My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  Core looked slightly mollified. “Aye, rude and ill-mannered, he is that, indeed.”

  “But how is it ye’ve come here? How were ye able to get in?” she asked.

  “Picked the lock,” he replied, as if it was no great feat. “Returned and found a massive hole ripped through the postern gate. One o’ the elders told me ye were locked in the tower. I came as quick as I could.”

  “’Twas verra brave o’ ye to come.”

  “Aye, thank ye for noticing.”

  Jyne broke out into a smile, and Cormac returned it. Though he was a tall man, he moved with an easy, graceful manner. In the orange light, his unruly hair, fluid movements, and days’ stubble on his face gave him the appearance of some wild, fey creature, possibly from the race of ancient faeries of old.

  They were still holding hands, and Jyne had no desire to let go. It was Cormac who cleared his throat and stepped away.

  “Let’s get ye out o’ here. I’ve found a safe place to hide,” said Core, turning to the door.

  “Nay, I canna go. I made a deal with the warlord that I would stay here, and he would’na harm the Ranalds.”

  Core frowned. “What makes ye think he will keep his word?”

  “I dinna ken if he will, but I do know if I break his bargain and people here are hurt, I could never forgive myself.” She wished to run away with Cormac, or fly back home, but she could not leave the elders, and especially the children, not now.

  “I canna leave ye here unprotected. Ye must come wi’ me. I found a crofter’s hut where we will never be found. I shall protect ye.” Cormac’s dark eyes glinted in the soft, warm light of the lantern in a manner that made her knees weak.

  Jyne hesitated. She wanted to hide away with this man more than she should. It took considerable resolve to shake her head. “If he comes back, I shall be ready for him. I am not entirely unprotected.” She revealed the knife she had up her sleeve.

  Cormac’s eyebrows shot up. “Wh-what are ye going to do wi’ that?”

  “Whatever I have to.”

  “Well now, glad it dinna come to it.” He shook his head with a rueful gaze. “But please, m’lady, let me take ye from here where ye can be safe. I shall even carry on the resistance here and look after these people until the ruffians move on.”

  “Aye, let us resist these wicked bastards.” She liked his thinking, but she could not seek her protection at the risk of others. “We must stop these brigands, or the people here will have naught left to eat. What good does it do to protect them from the sword, only to sentence them to starvation?”

  “Starvation?” Cormac gave her blank look.

  “Aye, ye’ve no idea how much food those sons o’ knaves ate tonight. I fear these poor people will have no’ much left in their larder after those locusts devoured all.”

  “Oh.” Core continued to stare at her with an expression she could not read. “I had no’ thought o’ that.”

  “I doubt those ruffians thought about it either. They winna care until the food runs out.” Jyne gritted her teeth. “They have lost too much, only to have their demise come at the hands of a bunch o’ greedy thugs.”

  “But these folk are no’ yer kin.” Core tilted his head to one side, as if thinking on a puzzle. “I doubt yer brother would want for ye to put yerself in harm’s way.”

  Jyne sighed. Cormac was right. “True. But are we no’ called upon to care for our neighbor? Is that no’ what ye’re doing? Neither these people nor I are from yer clan, yet ye returned to help us.”

  Cormac shook his head. “I am a selfish being. I only returned for ye.”

  Her pulse began to rise. “Because o’ the kiss?”

  His eyes danced. “Aye.”

  “Are ye to be my hero then?” She gave him a small smile.

  “I tell ye the truth, m’lady. I am no hero.” His eyes were sad, and they drew her closer.

  She rested a hand on his shoulder, and she went on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “Are ye sure?”

  His cheek was so close to hers, she could feel his warmth, yet he did not turn toward her. “I’m sure o’ naught when I’m wi’ ye.”

  She kissed his cheek, breathing in his scent, earthy and raw. “And now?”

  “For a single kiss, I’ll be anything ye wish, if ye let me.” His voice was reverent and sent shivers down her spine.

  She turned to him, their cheeks touching for a moment. She wished to kiss him on the lips, but he did not move, allowing her to choose. Would she kiss him? “Och, well now.” Jyne stepped back, more because she didn’t want to than because she did. This was getting out of hand.

  “So ye’ll help me?” She took both his hands in hers and gazed up at him. She was flirting. For a cause, but flirting nonetheless. What would her brother say if he knew? Probably a lot of something she did not wish to hear.

  “Aye, if ye wish it.” His eyes were large and black in the soft orange light.

  “Thank ye.” She gazed into his eyes for longer than she should, sending ripples of an emotion she could not readily name through her. She looked away, trying to remember the thread of the conversation. “Together we will defeat this warlord. Together we will see him dead.”

  “Aye…dead.” Once again, Cormac’s face was inscrutable. He ran a hand through his wild hair, making the brown mass stick up even further. “Or perhaps we could simply run him off.”

  “I think he ought to die.” Jyne was clear about right and wrong in the Highlands. This warlord had stolen the food off the table of children. He needed to die.

  “We shall do our best. He is a clever and worthy foe.”

  “Then we shall have to be more so. Like ye, how ye picked the lock. However did ye learn?”

  Core shrugged and changed the subject. “But how shall we combat such a foe?”

  “I ken a few things about herbs, taught to me from my brother’s wife. If ye can bring me certain plants and I can manage to get into the kitchen, I can make a special brew. Since these bastards wish to eat all our food, we shall let them gorge themselves to death!”

  Cormac stomach rumbled in response. He paused for a moment and then said with a sigh, “’Tis a goodly plan.”

  * * *

  “Dinna eat the food today,” Cormac advised the monk the next morning.

  Brother Luke raised his eyes over the scroll he was reading, one of the ones he had retrieved from Core. “Why not?”

  “Because Lady Jyne is going to poison it.”

  Luke’s eyes flew open. “She will poison the food? With what?”

  “She named some plants for me to collect for her. Had me leave them for her in the kitchens. Not sure what she will do wi’ it.”

  “When did you speak to Lady Jyne?”

  Cormac sighed and sat down beside Brother Luke before the fire of the private solar Core had adopted. His story of how the monk needed quiet to translate documents to find the treasure had worked in allowing him to escape the drunken antics of the band of thieves. Brother Luke had made himself comfortable in the large solar they now shared one floor above the lovely Jyne.

  “I tried to get Jyne to leave Kinoch last night so I could get her to safety,” explained Core.

  The monk raised a suspicious eyebrow. He was right in his mistrust. Cormac had planned to sequester Jyne away in a small crofter’s hut. It was for her safety, naturally, and if she chose to express her gratitude with a friendly embrace, or more, who was he to refuse?

  “Whatever my hopes in that regard,” admitted Core, “she would no’ come wi’ me.”

  “She is a good lady. I like her.”

  “Instead, she recruited me to lead the rebellion against the raiders.”

  Luke frowned. “So you are helping her to remove yourself from Kinoch?”

  “Apparently so.” Core shrugged.

  “This will not end
well for you. You should tell her the truth, sooner not later.”

  “The truth? Have ye gone mad?”

  “When do you plan to tell her?”

  “Umm…never!”

  “She will find out.”

  “Not unless ye tell her.” Core glared at the monk.

  “You should not deceive her.”

  Core saw his carefully constructed lies falling apart. “We need her. She might be the key to finding something resembling a treasure here. She will talk to me as Cormac but not as the son o’ Red Rex.”

  The monk shook his head, but there was indecision in his eyes. “She will discover the truth anyway at some point, and woe to you when she does.”

  “I dinna like to brag, but I am quite adept at keeping secrets.” He’d had a lot of practice at it.

  “Testis falsus non erit inpunitus et qui mendacia loquitur non effugiet,” muttered Brother Luke.

  Cormac was not sure if Luke intended him to understand the Latin, but after being raised by monks, he could easily translate the verse from Proverbs: A false witness shall not be unpunished: and he that speaketh lies shall not escape. Core paused, for he knew what the monk was telling him was right. Yet to tell Jyne the truth at this point was unthinkable.

  “Think verra carefully before ye say something to her that canna be unsaid. The lives o’ yer fellow brothers are at stake,” reminded Core. It was no doubt uncharitable to remind Brother Luke of Red Rex’s threat, but he was desperate.

  Luke frowned at him. “I despise you.”

  Cormac sighed. “Ye’re not alone in that sentiment. What o’ the sick needing the doctor and no one being beyond redemption?”

  “I am beginning to think Jyne had the right of it.”

  “I fear ye may be correct.” Core sighed again. “She’s the sister o’ Laird Campbell.”

  Luke stared at him for a moment, eyebrows raised, before returning to his scroll. “You are dead.”

  “I know.”

  Ten

  Jyne carefully measured what she hoped was the right amount. She had been surprised by the Fire Lord this morning, who wrenched open her door and demanded that she report to the kitchens to prepare food for the warriors and stay out of the main hall to avoid his men. She did not appreciate being commanded to do anything, but she actually had no complaint with either of the requests.

  “Are ye sure ye ken what ye’re doing, m’lady?” asked the old cook. She was a generously proportioned woman with gray hair piled on top of her head, known to all as “Cook.”

  “Aye, Lady Isabelle taught me how to do this,” said Jyne with a confidence she did not entirely feel. Truth was, her sister-in-law had shown her many of her healing potions and other herbal remedies. There were potions for colic, balms for burns, tinctures for headaches, and rubs for congestion. There were also all manner of special drafts—some cured pains, some gave sleep, some induced labor in a woman expecting, and others delayed it.

  Isabelle had shown them all to her at one time or another when they were needed. Jyne was certain—mostly certain—that she remembered how to do this particular brew correctly. She held the crushed herbs in her hand, trying to recall the right proportions. Isabelle always made it look so easy.

  “Ye’re sure?” Cook raised a gray eyebrow, as if she could see through Jyne’s facade to her worried thoughts beneath.

  “Aye, dinna fear. I ken what I’m about.” Jyne smiled with false bravado. Turning away, she closed her eyes and tried to bring to mind what Isabelle did to make this potion. She had seen it a few times. Difficulty sleeping was a common enough complaint. It had to be just right to bring sleep, but not so much that it killed. Despite Jyne’s brave words of wanting to kill the warlord, she did not actually wish to do anyone harm.

  She simply needed them to leave.

  “What is the plan?” whispered a familiar voice. Cormac ducked his head and entered the low doorway from the outer ward into the kitchen.

  “I found the herbs ye brought me.” Jyne smiled at him. She could not help herself. She was finally seeing him in full daylight, and she took a good look. He was tall and trim with a great plaid of green and black pleated around him and thrown over one broad shoulder. His eyes were a dark green, and there was an aura of mystery about him. She still did not know where he came from or even his clan, but she surprisingly found that when he gave her a half smile, she did not care in the least.

  “Did I find what ye needed?” he asked.

  “Aye. But ye should’na be here,” chastised Jyne, looking around to see if any of the Fire Lord’s men were about. “Someone could see ye.”

  Core shrugged in a manner she found both brave and endearing. “I wanted to make sure ye were all right and see how I could help. Is that the poison?” He pointed at the jar in her hand.

  “Aye. This will put them all into a sleep.”

  Core raised an eyebrow at her. “Sleeping wi’ the angels or just sleep?”

  “I doubt any o’ these men will be let through the gates o’ Saint Peter. But nay, I dinna intend to kill them. At least, not if I dinna have to.” She stirred the potion a few more times.

  “And when they sleep, what do ye intend to do to them? Kill them?”

  “Nay!” Tricking a man into drinking a sleeping potion and then killing him while he slept did not hold with her sense of Highland justice. “I thought we could drag them to the dungeon and lock them up.”

  “Got no dungeon here, m’lady,” interrupted Cook, disappointing her plans.

  “A jail cell perhaps?”

  “None o’ those. Just the crypt below wi’ the dead.”

  “Doubt it would be big enough for all those Highlanders,” said Core hastily.

  “How about an out o’ the way storeroom wi’ a door that locks?” asked Jyne.

  Cook smiled, revealing a few missing teeth. “That we have.”

  “’Tis no’ a bad plan.” Core rubbed his jawline. He was freshly shaved, and Jyne had the sudden, disturbing desire to touch his cheek. She had kissed him with stubble; she would like to do it again when he was clean shaven.

  Jyne cleared her throat and turned back to her work, absently mixing in a few more ingredients before pouring it into several large pitchers of ale. “I’m glad ye’re here, for ye can help me drag the men after they fall asleep. Some are prodigiously large.” These were Highlanders. They grew them large and rough around these parts.

  “Aye, their leader is certainly a powerful enemy.” Core nodded sagely, with a keen glint to his eye.

  “I was thinking more of some o’ the larger men.”

  Cormac’s shoulders sagged, but only for a moment, before his air of casual nonchalance returned. “But what shall ye do wi’ them in the storeroom, once ye got them all in there?”

  “I shall wait for help to arrive.”

  “And what help is coming?”

  “My brother, Laird Campbell, will come for me, along wi’ several o’ my brothers and his armed guard, if I ken them at all. They shall make short work o’ these knaves!”

  “Will they now? How…reassuring.” Core gave her a forced smile. “Well now, must be going. Canna be caught by these bastards, pardon me for saying so, m’lady.” Cormac took a step closer but glanced around, noting that they were not alone in the kitchen. He gave her a hasty bow and slipped out the kitchen door, back into the courtyard.

  “Aye, stay safe,” she called after him, wishing he would stay close. She felt more confident with him near. She took a deep breath. With or without him, it was time to start her plan in motion.

  * * *

  Cormac raced around to the far side of the abbey, making sure he stayed out of sight. He was so accustomed to avoiding his father, his actions were not unfamiliar. He stared up the tower. Fortunately for his desire for stealth, thick vines had grown up the gray stones.

  H
e climbed up the tower without incident and pushed open the shutters and climbed inside the solar, startling Brother Luke.

  “What are you doing?” demanded the monk.

  “Climbing up the tower. Canna have people see me go into the solar o’ the Fire Lord.”

  “Fire Lord?” Luke raised an eyebrow.

  “That’s me now,” said Core boldly.

  “How…understated,” replied the monk.

  Core ignored the mockery. “Decided to stay in here?”

  “Thought it best to avoid the poisoning.” Luke returned to his scroll.

  “Probably wise.” Cormac donned his padded arming doublet, thick bearskin cloak, and huge horned helm to transform himself into the Fire Lord. He could not see the effects of his costume, but he hoped it was duly intimidating, though Jyne never appeared much cowed in his presence.

  “’Tis time to rescue my men from Jyne’s sleeping draft. I hope they will appreciate it,” said Core.

  “They won’t,” replied Luke without even looking up from his reading.

  He was probably right. Cormac walked down the circular tower steps and strode into the main hall like a king.

  “My friends,” Cormac addressed the surly bunch of men before him, none of whom looked anything like a friend, “please follow my example and dinna eat or drink anything that is laid before ye today.”

  “Dinna drink? Ye might as well tell me no’ to breathe,” shouted one of the men.

  “Ye dinna eat. We need our food like a man.”

  “He would’na ken anything about that,” called out another man with no effort to lower his voice.

  Cormac took their abuse with unruffled calm. It was all as he expected. “As ye wish.” It was certainly not his idea to poison his men, but he could use it. Once again, he had a plan.

  “Just because ye canna eat in that ridiculous helm doesna mean we should starve,” growled Bran, stalking up to him. “Where is this treasure ye promised us?”

  “We are working on it.”

  Bran ripped the helm off his head and glared at him. Core’s heart raced. He was in the middle of the great hall without his helm. If Jyne should look out of the kitchen door, he would be seen, and everything would be lost.