Tarnished Honor

by J. Lee Coulter

  Tarnished Honor

  By J. Lee Coulter

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2012 J. Lee Coulter

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 9781301728701

  Cover illustrated by Canstock Photo

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Chapter XI

  Links

  Chapter I

  * * *

  "I am sorry, Uncle, but I do nae choose to wed him. He is an ogre!" Fire shot from Brighde’s blue-green eyes as she stomped her foot in protest. Her father had promised her freedom over choosing her spouse before he had died, she was not about to give it up. Angus Fraser had no power to change her father’s will, as much as he would like to. “Ye will just have to explain to Stephen that it is my choice and I, respectfully, decline.”

  With a stern stare he began to lecture her on the practicalities of the match. He needed her away before she discovered that he had spent her entire dowry and was in dire want of more funds.

  “Be reasonable, Brighde. Ye are approaching ten and eight years. Well past the age to wed. Soon, nae man will consider ye for a bride. As for Stephen…he is a perfectly suitable match for ye. He is young enough, mid-thirties I believe, and hale. And he is nae a poor man. Ye could do worse.”

  “Nay! My father promised—”

  “Malcolm is nae here! He died five summers back! If he kenned the way of things now, he would rescind his promise to ye! Of that, ye can be certain.” He snarled as his hands clenched.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. Angus had never spoken so harshly to her before…and what circumstances have changed to make him so desperate for her to wed? She was speechless as her mind raced to dire conclusions. Mayhap there was a clan war about to erupt and they would need the alliance. She shook her head…nay, that was nae possible. She kenned their neighbors and they were all fast friends. Try as she might, Brighde could not find a plausible reason for his upset.

  “I am regretful, Uncle, but he just will nae do.”

  Angus sighed in resignation. It appeared that he will need to approach this from another angle. His glance narrowed shrewdly. If she was nae willing to wed, then, there were other ways to accomplish the deed. He smiled at her as his mind plotted. “Very well, but he will nae be pleased. I will leave ye for now, Brighde. I expect ye to sup with us though. Tis the least ye can do to soften the blow.”

  “Aye, I will join ye this eve.” She ambled back to her unfinished tapestry, and picking up her needle as she approached, dismissed the discussion from her mind. As far as she was concerned, it was settled.

  After departing the solar, he snorted. The haughty little wench was going to receive her comeuppance very soon. He would make certain of that. He whistled as he strolled away.

  * * *

  The travel weary entourage grew silent as they neared the small village outside of Urquhart Castle. The people they witnessed working the fields were ravaged with poverty. Their sunken eyes showed hopelessness as they scratched out the meager harvest. Children that should have been laughing and playing stood silently in rags by the wayside, observing the procession of highland warriors passing by.

  Robbie Grant scrunched his nose at the stench emanating from the muddy road they followed through the village. He glanced about him, searching for the source of the odor, knowing it well. It was the smell of death. He had been subjected to it many times in the past years while they were in the king’s service. Finally, their time was done and they could resume their lives. He glanced at his laird.

  Connall Canmore, the Blacksword of Halkirk, Earl of Caithness, sat ramrod straight in the saddle. Anyone would think that he did not see the destitute people they passed among, his emerald eyes staring straight ahead. There was not a single twitch of his nostrils as the foul smell was inhaled. But if he were not wearing his gauntlets, they would see his knuckles whitening as he gripped the reins tightly in anger. If not for his helm, they might notice the spasm of his strong jaw as he grit his teeth. The shameful condition of Laird Fraser’s clan did not pass by him unnoticed.

  “Connall?” Robbie inquired of him as they came to the point where the stench was the worst.

  He gestured for his men to halt as they came alongside a hut that was in severe need of thatching. Connall removed his helm, glancing about him. People nearby looked on in fear as he dismounted and entered the run-down home. He emerged a few moments later carrying a small child of no more than four summers. Her hair was so filthy he could not determine the color. Her clothes barely clung to her fragile body. Connall uncorked his wineskin, pouring the liquid slowly into her wee mouth. She swallowed weakly, and then coughed as the liquid lubricated her dry throat. He smiled for the first time since they had arrived. His eyes darted to his captain.

  “Robbie, see to her parents. They need burying.” His eyes scanned the gathering crowd. He could not berate them for not attending to the couple inside the hovel; they could barely tend to themselves. But the child…? “Be there anyone here who can take care of this bairn? Any relatives?”

  An old woman of indeterminate age spoke up in a wavering voice. “There be nae one, your lordship. The rest of her kin died two moons back. And as ye can see,” she spread her thin arms wide, “we can nae even take care of our own selves.”

  He stared keenly at her for a few moments, then gave a curt nod. “I will take her to your laird and have him care for her.”

  A man to his left snorted. “Ye may as well slit her throat here. Twould be kinder.”

  Fergus Chisolm, his young squire, gasped in shock. He spoke up in indignation for his laird. “Ye insult my laird! The Blacksword of Halkirk would never harm a woman or a bairn. Apologize!”

  Connall’s hand rose quickly, demanding silence from his squire as the people gasped in fear. His penetrating gaze turned on the man that had spoken.

  “Why do ye suggest this abomination to me?”

  The man lowered his eyes, a slight tremble passing through him. The Blacksword was well renowned throughout the highlands. His enemies feared him greatly as the king’s enforcer. They had heard many tales of his ruthlessness these past years.

  “I only speak the truth,” he murmured.

  Connall could discern for himself that it was true. As he perused the weary faces before him, he made his decision. He handed the child up to Fergus as he began issuing orders.

  “This bairn will be my ward from this day onward. I want each of my guard to hand out half their rations to the villagers, including any clothing or blankets ye can spare. We will bury your dead if ye will point them out to my men. Can anyone tell me the child’s name…her age?”

  “Aye. Her name be Amelia Connor, but we call her Amy. She will be four summers two moons hence.”

  “I thank ye, woman.” He looked back at his men. “Ye will give aide where ye can then meet up with us at the Keep. Ten guardsmen with me now.” They continued on to their destination, never looking back at the grateful villagers.

  * * *

  Chapter II

  * * *

  Angus was displeased with his earlier conversation with his niece.
He needed gold for his coffers or else the villagers would not be the only ones starving at Urquhart this winter. Stepping out to the bailey, a guard at the gate cried out.

  “Riders approach, my laird!”

  His head shot up. Who could it be? He snorted in disgust. Just what I need…more mouths to feed.

  “Can ye see their colors?”

  The guard squinted at the approaching men for a few moments before his eyes widened in fear. “Aye, my laird. Tis the Blacksword! There be nae mistaking his pennant!” He crossed himself sending up a fervent prayer.

  Canmore! Why would he be there? The taxes were not due yet, of this he was certain. His thoughts scrambled in a panic as he awaited Connall’s arrival at the door of the keep. While he stood there, he sent a servant to request the lady’s presence to greet their new guest. She swept out of the door just before Connall entered the bailey.

  “Who is it, Uncle?”

  Eying her, a plan began to form in his mind. He would auction her to the highest bidder. If he did this right he might double the amount of gold he had hoped to receive and finally be rid of her.

  “Tis Connall Canmore, the Earl of Caithness. Ye may wish to consider him if he offers for ye. Ye could be a Countess!”

  “Dear Angus, titles and gold mean naught to me. Do ye nae understand this yet?” Connall had drawn near as she answered her uncle’s counsel. Brighde glanced up gasping as his vivid green eyes locked with hers. She trembled at the intense scrutiny of his mesmerizing gaze.

  His eyes moved to Angus’ portly body and frowned as thoughts of the villagers flashed through his mind.

  “My lord Canmore, what brings ye to my humble Castle?”

  Connall did not answer immediately. He removed his helm and gauntlets slowly just to watch the despicable laird sweat. He knew his reputation and the effect it had on people. This is one time he was glad of it. He glanced back at Brighde as he spoke in a deep voice. “Are manners more lax in this part of the Highlands, Laird Fraser?”

  Angus gasped and sputtered at the insult but knew he was correct. “Nay. Pray forgive me, my lord! I would present my niece, Brighde. Dear, this is Connall Canmore, Earl of Caithness, great grandson of King Malcolm III!”

  Connall had dismounted during the introduction and stood before her. Taking her delicate hand in his, he brought it to his sensuous lips placing a light kiss upon it. “A pleasure, my lady.” He straightened to his six-foot four inch height smoothly, towering over her diminutive five-foot three. He turned to Angus.

  “I and my men journey home. We ask for a roof over our heads this eve and, perhaps, a hot meal. Porridge will do if it be hot.” Fergus cleared his throat behind him. Without hesitation he went on. “I would ask for a hot bath and some broth be delivered to my chambers and warm clothing that will fit a four-year old bairn, if it be possible.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he retrieved the child from his squire’s arms and made to enter the keep. Brighde rushed forward disregarding the mud and stench emanating from his bundle. She stroked the bairn’s brow checking for fever.

  “She has nae fever. What ails her sir?” She glanced up in question.

  Connall was impressed with this tiny lass. Most lady’s would back away and order their servants to tend the child…like her uncle just did. She had spirit. “I suspect she is weak from hunger…naught more.”

  “I will make the arrangements. Please bring her out of this cool air before she catches a chill.” She spun around and led the way to a warm bedchamber where a bath was being prepared. “Lily, would ye please find some clothing that will fit this bairn?”

  “Aye, m’lady.” She bobbed and rushed from the room.

  As Brighde began to peel away the filthy clothes, Connall observed her lack of concern of the mud mussing her clothing. It was rare, indeed, to find someone so self-effacing…and beautiful. He wished to know more.

  “Ye do nae have your servants tend her…even though the tending will ruin your gown.” It was not a question.

  She blushed, suddenly conscious of his presence. “Nay. My gown is of no consequence and she needs a gentle touch. My father always told me ‘if ye want it done right…do it yourself’.” She shrugged. “Who is the lass?”

  Connall peered at her, determining his answer. The squalor he had recently witnessed could not have been her doing. The blame must rest with her uncle.

  “Her name is Amy. Our paths crossed recently on my journey home. Her parents had died and she has no other kin so I have made her my ward. When she is grown I will find her a good match. Fergus perhaps.

  She looked at him with disapproval. Another man who thinks he kens what is best! Perhaps arrogance is inbred in the male species.

  “Ye disapprove? Why would that be? If I had nae intervened she would die.”

  She shook her head of sable tresses. “Tis nae that. It is the self-importance of discerning ye ken what is best when a lass weds…or who she weds.”

  He grinned openly revealing even white teeth. Connall’s smile devastated her senses. She sucked in a deep inhalation as she remembered to breath. A hot flash streaked through her.

  Intrigued, he decided to inquire deeper. “Has your uncle betrothed ye to someone ye do nae approve of?”

  “Nay, he can nae. Father deemed that I will select my own husband. He put it in writing so none could contest its validity.” She smiled sadly. “He loved me very much. Uncle keeps pushing men in front of me lately, though. It is as if he wants me gone quickly.” She shook her head. “I do nae understand it.”

  Connall arched his dark brow in surprise. That was, indeed, highly unusual. “Ye have met none that ye can approve of to wed?”

  She scoffed. “Uncle Angus has paraded many men in front of me. I have seen none that possess honor…who values it above all else!” Amy awoke just then, confused of her whereabouts. She struggled to escape Brighde’s arms.

  Connall knelt before her speaking in a soothing voice. “Be still, mo cridhe, all is well. Would ye like to play in some warm water?”

  Amy’s blue eyes rounded in wonder at his words. She had never been allowed to play in warm water before. He spread his arms and she wrapped hers tightly about his neck, squealing with delight as he lowered her gently into the silky liquid.

  Brighde’s heart warmed as she watched them frolic together, the layers of dirt and grime magically disappearing, along with the tension she had noticed in Connall’s shoulders.

  It was not long before the water was almost black. He lifted her from the tub, wrapping her in a huge linen drying cloth.

  His hand instantly covered his heart at the transformation. “I do declare, Mistress Amy, ye are a beautiful lass! I will wear out my blade beating off your suitors one day!”

  She giggled behind her hand at his theatrics. Brighde spoke up just then.

  “If ye will allow me, Amy, I will be pleased for a chance to brush your fiery hair…and, perhaps find ye something to eat. It will give Lord Canmore a chance to refresh himself.”

  Amy glanced over at Connall and he gave a curt nod. “Tis alright, lass. I will see ye before ye retire.” He gave her a hug and whispered, “I will nae leave ye behind…do nae fear.”

  She took Brighde’s hand as she offered it and they left the chamber in search of her own.

  As the servants bustled about to prepare his bath, Fergus entered to tend to his needs. He had removed his armor earlier himself, but needed his squire’s aid to strip off the wet clothing that was plastered to his skin.

  “Have the men returned?”

  “Aye, m’laird. All is as it should be.” He frowned as he unveiled Connall’s side. “Your wound has been weeping a bit.”

  He grunted. “Ye can tend it after my bath.” His mind wandered back to Brighde as he soaked out his aches in the tub. She was good with the bairn. There was gentleness in her touch…along with a silent strength. Her beauty was surpassed by none he knew. If he had a mind to take a wife, she would be the one he would want. It was a pity
that her father gave her such power over her life. No doubt the tales about him did not include honor. Not that he was not honorable. But tales often expand into small lies to make it more interesting…and hang the honor! He sighed. No doubt Brighde would not find him suitable either…if he were searching for a wife.

  * * *

  Angus sat by the hearth in the great hall sipping his ale as he contemplated how to turn Blacksword’s visit into a boon for him. The Earl is very wealthy but how can I convince him to purchase a wife? He can have his pick of lasses and they would have dowries to give to him. Then it struck him! Honor! He had heard about how honorable Blacksword was. He could use it to play against him. But how? An idea began to form in his mind as a devious smile encroached his lips. He called for the cook as he rubbed his palms together greedily.

  “Ye look like the fox that invaded the henhouse.”

  Angus swore an oath. He had forgotten all about Stephen Ross! No matter. They could both bid for her hand. He grinned at the man standing before him. He was near as tall as Connall but more stout in build. His ash-colored hair reached just past his shoulders. He had a fair face, as far as looks went, but his eyes always made Angus’ skin crawl. The gray orbs looked soulless to him. Truth be known, he probably was without a soul. After all, he had been wed four times and four times they had died. He mentally shrugged. What Stephen did with his niece after they wed was of no concern to him.

  He slapped Stephen on the shoulder good-naturedly as he announced his news. “Aye, perhaps. We have an additional guest this eve…Blacksword.”

  “Blacksword? Did he mention why he was here?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he peered at him. It would be just like Fraser to call in another suitor to play against him, and the Earl’s coffers were much richer than his own. If Angus thought to play him for a fool he would pay with his life! He wanted Brighde…and he was determined to have her.

  Angus shrugged nonchalantly. “He is on his way home to Halkirk and sought shelter for this eve. How could I refuse?” He watched Stephen slyly from the corner of his eye. “If there be any other business, he has nae mentioned it.”