The Scottish Outlaws Collection, Books 1 - 5

by Lily Baldwin

  As the son of peasants, Rory had spent very little time in the company of gentry. In fact, the only time he had ever spoken to noblemen or women was when he and his brothers had been robbing them. Rory smiled, remembering those not too distant days. Their gang had been called the Saints—the name chosen by an authority higher even than the abbot—so named by the bishop himself. In fact, it was the bishop who had given them the swords and black masks that had sent terror into the hearts of those English nobles who were unlucky enough to meet the Saints on the rode north into Scotland. Not that their terror was reasonably grounded. The Saints had adhered to a simple code; they were thieves not murderers. More than that, they were not even truly thieves. Their stolen gains were never kept for themselves—every coin, jewel, or trinket fed the cause. It was Scotland’s money. The Saints were only taking back what was rightfully theirs.

  Of course, the men in his company now were unlike the English nobles who had stared down the length of the Saints’ blades. They were Scotsmen, allies, and brothers-at-arms. Still, he did not feel entirely at ease with them. Timothy and Robert, both good men, seemed rather odd to him, and Adam, although overall of decent character, possessed an underlying arrogance, as if he was used to giving orders and having men obey.

  At least they were almost to Luthmore Castle. Rory bit the inside of his cheek to silence the laughter bubbling in his throat at the sight of Timothy once more dropping his reins and making the sign of the cross. Rory was certainly not an ungodly man, but it was at least the tenth time Timothy had released his reins to pray just that morning. Rory had never questioned the abbot’s wisdom, and he was not about to start, but he could not imagine what Timothy would teach Alex’s Highland warriors.

  As if conjured by Rory’s question, a large, fierce looking man with an enormous broad sword strapped to his back and clad in naught but a plaid rode out to meet them.

  “Who are ye? And what business have ye at Luthmore?” the Highlander growled.

  Rory kept his distance. It was the other men who had business with the whole MacKenzie clan, and one of them was in possession of a letter to prove it. Rory was there to see only one MacKenzie, the lady of the keep, and he too had a special letter in his satchel. But it was for Alex’s eyes only. A pleasurable warmth flooded his chest at the prospect of seeing her again. He sat back in his saddle and watched Adam nudge his horse forward and dismount in front of the guard.

  “We’ve been sent by Abbot Matthew of Haddington Abbey to bring his condolences to the lady Alexandria and to Clan MacKenzie. We are to be of service to her in this her hour of need.” Adam withdrew a small square of parchment from his saddlebag. Rory was not surprised to see that it was Adam who carried the missive from the abbot. “I have a letter for the captain of the MacKenzie guard with the abbot’s seal to prove the truth of my claim. Are ye Gavin MacKenzie?”

  The large Highlander relaxed his stance. “I am,” he said, stretching out his hand for the letter. After examining it, he held it up for everyone to see. Oddly, there were no written words, but then Rory realized the abbot must have guessed that Gavin MacKenzie would not be able to read. Instead, a likeness of the MacKenzie coat of arms filled the page, and at its center was the seal of the abbot.

  Gavin smiled. “Ye’re all most welcome. I pray ye provide our lady with whatever comfort ye may. She is beloved by her people and none can observe her grief without feeling the acuteness of pain in our own hearts. Her father, too, was a great man…God rest his soul.”

  Adam followed first behind the warrior. As the son of a lord or some other such title, it was his place. Behind Adam rode Robert—who Rory had liked well enough. He seemed to be an expert on horses, having spoken of little else on their two-day journey. After Timothy, Rory fell in line. As the son of a peasant, not to mention an outlaw, it was fitting that he rode last. As an expert swordsman, the abbot sent him under the guise of training the MacKenzie warriors as well, but since that wasn’t his true purpose, he wished to bring as little attention to himself as possible.

  Passing through the massive MacKenzie gates, Gavin waved over a tall man, slim of build with long, white hair. Adam, Robert, and Timothy crossed the courtyard to meet him while Rory stayed back to observe. The white-haired man conversed with the visiting noblemen for several minutes before he dipped his head in a polite bow and made his way to Rory.

  The man possessed shrewd blue eyes and an intelligent air. “I bid ye welcome,” he began. “My name is Michael MacKenzie. I am steward of Luthmore Castle. May I know yer name, sir.”

  Rory smiled. “I’m not a knight or a lord. I’m as common as the ground we stand upon. I hail from Berwick where I once labored on the docks like my da before me. Ye need not call me sir.”

  Michael smiled in return. “Ye’re a friend of the abbot’s, which makes ye welcome here—title or no title.” Then he motioned to the other men. “I was just telling yer traveling companions that the lady is not in the keep just now, but I expect her return forthwith—” A commotion near the gate cut Michael short.

  Rory looked back in time to see a flurry of chickens and children burst into the courtyard, followed by a bigger boy with a messy mop of bright red hair and a dusty, flaxen-haired woman screeching with her hands twisted into claws of attack. “I’m going to get ye,” she cried, her laughter undermining the threat.

  Michael groaned, shaking his head. Rory could not help but laugh out loud. Alex was as vibrant as he remembered her, and now all the more pleasing in her disheveled state: hair tangled; her threadbare tunic covered in small dirty handprints, clearly from all the hugs she received from the wee ones; her feet bare and nearly black from dirt. Michael may not have approved of Alex’s appearance or demeanor, but Rory could not take his eyes off her. She was magnificent, her cheeks flushed from her exertions, her face lit with unabashed joy. She was genuine—and he was captivated.

  “Lady Alexandria,” Michael said loudly.

  “Uh-oh, Alex. We’re in trouble now,” the red-haired boy said, laughing.

  Alex stopped in her tracks as she sought Michael’s gaze through the dust and chaos. “I ken what ye’re going to say, Michael. I’m a disgrace, but I also think ye ken my reply—I don’t care about the state of my tunic or my hair.”

  “Got ye,” a wee voice called out the instant before Alex fell back onto the ground. A moment later, she was drowning beneath a sea of small arms and legs. “Ye wee beasties,” she called out. “Attacking when I was distracted.” She got to work tickling bellies and bare feet. Peals of tortured laughter rang out. “Save yerselves,” one of the children yelled, and soon the mass dispersed.

  She closed her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.

  “My lady, may I help ye to yer feet?”

  Alex opened her eyes. She squinted against the bright sunshine that shadowed the man above her. Then he squatted down beside her, his face instantly becoming clear. She drew in a sharp breath, but his sky-blue eyes held a warning. And the slightest shake of his head told her all she needed to know—that night in the woods had never happened. To the world around them, they were meeting for the very first time. Still, she would know that face anywhere. Her heart raced as she placed her hand in his.

  “’Tis nice to meet yer acquaintance,” Rory said, his voice deep and unhurried.

  “The pleasure is mine,” Alex said, boldly returning his gaze.

  He bent lower and wrapped his arm around her waist, then lifted her to her feet. His hand did not linger, but she could still feel the imprint of warmth where he had touched her.

  William moved to stand in front of Alex. She smiled down at her young protector. “This is my wee brother, William. But everyone calls him, Will.”

  “’Tis good to meet ye, Will,” Rory said.

  Michael cleared his throat, intruding upon their conversation. “My lady, ye’ve more guests to meet,” he said, gesturing to three young men, all finely dressed, and each offering her a smile in greeting.

  “If ye please,” R
ory said, once more winning her attention. “I have a letter from the abbot. He instructed me to present it to ye even before introductions were made.”

  Curious, Alex took the offered letter and without hesitation, she broke the abbot’s seal and began to read:

  My Dearest Alexandria,

  My heart is heavy as I too grieve for your father. As you know, Donnan was my dearest friend from youth. Never has there lived a kinder or more generous man. Take comfort knowing that he now sits with our Lord at His table. Also, please know that you are not alone. I received your letter and am fully prepared to guide you in finding a husband. Marriage is a sound choice at this time. To this end, I have sent you a selection of men, three in number. Each meets certain criteria that I decided would set you on a path toward marital satisfaction, although I do hope love will grow between you and whomever you select. First, none of the men are first sons. This has naturally reduced the expectation they and their families have placed on their marriages. Second, they each possess even temperaments. Third, their families have substantial wealth, and so none are driven by greed.

  Let me provide ye with some particulars on each man:

  Sir Adam Lennox is the third son of Lord Lennox and a knight under the Lord of Fife. Despite the shifting loyalties of his father and patron, Sir Adam’s loyalty has always been to Scotland. His age is eight and twenty. He has proved himself on the battlefield and understands strategy. In the wake of several holdings in the Highlands falling into the hands of English lords, he can provide your warriors insight into the differing combat styles. Likewise, I have encouraged him to study your Highland warriors to strengthen the skills of our lowlander soldiers.

  Robert is also eight and twenty and is the wealthy son of a horse breeder in Edinburgh. He was knighted two years ago by the Lord of Menteith. Like his father, he is also an expert on horses. His interest and knowledge borders on obsession, but if you heed his advice, the MacKenzie horses will be the finest in the Highlands. Robert is there to assist your stable master and to train your warriors for the cavalry. This, as you know, also supports the cause, as we are rebuilding our army during this truce. He will bring one of his prize horses and will trade the stud for one of the MacKenzie’s.

  Timothy is four and twenty and the second son of Lord Cunningham. He is kind and gentle. A man of study. Timothy will intrude upon your life the least. Never will he chastise you for going about with bare feet. Nor will he expect you to change for meals. Knowing your temperament, I wanted to send you one man who would not seek to change you. But weigh your decision. Timothy will not take command of you, but he will also not take command of your people. Never could he be a formidable laird, which will not go unnoticed by the MacLeod.

  My dear, Alex, I have no wish to see your fiery spirit smothered, or for you to be placed under the thumb of any man, including myself, which is why I have sent you a selection of suitors so that the choice in the end is yours. Go through each one and choose wisely. Given the vast MacKenzie lands, wealth, and not to mention your fine qualities too numerous to list on this page, I do not doubt if you were to make your intentions known to any one of them that they would immediately see the benefits to the match.

  Now it is very important that you understand none of them know my true motive for sending them north to your lands. They believe they are there to offer guidance to you and your warriors in the absence of a chieftain. If they knew they were being appraised like horseflesh at market, they might take offense. Guard this secret well. Also, and equally as important, I have sent another man to you, Rory MacVie. He is NOT one of the men I have put forth as a potential husband. I have sent him to aid you in moving the weapons you have hidden away. This is the only capacity in which Rory is to avail himself to you. He is a great many things and a great man, but he is not the sort of man a respectable lass marries. Beyond that, he possesses no title or wealth. He and his brothers are all agents working as you have for me and the bishop, but recent events have brought attention to the MacVie name. I fear it will not be long before all the MacVie brothers will be forced into hiding or face the Tower. I love Rory as I would a son, but frankly, my child, he is a rake. Heed my words and hold fast to your heart.

  Regarding the weapons, you and Rory must decide the best time and method to move them. Regarding your selection of husband, you have one month to decide. You can expect my visit in thirty days. If ye permit me, I will attend your wedding in your father’s stead. I look forward to that day.

  You are in my heart and my prayers,

  A.M.

  Alex focused on steadying her breathing to not reveal how nervous the abbot’s letter had made her. Her heart pounded in her ears while she unhurriedly folded the parchment. Then she dropped her hands to her side, taking on a relaxed stance. Long ago, she had learned to mask her nerves in any situation. Still, three men, three strangers, stood before her while, unbeknownst to them, she would be trying them on over the next month like a pair of slippers at market to see how they fit.

  And then there was Rory.

  She could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze. It had been some time ago when she had requested Abbot Matthew send north another agent to help her move her stockpile of weapons. It was too great an undertaking to accomplish alone, and it would be a relief to have the job done. A shiver coursed up her spine as she thought of completing another mission with Rory. But then she remembered Abbot Matthew’s words she had only just read…He is NOT one of the men I have put forth as a potential husband.

  She cleared her throat and stepped forward. Her duty was to her clan, and she would not lose sight of that. Clan MacKenzie needed a chieftain. She quickly scanned the three noblemen who stood by patiently awaiting introductions. One of the three would—hopefully—be that chieftain. She smiled and dipped into a low curtsy.

  One of the men with chestnut brown hair, deep-set green eyes, and full, appealing lips stepped forward. He dipped his head to her and took her hand, bringing it to those full lips.

  “My name is Sir Adam Lennox. I am so truly sorry for yer loss, Lady Alexandria. I hope my presence here will provide ye comfort. Please know that I am at yer service.”

  Adam was certainly tall and broad of shoulder and rather handsome. His sympathy seemed genuine. She had also felt his calloused palm when he took her hand, and remembered Abbot Matthew’s description of Adam as a seasoned knight. His skill in battle would certainly be an asset to the clan.

  With another dip of his head, Adam stepped back. Alex shifted her eyes to the next man who came forward.

  “I am Sir Robert Gow,” he said, bowing low before kissing her hand.

  Robert was almost angelic in appearance. He had hair as blond as hers and very dark blue eyes. Two dimples appeared in his cheeks when he smiled, framing white, even teeth. “I’m honored to be chosen by the abbot to assist ye in any way I can.” Then he gestured toward the castle stables, the entrance to which was on the other end of the courtyard. “I have been observing some of the comings and goings at yer stables, and I’m already impressed with the MacKenzie horses.”

  “Thank you,” she said, remembering Abbot Matthew had mentioned that Robert knew something of horse breeding. He was certainly handsome, even more so than Adam, but his countenance seemed lighter, less serious, which she also liked. She could imagine Robert having a playful side, which she knew the children of the MacKenzie clan would enjoy in a chieftain.

  Timothy was the last to step forward, and she liked him instantly. He introduced himself simply, using only his given name and leaving off titles.

  “My condolences, my lady,” he said, clasping her hand in both of his. The compassion she saw in his eyes rang true. “I would be honored to pray with ye and help ye through this trying time.”

  Timothy was sincere. His eyes radiated warmth and kindness. Unlike either Adam or Robert, his clothing was simple—not unlike her own. Aye, she understood why the abbot had sent Timothy. He would be a servant to the MacKenzie clan, not a lord.
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  Michael came forward then and gestured to Rory. “I did not hear whether ye made introductions earlier when he was helping ye to yer feet. May I present, Rory MacVie.”

  A half smile curved Rory’s lips, lips she had boldly tasted beneath the cover of darkness, under a canopy of stars. He took her hand and pressed those same lips to her skin. “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye…for the very first time,” he said, giving her a knowing smile.

  Her heart raced. “The pleasure is mine…for the very first time.”

  She gently tugged her hand free and stepped away from Rory, trying to escape the pull he had on her senses. She stepped farther back and once more quickly scanned the men standing in front of her, all looking at her expectantly. Then she cleared her throat. “’Tis time for the noon meal. Shall we retire to the keep?” she said, before turning on her heel and heading toward the great hall. Behind her she knew they all followed. Adam, Robert, Timothy…Rory.

  Her stomach flipped and her heart pounded. When she had written the abbot, she never would have imagined his solution would be to send her multiple suitors. A new secret mission had begun: one that ended with her choosing a husband. She glanced back at the unknowing suitors, feeling devious and delicious all at the same time.

  Chapter Eight

  Rory stepped through the wide arched entrance into Luthmore Castle’s great hall. His eyes flitted from the intricately designed tapestries to the massive hearth to the rows of trestle tables filled with villagers enjoying the noon meal. A hum of voices and laughter lent the room a joyful air. Rory had never been in a castle before. He looked up. The ceiling was so high, it may as well have been the sky, with candles flickering around large, iron candelabra like stars. Underfoot, fresh rushes shifted, releasing fragrant lavender into the air, which mingled with the scent of cooked meats, herbs and the smell of freshly baked bread. He smiled, enjoying the lively space. To him it felt like a busy market place or village green enclosed within a vast stone belly. He patted his own stomach as it growled in response to the rich aromas.