Fate of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  “Come on,” Finn snapped at them. "The sooner I get rid of this lass, the sooner I can get some food and ale."

  Grabbing Eleanor roughly by the arm, he marched her up the broad steps to the door on the first level. Kicking it open, he dragged her into the dim interior. A wood-paneled corridor stretched ahead of her. Tapestries hung from the walls and the flagstone floor looked freshly scrubbed. Arched doorways marched down either side of the corridor, some closed, some open, and it was to one of these that Finn marched Eleanor.

  From inside a voice shouted, "I dinna care if they have an army of Fae creatures and the king's best knights to boot! I will have their surrender or, by God, I will crush the whole stinking lot of them!"

  There was a crash as if something had been thrown across the room and then two old men carrying rolled up parchment under their arms, hurried out, both looking flustered and hardly giving Finn or Eleanor a glance.

  Finn strode through the door without knocking, pulling Eleanor behind him. Broag followed behind, taking a position by the door. Eleanor found herself in a high-ceilinged room. Narrow windows let in only a meager amount of light and candles burned in sconces on the walls. The room was sparsely furnished, with just a large table in the center strewn with documents and two chairs by the fireplace at the far end. A man leaned on that fireplace with his back to them, his hands gripping the stone mantelpiece until they went white.

  “If ye bring me more bad news,” the man growled without turning, "ye can damn well go back to where ye came from! I've had a belly full of it today!"

  "Whether my news is good or ill is for ye to judge, my lord,” Finlay replied.

  The man spun at the sound of Finn’s voice. His eyes widened and then he broke into a grin.

  “Ah! Finlay, my faithful hound! So, Broag found ye then? My nephew claims ye deserted and ran off with some MacAuley spy!”

  Finlay cocked his head. “And what do ye think, my lord?” His voice was quiet.

  The man narrowed his eyes. He looked to be somewhere in his late forties and had narrow features and something of the aristocrat about him. His plaid bore the same pattern as everyone else, except Finlay, but his was thicker, the fabric richer and his fingers sported several golden rings. His dark hair was scraped back in a ponytail at the back of his head. He fixed a sharp, shrewd gaze on her and Finn.

  "I think he was talking horse shit," the man replied. "We both know the depths of yer loyalty, dinna we, my faithful hound? Ye wouldnae risk all we have achieved together for the sake of one wench." His gaze sharpened. "Would ye?"

  Finlay ground his teeth. "Nay, my lord."

  A flash of triumph crossed the man's face and for an instant Eleanor saw undisguised malice shining in his eyes but it was gone in an instant. "So I wonder why ye didnae return yesterday as ye were ordered? And when ye finally do come back, ye bring this wench with ye?"

  His gaze snapped to Eleanor and she felt a flash of fear. The man's eyes were as cold and dead as those of a snake. He watched Eleanor dispassionately, like a snake would watch its prey, deciding whether it would devour her whole or toy with her first. Lifting her chin defiantly, she gazed steadily at him, refusing to show any of the turmoil that twisted her insides.

  Finn stepped forward. "I didnae return yesterday because I picked up the trail of Angus’s patrol. When I found them I decided to relieve them of their prisoner as I didnae believe she would be safe with them and was bringing her here when Broag found us. Lady Eleanor Stevenson, may I introduce Lord Alasdair Stewart?”

  "Lady Stevenson?" Lord Stewart said. "The MacAuleys are employing noblewomen as their spies these days?"

  His mocking tone stung her to anger. "I am no spy, god dammit!" she snapped. "What is wrong with you people? Do I look like a spy to you? All I want is to be allowed to go home! I demand you release me!"

  Lord Stewart’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise. He looked her up and down, taking in her clothing. Then he gave her a slight, mocking bow. "My apologies, my lady. Yer accent is mighty strange. An outlander at a guess?"

  "She's from America," Finn said. "Across the sea.”

  Lord Stewart glanced at him, annoyed that he answered for her.

  "Yes," she replied, forcing her voice to steadiness. "I’m only a visitor in your land and have nothing to do with the MacAuleys or your damned war!"

  Lord Alasdair Stewart stared at her for a long moment. "Ah, ye are good. The clothing, the accent, even the jewellery. Why, ye almost had me believing ye. But Logan MacAuley is a fool if he thinks I will fall for his ruse. Spies, my dear, come in all shapes and sizes.”

  “You’re not listening!” Eleanor snapped. “Read my lips. I. Am. Not. A. Spy!”

  A flare of annoyance crossed the man’s face at her tone. Before he could speak Finlay cleared his throat.

  “She speaks the truth. I questioned her thoroughly and I dinna believe she’s a spy.”

  “Then why bring her here?” Lord Stewart growled. “If she isnae a spy, what value is she to me? Ye should have let Balloch have her, the lad needs his rewards after all.”

  Finlay’s eyes flashed. He seemed to be struggling to keep his temper. “She is a doctor. She treated my wound with skill.”

  Lord Stewart’s eyes sparked with interest. “A doctor? But she is a woman.”

  “And an outlander with ways different to our own. She claims in her homeland women are allowed to do all sorts.”

  Stewart stalked over to Eleanor, moving with the feline grace of a predator. He might wear fancy clothes and have the look of an aristocrat but Eleanor knew this man was dangerous. She stood her ground as he came to stand in front of her, his cold blue eyes studying her face.

  “What would a trained physician be doing wandering a disputed border in the Highlands?” he asked quietly.

  Eleanor got the impression that her fate depended on her answer. Swallowing thickly, she decided she would stick as close to the truth as possible. That way she’d be less likely to be caught out in a lie.

  “I was invited here by the people of a settlement some distance away. They hadn’t got a physician of their own and offered me a position in their community. I accepted. When I arrived I decided to explore my new home. However, whilst I was exploring I got lost and your men found me.”

  “Exploring?” Lord Stewart snorted. “On yer own and without men-folk to escort ye? Did ye lose yer wits as well as yer path?”

  “Where I come from,” Eleanor stated coldly. “A woman is safe to go walking on her own without getting set upon by a band of unwashed louts!”

  Stewart barked a laugh, the sound sharp and loud enough to make Eleanor jump. “Ha! Ye have more balls than most of my men! What was this settlement ye claim to come from?”

  “It’s called Achfarn,” she replied. “Close to a grove of oak trees called—”

  “St. Helen’s kirk,” Finlay cut in. “The lass told me it lies close to the ruins of St. Helen’s kirk.”

  Eleanor looked at him sharply. Why was he lying to Stewart?

  Stewart narrowed his eyes at Finn. Suspicion flared in them for a moment. Finn met his lord’s gaze, unflinching, and after a moment, Stewart waved his hand dismissively.

  “It hardly matters. Ye are on my land now and that makes ye my property.” The cold gaze fixed on her again and he lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “We shall see. If ye are a physician mayhap I can make use of ye. If not—” He shrugged. “Ye can entertain the men like the rest of the camp whores. Take her away.” He stepped back, waving at Broag.

  The man grabbed Eleanor by the arm. “This way, my lady.”

  “Wait!” Eleanor cried as Broag dragged her to the door. “What are you doing? Let me go! Finn!”

  She twisted in Broag’s grip to get a view of Finlay but he didn’t even look in her direction. He was staring out of the window, no expression on his face at all.

  She fought Broag’s grip as he yanked her along the hallway to a stout wooden door. The man’s fingers were like pinc
ers pressing into her skin and her struggling only made him hold her all the tighter. He said not a word until he’d unlocked the door and pushed her unceremoniously inside.

  “Want some free advice?” he growled. “Behave yerself and dinna anger Lord Stewart.”

  With that he left, slamming the door behind him and locking it. Eleanor stared stupidly at the closed door for a minute and then slowly looked around. She was in a small, sparse room. It might once have been a bedroom but no bed sat there now, only a musty pallet thrown into a corner. The walls were covered in mouldy plaster and the whole place stank of damp. The two windows were little more than arrow-slits, barely wide enough to get her arm through. No chance of escape that way. A fireplace sat against one wall, cold and empty, with a single candle on the mantelpiece.

  Eleanor crossed to one of the windows and pressed her face up against it, trying to see out. A narrow slice of the army camp was all she could make out. Armed men strode everywhere and the only other women she spotted were scantily dressed and hanging around outside a rickety wooden structure little more than a hut. Even as she watched a man approached one of the women, threw his arm around her shoulders and allowed her to lead him into the hut.

  Eleanor gulped. And if not ye can entertain the men, like the rest of the camp whores.

  Her legs suddenly wouldn’t hold her up anymore. She crashed to her knees on the hard floorboards, wrapped her arms around herself and cried.

  Chapter 7

  It took all Finlay’s willpower to resist Eleanor’s pleas as Broag dragged her from the room. She called his name, her voice full of fear and confusion. His muscles trembled with the effort of remaining still.

  He schooled his face into that expressionless mask he’d developed over the years, letting none of his turbulent emotions show on his face. Instead, he stared through the window as Broag took her away, seeing nothing, hearing only Eleanor’s cries disappear into the distance. If Stewart guessed that Eleanor was anything more than an annoyance to Finn he would find a way to use her against him.

  The man said nothing but Finlay could feel him watching. Did he suspect the truth? Did he suspect that Finn hadn’t been bringing Eleanor here at all but had been disobeying a direct order by taking Eleanor to Brigid’s Hollow?

  He turned to Lord Stewart. Scowling, he said, “If there’s naught else, I’ll take my leave. I’ve ridden a long way and I’m damned hungry.”

  Stewart held up a hand. “One moment.”

  Involuntarily Finn’s fingers curled into fists and he forced himself to relax. Lord Stewart saw the movement and a smile flitted across his face.

  “Oh, I see what’s curling through yer veins right now, my hound,” he said softly. “Ye are fighting the urge to strike me, are ye not? Ye have learned to school yer feelings well but ye canna hide them from me. I ken how much ye ache to plunge that bronze dagger of yers into my heart but we both know how that will end for ye, dinna we?”

  Finlay said nothing. Hatred for this man seethed through his veins like molten metal. Aye, he would like naught more than to end his life. But he couldn’t. His curse saw to that and the scars that crisscrossed his own body bore testament to how many times he’d tried, regardless of the cost.

  “I am required to serve ye,” he growled. “I am not required to like ye.”

  Stewart cocked his head. “Aye, but ye are required to follow my orders. If ye disobey me again, I will visit such pain on ye that ye will be reduced to a mewling babe, pissing his own breeches.”

  Finlay almost did it. He almost grabbed the dagger sheathed at his side and be damned with the consequences. Only the thought of Eleanor stopped him.

  “Aye, my lord,” he grated. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See that ye do. We’ll soon be moving out and I would have ye by my side.”

  “Then it’s true? Battle will soon be joined?”

  “Aye,” Stewart growled. “The bastards have us all but surrounded. Cornered like animals. Only the pass to the west remains open. We’ll soon be forced to stand and fight.”

  Finn said nothing. Why had Stewart told him this? The man was normally taciturn and mistrustful. Was he testing Finn’s loyalty?

  “I trust ye know where yer true loyalty lies, Hound?” Stewart said, as though reading his thoughts. “I trust ye willnae be tempted to contact yer former... friends?”

  Sudden anger flared in Finn’s veins. “Still?” he snapped, his fists clenching and his lips pulling back from his teeth in a snarl. “After all these years? After all I have done in yer name? Still ye doubt me?”

  He took a step forward, quivering with fury, and was pleased when Stewart stepped back.

  “I have betrayed everyone,” he growled. “Become the very thing I loathe because of ye. I should kill ye where ye stand!”

  Stewart threw up a hand and searing pain exploded out from the tattoo on Finn’s back. It was strong enough to drive him to his knees and for a moment he feared he would black out. But he fought it. Pulling breaths through his nose he climbed to his feet, staring at Stewart without flinching. He thought he detected a slight unease in Stewart’s gaze.

  Aye, ye bastard, he thought. Ye canna break me, can ye? One day I will kill ye. Ye are right to fear me.

  Stewart flicked his hand and the pain disappeared, leaving Finn’s limbs weak and sore. “Never forget who is yer master, Hound,” Stewart whispered.

  He nodded, dismissing Finn, who made his way to the door.

  Stewart asked suddenly, “What is the lass to ye?”

  Finn froze and then turned around slowly. He met Stewart’s gaze and pulled the emotionless mask over his face. “She is naught to me but a pain the rear I am glad to be rid of. I have better things to do with my time than playing nursemaid to an outland woman who doesnae have the sense of a bairn. She’s yer problem now.”

  Then, before Stewart could reply, he stalked through the door. He only hoped that Stewart didn’t hear the lie in his voice.

  ELEANOR LAY ON THE hard pallet, staring at the ceiling. Tears of fear and frustration rolled down her face. How the hell had she ended up here? How was she going to get out? The thoughts went around and around in her head with no answer emerging. Eventually she fell into fitful sleep.

  She woke the next morning with a start. She’d fallen asleep fully clothed in an awkward position and her back ached. But a good night’s sleep had left her calmer. She could think rationally. Get out of here. Get home. It was the only thought that kept going round and round in her head.

  Damn this accursed place! And damn Irene MacAskill for bringing her here! Her anger warmed her a little and she sat up, examining the room, looking for any weakness that might aid her escape. She didn't find any. With the door locked, the windows were the only other exits and they were so narrow that not even a child could squeeze through.

  With a small growl of annoyance she climbed to her feet and crossed to the door. Pressing her ear against the hard wood, she went very still and listened. She heard nothing from the other side and the only sounds that reached her were those of the camp coming through the window. No, wait. She tensed. What was that? Footsteps! And they were coming this way!

  Quickly she pressed herself against the wall behind the door and waited. The steps halted outside her door and the key rattled in the lock. Her heart began to thump and she curled her fingers into her palms, digging her nails into her flesh and using the sudden pain to ground herself. This might be her only chance of escape. She had to take it.

  The door swung slowly open and a guard stepped into her room. Eleanor darted through the door behind him and made a run for it down the corridor.

  But she'd gone less than ten paces when a heavy weight slammed into her from behind sending her tumbling onto the hard flagstone floor. She landed with a yelp as arms like tree roots went around her waist and she was picked up and slung over a shoulder. She tried to scream but a hand clamped over her mouth as she was unceremoniously carried back to the room.

 
The guard kicked the door shut behind him and set her on her feet. Eleanor whirled to face him. Only then did she realize it wasn't Broag or one of his men. It was Finn.

  "You!" Her open-handed slap caught him across the face, snapping his head to the side. "You lied to me!" She swung for him again but this time he caught her wrist before the blow could connect.

  "Ye may strike me once," he growled. "Lord knows, I probably deserved it, but ye willnae strike me twice."

  She glared at him, wondering if he was standing close enough for her to knee him in the privates and then make a run for it.

  "Dinna even try it," Finn growled as if reading her mind.

  Eleanor struggled, trying to break his hold, aiming kicks at his shins. Finlay slammed her back against the wall and pinned her there, his face only inches from her own.

  "Be still, woman!" he hissed. "Somebody will hear this commotion and come to investigate! Stop fighting, ye damned wildcat! I'm here to help ye!"

  "Help me? You lied to me! You said you were taking me to Brigid’s Hollow and instead you bring me here! It’s your fault I’m in this stinking place!"

  His eyes glinted with anger. "What would ye have me do? Broag would have killed us both had I resisted!”

  "So you just left me here, locked up like some criminal?”

  “I couldnae see ye last night,” he said. “How would that have looked? I told Stewart ye were my prisoner, remember? How many captors visit their prisoners? Now, I’m going to release ye. I would be grateful if ye dinna try to hit me again and instead listen to what I have to say. Can ye do that?"

  She stared at him for a moment then nodded. He released her and stepped back a pace, crossing his arms over his broad chest and watching her.

  Eleanor copied his gesture, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

  "I need ye to trust me,” he said. "I gave ye my word that I would get ye back to Brigid’s Hollow and I intend to keep that promise. I will do all I can to keep ye safe whilst ye are here but ye must do as I tell ye. Understand?"