My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  The men were hungry for a fight, itching for it. They were ill suited for any civilized society and had spent their whole lives learning to be as dangerous and disagreeable as possible. If they took Kinoch in battle, the people inside would die. Rex’s men would not show restraint for children or elders. Even worse, Core shuddered to think of what they would do to Jyne.

  “I love it when they bar the gate,” said a wizened old warrior with one eye and a perpendicular tooth that appeared to be trying to escape from his mouth. Considering the rotting stench of his breath, Core did not blame the tooth at all.

  “Want me to cut down a battering ram?” asked a husky warrior who looked quite capable of uprooting large trees with his bare hands. This was the type of hulking brigand his father had hoped for in a son.

  “I have a way inside. A way to take them all by surprise,” said Core to the men. “Just get their attention for a wee bit. Dinna attack before I give the signal.”

  “Why?” asked Bran, returning from his errand.

  “I need dark and no distractions to work my magic.”

  Bran raised an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed.

  “Faith, man, stop questioning me, and do as ye’re told. Did ye get the runner?”

  “Aye, o’ course.” Bran pointed to Dubh. He rode forward, holding the reins of a horse with a man draped over the saddle.

  “Is he dead?” asked Core with some anxiety, particularly because he guessed Jyne would be displeased if the man were killed.

  “Nay, but his head will feel it in the morn.”

  Core was relieved. “Keep him out o’ sight.”

  Bran shrugged but complied. Core wagered he was being tested. He needed to impress these warriors; then maybe all the treasure nonsense would be forgotten.

  “Keep their attention, but dinna attack until ye hear my signal,” commanded Core.

  No one gave him much regard, and the warriors continued to prepare to break down the gates.

  “If ye break something, ye might destroy a clue to finding the treasure,” added Core, pleased that this time he had gotten their attention.

  “What’s yer signal?” asked Bran.

  “Just give me some time, and I’ll open the gates,” said Core with a cheeky grin, hoping he could back up his words of pure bravado. He grabbed the unpleasant horned helmet and plunked it down on his head. It would not do to have Jyne see him fraternizing with the enemy.

  The steel helmet was designed more for intimidation than practicality. It entirely encased the head, with only small slits in which to see out, effectively hiding the wearer’s face from view. On either side of the helmet, large horns protruded, with tips that had been sharpened and dipped in bronze. He could see little, hear less, and the horns on either side of his head made him unstable and top-heavy.

  “Ye have yer orders. See it done,” Core commanded Bran and then turned to the monk before Bran had a chance to react. “Ye’re wi’ me.” Core slashed through the bonds on the monk, setting him free.

  The monk glared at him. “Why should I go with you?”

  “Ye’d rather stay wi’ them?” asked Core in an undertone. Core grabbed some of his equipment and held it out to the monk for him to carry.

  The monk glanced around at the battle-hungry men and took the crate of equipment, recognizing Core was a safer option than remaining behind alone. The monk made no attempt to hide his displeasure, but followed him to the side of Kinoch Abbey without further complaint.

  “Where are ye from?” Core asked, deciding to learn more about the monk beside him.

  “I once was known as Luzio of Florence,” said the monk in an accent Core could now identify as Italian. “When I joined the brothers here, they changed my name to Brother Luke. And you? You said you stole the scroll to read it?”

  “Aye.”

  “But…why?” Brother Luke glanced back at the illiterate company Core kept. They had started drinking, carousing in a manner that was loud, fierce, and profane. Why any of their number would wish to read was a legitimate question.

  “Bad habit, I suppose,” muttered Cormac, keeping low to the brush to avoid being detected by those on the wall above.

  “A habit acquired from being raised by monks?”

  “My mother died young. My father was not the sort to nurture a child.”

  Brother Luke snorted at Cormac’s gross understatement. “So he gave you to be raised by monks?”

  Core shook his head, remembering. “I was tended by a crofter’s wife for my early years. Then my father decided I was old enough to join him. I was a disappointment and could not keep up. So he left me. I wandered about for a time until I came to the monastery.”

  “How old were you?”

  “About six.”

  Brother Luke sucked in air through his teeth. “That is young.”

  Cormac shrugged, stepping down on some thick brush for Luke to pass. “I stayed there until ten years later, when Red Rex found me again, and the good monks decided I was not worth the keeping.”

  “So you decided to become a brigand.” Brother Luke’s judgement was clear.

  “Nay, do ye take me for a fool?” Nobody sought out Red Rex. “I ran for a while, searching out other places to hide, but he always found me.”

  Core had thought briefly about the church as a refuge. The thought of learning and copying scriptures all day was agreeable, but the price of forgoing female company for the rest of his life was hardly appealing. Though it was true that members of the fairer sex had not taken much interest in him, he had taken a great deal of interest in them…from afar, where it was safe. But still, he knew enough about himself to know that celibacy was not a condition in which he would choose to live for the rest of his life, even if it was a condition in which he found himself currently.

  “After my birth, Rex had naught but daughters,” continued Core. “Some say ’tis a curse for his wicked life. I might agree. Trouble is, that leaves me his only heir. He is determined to see me a warlord like himself or kill me in the process.”

  Somehow, Core needed to prove himself to his father. It was the only way to get the man to let him be. Core had tried to prove that learning could be beneficial. After learning of the new weapon used by the English in the wars in France, Core had plunged into the study of alchemy.

  “That cannot be easy,” said the monk with more compassion in his tone than Core expected.

  Core turned to him. “’Tis not.”

  They reached the side of the abbey, and after a bit of searching, found the postern gate. Core would never have been able to find it had Jyne not shown him first.

  “What are you doing?” asked the monk as Core unpacked his equipment by the small door.

  “Using alchemy to good effect,” said Core. He did some calculations, then did them again, using the new bit of knowledge he had gained from his read of the scroll. This had to work. He had to show his father that he could do something no one else could. His studying had revealed to him the fascinating effects of black powder, which the English had learned from the Chinese. Core had attempted to conduct explosive experiments with black powder that he had hoped would be of interest to his father. Unfortunately, something had gone wrong in the proof, and his grand experiment had fizzled instead of impressed. This time it had to work.

  “You wish to use the science of the black powder?” asked Luke, his eyes wide.

  “Aye.”

  “I shall not let you!” Luke surprised Core from behind, knocking him to the ground and holding a knife to his throat—a knife Core had no idea the monk had.

  Core struggled until he felt the cool of the man’s blade on his neck.

  “What kind o’ monk are ye?” gasped Core, his pulse beating against the man’s blade. One twitch, and his life was forfeit. This monk not only had drawn a hidden dagger but knew how to use it.

&nb
sp; “Not the kind to underestimate.”

  “And that excuses murder?”

  “And what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to take Kinoch wi’out anyone getting killed,” explained Core as calmly as he could with a blade hovering at his throat. “If I dinna breach this gate, Rex’s men will go through the front, and they’ll no’ be kind about it.”

  Luke paused a moment, then cursed in Italian and let him go.

  Cormac rolled up and stared at the militant monk. “Who did ye say ye were?”

  “Who I am is not your concern,” said Luke in a chilling tone. “I suppose you will demand my dagger now.”

  “Nay, keep it. Glad to know ye can look after yerself. Only dinna use it on me, if ye please. Now either help me or be off wi’ ye.”

  Luke sighed so loud, it was more of a growl. “How can I help?”

  “Hold this for me.” Core handed him a glass bottle and began to measure his ingredients carefully. He did a few more calculations and a bit more mixing until he felt confident that it would work. At least, it was the best he knew. Never mind that his experiments thus far had been underwhelming; this time, with his new calculations, it would work. It had to work.

  “Why not do this at the front gate?” asked Luke.

  “I need to mix it just right and place it by the door. Folks have a tendency to pour boiling oil on ye if they ken ye’re trying to breach their gates.” Core carefully placed his experiment next to the oak door.

  “Good point.”

  “Ye back away now. Take cover,” Core instructed the monk. The other reason Core didn’t want anyone to see what he was doing was that if he was unsuccessful again, he did not wish there to be witnesses. He was tired of failure.

  “Cormac.”

  At the earnestness in the monk’s voice, Core turned to where he stood.

  “If what you say is true, and you were asked to leave the monastery only because of your sire, that was wrong. I offer an apology.”

  Core stared at him, surprised by his words. “It was long ago.” He shrugged as if it was of little consequence, but no one had ever apologized to him before. Brother Luke’s words were a balm on an old hurt.

  “And thank you for trying to help save the brothers.”

  “I’m doing it for the books. Why this sudden kindness? A few minutes ago, ye were trying to kill me.”

  “I have seen much, and I know the power of what you hold in your hand. Should you die, I did not wish to have the guilt of words left unsaid.”

  So the good monk thought he was going to kill himself. That was encouraging. Core carefully laid the charge. He lit the fuse and watched the spark crackle as it raced up the powder line, until he suddenly realized he was too close.

  He sprinted into the woods, recognizing that he should probably have considered where he was going to hide. He ran for a moss-covered boulder, when a huge explosion sent a concussive blast into him, sending him flying behind the rock formation. He lay there for a moment, eyes closed, alternating between elation that his experiment had finally worked and apprehension that he had done himself harm in the process.

  He slowly sat up and took a mental inventory of himself until he was satisfied that there was no major damage done. He peered over the boulder at the smoking chasm where the postern gate used to be. It had worked. It had truly worked!

  Brother Luke emerged from behind a tree, his mouth open wide in a stunned expression. He crossed himself. “Holy Mary, you did it!”

  “I did it! I actually did it this time! Och, this changes everything!” Cormac slammed the foul-smelling horned helmet on his head and charged into the smoking cavern.

  Kinoch Abbey was his.

  * * *

  Lady Jyne nocked an arrow, careful to keep herself out of the line of fire from their enemies. The marauders had gathered for a frontal assault. Fortunately, they were not a large party, only about two dozen men. Unfortunately, that was two dozen more men than she had.

  Jyne glanced around at her “soldiers” who gathered on the wall walk, their pale faces illuminated by flickering torches in the dark night. Alasdair had found a rusty helm and stood beside her with a bow she was not sure he could even draw. Several of the elder children stood on the gate in random pieces of armor and helms that were much too large for them, trying to appear older and more formidable than they were. They could do little if the brigands actually attacked. Two of the elder matrons set a large cauldron of oil on an open fire. That would be the weapon most likely to actually do damage, though Jyne doubted scalding oil would be enough to keep these rough men at bay.

  Her only hope was to hold out until Donnach returned. Since she had not seen his dead body thrown before the walls, she assumed he had gotten away. Though it had taken the better part of a week for her to get to Kinoch, she reckoned if Donnach rode through the night and was able to change horses often, he could reach Innis Chonnel in two days. It would take two more days for the Campbell warriors to return, and she would be safe. She only needed to hold out for four days.

  An ominous shout came from the raiders below. She prayed she could last through the night, let alone four days. Her one consolation was that Cormac was out there, somewhere, and would help her protect Kinoch. She was not sure what he could do, but she felt sure she could trust him to render assistance.

  Another shout rose from the men below, followed by mocking insults. She had longed for an adventure, but she now had more excitement than she had ever wanted. Staying within the protective gates of the Campbell castle suddenly did not feel like such a bad thing after all. Standing brave against marauding hordes seemed so much better when dreaming of it by the safety of one’s own hearth.

  One of her young soldiers reached out with a small hand and clasped hers. Jyne looked down at Ina, whose wide eyes were staring at their attackers. The marauder’s insults were profane at best, and Jyne had to check the impulse to yell down at them to watch their language, for children were present. She smiled down at Ina, trying to reassure her.

  Suddenly, a huge, thunderous crash shattered the relative peace behind her. It was as if lightning had struck the side of the abbey wall near the postern gate. Everyone froze. Even the marauders outside their gates were shocked into silence. Ina squeezed Jyne’s hand, and the small movement brought her back to her senses. These people were relying on her. They needed her.

  “Stay here and guard the gate. I shall see what the matter is,” she called to Alasdair, who was still staring open-mouthed in the direction from which the loud sound had come.

  Jyne ran down the open stone stairs and across the courtyard, slowing to creep cautiously toward the source of the noise, her hands shaking with fear. Dust filled the air, and she could see nothing before her. She squinted into the swirling, murky chasm illuminated only by torchlight. Her heart pounded in her throat. What could have possibly caused this?

  She edged closer, holding up her bow, willing her hands to stay steady enough to shoot. A dark form approached. At first it was nothing but shadow, but then a tall black figure emerged, with two large horns on either side of his head like a terrible demon.

  Jyne was frozen, unable to move, unable even to scream. She was filled with the desire to run away, but she remembered Ina’s hand, warm and sticky, pressed up against her palm. She must protect these people.

  She raised her bow and let fly, aiming directly at the beast’s head. The arrow glanced off the warlord’s helmet and landed limply on the ground. She hardly had time to register her failure before the intruder was upon her. The bow was ripped from her, and a firm hand grasped her shoulder.

  “Stop!” demanded the invader in a deep, throaty voice.

  She kicked him in the knee instead and tried to spin out of his grasp and run, though she had nowhere to go. He hissed in pain, but she was not able to break free from his steely grip. In an instant, he drew his k
nife and pressed the flat of his blade against her cheek. Her heart stopped and then pounded again in terror. This was it. She was going to die.

  He walked her forward, toward the main gate, and she had very little choice but to go in the direction he silently demanded. Her pulse thumped so loudly she could feel it in her ears. She glanced around at her ragtag band of defenders, consisting of the too young and the too old.

  “No,” she mouthed to Alasdair as he made to raise a sword. There was nothing they could do against this warlord, and she did not wish anyone to come to harm for trying to protect her.

  “Lay down yer arms and open the gates,” demanded the warlord. “Obey me, and she will be spared. Continue to resist, and all shall perish.”

  Jyne wanted to yell at her people to save themselves, but where could they go? With the warlord already in the courtyard, they were caught between him and his friends outside. There was no hope for escape. Ina, standing on the wall walk in the oversized helmet, shed silent tears that ran down her cheeks.

  The warlord motioned for a few of the lads to open the gates, and they slowly did so. Jyne’s heart sank. What was she to do now?

  The marauders rushed in with great whoops and hollers, brandishing weapons like the demons they were.

  “Harm none of these simple folk, for we need them,” commanded the warlord. It was of little comfort. What was the warlord going to do with them?

  The warlord released her, and instead of running away, she spun to face him. “We have surrendered to ye, as we have no other choice, but that does no’ mean that ye need to act like a pack o’ wild jackanapes. Can ye no’ see ye’re frightening the wee ones?”

  “Send them away,” commanded the horned demon.

  Jyne was prepared to fight against anything the man wanted, but she quickly saw the benefit of removing the children from the scene. She nodded to a few of the women, who quickly gathered up the children and hustled them into the main keep, Ina’s eyes large as she was dragged away.

  “Now ye have what ye wanted. Take what ye want and be gone.” Jyne backed up as she spoke, not wanting to be anywhere near the large warlord. With his demon helm and thick bearskin cloak, he had the appearance of some fell creature from the bowels of hell.