Thistle and Flame - Her Highland Hero

by Anya Karin

  “You laugh and you joke, Will, but I’m serious. Do you remember the Macgregor pair, that father and son that left here before the uprising in forty-five?”

  “Aye of course,” William said. “Robert and his son. Strongest boy I’ve ever seen for his age.”

  “Gavin,” Kenna said in a quick, high-pitched voice. “Gavin Macgregor!”

  William laughed. “Of course you remember him,” he said. “I remember the way you cried when he left. You didn’t leave your room for a week, seemed like.”

  Kenna flushed so deep crimson she might have gone purple. “It wasn’t like that. He was just a friend.”

  “A friend she says,” Will elbowed his daughter in the ribs and she punched his arm. “Well, anyway, what of them? Robert came back with the rest of the men, aye? Never did know what happened to Gavin.”

  “He was killed or captured. Don’t you remember Mr. Macgregor going around and telling the news?” Kenna said with a hitch in her voice. “He-”

  “Isn’t dead,” old man McCraig interrupted.

  “What?” Kenna and her father said at once.

  “Not dead. Everyone thought he was. Even Robert thought him to have died. But he didn’t. Or at least that’s what they say.”

  “What who says? This story is ruining me with confusion,” William said.

  “The papers,” he said. “The papers say that since the uprising ended, someone’s been playing Robin of the Hood down near Edinburgh. But instead of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, he’s stealing from the English and giving to the Scots. Of course, that works out to be stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

  “How do they know it’s Gavin? That just doesn’t make any sense, McCraig,” William said. “His own father thinks he’s dead.”

  “I can only tell you what I heard.”

  “It’s just such a damned curious story. Two years gone, and now he shows up stealing from the lords? It’s hard to believe is all.”

  “Aye,” the old man said, “I’ll not deny that. And it’s not even certain. There’s just so many similarities.”

  “What you mean?”

  “Well, the story I read told of a man from Fort Mary. As we know, he’s the only one whose gone missing. Except for Filo, that strange fellow who took to drink and wandered off, anyway.”

  “But how would they know he’s from town? And do they not give a name?”

  McCraig shook his head. “He calls himself something else. He’s a highwayman after all.”

  William Moore sucked his teeth.

  “Now wait just a minute,” Lora said. “All we’ve got are stories, right? Circumstances? Are we sure that whoever this fellow is, and he seems a fine sort,” she said with a smirk, “are we sure he’s not just making up a convenient tale to explain his past? Maybe he’s just a freedom fighter from down south, but cooked up a story to cover his family.”

  “Could be, aye,” McCraig said. “But I don’t think so. For one, they say he’s got a particular look about him that sounds like Gavin from the description. As well, they say he doesn’t speak like he’s from below Loch Katrine. Says he sounds like a Highlander. And those Macgregor boys certainly have a touch of the Highlands in their tongue.”

  For a long moment, Kenna watched her parents study each other’s faces as though they were speaking without words. She didn’t know why they both seemed so affected by this news, as the boy in question had lived on the other side of the town, and his father never particularly got on with anyone else. He wasn’t disliked by anyone; the Macgregor family just kept apart is all. Or so she thought.

  Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. “What’s got you two so concerned? You never said much about Gavin or his Da while they were here. Didn’t even say much when they went south, but now you two look positively beside yourselves.”

  Lora gave William one last sidelong glance.

  “It’s nothing, dear. Really, it’s just a curious story. Very curious. For me anyway, I’m imagining how strange it must be for Robert to find out his dead son isn’t quite so dead. He grieved for a year over the boy. And now for him to be alive again?”

  “That’s the short of it,” William agreed. “But, we’ve got things to do. We’ve got a farm to run and I’ve got milk to drink.” He filled the mug he’d just drained of tea with fresh milk and quaffed it at one go. “We’ll find out about the boy when we find out. Hopefully it turns out though. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “What’s that, Will?” McCraig said.

  “A Fort Mary Robin Hood. We’d finally have a claim to fame besides the cows.”

  “What’s this, then, Gav? Another purse? You’re on a tear these days. Better look out or the Sheriff is going to get serious about bagging you.”

  “You think I don’t know that, Two-fingers?” The young man shook his head to jostle the sleepiness from his eyes. It had been two days, maybe three, since he’d met a bed and at least one since he laid his head on a nice patch of moss and caught a few winks. “Aye that’s a purse, and to answer your next question, it came directly from Alan’s coffers. Getting in that house was a bit of a trick, what with all the walls and guards and guns he keeps around. You’d think he was afraid of something.”

  “No. No, are you speaking true? You stole this from the Sheriff?”

  “And waved to him as I left. And maybe showed him my moon.” He laughed.

  “I don’t believe you. I just don’t.”

  “Check the notes,” the young thief said. “Not only did I steal a purse full of gold crowns, I also managed to lift a few letters. One of them from King George himself. That should be a good souvenir for someone.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” John said, pulling the three letters from the pouch Gavin handed over to him. Sure enough, the top one bore the king’s seal in broken wax on the back. “I’m looking at this thing, and I still don’t believe you.”

  He laughed and ran his hand backward through his black, wavy hair. Underneath the shaggy mane, his eyes showed a pale blue in the candle by which his friend-turned-first lieutenant examined the parchment.

  “Go on, read the thing. I think you’ll enjoy having been written about by a king.”

  “Me?” John’s voice was a whisper as he scanned the paper. “John, the one they call ‘two-fingers’,” he said with a laugh, “forced robbery...burgling from the church...stealing from royal coffers...endangering the children.”

  “I don’t remember that part,” Gavin chuckled. “When did we endanger any children? They should be thanking us for feeding the little things so they don’t have to. Not like they would anyway.”

  “Shut up, I’m getting to the good part. Says here, we’re a danger to proper society, we’ve done more harm than anyone since William Wallace and Robert, Earl of Bruce, to the union of England and Scotland-”

  “I’d say those men who starve our people and refuse to give us any sort of rights or representation to be more responsible for that, but, then again, I endanger children.” Liam interrupted.

  John nodded absently and continued. “Anyway, there’s just a list of things, some of which we’ve done, but most of which are made up. We’ve never murdered anyone, for one thing. And never once do I remember stealing from the kirk.”

  “No, we never stole from our church. On the other hand, I’ve taken plenty from the Anglican bishops that wander through here trying to turn us all into English people.”

  “That’s fair enough,” John replied. “Oh it goes on.”

  “Aye it goes on for quite some time, listing the terrors we’ve visited upon the poor, unfortunate souls of Edinburgh. Funny how it says we’ve done all this horror and yet the people of this city seem to welcome us with open arms.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind as well,” John said. “But look here, where the King puts our little rabble in the same ranks as Wallace and The Bruce. That can’t be true, can it?”

  “No, of course not. We’re small time crooks who st
eal a bit of coin for the poor who got thrown off their land and starved out after the war ended and the Bonnie Prince went off to France. We’ve done nothing so exciting as single-handedly wage a war against the crown.”

  “But Gav isn’t that where this is going? I mean, isn’t the whole point to irritate the English so badly that they just up and leave?”

  “That won’t happen. No matter how much I might want it to, that’s not a possibility. My only goal is to help some. Help anyone who can’t help themselves. I’m not Robin Hood, you’re not Little John. Although the humor of your namesake hasn’t ever been lost on me, times like those are gone and dead. We’re just trying to make as much of a difference as we can. But, you’re still not done with the letter.”

  “Right, right,” John said with a chuckle. “And I’ve never fought with a big stick. At least not very skillfully.”

  The two men laughed for a moment.

  “Keep going,” Gavin urged. “What I want you to read is at the very bottom on the back. Skip the rest of the list of our crimes that we never committed.”

  “I, King George II of England,” John read in a dramatic voice, “do hereby confer upon Liam, the Ghost of Edinburgh, and all his fellows, the sentence of death. Alan, acting Sheriff of Edinburgh, is hereby ordered to cease all activities not pertaining to the apprehension and arrest of the aforementioned knave. Upon his arrest, he is to be hanged by the neck until dead.”

  John looked over at Gavin who was grinning with a smile that could have disarmed the foulest-tempered tough.

  “You seem pretty happy about getting a death warrant put on your head.”

  “I’ve got to admit that I’m a little proud of being mentioned by the king, even if it is a death threat.”

  “You’re one of a kind, you know that, right?”

  “I try.”

  After the exchange, Liam and John sat in silence for a moment, the tiny candle in the attic room above the Lion & Eagle pub playing shadows across both of their faces. John was the first one to speak.

  “I miss home,” he said. “I miss it awfully bad. Sometimes all I can think is how I want to abandon what we’ve done here. Abandon all this work, and go back north of the Lochs, back with my Da and my Ma, and live out the rest of my days tending sheep.”

  His friend nodded, his eyes fixed on the tip of the candle flame, but said nothing.

  “It’s like we came down here, we fought that battle, all the Highlanders had one last hurrah, and then when it was over and the Bonnie Prince was thrown out, that was it. Everyone just went home. Everyone forgot the years of famine, the starving, the pain, and they all just went back to the mountains to live out their lives. Why didn’t we? Why are we still here risking our lives every single day for people we don’t even know?”

  “It’s the right thing to do, John. You know that.” Gavin’s eyes never left the flame. “I miss home too. I miss it more than anything, even though I never talk about it. The reason I don’t is because it hurts too much. I can’t stand being away, but I know that if I’m not – if we’re not doing this – then no one else will. These people will starve. These farmers don’t have a chance without us, to say nothing of those who live in the city, under the thumb of these new lords.”

  As he spoke, John watched his friend’s fist clench and release in a slow, patient rhythm. He’d seen that fist clenching only one other time – right before the two of them broke into the bottom floor of an apartment on the Queen’s Road, and stolen four sacks of coin, a sack of grain from the kitchens, and run off with a servant chasing them into the street.

  “What’s wrong, Gavin?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, none of that. What’s wrong? You’re not yourself.”

  “Aye, it’s all this talk of home. I’m thinking of missing things and wanting to go back, but I know I can’t. I dare not, not until everyone’s fed, and one way or another, this horrible Sheriff is out of Edinburgh for good. The English I could take or leave. I’m not interested in politics, you know that.”

  John nodded.

  “I’m interested in people being safe. In my countrymen not being slaves to a crown that does nothing for them. Alan is in the pocket of every single English lord, and a couple of shameful Scots ones, in this town, and I want to make sure that if Judgment day comes soon, he’ll be back in England to greet the Lord. I don’t care how it happens just so long as it does.”

  “What do you miss, Liam?”

  “About home?”

  “Aye, about home. You’ve never said much about it. I tell you all the time about things from my place, but I don’t even think I know the name of yours.”

  “Fort Mary,” he said. His voice was a dark whisper, his eyes still focusing on the flame. “And the reason I don’t say anything is because when I think about it, or talk about it, all I want to do is give up the fight and go home.”

  “Maybe talking about it, just a little, maybe that’ll help?”

  “It’s...alright.” He said. “But nothing I say leaves this, uh, building. Right?”

  “Of course not.”

  Gavin poured himself a dram of the fiery whiskey from downstairs.

  “Alright.”

  “Go on.”

  “My father and I came down south for the uprising, just like you. He’s from an old Highland clan and still has some misplaced sense of loyalty to them. Myself, I’m not so sentimental. I was born up in the far, far north, but don’t remember any of it. I was too young. We moved to Fort Mary to get away from my Ma’s angry father, and that was as far as we got before the food ran out.”

  John watched as his friend paused for a long drink, but didn’t say anything.

  “Anyway, it was just supposed to be a short stop-over until my father got his feet under him again and we could get new horses, maybe some food. But winter set in, and the people of the town took care of him – of us. When the thaw came, they helped build us a house and got it all set up, and even donated a bunch of seed to him to get started. One old man, a fellow called McCraig,” Gavin laughed as he said the name, “funny old man. Anyway, he gave my pa a pair of sheep even. Just gave it over, no charge, and no questions. That’s the sort of people they are.”

  “Generous folk, huh?”

  “To their own harm sometimes.”

  Gavin took another drink.

  “The next winter, Ma died, and then Pa married a Fort Mary girl who lost her husband to a pox. She came with a little girl, and then they had another. So we left the three girls and came south to fight a war I didn’t understand, and that my Pa had only the flimsiest reason for fighting. He never said so, but I suspect he wanted to come down here just to get away from the boredom up north.”

  “But didn’t he miss his wife and the girls?”

  “I’m sure he did. But he never said anything. Just talked a lot about duty and fighting oppression, you know how men can be.”

  “Aye,” John answered. “But I also know how they can get when they long for home. Is that why he went back?”

  “No. He went back because the war was over. Same as everyone else.”

  As he spoke, Gavin’s face started to sag a little at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, normally sparkling clear, darkened.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” John said. “What is it you miss? I can tell there’s something.”

  “You’re right, of course.” He said with a sad smile. “I was not the man you know. The battle, the war, and all that, it changed me, yes. But nothing changed me more than the work we’ve done for the past few months. The suffering we see, and those we’ve helped, it all made me a much different person. Back in Fort Mary, I was a little bit of a coward.”

  “You?” John said with a laugh. “A coward?”

  Gavin smiled. “A terrible one.”

  “It’s a girl, isn’t it? You’re about to tell me about a girl you pined after and never quite had the courage to talk to?”

  “In a way,” he said. “It was a girl,
one with blazing red hair, a smile that went on for miles and legs that were just as long.”

  John grinned. “There was more to her, though, wasn’t there?”

  “Of course. She was – still is, I’m sure – stunning. But she also had a way that made everyone around her smile and laugh. She juggled. She made these...these animal sounds, with her mouth. You know, cow sounds, sheep bleating, that kind of thing. And she had the gentlest, kindest nature I’ve ever known.”

  “And?”

  “And, well, I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but we’re close. I may as well tell you.”

  “Tell me what, Gav?”

  “Oh it’s just us, you can drop the secrecy.”

  “Right, so what’s your horrible secret, hidden until this very moment?”

  “Kenna,” Gavin said. “Her name is Kenna Moore. And the last time I had enough courage to talk to her instead of just watching her from afar at village gatherings, I had just finished throwing the caber, and had quite a good toss.”

  “You were bragging, weren’t you?”

  “Aye, I was quite proud of myself. I walked straight up to sweet little Kenna Moore and put my hand on her shoulder and leaned in to give her a kiss, something I’d wanted to do since she moved to town and we were both little.”

  “Did she let you? And what’s the big terrible secret?”

  “Ach, no, the terrible secret is that all that only happened in my mind. I did go up to her, but there was no kiss. All I did was to give her a thistle.”

  “You? The mighty Gavin Macgregor? Cowed by a wee lass?”

  With a mist in his eyes, Gavin smiled, remembering what she was like, how she’d laughed. “Aye, I was. But thinking back on it, I wouldna have changed a thing. I’ve got more fire in my guts now. If ever I happen to see her again, I won’t make the same mistake.”

  Chapter Two

  “Why do we have to go so slow when we do this, Pa?” Kenna stood up, let her hoe rest in the crook of her elbow and stretched her back. “Let’s just get all this stuff planted and go home. I’m exhausted.”