensed the danger lurking behind the Lockhart’s words, but Thomas’ warning was now fresh in her mind, and she bit her tongue. If the man-ogre had been able to hurt her without a second thought, knowing full well who she was and who she could name as family, then the Queen could do whatever she wished with her.

  “Kenna, I am so glad ye are all right. I heard ye were present when the arrow came from the forest. Please, come, sit,” the Queen said through a tight, feigned smile.

  She directed her to a seat at the table, taking the chair at the head beside her, as her advisors fanned out in a half-moon behind her like well-trained dogs.

  Kenna moved her hands from the wood of the table to her lap, doing her best not to look at any of the papers strewn about.

  Do not seem too eager, Kenna told herself, or they could use that against ye.

  “Now, Kenna, ye are a loyal lass, aren’t ye?”

  “Of course, Yer Majesty. I hope to prove that my father’s actions were not ones that I could ever condone.”

  “Aye, so ye would tell me, would ye not, if ye had heard of some plan to try and disrupt our travels?” The Queen’s voice was sweet, a twinge of a French accent softening the heaviness of her Gaelic.

  “Aye, Yer Majesty. Unfortunately, I’ve heard nothing of the sort.”

  “I see, and ye never made any sort of arrangement to communicate our location to yer clan?”

  Kenna raised her hand to her mouth and released a few fake coughs, providing herself with a moment to think about the implications of the Queen’s question. Communicate with her clan? How would she have done that while under constant supervision from one person or another?

  “No, Yer Majesty. I have not been in contact with any of my former clansmen since we left Inverness. Nor do I have plans to do so until the Earl of Huntly and Clan Gordon is loyal to yer crown once more.”

  “Kenna, ye ken that I will not tolerate a lie.”

  “I imagine not, Yer Majesty. So ‘tis a good thing I haven’t told one.”

  “I see.” The Queen gave a solemn sigh, her brown eyes roaming Kenna’s face. “Guards?”

  Two men were immediately upon Kenna, pulling her from the chair while a third came out of nowhere to throw a fist into her stomach. Kenna collapsed to the ground with a loud gasp, all of the air in her lungs suddenly returned to the world.

  “Kenna, I ask again. Tell me what ye ken.”

  “I… I swear… it… I ken nothing… of an attack,” Kenna said through choking sputters as she tried, in vain, to breathe.

  “Stop lying!” The queen hissed, bending so close to Kenna’s face that it was showered with a bit of spittle. “We are attacked so close to the Earl of Huntly’s lands, the laird of yer clan, and ye expect me to believe that he is not responsible?”

  “The laird of my clan,” Kenna said with renewed strength, daring to look the Queen in the eye, “is the Laird Lovat, Laird of Clan Fraser and my new father-in-law, by Yer Majesty’s own choice.”

  “Well, are ye not just as plucky as they say.” Queen Mary sneered, holding up a hand to keep one of the guards from injuring her further. “Tell me, Kenna, if ye are such a loyal subject, why light that fire?”

  “A fire?” Kenna replied, a laugh cracking through without her consent. “Well, Yer Majesty, I am not sure if ye ken, but we light fires to stay warm on cool fall nights such as this.”

  This time, the Queen did not stop the guard from kicking Kenna, and she was set to a new fit of gasps, her lungs burning as the air she had battled to retrieve was once more forced from her. Advisors started to swarm around them, hissing their surety of her betrayal in the Queen’s ears while Kenna gagged and wretched, seeing a bit of blood intermingled with the vomit.

  With a flick of her wrist, the advisors were silenced and fell back a few paces, returning to their perfectly arranged positions, giving the Queen room to bend closer to Kenna.

  “I think it was more. I think it was a signal to yer Gordon clansmen that it was the time to strike.”

  “But,” Kenna whispered, using all the breath she had left, “it wasn’t. I… I swear it.”

  “I do not place my trust in oaths when they slip from traitorous lips. They tend to reveal themselves as false when under pressure.”

  The Queen’s men moved like her little marionette dolls, the wordless hands that did her bidding without her even needing to utter the vaguest of orders. Kenna, whose eyes were still transfixed on the Queen, searching for any hidden secret that would reveal just what she needed to say or do or promise in exchange for a safe exit from the pavilion, was grasped around the legs by a guard who had a grip as firm as iron. He began to drag her across the pavilion.

  “Let me go!” Kenna shouted, trying to kick and thrash as she dug her nails into the dirt, feeling the skin on her elbows scraped into raw, bloody patches.

  When the first man dropped her, a second man took up his charge. With a swift pull that pained her already throbbing arms, Kenna was brought to a sitting position as a third began to bind her hands to one of the posts of the pavilion. Hot tears ran down her face, surely leaving unattractive streaks in their wake. She could feel the dull heat of a fire, a bloody fire of all things, behind her. One of the men must have been messing with it because all Kenna could hear was a song composed of fresh cracking, spitting, and the stirring of embers.

  “We do not travel with torture devices, ye ken,” the Queen said as she wandered closer, no advisor or noble companion daring to stay on her heels this time. “We must use our resources wisely if we are to travel as light as possible.”

  “Aye, must leave room fer fine dresses and pavilions the size of a town church.” Kenna hissed under her breath.

  The sharp pain of the boot to her back was the cost of her boldness.

  “Thankfully, one of the men decided to rob yer castle of a bit of its wealth. An iron fire poker with a golden handle. Seems oddly fitting fer yer clan. So proud of yer wealth yet, when it comes down to what matters, ye are just as simple as all of the rest.” The Queen gave a small smile as her glance flicked from Kenna to the guard behind her.

  When Kenna followed her gaze, the tears began to stream all the harder. In the guard’s hand was that very iron poker the Queen had described. The guard had pulled it from where it had been baking in the hot coals.

  “Since ye are so fond of little fires, this seemed oddly fitting as a punishment fer yer lies.”

  “My Queen, I did not lie!” Kenna shouted, hoping that someone, anyone, would stand up and confirm it before that flaming rod descended.

  “Are ye sure?” the Queen asked subtly as if asking for her to confirm a bit of mediocre gossip.

  “Aye! How many times do I have to swear it?”

  “‘Til ‘tis the truth,” the Queen said with a nod, and Kenna’s consciousness was burned to ash in a wave of fire and flame.

  Kenna?

  Kenna looked about her for the voice. Where was she? Inverness? No. It was the camp. Back by that little fire, where she sat alone on Rob’s plaid. He was yelling at the guards, angry that they had interrupted. Kenna was angry too. Realizing she was angry, Kenna turned away from Rob to look out at the trees, hiding the furious return of her blush.

  Kenna?

  She should get away now, while Rob was distracted, and retreat to the safety of the tent where the distance between her an
d Rob was firm and comfortable and didn’t make her heart pound so hard that she could hear it in her ears. Yes, now was the time. She began to pull herself to her feet.

  Wake her up, now.

  The pain in her legs made her wince, and she collapsed back to the ground with a thud, grateful Rob hadn’t seen. And then there it was, the arrow whizzing toward them from the darkness of the trees and just over her head. It was so close. If she hadn’t fallen, it might have even hit her.

  I do not care how you do it, just do it!

  Kenna couldn’t turn to see where the arrow went, but her eyes instead fell to the place where it had come. The trees. So dark, so elusive. But there it was, a rustle and the flash of gold in the moonlight.

  “Kenna!”

  Kenna felt her mind ripped away from that little fire as cold water exploded over her face. Her nose was flooded with the smell of burnt cotton and flesh while her arm seared with pain so sharp that she wouldn’t have been surprised to find it still aflame.

  The Queen looked disappointed, her eyes pitying. “It was just yer arm, lass. Honestly, to faint after such a wee bit.”

  “I—” Kenna mumbled, her brain going back to the flash of gold, but she didn’t understand it enough herself. There would be no way to articulate it now.

  “Yes?” The Queen asked, tilting her head to the side. “No? Anything? Shall we give it another go?”

  “Yer Majesty, might I have a word?”

  God bless the Earl of Sutherland, Kenna thought.

  There he was, standing out starkly against the crowd of nobles that were looking firmly at their feet. He had never looked so heroic as he did now, his face smooth with calm and his eyes cast firmly ahead.

  “What?” Queen Mary snapped at him.

  He bowed deeply, surprising everyone with how low he could go before that belly of his hit his thighs.

  “More men are emerging from the forest. As was the case with the earliest reports, they were unable to find a soul.”

  Kenna couldn’t help feeling that Sutherland was ultimately unhelpful as the Queen rounded back onto Kenna, screaming, “Where did they go?”

  “Yer Majesty,” Sutherland interjected, waddling forward. “I must also report my own expressed opinion on the matter. While they could find no single man, they could also find no trace of an army, large or small. Yer own guard claimed to have only seen one man.”

  “Are ye suggesting that the Queen is incorrect in her accusations?” chirped the Lockhart with a look of feigned horror.

  “I am saying that it may be wise to investigate the poor guard a bit more deeply than we have done thus far. Perhaps it was a personal vendetta rather than the work of a traitor.”

  “How dare ye contradict the Queen!” the advisor chimed in again. “And this is not the first time! Yer Majesty, the Earl of Sutherland is always sticking his nose where it ought not to be. Yer Majesty’s royal instincts are a divine blessing from God. So, if ye believe that Clan Gordon is responsible, then it is likely to be true!”

  Kenna really wanted to kick the Lockhart or, better yet, see him stumble upon the hot poker that his queen loved so much. Now that would be a divine blessing if there ever was one.

  “I am not clearing Clan Gordon of blame, necessarily,” Sutherland said again, this time with a bit of trepidation in his voice, forcing Kenna to wonder if he was truly the hero she had thought him to be. “But if it was Clan Gordon, perhaps it was a lone man. Just one who was operating outside of the Earl of Huntly’s orders. They could have seen us pass by and decided to act of their own accord.”

  “Then this Gordon lass could still ken the truth of it, could she not?” the advisor countered with a victorious smirk.

  Sutherland looked stumped. Kenna could see it on his face; he knew of her innocence, but he was in too deep to save them both now, and it was too much for her to think that he would save her over himself.

  “Aye, she certainly could. Is the iron hot again?” the Queen asked again quickly, glancing at Kenna in a plea for her to answer the unasked question.

  “No! Yer Majesty, I ken not if it was Gordon or another, but I can continue to swear to ye that I had no hand—”

  Hot. She had never known the feeling with such force. The poker seared into her skin again, burning away at the sleeve of her dress and sinking deeper and deeper. The pain was so fierce that it overshadowed the tearing at the back of her throat as she screamed.

  Then it was gone. The poker pulled away, a bit of skin stuck to it. She gasped and closed her eyes as a moment of relief spread through her like a cool mist, relishing the feeling before her body discovered the injury and overloaded her nerves with pain. There were hands on her now, moving to her wrists to unbind them, a pale face now close to her own, the whiteness of his cheeks juxtaposed against the dulling red of blood dripping from his nose.

  Murtagh?

  “Yer Majesty, ye ken our loyalty.” It was Rob’s father, his voice rushed with anxiety. “We took up yer calls against the Gordons without a second thought and will continue to fight fer the honor of ye and yer crown. We have watched this lass day and night since she came into our custody and I can assure ye, as the Laird of Clan Fraser, that she has done nothing.”

  “Then what of her fire? The one that signaled the attack?” the Lockhart questioned. “Why did she light one fer herself instead of sharing yers as she has done all of the past nights?”

  “We got into an argument, Yer Majesty. Any witnesses ye call upon will assure ye that it was my fault. She left to make a fire of her own to get distance from me, though she was not without a guard keeping an eye on her.” It was Rob now, his voice like a bit of sunshine after the rain.

  Murtagh shifted, giving Kenna her first view of the Fraser lairds. They were each on their knees, heads bowed in submission before the angry royal.

  “Yer Majesty,” the Lockhart cried in exasperation, “it could be that the fight was arranged. A ploy of the Gordon girl to give her reason to set the fire, signaling fer the Gordons to attack.”

  “Ach, Yer Majesty, ‘tis incredibly unlikely. Why would the lass have stayed close to the fire if she knew it was summoning an arrow? I’m acquitted with some of the best archers in Scotland, and I wouldn’t trust their aim from such a distance. Do ye think it likely that she would?”

  “Seems possible to me,” the advisor replied.

  “Sir, what do ye suppose the chance is that the Earl of Huntly would risk such an operation?” The Earl of Sutherland stepped forward once more, his boldness encouraged by the slow shifting of the tides. “Indeed, if she is a spy, then why would Huntly risk losing her? All it would have taken was a bit of wind, and his spy would be lost in exchange for what? The death of only one of Yer Majesty’s guards, and not even a high ranking one at that?”

  The Queen finally faltered, a bit of confusion and fear piercing that stony exterior. The arguments were working. Kenna’s innocence was slowly but surely being proven, or at least given a fair presentation.

  Rob spoke again. “My Queen, forgive my boldness, but Clan Fraser has shown ye nothing but loyalty and subservience. We have fought fer ye, died fer ye, and have remained prepared to do so again and again while asking fer naught in return but yer trust and faith in us. Though Lady Kenna’s background, her family, can never be forgotten, she is now a Lady of Clan Fraser. Should ye rebuke her, ye rebuke our clan as well. If ‘tis deserved, then, by all means, press upon her as ye will. I simply ask fer ye to show us yer faith by taking our word fer truth.”

  It wasn’t a threat. There was nothing about it that was a threat. But Kenna could still feel the notes of warning in Rob’s words. A reminder to the Queen that the Frasers were her swords. Swords she couldn’t afford to lose at a time like this.

  “Stand,” the queen commanded with a hiss, and the Frasers came to their feet, ashen-faced as they waited for the result of the warning.

  The Queen inched closer to Rob, leaning toward his ear as if to whisper but speaking loud enough for a
ll to hear, “I gave her to ye with the expectation that you would do right by yer queen and country, not let a snake slither in our ranks uncontrolled. Give me another reason to suspect her, and yer fealty will not be enough to save her. Get her out of my sight.”

  Not waiting for her to change her mind, Murtagh helped Kenna to her feet just as Rob descended upon her, scooping her up and rushing her from the tent as the Queen began to bellow orders for another search of the forest.

  The sun was so close to rising, the sky purple in anticipation for a new day. Kenna embraced the cool morning air as if it was the first time, feeling particularly grateful for the chill as it tempered the pain in her arm.

  “Murtagh, go see someone about that nose. And try and find something fer the burns,” Rob said, once they had finally put a few tents between themselves and the pavilion.

  Kenna understood people were staring. Some at her, with an angry look of distrust behind their sleepy eyes. Others were directed at Murtagh, who looked like an outright mess with a slow stream of fresh blood layering itself over a heavy layer of old.

  Once Murtagh was out of sight, Kenna felt compelled to look at Rob, at the calm expression betrayed by wild eyes.

  “Rob, I—”

  “Hush,” he said with a note of angry finality that made Kenna wince.

  Did he not believe her either? Had all of his words to the Queen been only an obligation?

  A few of the Fraser men were at their area of camp when the pair returned, almost all of them asleep where they sat. None paid them any mind as Rob ducked into his and Kenna’s tent and dropped her back onto her feet.

  Kenna wrapped her good arm around her bad. Without Rob close, the tent was freezing. How could she be both so inflamed and yet so cold? Rob handed her a cloth soaked in the water from the basin and Kenna pressed it thankfully against the burns, two parallel lines across her upper arm, each deep and likely to leave terrible scars. A vicious reminder that she was, and always would be, a Gordon traitor.