My Highland Rebel

by Amanda Forester

  “Campbell?” Breanna appeared to choke on the name. “Ye’re Lady Jyne Campbell?”

  “Aye, my brother is the Laird Campbell.”

  “Och…Cormac…” She shook her head at her brother.

  “Would ye no’ like to walk, Breanna?” asked Core with a pointed look.

  “Aye, take the mount, m’lady, I insist. I much prefer to walk.” With that, Breanna took off down the road on foot in the direction of the abbey.

  Jyne ended up on horseback, feeling rather awkward riding slowly down the path after Breanna and Cormac. Neither one turned to speak to her, and they proceeded in uncomfortable silence back to Kinoch. When they were close enough to see the structure, they took care to remain hidden behind some thick brush. Cormac helped Jyne dismount, his hands lingering on her waist. Her eyes met his.

  Breanna cleared her throat, and Core stepped away.

  “Ye two keep out of sight, I’ll go see if it is safe to proceed. I’ll take yer mount, and if it’s clear, I’ll put him in the stables. We’ll hope nobody bothers to count.” Core snuck ahead to see if they could return safely without drawing the attention of the ruffians.

  This was Jyne’s chance to talk to Cormac’s sister. But what should she say?

  “I am sorry ye’re in such a difficult position,” began Jyne.

  Breanna looked around as if she was not sure Jyne could be addressing her.

  “I mean to be betrothed to a man o’ poor character.”

  “Betrothed?” Breanna gave a snort. “More like sold. That ruttish, flea-bitten boar-pig!”

  Jyne blinked at her colorful turn of phrase. “I am sure Cormac will protect ye.”

  Breanna slowly shook her head. “Seems to me, Core’s got his hands full just protecting himself.”

  “He has certainly tried to protect these poor people here.”

  Breanna stared at her, her expression inscrutable. “He tries to do right, I’ll give him that, but he often ends up in the suds. Dinna judge him too harshly, m’lady.”

  “Why would I judge him? He has been nothing but kind and has gone out o’ his way to extend to us assistance in our time o’ need. He did share that his father is…of poor moral character.”

  “Our father is the verra devil, he is.”

  “I am sorry for ye.” Jyne truly was. Her own father had died when she was young, but he had earned the reputation of being a very good man and had raised good children. Her eldest brother always strived to do right by the clan. She could not imagine having parents whom she could not admire and respect.

  “Come wi’ me,” gasped Core, running up to them. He appeared to have sprinted back to them. “The postern gate is clear.”

  They moved quickly back through the gate, which to Jyne’s satisfaction was in the process of being repaired. Core led them a roundabout route back to the base of her tower.

  “Ye go back to yer chamber, quick now, and stay safe,” said Core in a whisper. “I’ll take Breanna to the refectory, where she can hide with the elders.”

  “Nay, would she no’ be safer to stay wi’ me? I should be glad to welcome her,” pronounced Jyne.

  “Nay!” Core almost shouted. “I mean,” he amended, lowering his voice, “I would’na wish to inconvenience ye.”

  “It would no’ be an inconvenience. ’Tis the least I can do, for all that ye’ve done for me.” Besides, she could not lose the opportunity to question his sister.

  “But what o’ the Fire Lord? What if he returns to find her there?” asked Core.

  “Och, I had’na thought o’ that. I would’na wish to put ye in danger,” Jyne said to Breanna.

  “I have no fear o’ him, m’lady. In truth, I ken I should be there, to protect ye. Aye, ’tis settled then.” Breanna gave her brother an overly sweet smile. There was an undercurrent passing between the siblings, but Jyne could not figure out what. She had so many siblings, she was familiar with making benign comments with pointed meanings, known only to another sibling. Jyne had never experienced it from an outsider’s perspective.

  “Breanna…” Core’s voice was low with warning. Both ladies looked at him “I…I feel we should no’ linger here. The men may return at any moment.”

  “True,” said Jyne. “There should be some unused pallets in the refectory now that the children have gone. Do ye think ye could bring one up wi’out being seen?”

  Core nodded with a desperate look but paused and watched them walk up the stairs. Jyne led Breanna up the stairs to her chamber. Cormac was a puzzle, but in his sister, she might just have the missing piece.

  * * *

  Cormac watched helplessly as Breanna followed Jyne up the spiral stone staircase. Breanna turned back to him and gave him a smile of pure malice. He pointed at her and then placed a finger to his lips to remind her to hold her tongue.

  All he could do now was hope his impetuous, impulsive, fearless half sister would somehow keep his secret.

  “I’m dead,” he moaned. “What have I ever done to deserve this?”

  And then he remembered he had locked Jyne’s clansman and a monk in the crypt.

  Nineteen

  Core ran across the courtyard to the kitchens to retrieve something to eat. He was sure the men he had left in the crypt would not be pleased with him, especially since they had been locked in there all day. Bringing food and more candles would be essential.

  Core took care to ensure he was not seen and slipped into the storeroom and down the ladder of the trapdoor.

  “Brother Luke? Donnach? Ye there?” he called, walking to the locked gate.

  “O’ course we’re here,” growled Donnach. “Where else would we be?”

  Core turned the tight corner of the basement corridor into the cavern that was the opening of the crypt. The air was cold, and the only light shone from a lantern and a few flickering candles casting dancing shadows on the rough-hewn rock walls. Donnach and Brother Luke were dirt-smudged and weary, leaning against the bars of their prison.

  “Did ye find anything?” asked Core, hoping that somehow their grim expressions were a ruse to hide the good news they were waiting to tell him. He had to hope for something.

  “Nay, we dinna find anything,” said Donnach. “Unless a rotting corpse is yer idea o’ treasure.”

  “Ye found naught? It doesna have to be o’ real value, just something that looks like it might be.” Cormac was desperate.

  Brother Luke shook his head. “It is just a burial place for the departed.”

  “This tunnel seems to go back a ways. Is it just tombs? I hoped there might be something else too.”

  “This cavern connects with a series of natural tunnels,” Brother Luke said. “The tombs were hewn out of the rock in one area, but other tunnels are untouched. There used to be a passage to the outside, but a cave-in has blocked it.”

  Core was about to ask another question, when the meaning of Luke’s words became clear. “Do ye mean to tell me there is another way out o’ these caves?”

  “There was. The way is blocked.”

  “And ye dinna think to tell me? Master Donnach could have escaped.”

  Luke gave him a slight shrug of one shoulder. The good Brother Luke did not approve of locking people in crypts.

  “I see I am not among friends,” conceded Cormac. “Hate me as ye will, but help me save the monastery.”

  “That I will do, and indeed, though Donnach does hate you, he did help me search. The caves were either empty or filled with tombs.”

  “Were they not buried with anything?” Core was desperate.

  “Ye’d rob the dead?” asked Donnach with censure, his brushy black eyebrows low over his eyes.

  “My good man, if it is a choice between robbing the dead and joining the dead, then aye, I shall divest them o’ their unneeded worldly goods.” Morals were a luxury Core couldn’t aff
ord.

  “Some of the dead were laid in their tombs wearing armor, but other than that—”

  “Armor! That could be something.”

  “It dinna seem anything of worth,” disagreed Donnach. “It would’na fool anyone into thinking it was o’ value. Besides, ye’d have to be a desperate man indeed to rip the helmet off a corpse.”

  “But why are monks wearing armor?” Core turned to Luke.

  “Some of the Knights Templar fled to Scotland after their order was condemned and some of its members executed. They hid their allegiance in life, but in death, it appears they once again wore the armor and the red cross of a Templar.”

  “The Templars had treasure, did they no’?” asked Core, stepping closer to the locked iron gate in excitement.

  “Some say they did,” agreed Luke, even as he shook his head. “But there is no evidence to suggest this is anything more than a burial crypt.”

  “Is that food in yer hands for us, or have ye found a new way to torture me?” grumbled Donnach.

  “Och, aye, I brought this for ye both.” Core handed food to each of them, trenchers and hearty venison stew, courtesy of a recent hunt by the marauders. “This one is for ye, Brother Luke.” Core handed him a wineskin. “And this is for ye. I brought ye new candles too.” Core handed a crock of ale and some candles to Donnach, who accepted them with a grudging snarl. He didn’t blame the man.

  Cormac began to pace the dimly lit cavern as the men ate. “There must be something. There is always a way out. Always. We just need to figure out a way to bring my father a treasure. Then he winna attack the monastery.”

  “Let me go,” growled Donnach. “I’ll get Laird Campbell and his men. They will make short work o’ Red Rex.”

  Core shook his head. “Dinna underestimate my father.”

  “Father?” Donnach’s eyes opened wide.

  “Aye,” replied Core. “That is the point o’ this exercise. He wants to make me like him, whether I wish it or not. My aspiration to earn a living as a scribe dinna fit in his plans.” Core laughed, but the men behind the locked gate did not join him.

  “You must break free of him,” admonished Luke.

  “Ye think I hav’na tried? I’ve tried to get away.” Core shook his head. “And every time, anyone who’s ever helped me got hurt.”

  Silence fell in the dark cavern, the dim candlelight flickering off the rough stone walls. The gravity of their situation fell heavily in the cold, dark space.

  “Let me go,” Donnach repeated. “The Campbell will put an end to it.”

  “He might as well put an end to me,” countered Core. “Can ye guarantee I also winna be sentenced for my crimes?”

  Donnach slid down the gate to sit on the floor. He appeared exhausted, his eyes half-open. “I canna guarantee anything. Ye have much to answer for.”

  “Aye, I winna debate ye there. Perhaps it is the scoundrel in me, but I verra much want to avoid paying for the cost o’ my sins.”

  “In this life or the next, ye’ll pay.” Donnach’s voice was deep, and he punctuated the statement with a yawn.

  “I fear ye may be right, but I dinna wish to face judgment any sooner than I must,” said Core.

  Donnach appeared to struggle to stay awake.

  “Are you well?” asked Brother Luke, coming to Donnach’s side.

  “Aye…och…the bastard tainted my—” Donnach collapsed onto the monk.

  “What have you done?” asked Luke, helping to ease the unconscious man to the ground.

  “Sleeping potion in the ale,” admitted Core. At Luke’s fierce scowl, he added, “How else was I to unlock the gate to get ye out? I feared he would charge the gate and make short work o’ me.”

  “That was his plan,” admitted Luke.

  “And ye dinna tell me that either?”

  “Apparently, there was no need,” said Luke, motioning to the sleeping Donnach.

  “I am beginning to think ye a poor friend indeed.”

  “I never said we were friends,” said Brother Luke in an even tone.

  Core looked down to fumble with his sporran to retrieve the key. He did not wish to admit that Luke’s words stung. He liked the monk. He had certainly gone to great lengths to help him. It was good to know where he stood, though it did not remove the twinge of pain.

  “Thank ye for making yer position on the matter clear.” Core unlocked the gate and dragged over the pallet he had brought Donnach the first night he had been locked in the cavern. “Help me move him to the pallet so he doesna catch his death.”

  “Why would you care if he did?” asked Luke, but he did help move the large Highlander onto the pallet.

  Core turned to Luke. “Because I am trying to get out o’ this wi’out anyone dying. Now, are ye coming out o’ the crypt, or would ye prefer to stay?”

  Instead of answering, Luke asked another question. “Why would you set me free and not him?”

  “Because ye wish to save the monastery and everything and everyone in it as much as I do. I ken ye dinna find me worthy to be called ‘friend,’ but I think in our desire to save the monastery, we are in agreement. And ye must realize that fighting Red Rex is not a risk worth taking.” Core’s eyes met Luke’s. For once, he was being completely honest.

  “In that, we are agreed.” Luke cast one more glance at the sleeping Donnach and walked out of the gate. Core swung it shut and locked it, leaving Jyne’s kinsman behind.

  Core escorted Brother Luke back to the tower to ensure he was not accosted by the brigands now making themselves at home in the great hall. Core had lifted the ban on whiskey for fear of mutiny, and his men were feeling decidedly braver with their liquid courage.

  “I do not believe you are an evil man,” said Luke suddenly, as if he had been pondering the question.

  Core stared at him. “Well, I thank ye for that. I’m no’ evil, but no’ good enough to be yer friend.”

  “I never said you were not my friend. I simply said I had not answered the question.”

  “Thank ye for the clarification.” It irked him how much Luke’s approval or lack of it meant to him. He had many people who disliked him. Why should the opinion of one monk matter?

  Luke pressed his lips together as if weighing Core’s worth on a scale. “Why are you here? You could simply run away from this. Instead, you are trying to save everyone.”

  “Not that I can,” Cormac said with a sigh.

  “Have you tried praying for guidance?” asked the good monk.

  Core gave a snort. “I used to pray when I was living with the brothers. Ye see it all came to naught.”

  “Habeatis in mundo pressuram,” Brother Luke quoted from the Book of John.

  “Aye, in the world, we will have tribulation. That much the Bible got right.”

  Luke continued to quote the next line of the verse. “Habetis sed confidite ego vici mundum.”

  “Be of good cheer, for our Lord has overcome the world? Is that a reference to a heavenly reward? I imagine heaven would welcome me as much as the university did.” Core scuffed the toe of his boot along a crack in the stone stair. Heaven’s doors would not open for him.

  “Heaven is not for the good, but for the forgiven. Good night.” Luke left him and walked up the stone stairs.

  Instead of walking up the stairs to his solar, Core stepped outside and leaned a shoulder on the doorway. He had always managed to stay one step ahead of disaster, but how was he going to get out of this one? His mind spun, but he could not think of an escape this time. How could he protect the monks and the books and his sister, and somehow be able to stay with Jyne?

  Oblivious to Cormac’s tenuous situation, the setting sun was putting on a show, casting orange streaks across the sky, dotted with clouds of pink and amber and gold. Many a time when he was a lad, Core would watch the sunset before vespers and
think on God’s great love to create such beauty.

  Those had been better days. It had been hard when Cormac first came to the monastery near Edinburgh, dumped there unceremoniously by his father. Abandoned and rejected, the monks had taken pity on him and showed him a form of kindness, reserved, but more than he had ever known before. They had taught him simple pleasures, like reading and writing, and even encouraged Cormac to attend university. There had been a time when Core had felt that God was good and guiding him toward a bright future. Unfortunately, he had failed to realize the sun was setting, not rising.

  Once Cormac’s unfortunate parentage came to light, the monks had asked him to move along. Core had attempted to attend university, but again, it lasted only until his identity had become known. He was soon expelled and forced to flee the city. He had prayed for help, but the only one who had found him was Red Rex. That was when he knew God either hated him or simply was not there to care.

  “Where’s the treasure?” Bran demanded, his voice suddenly behind him.

  “T-treasure?” gasped Core in surprise, spinning to face the warrior. For a big man, Bran moved silently.

  “Ye had us searching all day, but there was naught to be found.” Bran was streaked with dirt.

  “I told ye no’ to go searching.”

  “I’ve been patient wi’ ye, but I’m not a patient man.”

  “Then ye’ll get the opportunity to improve yerself. These things take time,” Core hedged.

  “Where is the treasure?” growled Bran.

  “If I knew that, would we still be here?” asked Core, utterly exasperated.

  “Maybe ye be trying to steal away wi’ the treasure and not give us our share.” Bran narrowed his eyes.

  “If ye think that, then ye dinna ken me at all.”

  Bran frowned at him, but his expression was more one of pondering a question than anger. “Ye’re right. I dinna ken ye. Ye’re no’ one o’ us.”

  “I’m the son o’ Red Rex. How much more one o’ ye can I get?”

  Bran shook his head. “Ye’re different.” Bran stepped closer, glaring at him with black, gleaming eyes. “Ye’ll ne’er be like yer father. I just hope ye dinna make up some fool lie.”