Highland Steel: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 3

by Rose, Elizabeth

  “Well . . . what about the table leg yer wolf broke when we were runnin’ around tryin’ to catch it and retrieve my chicken?” asked Callum. “Who’s goin’ to fix that?”

  “Aye, and dinna forget about the three goblets and stack of bowls that smashed when the table broke,” added Caleb, ripping off a big piece of bread with his teeth.

  “Thanks for remindin’ him,” growled Logan. Caleb tended to run at the mouth too much. Whenever he did, it always meant trouble for Logan, or their other friends, Ethan and Hawke. “I’ll whittle ye a new leg for the table before I leave for the Highlands,” Logan offered. “Now, can I please have some food?”

  “Mmph,” mumbled Callum, still shaking his head, watching Logan through narrow-slitted eyes. “I think I’ll need ye to whittle a few bowls and goblets as well to make up for my loss.”

  “Fine,” said Logan with a sigh. He really didn’t mind doing it. Since he was good at whittling, it wouldn’t take him long. But right now, all he wanted was food.

  “What about them?” asked the old man, nodding at the English entourage sitting at the table. “Have they eaten?”

  “Damn,” said Logan under his breath as he fingered his pouch. He didn’t want to spend his entire share of the profits before he even got home. “Caleb, give him some money.”

  “Me? Nay,” said Caleb. “I dinna have any to lend.” It was a lie since Logan knew exactly how much he had. Logan personally made sure to split their earnings from the fair equally, giving each of his friends some, and saving most of the money to bring back to the clan. But Caleb was used to getting whatever he could for free, being more tightfisted with his coin than even Old Callum.

  “Ye brought them in here, Logan, now ye take care of them,” Callum told him.

  “Fine. Give them food,” said Logan, nodding toward Rhoswen and her companions. Rhoswen was comforting her handmaiden with her arm around her. Newell sat across from them, still gripping the hilt of his sword as he eyed everyone suspiciously.

  “Why did ye bring Sassenachs in here in the first place?” asked Callum, looking over to the three at the table.

  “Why? Are ye sayin’ they arena welcome?” asked Logan. “Because I ken ye welcome the English as well as the Scots into the Horn and Hoof. Ye always have. Yer own family has married English, unless ye’ve forgotten.”

  “Of course I havena forgotten, ye simpkin!” snapped the old man. “But these three look like trouble. I can always tell, and I am never wrong.” Callum let out a sigh and raised a hand in the air, calling over a server. “Bring them some soup and ale,” he told the girl.

  “Aye,” said the girl. “What about the one in the kitchen? I’m no’ sure he’s in any condition to eat.”

  “There’s another one in the kitchen?” Callum looked up at Logan in surprise.

  “Aye,” Logan answered, clearing his throat. Somehow, he was hoping Callum wouldn’t notice. “Lady Rhoswen’s faither was attacked and Cuddy is sewin’ him up before he bleeds to death,” Logan explained.

  “Blasted all, ye didna put his bluidy arse on my new bread table, did ye?” complained Callum.

  Logan shrugged. “It was the only table big enough to fit him. If it’s a problem, I’ll build ye a new table as well.”

  Spewing a plethora of ripe oaths, the old man hobbled off to the kitchen as fast as his old legs would carry him.

  “Logan, ye’re back,” said Ethan, grasping his tankard in one large hand as he walked across the room to meet him. Ethan was tall with dark hair. He recently married Alana Chisholm, the lass who had at one time left him at the altar.

  “We were startin’ to think ye fell in the river and drowned since ye were gone so long,” added Hawke from next to him, raising his drinking vessel to his mouth. Hawke was the son of their chieftain, Storm MacKeefe, and also the great-grandson of Old Callum. He married Phoebe MacNab and inherited her late cousin’s two children, making him an instant father. “Or I suppose I should say it is what we thought before those two arrived and told us ye sent them.” He nodded to the English sitting at the table.

  “There are three of them now,” said Caleb, chewing as he spoke. “Actually four, if ye count the dyin’ man on the kitchen table.”

  “They were attacked,” explained Logan. “There are six dead English guards on the road that we need to bury.”

  “God’s eyes, where did this happen?” asked Ethan. “And are ye sure there are no more survivors?”

  “It happened not far from here,” said Rhoswen, walking up to join them. “And I assure you, the three of us were the only ones to escape those bloody bastards. I hope they go straight to hell for what they did.”

  Hawke spit out the whisky he’d been drinking at hearing the way the woman spoke. It splattered on Ethan, who hit Hawke on the arm in return. Logan and his friends exchanged glances, almost laughing at what just came out of the lady’s mouth.

  “This is Lady Rhoswen,” Logan told his friends. “Lady Rhoswen, meet Hawke and Ethan.” Logan looked directly at his friends. “She’s a lady. An Englishwoman,” he added to stress the point.

  “She’s no’ like any noblewoman I’ve ever met,” Ethan mumbled softly into his tankard as he took another drink.

  “Lady Rhoswen, tell us how ye escaped the bandits,” Hawke said. “It’s amazin’ that ye werena harmed when the guards were killed and the attackers tried to do the same to yer faither.”

  “Aye, we were lucky, that’s all,” she answered. “We were down at the creek when it happened. If not, we’d be dead as well right now.”

  “Did ye see who did it?” asked Ethan. “If so, we’ll hunt them down like dogs for ye and see that justice is done.” Ethan’s large wolfhound, Trapper, trotted up and plopped down next to him hearing the word dog. The hound whined slightly and wagged its tail, sending rushes flying through the air in all directions.

  “Nay, I don’t know who they were,” Rhoswen answered, stepping back and swishing off the soiled rushes that had hit her. The animal was so big that it was almost frightening. “I didn’t see them clearly,” she continued. “They wore cloaks with hoods covering their heads.”

  Her emotions threatened to choke her as she thought about the bloody massacre she’d witnessed from behind a bush. She’d wanted to help defend her father and the guards since she knew how to use a sword and was good at it. She’d learned to fight in secret through the years, taught by her father. But instead of helping defend them, she’d kept hidden to protect Blaine and Newell from being killed. Newell was a page, training to be a squire. He could fight a little, but Blaine was naught but a lady and frightened by everything. She was totally helpless. Rhoswen would do anything to protect them since they were her younger siblings, traveling in disguise. It hadn’t been easy to hold Newell back, but she was following her father’s orders. He’d told her to protect her siblings, no matter what it took to do it. And that is exactly what she had done by remaining hidden.

  Rhoswen had no mother. She had taken it as her responsibility to play the role of mother to her siblings and lady of the castle ever since their mother killed herself six months ago. Her family left England, their castle, and everything behind, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered right now was their mission. Her father was gifted a sword from their English king, Richard, to aid in their mission. It was an ornate sword that was said to have never lost a battle. Well, they had lost it now, and needed it to fulfill their mission.

  “Where are the bodies?” asked Caleb. “We’ll go back and bury them for ye.”

  Rhoswen’s eyes closed partially and she felt as if she were going to retch. Her father’s loyal men were now dead. Her hand went to her stomach and her head dizzied. “Thank you, but I think I’d like them taken back to Yorkshire and brought to their families. Can you find someone to do it?”

  “Nay. That’s no’ possible,” said Logan, his eyes glancing around the room. “The English will think we killed them, and willna believe otherwise. We canna endanger the Scots for killi
n’ the English when we dinna even ken who did the crime.”

  “You’re right,” said Rhoswen with a sigh. “I can’t ask anyone else to risk their lives.”

  When a serving girl walked past with a bottle of Mountain Magic, Logan snatched it off her tray. The girl looked up in surprise. “It’s all right, I’ve paid for it,” Logan assured her, uncorking the bottle and taking a swig. He swallowed down the golden liquid and let out a satisfied sigh as he glanced back at Rhoswen. “If ye three as well as yer faither are accompanied by a few Scots, ye can vouch for them when ye take the bodies back to England yerself. Ye’re nobles so ye’ll be believed. I’ll make sure to find a few men to go as guards who will keep ye safe throughout yer travels back to the border if ye promise to vouch for them.”

  “Nay!” she protested, not willing to go back to England before they’d fulfilled their important mission. “Thank you, but I won’t need your guards after all.”

  “Believe me, ye do,” said Logan. “Ye saw what happened to yer men. But Scottish guards willna be overtaken so easily and they can protect ye on this side of the border. Scotland is no place for ye, lass, so ye need to take yer people and leave anon.”

  “I cannot do that,” said Rhoswen softly, thinking about their reason for being there in the first place. “We were making our way to the Highlands when we were attacked. We’ll continue on in our journey as soon as my father is able to travel.”

  “Och, the Highlands?” asked Ethan, cocking his head. “Why would ye be goin’ there of all places?”

  Rhoswen bit her tongue and cursed herself inwardly. She’d already said too much. “Does it really matter?” she asked, not wanting to tell them more. She didn’t even know if she could trust them.

  “Blethers, ye truly are daft,” said Logan, taking another draw from the bottle. “Ye need to turn around and go back to England as quickly as ye can, and never look back.”

  “I’m afraid that is not possible,” she answered, raising her chin in the air. She would not let these Scots frighten her. Nothing would keep her from her goal.

  “Why no’?” asked Hawke. “Unless ye want to end up like yer guards, I suggest ye do as Logan says.”

  Rhoswen couldn’t tell them the truth why they’d come, because she’d promised her father she’d keep it a secret. The less people who knew, the better since they didn’t know which Scots might be aligned with Clan Drummond. She needed to speak to her father and find out what they should do since the sword was gone and now they had nothing with which to barter. At the same time, she felt like she had to say something to Logan and his friends to satisfy them, so she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

  “I cannot go back to England because . . . I am betrothed to a Scot.”

  “Betrothed?” asked Logan in surprise.

  “Aye. I am on my way to marry a Highlander if you must know. If I turn around now, I’ll break the alliance. I don’t want a war between our people.”

  Logan laughed. “Unless ye are blind, lass, look around ye. Our countries have been fightin’ forever. It’s a way of life so just get used to it. Dinna be so daft to think yer betrothal is goin’ to make a difference.”

  “Are you saying that Scots don’t keep their words?” she asked him.

  “Well, nay,” said Logan, looking at his friends for help.

  “He just means that ye dinna belong here,” said Ethan.

  “That’s right,” agreed Hawke. “Ye are a lady who belongs in a castle sewin’ tapestries and weavin’ cloth, no’ travelin’ the roads atop a horse.”

  If only they knew that traveling the roads atop a horse is where she preferred to be.

  “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” she told them, not wanting to have to turn back home empty-handed. “I am going to marry a Highlander for the sake of an alliance, and you can’t do anything to stop me.”

  “Which Highlander do ye plan to marry?” asked Caleb curiously.

  “Well, I have never met him, but he is the chieftain from Clan Drummond in Perthshire,” she replied.

  “Ranulph Drummond?” asked Hawke, almost choking on his whisky.

  “Aye, I believe that’s his name,” she answered with a nod, watching the reactions on their faces.

  All of the men groaned softly, shifted, and then turned and busied themselves with pouring more drinks.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Rhoswen. “You all seem as if you know this man and do not like him.”

  “Let’s just say that Ranulph Drummond isna the first person we’d invite to join us for dinner.” Logan sat down next to Newell, clutching the bottle of whisky. A serving girl placed a steaming hot bowl of pottage and a full tankard of ale in front of him. He smiled and reached for the food.

  Rhoswen’s stomach flipped. She was so hungry that she felt like passing out.

  “Have ye and the others eaten?” Hawke asked her.

  “Nay,” she admitted, shaking her head and trying to keep down the bile rising in her throat.

  Logan scooped up a big spoonful of pottage and was about to put it in his mouth but stopped when he noticed everyone staring at him.

  “What?” he asked. “Didna they give ye chicken soup? Where’s the soup Callum called for?” His eyes scanned the empty table. “I paid Callum for food and he said he would send it over.”

  “Ye paid for yer food, no’ theirs,” Caleb reminded him.

  Logan’s smile quickly faded.

  “I dinna see any food for them, do ye?” asked Hawke, scowling at Logan.

  “That pottage will fill their bellies more than chicken-less soup,” Ethan told him.

  Logan’s mouth closed and he silently lowered the spoonful of food back to the bowl. “Ye’re right,” he said softly, glaring at Caleb who broke off another piece of the loaf of bread and gave it to his pine marten. “And I believe a little bread will fill their bellies even more.” He got up and snatched the bread from Caleb, then returned to the table, pushing it and the bowl of pottage toward Blaine and Newell. “Eat up,” he said, picking up the tankard of ale and handing it to Rhoswen next. “Sit in my spot, my lady. Please. After all, ye’ve had a hard day.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to take your food,” she said in apology, as she brought the tankard to her mouth and took a sip. It tasted wonderful.

  “I insist,” said Logan, picking up the bottle of whisky and raising it to his mouth. Caleb reached out and snatched it away from him and took a swig before he had the chance to drink.

  Logan nodded at the women and walked back to the drink board with his friends as Rhoswen and her siblings ate in silence.

  Chapter 3

  “Do ye believe her?” asked Hawke, sounding suspicious.

  “No, I dinna,” said Ethan.

  “Why no’?” asked Logan, settling himself on a stool.

  “Somethin’s no’ right,” Ethan agreed. “I get the feelin’ she is lyin’ to us for some reason.”

  “Me, too,” added Caleb, reaching out to pet his pine marten that was slinking around atop the drink counter.

  Logan felt the same way but didn’t want to admit it, since he kind of liked the girl. “Why would she lie?” asked Logan, motioning for a server to ladle him a bowl of soup. The serving girl did it, and walked away. Logan looked down into the bowl. It was basically a bowl of broth with a few onions and carrots floating on the top. Now he wished his wolf hadn’t stolen the chicken from the pot after all.

  “I’m no’ sure, but ye’d better find out if we’re right,” said Hawke, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because, I agree with my great-grandda. These Sassenachs are only goin’ to bring us trouble.”

  “Do ye think since Drummond killed off his last Sassenach wife that he is really betrothed to Rhoswen?” asked Caleb.

  “I wouldna put it past him. And he does seem to like the Sassenachs for some reason,” answered Logan, stirring the soup with his spoon and watching the steam rise up. “Or mayhap he just likes killin’ them.”

  “What’s g
oin’ to happen to them if her faither dies?” asked Ethan.

  “If that happens, we’ll have to bring them back with us to the MacKeefe camp until we can figure out what to do with them,” said Logan, blowing on the hot liquid and taking a sip of the soup. “Blethers, this is bland!” He made a face and held the spoon in the air.

  “Bring them to the MacKeefe camp?” squawked Caleb. “Are ye addled? We canna bring them back with us.”

  “I agree,” Ethan joined in. “Whoever is after them is goin’ to follow us home. We have families and children back at camp and I dinna want them endangered because of a few doitit English who should have stayed on their side of the border.”

  “Well, I canna just send them on their merry way, and let her marry that schemin’ bastard, Ranulph Drummond.” Logan blew on the hot soup once again.

  “Why no’?” asked Caleb. “She is nothin’ to us. Why should we care who she marries?”

  Logan felt sick to his stomach to think of Rhoswen as Ranulph Drummond’s wife. She didn’t deserve someone like him. She needed to be married to an English knight or earl back in England. The last place she should be is in the Highlands. If she stayed here much longer, she was only going to end up dead. He lifted the spoon of hot broth and inspected it. “The girl’s da is of no use to them and we all ken that they will all be dead before they even get to the Highlands if they dinna have someone to protect them.”

  “I agree,” said Rhoswen, overhearing his last words as she walked up behind them. “And that is why I’d like to hire you to escort us to Clan Drummond in the Highlands.”

  Logan had been ready to put the spoon in his mouth and jerked back in surprise, burning his lip. He dropped the spoon on the counter, his tongue darting out to touch his lip. “Nay, I canna do that.”

  “Why not?” asked the girl. “I saw that wolf of yours and he looks pretty vicious. And you look like you know how to handle a sword. Are you saying you’re not capable of protecting us?”