The Highlander’s Challenge (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  The thane chuckled. “Good evening indeed. You have business here?”

  Duncan nodded. “Yes.” His throat was tight and the word came out rasping. He cursed himself inwardly, but knew he could do nothing different. This old man with the white hair and dry, arid voice was easily more frightening than arrest.

  “You are not my ally. You are an ally of my enemy. Yet you are here. Why?”

  He stroked his beard slowly as he spoke, and Duncan looked away, trying to focus on the reply.

  “I am ally to neither friend nor foe,” Duncan said, mechanically. “I am brother to an ally of your foe, yes. But I am without allegiance.”

  “Oh?”

  That brought life to him. He sat up and the strange, pale eyes brightened. Duncan shivered. That was what he lacked. He was corpse-like, animated. Some essential spark seemed to have drained out of him at birth, leaving him void and cold.

  Duncan, hating himself, continued. “I come to agree to an alliance with you. Myself. Not as a MacConnoway.”

  “Oh?” The man raised a hand from his beard, laying it on the armrest. “And why must I agree to this? Why must I trust you?”

  Duncan shivered at the sibilant tones. “I bring an offer,” he said.

  “Speak it.”

  “I plan,” Duncan said, “to overthrow my brother. He is a weak ruler. My father is absent. And Broderick is a poor manager. He taxes the cottagers and overworks the serfs. He fritters away the lives of his men-at-arms and all he cares about is hunts. They hate him. With the slightest encouragement, his own men would overthrow him. And give the castle to me.”

  “Oh?” the old man seemed interested. He laid his hand on the table, and then frowned at Duncan. “What would you ask of me? What will you offer in return?”

  Duncan clenched his hands under the table, letting his nails rake his palms and remind him that he was not dead, and this man some guardian of the netherworld. “I would offer gold. All I lack is twenty troops. I cannot vouch that all our people would back me, and I need a small force...additionally...to secure it.”

  “And the gold?”

  “I know Dunkeld has wealth. And we seek to broker an alliance with the Saefirths. They control much of the shipping on the Clyde. You know the wealth that can be made from tax.”

  “Yes.” The voice was a rasp.

  “Well, then?” Duncan said cautiously.

  He waited for the man, but no answer was forthcoming. He looked about the room, noting the striking colors of the tapestries, the careful designs. Whoever had made them, she must have been a master seamstress. As he studied a beautiful one of twined, jewel-colored beasts, the laird moved. Taking his wrist in his bone-white fingers, Duncan felt him pull him close. He found himself an inch away from that old face, looking into ice-pale eyes.

  “Why must I take your word? A man who betrays his brother is a liar of the worst kind. I do not trust you.”

  Duncan was, in that moment, more terrified than he could remember. He waited, tense and frightened, as the old man hobbled to the door and summoned the guards.

  As he was marched away, he looked around, back to the door where the old man stood, watching them stonily.

  At least, he thought wryly, following the guard down the hallway and to another flight of stairs, I am under a roof. I am warm. And, hopefully, I will never need see that terrifying man again.

  The thought was amusing, but the merriment soon died in him. Finding himself incarcerated in a turret room with a blanket, a bucket, and a small slit of window, he sat down against the wall and closed his eyes.

  Alina, he thought wistfully. What do I do now?

  Would he ever complete the task? Or would he die here, alone and cold, betrayed by his own hand? All he had wanted was to gain the man's trust, meet his family. Now, it seemed, he would not be meeting anyone. He might never leave this castle, either.

  Closing his eyes, filling his mind with memories of love, trying to conjure up hope for the future, searching for Alina's face, he huddled under his cloak, waiting for sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  A DISCUSSION

  A DISCUSSION

  The night was dark. Alina sat by the fire, posture rigid. She looked into the flames. She looked at the rich carpeting on the floor. She looked, in fact, everywhere but at the seat opposite her, where Camry sat.

  “You seem in low spirit,” he said mildly. Cultured and low-pitched, his voice wove around Alina like some sinister mist, making her shudder.

  She said nothing.

  He laughed.

  “Well, then. If you do not mind, I will pour myself some. At least one of us must be in high spirits.”

  He laughed at his words and poured himself a finger of fine whiskey. Alina smelled the buttery smell and felt her stomach tighten with a queasy feeling. She had not eaten since the previous afternoon and she felt lightheaded and dizzy, the room spinning about her.

  “What?” he asked, holding the glass upright. It obscured part of his face so that he looked at her through one eye, green-gold like a gyrfalcon's. She looked away.

  “Nothing.”

  Her voice was cracked from lack of use and the fear that ran through her veins. She stayed turned away from him, staring into the flame. She had been here for a full day. Since her capture the previous evening, she had not seen him. She had been granted the use of a comfortable room in the east wing, well-equipped and warm. She had been invited to the solar to dine with Lord Camry, but she had declined the invitation. His father, he had informed her, was away in the west, visiting his own brother. That left Camry as the only member of the household at the fortress. She had no wish for his company.

  Camry laughed. “Come, my lady. Say something...You are usually more forthcoming!”

  Alina gave a harsh laugh. She couldn't help it. She expected him to have her dismissed for rudeness, but he did nothing. She looked up to see him studying her.

  “You might explain yourself,” Camry said mildly. “I have waited all day for you to visit me. I have been so solicitous. And yet you scorn me.”

  His voice cracked on the last words, and Alina shivered, noticing how passionate he was, how angry. This man was not entirely stable, she realized. Like a beast too long starved, or a distempered creature, he was not rational any longer. He would snap at anyone simply to see them react, to show by their pain that he existed still.

  Be careful, Alina, she told herself. You might escape here, but only if you think before you act.

  “I was simply surprised, Lord Camry,” she said, fighting for calm, “that you thought to have me here at such short notice.”

  He chuckled at that. “It was quite spontaneous. A work of good fortune.” He gestured with the glass. “I have the best woodsmen here...Father lets me administer to the hunt, knowing my passion for it. These men are hand chosen and answer to me.”

  “Mm?” Alina said, encouraging him to proceed.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes. The verderers. Dougal reported to me that he had seen someone in the woods. I pressed him to give more information. He explained it was a rider. Alone. Of course, that piqued my interest. When he added it was a tall, long-haired rider in a velvet dress, heading from Lochlann, of course I thought to wonder. So I sallied forth to investigate.”

  Alina smiled sourly. “Indeed. Clever of you.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. He seemed to believe she meant it, for he looked absurdly pleased with himself. “It is not for nothing that my father delegates ever more to me.” He paused, and then continued. “Well, then. Now you are here. You should dine with me.”

  Alina felt her stomach clench. She was not exactly hungry – she had stopped feeling hungry about five hours ago. She felt a vague stab somewhere in her abdomen which seemed to remind her that she should eat. “I would not argue with a bowl of gruel,” she said carefully.

  He grinned. “Very well!” he stood and clapped his hands and a servant walked out from behind one of the screening tapestries. “Have the table set
in the solar! Lady Alina will dine with me tonight.”

  Alina swallowed. She had not actually intended to agree to that. All she had wanted was the chance to rid herself of the awful, pounding headache and lethargy that had descended on her sometime during the preceding day.

  When the servant had gone, Camry settled himself back on the settle. “I am glad to have you here,” he commented. “I have been remaking my plans for the future since I saw you first last week.”

  Alina stared. Remaking plans... “My lord?”

  He laughed. “More of that over dinner. I think you will be more amenable to my point if you have fresh food and a glass of claret inside you.”

  Alina shuddered. She was certain that she would not agree with any point this dangerous individual had to make. She had a strong sense of what he meant by that, and knew she absolutely did not wish to hear of it.

  “I am not sure that I can keep much down, my lord,” she said carefully.

  “Nonsense!” he said dismissively. “You have a stronger stomach than that!”

  Alina blinked. I think, my lord, I am aware of the capacity of my own stomach. I have existed with it for twenty years. She said nothing, though, merely nodded and let him take her hand, helping her to rise. His touch made her shiver, but she felt so weak, pain knifing in her head as she stood, that she was not about to wave away assistance.

  He leaned closer, linking his arm with hers. She felt absolute revulsion rise in her as he took her hand in his own cool palms, stroking the skin and staring at it with part awe, part avarice.

  “I am feeling better, my lord,” she said, clearing her throat. “I am sure a brisk walk will do me good.” Setting her teeth, she strode forward, heedless of the ache in her head. She walked through the arched doorway and down the stairs. A moment later, she heard him following her.

  “You seem to know the layout of my home,” he said from behind her. “I think that is a...useful characteristic.”

  Alina sighed. “Your home is not so different in its layout that I cannot guess the solar to be somewhere in the center, facing the hall.”

  “Very good,” he said softly. He was behind her now, and his hand rested on her neck. She felt bile rise in her throat and walked forward, letting it slide off.

  “Here we are,” she said, forcing lightness to her voice, as if she had intended to beat him to the doorway, not to dislodge his hand.

  “Indeed.”

  The solar was smaller than the one to which she was accustomed, the line of arched windows hidden now, behind screening cloths, to keep out the biting winds. A fire roared in the grate and the room was dominated by a long, dark wooden dining table, the chairs around ornately carved.

  Alina looked around, and noticed a servant standing by the table and hurriedly selected a seat at the foot. Lord Camry could not sit next to her there. As she looked up, she saw his brow darken, then clear. He walked over and took the seat on her right. He looked at her defiantly, as if to say that he knew she was trying to avoid him, and would not let her do so.

  Alina bit her lip. It was worth trying.

  As they sat there, another man appeared bearing a beaker. He filled Alina's goblet with dark wine and then filled his lordship's likewise. The servants both withdrew, leaving them momentarily alone.

  “A toast!”

  Lord Camry raised his glass. Alina did not touch hers, knowing it would rush to her head if she did not eat. He paused. Stared at her, as if refusing to believe she defied him.

  “A toast!” he said angrily. “You must also drink.”

  Alina stared at him. She saw how flushed he was, as if the anger threatened to spill into fever or violence, and she agreed, feeling shaken. She raised her glass. A servant appeared and placed a bowl of stew before each of them, momentarily interrupting the toast. As he left, Lord Camry cleared his throat, lifting his glass higher.

  “To my forthcoming bride.”

  Alina set her goblet aside with a clatter. A drop of red wine spilled on her hand, sparking there like blood. She stared at him. “Your what?”

  He laughed. “Oh, do not fear. And do not play ignorant with me. You must know that was why I brought you here. Since I first saw you, I knew I must have you. I do not need to obey my father...an alliance with Lochlann is something even he could see the sense of. And I must have you.”

  Alina stared at him. His green-pale eyes had narrowed, and he was flushed. He looked like a man in fever, or a man who has taken belladonna and is sweating and seeing visions. She moved her hands carefully to her lap and sought peace. This man is not sane, Alina. Be careful. He is unpredictable.

  “My lord,” she said carefully. “You have not considered this. You would need to make many preparations for making such a proposal. You do not know my uncle Brien – thane of Lochlann – and whether he has plans for my betrothal. You would need to consult him first.”

  Lord Camry stared at her. Then he laughed. It was a high, strained sound. “Why should I? You think your uncle could wage alliances via you after a night in my fort? Who would believe you were unsullied?”

  Alina felt all her blood drain to her feet.

  She turned to him slowly. “You wouldn't.”

  He grinned at her, eyes bright with lust, face flushed with wine. “I would not?”

  Alina stood. She leaned against the chair. “You wouldn't dare.”

  Watching him, she backed slowly towards the door. She had moved halfway across the carpet before he spoke again.

  “I am not going to assault you in the solar, Lady Alina. Give me credit for good taste. Mayhap in the corridor...Or the turret. Not here over rabbit stew. It's unseemly.”

  Alina shook her head. The man was quite mad. She continued to back away. She heard Lord Camry push his chair back and cross the floor. She was almost at the door when he reached her, coming up behind, blocking her access to the door. She stood straight, drawing herself up to her full height. Her voice was low and level, a warning that was also a flat statement. Inside, she was terrified. Outside, she was icily calm.

  “You would not dare to harm me. You have no idea what would befall you if you did. You would not wish to curse yourself by your own hand.” She glared at him, looking up from under her eyelashes, gathering all the years of people suspecting her of witchcraft into that one stare. The only power she had to protect herself was the fear she could engender. She used it now.

  To her relief, he backed away. She saw his eyes widen and then narrow and knew she had made him afraid, if only for a moment or two.

  “You are not yourself, Lady Alina,” he said. He took out a kerchief and dried his brow. “I think you need sleep and rest, and to consider this in the morning.”

  Alina said nothing.

  He looked at her, shaking his head. “If only Benoite was here.”

  Alina stared at him. “Benoite?” She knew that name! That was the lady Duncan sought. Her jaw had dropped and she closed her mouth quickly again.

  He blinked. “Yes. Lady Benoite. A distant relation of my mother. A lady of Inverglass. She is there now, I understand. Returned from the MacDonnell when her husband died.”

  “Benoite is at Inverglass?” Alina felt a sudden wild hope fill her. “You know her?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If she were closer to my own home, I would call on her now. You would not threaten me so lightly in the face of a witch of her standing.”

  “Benoite is a witch?”

  “If one believes in such things, yes,” he said dismissively. Alina had to bite her cheeks to avoid smiling. He clearly did, or why would he have felt afraid, have wished she were there to counter any curse Alina made?

  She slipped her gaze to the door, where a servant had appeared bearing a tray of sliced loaf. She saw the man look from his lordship to her questioningly and almost saw him shrug as he placed the bread on the table and withdrew noiselessly.

  “Alec?”

  “My lord!” The man looked startled to be called on.

  “The la
dy is not eating with us tonight. Return her to her lodgings. And keep the door guarded.”

  The man looked distressed. Alina inclined her head fractionally, and he looked relieved. “Yes, my lord.” Clearly hating the task, the servant led Alina out of the door and up the stairs, heading to the chamber where she had been virtually imprisoned for the last day.

  As he shut the door behind her, Alina sank down on the bed. She felt the crashing weariness of relief flow through her.

  Duncan was in the right place.

  That had been one of the constant worries eating away at her for all the time she had been here. Duncan was riding into danger. Now she knew, at least, that no matter how dangerous it was, the task was possible. Duncan would be able to find what he sought. Let him return safely, she prayed.

  She was lying on the bed, weary from hunger, lost in her thoughts, when she heard a knock at the door. It was a hesitant sound, a gentle tap.

  “Come in?” she called.

  Alec appeared. “My lady?”

  She looked down. He was carrying a bowl of stew – the one she had left in the solar – and a plate of sliced bread.

  “Yes?”

  “Uh...his lordship said tae throw this tae the dogs. But I ken you've been in here a whole day, and eaten naught. Would ye take it?”

  Alina felt her heart melt with the kindness. She looked up at him, blinking furiously so that she would not cry.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  The serving man blushed furiously and placed the tray on a low stool. Then, bowing, still flushing red, he withdrew.

  As Alina ate the stew slowly, soaking the bread in the liquid to soften it enough to chew on it, she felt relief and calm both flow through her. The stew and bread made her head tingle, bringing feeling back to toes she had forgotten were numbed and making her suddenly sweat, as her body came slowly back to life. The feeling was wonderful. More, even than the relief of that, was the relief that Duncan was in the right place.

  He is where he is meant to be, after all. And the next task is within his reach.

  After her meal, feeling weary and deeply calm, Alina curled up on the floor beside the fire and, for the first time since she left Lochlann, she fell asleep.