Lord of Legend

by Charlene Cross

  “What of the Lady Lochlaigh?” Aleck asked. “Will I see her shortly?”

  “Ain’t got no idea. She’s seein’ to matters concernin’ the clan. When she’s through, I suppose she’ll send for ye. Go, take yerself a seat.” The man strode off without waiting for a response.

  Gritting his teeth, the Earl of Montbourne motioned his men to the benches. At the same time, the outer doors to the hall swung open. Shaking the rain from their heads, the rest of the troop tracked across the stone floor, joining their companions. However, one made his way toward Aleck.

  “The horses have been rubbed down, watered, and fed,” Sir John Farrell told him once he’d reached Montbourne’s side. His dark brown eyes scanned the tabletops. “’Twould be nice if I could say the same of us.”

  Aleck looked at the knight. Approaching the age of thirty, he was one of James’s most trusted soldiers. “My thoughts exactly,” Aleck agreed. Then he asked, “What think you of this situation?”

  Farrell glanced around the empty hall. “It makes me nervous. The fellow at the battlement seemed extremely desirous of spilling our English blood. I would not be surprised if, while we ate, he and the others fell on this place and assailed us all.”

  “I feel the same, Sir John,” Aleck acknowledged. “Tell your men to keep alert, for we might soon have to fight our way out. Otherwise, this dismal hole might become our tomb.”

  “They will be ready for whatever is to come,” Sir John promised, “and so will I.”

  “Well enough.” With impatient hands, Aleck untied the knotted strings that secured his cloak. “Let us hope they allow us enough time to fill our bellies and renew our strength.” He viewed the back of the hall. “This interminable waiting is testing my forbearance. Are we expected to prepare the food ourselves?”

  Across the length of the hall, Chandra Morgan peered around the edge of the stone curtain that separated the large room from the entrance to the kitchens. Eyes centered on the one called Montbourne, she saw that he briefly looked her way.

  “I wonder what they are close in conversation about,” Devin commented from behind her, watching the two Englishmen over her shoulder. “’Twould be interesting to know.”

  “Aye, it would,” Chandra said, a slight frown creeping across her brow. Then she smiled. “However, it shouldn’t be too hard to find out.” She turned to Devin. “Is the food ready?”

  “Aye. The kettles have been standing on the back tables for nearly an hour. The gruel has grown cold and lumpy, and has the consistency of paste.”

  “Good.” Chandra peeked around the stones once more to see the sodden cloak swing from the Englishman’s shoulders; he tossed it onto an unset table. Water dripped from its hem onto the floor. He slipped his helm from his head and tossed it atop the cloak, then raked his fingers through his long, damp hair. “They deserve no better—the arrogant lot.”

  Just over an hour ago, while the king’s men waited outside in the cold rain, the clan Morgan had feasted in the warmth of this very hall. Trenchers of meat had lined the tables, along with bowls of peas and turnips. Brown breads and cheeses had passed from hand to hand, as had offerings of dried fruits. Wine and ale had flowed freely, but not too much was imbibed.

  After the whole had eaten their fill, the hall had been cleared, the tables stripped of their damask covers and scrubbed clean; old benches had been exchanged for the new. Not a trace remained of the fine appointments or sumptuous fare, except perhaps a faint lingering scent of roasted meat.

  “Tell the women to bring the kettles and cakes. ’Tis time we serve our guests.”

  “We?” Devin inquired. “Surely you do not intend to minister to the Sassenach yourself?”

  “I do.”

  “Make certain, Chandra, that by doing so, you are not placing yourself in danger.”

  “Since he knows not who I am, I foresee no danger. He and his men are tired and hungry, and so might be less cautious with their tongues. Perhaps I can discover why he is here.” She looked to the opposite end of the curtain, where her uncle stood in the shadows, four dozen men filling the narrow passageways behind him. “Besides, Cedric ogles him as a hawk would a rabbit. The Englishman is no fool. He knows he’s being watched. There will be no trouble—not just now.”

  Devin studied his cousin for a long moment. The Englishman, he’d noticed, had shown a masculine interest in her. Obviously the man believed her a common wench who, with a little persuasion, could be used for his own pleasure. Should Cedric become aware of this, the English rogue would soon find himself castrated. “A word of caution, cousin,” he said close to her ear. “The Sassenach looks upon you with lust, so when near him, make certain he does not touch you. Your uncle will not abide such intimacy. Beware, or the hall will suffer a bloodbath the likes of which no Morgan has ever seen.”

  Lust? The word bounced through Chandra’s mind. Staring after Devin as he strode to the kitchens to instruct the women to bring forth the kettles and cakes, she considered her cousin’s statement.

  Certainly she’d noticed the spark of masculine interest in the Englishman’s eyes when they’d first met, but she’d thought it no more than a reflection of his own male vanity. His words about renewing their acquaintance had been said seductively, the insinuation not lost on anyone, yet she was certain they had been meant to entertain his men, thereby calling attention to himself.

  Chandra’s gaze again focused on the Sassenach; she studied him closely. Handsome he was. Pompous, too. In truth, she thought, he was much like the cock that strutted in the yard beyond the doors of the hall. Puffing himself up, the arrogant fowl would crow loudly. On that cue, the wisest of the hens scurried to the opposite ends of the bailey, for instinctively they knew what was to come, while the more doltish of the brood suffered the consequences. Chandra knew enough to keep herself far away from the Englishman, swaggering rooster that he was. Devin had nothing to fear.

  When the women had gathered at her side, Chandra gave careful instructions that they were to remain attentive to all that was said. “Report whatever you hear to me,” she said. “Remember, I will serve the tall one with the black hair and blue eyes.” Taking hold of a kettle and a ladle, she stepped from behind the stone curtain, the other women trailing after her.

  Aleck looked up to see the line of females headed his way, the beauty he’d nearly trampled at their fore. “Finally,” he said to Sir John, closely watching the lass who’d again captured his interest. Viewing the red flame of her hair, he wondered if her passion was as fiery. Then he examined her perfect features; her pouting lips looked temptingly delicious, and he contemplated how they might taste were they to find their way beneath his own. His attention dropped to her shapely body, and he noted that she moved with a natural grace unmatched by any Englishwoman he knew. Wild and untamed, she was much like the country of her birth, and Aleck decided he’d very much enjoy mastering her. But the lass was undoubtedly spoken for, and he’d not chance incurring the wrath of these heathen Scots, for it meant certain death, not only for him but for his men as well.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Sir John move toward the table; Aleck followed. Seated, his back to the wall, he awaited his fare. A moment later, to his surprise and delight, the red-haired lass stepped behind him. His thick-lashed eyes crinkling at the corners, Aleck offered her a smile, one that he knew sent most women into an immediate swoon. Unbelievably, she seemed to be immune. She stared at him unresponsively; slowly his smile faded. The ladle dipped into the kettle, then withdrew. A large clump of cold gruel fell into his bowl. Viewing the unappetizing gob, Aleck grimaced. “What is this?”

  “Oats,” she said while another woman set a platter on the table directly in front of him. “And those are bannocks, or oatmeal cakes.”

  Aleck could not help wondering if the grain was the only subsistence on which the Morgans lived. He doubted it, for the scent of roasted meat still clung to the air inside the voluminous hall, and he suspected that the oats, in their adapted forms
, had been prepared especially for the clan Morgan’s uninvited guests. His gaze traveled to the large plate in front of him, the contents of which looked very much like round, flat rocks, then back to his bowl. After a moment, he turned to Sir John, who’d just received his own share.

  The knight shrugged, retrieved the wooden spoon beside his bowl, and poked at the mound of cooked oats. Fastidiously he tried to pry a small section from the gummy whole, but it would not budge. Losing his patience, he jabbed at the mass while twisting his spoon. A piece broke free to fly over Sir John’s and Aleck’s shoulders. Turning, they eyed the pasty glob that had plastered itself to the stones.

  “If it thus adheres to the wall, I shudder to think what it will do to one’s stomach and intestines,” Sir John said, a frown wrinkling his brow.

  “I think I shall forgo discovering the effects in either case.” Aleck’s suspicions rose, and a frown crept across his own brow. “Tis only an observation—and certainly one would not think it possible—but the stuff seems to match the color of the mortar, does it not?”

  Sir John grunted in agreement; both men shoved their bowls aside, then appraised the cakes. “Do we attempt to eat one?” the knight asked. “Or do you think this, too, is part of the castle’s fabric?”

  Aleck retrieved a bannock from the platter. It crumbled in his hand. “Other than being as old as the place itself, I think this might be the safer of the two.”

  Behind him, Chandra bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. She watched as the Sassenach sniffed the cake, then took a bite. He chewed the overcooked fare—so ordered by Chandra—for a long while. “Wine!” she heard him croak after he’d attempted twice to swallow.

  She stepped to the table. “Water is all we have, milord.” The clear liquid poured into the squat cup by his hand. “I hope it is acceptable.”

  Aleck stared at the two-eared vessel. Damnation! he thought, wiping the tasteless food—its consistency much like that of raw flour—from his mouth by way of his tongue. Were there no comforts at all in this place? “Am I expected to drink from a bowl as would a cat?” Aleck questioned, becoming even more annoyed. “Do you not have a decent cup on the premises?”

  “That is a cup. A Scottish cup. It is called a quaich. Were you not so ignorant and untraveled, you would know as much.”

  “Ignorant? Untraveled?” he repeated, his voice low, his temper flaring. “Ignorant, I am not. Dull-witted, I am. But only because I had not the good sense to follow my own mind. Against my better judgment, I agreed to come to this miserable land and have suffered for it ever since. As for being untraveled, I can assure you no one in his right mind would ever set foot in this dismal clime, unless it was ordered by his king.”

  “Why did James send you?” Chandra asked, hoping his mounting anger would cause him to spew forth the reason.

  “That is for the Lady Lochlaigh to know, if she ever shows her face.”

  “She is engaged with matters concerning the clan.”

  “So I’ve been told. But it seems to me that when the king’s emissary arrives, carrying a message from the Lady Lochlaigh’s sovereign that is to be delivered to her immediately, all else becomes unimportant. Apparently, you Scots think differently. But that is not surprising, for it is obvious the Morgans lack proper breeding. None of you know what the word decorum means.”

  A red hue blazed up Chandra’s ivory skin to settle on her sculptured cheekbones, sparks of anger flaring to life inside her. “P-proper breeding?” she sputtered, desperately trying to calm her fury. Were she to lose control, she knew her uncle and the others would be on the Englishman in a breath’s time. “By whose definition do we Morgans lack what you call proper breeding?”

  “By my own,” Aleck responded tersely. “Your clansmen have displayed extremely poor manners, not only to me and my men, but also to our king. By dealing with us unfavorably, you have done the same to James. I suspect, however, that this shoddy behavior is an inbred trait that has perpetuated itself over the centuries.” Aleck heard the young beauty sputter anew; he waved her off. “It is widely known that the different clans cannot even show civility to their own neighbors. They war with one another constantly. The only time they band together is when a foreign invader encroaches on the Highlands as a whole. The intruder routed, the clans immediately go back to fighting among themselves as though they had nothing better to do.”

  “I assume, when you use the terms foreign invader and intruder, you naturally refer to the English,” Chandra interrupted.

  Her statement was accurate, but it did not deter Aleck. He was too incensed. “That is as it may be, but the fact remains: Such conduct is uncivilized, barbarous. Your countrymen are as wild as the savage land in which they live. Therefore, one cannot expect even a shred of courtesy from any of you. Tell me, lass, would you not agree that the ill-treatment afforded us this day is none other than the result of shoddy behavior?”

  Chandra took issue with several points, but could not deny much of what the man had said. Until recently, the clans, more often than not, had warred with each other. A few still did. But the clan Morgan, under her father’s guidance, had been at peace with its neighbors for nearly a decade. It was the English who stirred the Morgans’ blood, rejuvenated their hatred—specifically her uncle’s—for the clansmen resented their southern neighbor’s desire for control.

  Over the centuries, much violence had passed between the two nations, the stories of those happenings living even unto this day. The Scots would not soon forget how the English had invaded their lands, killed their kings, beheaded their discarded queen. It was only fair justice that a Scottish king now ruled both north and south, but James was not without flaw, for he’d ingratiated himself with the English, hoping to gain the crown on Elizabeth’s death. He’d made little protest when his mother was to die under the axe. Most would agree that Mary had dictated her own fate, her treacherous actions—for one of which she was branded a whore and a traitor—culminating in her inevitable death; but in the Highlands, where family allegiance meant all, James’s sort of behavior was considered disloyal. Because of this—along with the fact that he desired to unite Scotland and England—James was not revered. Hence the ill-treatment of his emissary.

  By the same token, this haughty Sassenach had brought much of his woes on himself. He spoke of shoddy behavior, accusing the clan Morgan of such, when in fact he had exhibited the very same. Had he not maligned her homeland, called her a simpleton, and insinuated that he wanted to bed her, drawing knowing chortles from his men, practically all in one breath? If anyone had displayed a lack of proper breeding, it had been he, first and foremost. What had followed was merely payment in kind.

  “I take it that you are not fond of my homeland,” she said at last, again quelling her ire.

  “Fond of your—” Aleck cut himself off. “I will tell you this, and know it is true. I loathe this place and one will not fault me when one considers why. I have been made to sit in a cold rain for hours, then when bid welcome, I am fed a pasty porridge and overcooked cakes not even the hogs could stomach. My eyes have seen naught but braky browns and gloomy grays since coming to the north of Scotland—Lochlaigh Castle, in particular. I’d give anything to be served a decent meal, to soak in a hot bath, and to have the lush greens of England surround me once more, for that is the only place I will ever find such comforts.”

  Clamping her teeth together, Chandra studied the pompous Englishman. So, he desired the “lush greens” of his beloved England, did he? If wishes were but reality, she’d gladly dispatch him there in the blink of an eye. An idea struck her. “To be surrounded by English green, that is what you desire?” Chandra inquired.

  “Yes,” Aleck snapped. “That is what I desire!”

  “Mayhap, milord, you will soon receive your wish.”

  Chandra started to turn away, but a warm hand caught her wrist, long fingers encircling it completely. A sudden clatter sounded at the back of the hall; her attention shot to the stone curtain, where
her uncle now stood in full View, his hand on his sword, several men pressing close behind him. She caught Cedric’s eye and gave a quick shake of her head. From across the distance, Cedric’s hard gaze bored into her. Her jaw set, Chandra returned his challenging look. Strong wills momentarily clashed, their owners refusing to back down. Then Cedric’s eyes dropped, and he retreated behind the wall.

  On an inaudible sigh, Chandra turned back to the Englishman. He seemed not to have noticed the commotion. Whether he knew it or not, good fortune had shone on him. But it might not do so again.

  Aleck had not missed the disturbance, though he pretended otherwise. Just as he’d suspected, the hall was filled with well-armed men, concealed in the shadows. When he’d captured the young beauty’s slender wrist, the whole had dashed nearly into full sight. Luckily, they’d withdrawn—but not before he’d recognized their leader as the man who’d tried to bait Aleck and his men into engaging themselves against the clan. It was quite likely he was a close relative of hers; hence, on spying Aleck’s too-familiar touch, the man’s quick temper had erupted. Understandable, for it was apparent that he hated the English. But why had the others charged forth, and in such haste?

  Those questions bothered Aleck. But after a moment’s thought, he decided they were also close relatives—undoubtedly a result of inbreeding among the tightly knit group. That would certainly explain their urgency.

  Marking that she heeded him fully, Aleck released her arm. “My greatest wish, lass, is to meet with the Lady Lochlaigh. Would you see if that might be arranged with your chieftain?”

  “I will inquire, but I cannot promise she will see you tonight. However, I am certain she will order clean accommodations and a hot bath for milord when she learns of your desires. The food, unfortunately, is all that we can offer.”

  A tantalizing smile crept across the Englishman’s extraordinary features, while his sky blue eyes shone with a seductive twinkle; Chandra’s breath caught in her throat.