Rogue Highlander: Played Like a Fiddle

by Sondra Grey

  Chapter 8

  “W ow Meg, you look…different,” said Glenna, staring at my face as I approached. She was still finishing her stage makeup, rubbing rouge into her cheeks and lips. “Is it the eyes… you went a little heavy, here let me fix it…” Glenna reached for me, fingers out, ready to rub away some of the black that I’d used to line my eyes. I stepped away from her. “I’m good, thanks,” I said. I’d done everything I could to obscure my features: I’d painted my lips into a different shape, I’d lined my eyes heavily to make them look as if they were turning down, and not up. I’d applied the rouge low on my cheeks to make my cheekbones look as if they were set lower on my face. Up close, I looked a bit clownish. From afar, you’d not be able to recognize me, especially not with my arasaid wrapped modestly about my hair.

  Glenna blinked, surprised at my quick withdrawal, then she shrugged and went back to applying her own makeup, singing beneath her breath as she dabbed on rough and reached for the powder puff to powder her hair.

  We were not the first to perform for the King. The opening dinner had gone on awhile, and by the time we entered the hall, the crowd would be boisterous with drink. It was the perfect time to play some of our livelier highland songs. Ned had been paid in advance – a fact he was all but beaming over. “If the king likes us,” he said, as we lined up to enter the hall, “perhaps he’ll ask us back!”

  That elicited excitement from almost everyone, except Roger, who looked miserable and hung over. And me, of course. You couldn’t get me out of Edinburgh fast enough.

  My anxiety, which I’d kept under tight control, spiraled out the moment the doors opened and we were called into the hall. I kept my eyes glued to Babette’s back, my hands fisted tight around my harp. I didn’t even look up to take in the King and Queen as we paraded before them and made our bows. There was polite and muted applause, but mostly people were talking. I saw a great deal of beautiful shoes and skirts in an exotic array of colors.

  “How beautiful,” Babette was hissing as we seated ourselves on the small stage. Only once Roger had stepped in front of me did I dare take a deep breath, did I dare lift my eyes and survey the room.

  James’ attention was drawn by courtiers, but the queen was watching us with interest, eyes lingering on our plaid, our highland dress, which we’d done up for the occasion. I tuned my harp, my actions automatic as I ran my gaze over the crowd eyes finding the exact figure I did not wish to see. Of course. Of course he’d be here. Of course his wife would be here.

  I felt sick, I felt fear and nausea rise up to choke me. I barely heard Ned begin the beat of the tabor and blessed my body’s memory as my fingers found the correct strings and joined in the playing.

  My father, George Domnhall, Baron of Anstruther, looked over, as if he heard something he recognized and I jerked my gaze away. I fixed it on Roger, who had been somehow enlivened by the audience for which we were playing and was, for once, standing straight and dancing to the tune of the music he was making.

  We had started with a musical piece, and without Glenna on the stage, I could feel the eyes of the men seeking me out, wondering over me. I hunched my shoulders forward, forced my fingers to play only the melody.

  We’d caught their attention all right. The courtiers were still talking, but most of them were watching us, listening with interest to the music we played, music that would be unfamiliar to a lowlander. But there were a few highlanders in the room who’d wandered to the front and were watching us with delight.

  Then Glenna swept onto the stage. Roger started up the fiddle for the next song, and Glenna began playing her hand symbols. I watched as one of the highlanders stepped out and began to jig, recognizing the song.

  I relaxed the moment Glenna opened her mouth to sing, the attention in the room now on the dancing highlander and on the beautiful songstress at the front of our troupe. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Robin approach with the swords and place them on the ground. This highlander could dance, but so could Robin, who was more slender and light on his feet. The swords dance was a dance of masculinity. It took muscle to leap about the swords and land lightly between their blades. Robin, who’d dressed in his kilt, joined the highlander in the dance and soon the whole court was watching, even the King, who was grinning at the display of athleticism.

  When the song ended, the applause and the cheering were uproarious, people were laughing and the drunker courtiers were coming up, begging to be taught some of the steps of the new, leaping dance.

  I dared to glance back over to the corner, where my father held court with other west coast scots, discernable by their bonnets and hose. His arms were crossed over the hard, round bulge of his belly. His brown hair was greyer than I’d last seen it, but he had the same sour turn of his mouth, the same calculating gleam in his eye. But it wasn’t turned my way.

  My stepmother had come up into the crowd to watch the dancers dance, but she wasn’t looking at me either. No one was looking at me. So, I took a breath, and we kept playing.

  Chapter 0

  B randon knew he couldn’t be seen in court during the concert. Not if he were going to convince the players to take him on, he couldn’t be a courtier. They’d met him already, near the courtyards and the stables, and so it was easy enough to pretend he was a stable lad.

  But he couldn’t resist the draw of the music. So, he’d dressed in brown and grey and kept to the shadows in the corner of the room. He was a virile, good looking man, but he was a good spy. He knew how to stand out in a crowd, but he also knew how to disappear into one. Nobody looked at him twice.

  To say he was slightly appalled when the Troupe came out would be an understatement. His eyes sought out the pretty harpist and passed twice over the troupe before he realized that she was the one with the arasaid and the drooping eyes. Lord what had she done to her face?

  The singer had managed to apply performers makeup in a way that turned her from a country beauty into an exotic siren. Her lips were red and luscious. Her voice, when she sang, was a perfect, light accompaniment to the instruments.

  But the harpist… the young woman he’d met yesterday had someone how disappeared into this strange-looking creature who sat a bit slumped and stared at the floor.

  In fact, she was so displeasing to look at that Brandon didn’t linger on her face for long. He was drawn to the energy in the room, to the Ross lad who recognized the rhythm of a sword dance and had run up to show off his skills.

  And they were admirable, Brandon allowed, watching the muscular young man leap about, arms raised, kilt flying up almost high enough to be scandalous. Brandon grinned, a rare fond memory of Tor flashing before his eyes. His brothers, when they were younger, when his cousin Fingal would take out the pipes and the boys would try to out dance the other. Brandon could never best Emer – who could leap like a stag – but always had the better of Ewan and Eudard.

  Brandon had run into town earlier that day to purchase supplies. He needed to dress like a commoner and, if he was travelling to the highlands, needed to find a kilt in a plaid that wasn’t Cameron. He’d scoured the city for hours before picking up what he needed, before finding a neutral grey and green tartan that belonged, perhaps, to the Clan Sorely. With the accent he’d roughened when he talked to the Drummer and the harpist, he could pass as a Sorely.

  Soon, the troupe had everyone leaping around and the highlanders in the hall were singing along with the strawberry blonde beauty. But Brandon found his eyes returning again and again to the harpist. But they shouldn’t have, he realized. For she was doing her best to remain unseen. Brandon straightened, gaze now more keenly on the young woman with her hair covered. Yes, that was it. He knew the tactic well enough, had employed it himself on occasion – brushing his hair forward, slouching in around him. She was hiding in plain sight.

  But hiding from whom? Her eyes gave nothing away, they watched the floor ten paces before her and when they lifted, they’d scan the room, though they lingered every so often in the far-
left corner. Brandon found himself moving towards her gaze, towards were several lowland Barons and their ladies were watching the highland music with sneers of disdain. But he could not tell what might be drawing her eyes, or why.

  Brandon pursed his lips. It was his curiosity that made him so good at what he did. They called him Lochiel’s bloodhound because he’d always been able to sniff out the truth of a situation, to chase a fox from its hole.

  If he wasn’t so concerned about remaining anonymous here, about remaining unseen by the players, he might step away from the wall, might wander through the courtiers to try and see who it was she was watching.

  But it would have to remain a mystery for now. The set was ending, the players were being cheered and escorted from the room.

  Chapter 10

  “I don’t want to leave,” said Glenna, angrily. “I’m waiting.”

  “For what!?” Ned snarled, at his wits end. They’d already paid us and they wanted us to go. A few of the players were a bit put out that we were not allowed to remain. But at least we’d been fed and given good drink. I didn’t drink much and was feeling happily light headed at the taste of good wine. It had been so long since I’d had a glass of good wine, that I’d had three.

  “For the king!” Whined Glenna. “He noticed me, I know he did!”

  “Glenna,” said Robin, gently, taking her arm. But Glenna shook him off. Ned glanced to Roger, silently begging him to intercede, but Roger shook her off.

  “Glenna,” snapped Babette, sick of the scene. “The king has mistresses galore, women whose honeypots smell like flowers, whose breaths don’t reek of wine and whose breasts are perfectly round.”

  Glenna gasped at the implied insult, face reddening with anger or shame – it was hard to tell. “Stop your whining, shut your traps – both of them! – and leave before we’re thrown out!”

  Glenna opened her mouth to holler at Babette but Babette pushed past her and out into the night. Glenna took a deep breath, hiked her skirts up and gave chase. Robin and Tamhas went hot on her heels. I realized, belatedly, that Babette had riled her on purpose. She knew Glenna wouldn’t let the insult go and would chase her out.

  I laughed.

  “Looks like someone had one glass to many,” murmured Roger, moving close to me.

  Ned glanced over his shoulder and said, loudly. “Come on, let’s follow them before the one kills the other. I can’t get another singer like Glenna, and I only have the one wife. I’d just as soon they didn’t tear each other to pieces.” He reached out, taking my hand and giving me a gentle tug.

  As we reached the courtyard, we could just hear Babette and Glenna, all but screaming at each other near the gate. Ned saw the one reach out to strike the other and he dropped my hand and hurried over. I reached down to pick up my skirts and do the same, but Roger was quicker, shackling my wrist in his and spinning me so that I faced him.

  I wasn’t feeling myself. I was weak with anxiety from seeing my father so close. I was giddy with drink. My emotions were up and down and out of my control. Rather than feel anger at Roger’s forcefulness I felt fear, I felt frozen.

  “Tsk, tsk,” said Roger, grip tightening around my wrist. With his free hand, he reached out and ran a hard thumb across my eyes smearing my makeup away. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself,” he said. “You look like a clown.”

  I tugged at my arm, tried to turn my head away but he gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. Some of the makeup managed to get into my eyes at his forceful rubbing and it blinded me a moment, making them tear and sending panic shooting through me.

  And suddenly it wasn’t Roger who held my face. It was another, with hard, pale blue eyes and hair in flaming curls across his brow.

  We’re going to have fun, you and I... I could keep a pretty girl like you tied to my bed for weeks on end…

  I could still feel that hot tongue on the side of my face. I trembled.

  “That’s it little clown,” said Roger, leaning in, his breath stale with the wine he’d drunk. “Tremble for me. I’ve wanted you since I saw you.”

  “Let me go,” I said, finding my voice.

  “Not a chance. I’ve waited too long for this…” I felt his lips come down atop mine, his tongue thrust itself between my lips so deep I gagged on it. I tried to stumble backwards, but he’d twisted my wrist behind my back, trapping me to him.

  I cried out as his teeth caught my lower lip, the sound pathetic, foreign even to my own ears. Something hit my chest, and I felt cold night air on my face as Roger was forcefully yanked from me.

  My eyes opened just in time to see the groom, Brandon, pull his fist back and send it flying into Roger’s stunned face.

  I’ve seen a fair few fights before, but I’ve never seen a fist fly with such accuracy or intensity. It was like a moment out of a comedy. Roger – his lips red from my lipstick, black smeared across his cheeks where my paint had rubbed off – tilted back, his eyes fluttered up into his head and crumbled into a heavy, unconscious heap on the cobbles.

  “Are you all right?” said Brandon, and it was the calmness in his voice, belying the intensity of his expression, that allowed me to take a deep breath and get ahold of myself.

  “I’m okay,” I said, wiping my hands across my lips and wishing I could wash the taste of Roger out.

  “Here,” said Brandon, approaching and reaching into his shirt pocket to pull out a handkerchief. “May I?” I knew my face was a mess of paint and tears. Beyond Brandon’s wide shoulders, other castle workers were wandering past, stopping to stare at the unconscious Roger.

  “Yes,” I said. I allowed Brandon to take my hand and lead me over to a rain barrel.

  “Were you…were you working nearby?” I asked him. How had he managed to come upon me? And what would have happened if he hadn’t. I shuddered at the thought and the motion gave Brandon pause before he reached down to wet the scrap of cloth in the water of the rain barrel. Reaching up, he delicately wiped at the mess of my face. I stood still, not nearly as nervous in his presence as I’d been in Roger’s. This must be why he’s a groom, I thought absently. I wonder if he settles the horses the way he settles me.

  “I was leaving for the night, yes,” he said in response to my question, voice still calm as his cloth wiped gently across my eyes. The cloth was surprisingly soft and I wondered, absently where he’d come across it. A groom would not waste his salary on a kerchief like that. He must have been leaving for the night, for he was dressed in plain clothes, not the groom’s uniform. When he leaned in to wipe at my cheek, I sighed, but didn’t smell the stables on him.

  In fact, he smelled sweet and dark, like cloves and lavender, like he was wearing a scent. I shook my head. I really must have had too much to drink. Grooms didn’t waste their times with expensive colognes.

  “There,” said Brandon, stepping back. “Back to normal.”

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching up to touch my now bare face. I took a deep breath and did, indeed, feel a bit more normal than I had.

  “Where are you staying?” he asked. “Can I walk you back?”

  It was an innocent enough request, but my anxiety spiked again and I shook my head. No. I needed my confidence back. “The troupe is just beyond the gate,” I said. “Thank you, but I’ll see myself.”

  I thought he was going to argue with me and was even more surprised when he bowed his head instead. “Good night to you then,” he said, stepping back. I knew we were probably heading in the same direction and was grateful that he didn’t follow me out of the gates, but let me leave by myself.

  “Where have you been?” asked Ned when I appeared. He’d been heading back to look for me, his eyes wide with worry – no doubt realizing that he’d left me alone with Roger.

  “Just chatting with our new fiddler,” I said, lightly, hoping that, in the dark, my face betrayed nothing of my near miss. “I’m desperate for sleep though, and I don’t think Glenna is bringing anyone back tonight.”

  “If yo
u run, you can catch Robin. He and Thamas are bringing Glenna back to the inn.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Congratulations, by the way, it was a fantastic evening!”

  “I think it went off rather well,” Ned agreed. “Now, be off with you!”

  I gave him a kiss on the cheek, picked up my dress, and hurried down the road to catch my friends.

  Chapter 11

  I t had taken a great strength of will to leave the fiddle player in the heap outside the castle. Brandon had wanted to lift him up and hit him all over again. He lay in his bed in the palace that night, fists balled up, imagining the scene.

  It was rare that Brandon was ever able to act in defense of a woman. He was still haunted by Dalcross, by the Campbell girl rushing out of his brother’s tent barefoot and sobbing. He could still see Annis Maclean, Adam Maclean’s wife, when Ewen had dragged her onto Ruim and ordered Brandon to hold her captive. He was still ashamed that he’d obeyed, that he’d been too protective of his own life to insure hers. Yes, he’d done what he could to keep Sorcha Campbell and Annis Maclean alive. And yes, they were both still alive. But it hadn’t been nearly enough, and it would haunt him.

  The next morning, Brandon rose, grabbed a well-worn pack he’d pilfered from the stables, and set out to meet the musicians. He’d seen their caravan the other day and knew to look for its worn tent and grey draft horses. Knowing he might need a mount, he’d secured one of nags from the stable, no doubt keeping it from the slaughterhouse and led her into the yard.

  He couldn’t help but search the courtyard for signs of the fiddler from last night, but the man was gone. Turns out, Ned – the drummer – wasn’t expecting him back either.

  “Good riddance, if you ask me,” he said. Nodding at the sight of the horse. “Ah, good, another mount will lighten the load in the wagon. We’ll be able to travel faster.” Four horses for seven people, he noted. Ned took Brandon around, introducing him to the members he hadn’t met yet. “This is my wife, Babette,” he said of the flute player.