Highland Steel: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 3

by Rose, Elizabeth

  Logan saw his friends trying not to laugh.

  “Well, aye, I could protect ye, but –”

  “Ye did say ye couldna let them go alone,” Caleb reminded them.

  “I can’t pay you right now, since I only have a little money and need to pay the man in the kitchen for helping my father. But I’m sure my betrothed will be happy to compensate you when you deliver me to him unharmed,” Rhoswen continued.

  “Och, I’m sure,” said Logan, knowing the kind of compensation he’d get from Drummond would probably be a knife in the back. He wanted nothing to do with that clan. The last encounter he’d had with Ranulph Drummond was not a formidable occasion. Too many people ended up dying. “Listen, my lady, I dinna think I am the man for the job.”

  “Then what about one of you?” Rhoswen looked from one of Logan’s friends to the next. None of them made eye contact with her, and neither did they say a word.

  The door to the kitchen banged open and Callum stuck his head out. “Logan, get in here, right away.”

  “What is it?” asked Rhoswen. “Is it my father?” She took off at a sprint toward the kitchen. Logan got up and ran after her, passing her and getting to the door first with his long strides.

  “Dinna let her in here,” Callum warned him in a low voice. “It’s no place for a lady. The bluidy man isna goin’ to make it and I’m sure he’s goin’ to die on my bread table. I assure ye, it isna a pretty sight.”

  “Let me in. I have to see my father.” Rhoswen pushed her way in between them and entered the kitchen before Logan could stop her. She ran up to the table and all but threw herself atop her dying father.

  Cuddy wiped the blood from his hands with a towel, looking at Logan and shaking his head. “I did all I could,” he mumbled, and turned away.

  “Papa!” Rhoswen almost screamed aloud when she saw all the blood surrounding her father. He had stitches, and she was sure Cuddy did what he could to help him. But it looked like he was too late. Her father’s face was pale and he could barely keep his eyes open. “Papa, don’t die,” she begged him, grasping his hand in hers. If he died, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

  “Rhoswen . . . come . . . closer,” he told her. Rhoswen bent over and placed her ear by his mouth.

  “What is it, Papa? What do you want to tell me?” she asked, barely able to hear him.

  “Kill . . . Ranulph Drummond. Do it . . . for me.”

  She thought she’d misheard him at first, and blinked, looking at him in question. “What did you say?” she asked, leaning even closer. Their plan was that they’d trade the king’s sword to the Drummonds for her late sister’s child. Her sister, Ailsa, was married to Ranulph Drummond in an alliance. However, she died six months ago birthing the man’s baby. Rhoswen thought they were on a rescue mission to bring her nephew home, having convinced Drummond to give them the baby. Her father never mentioned he planned on killing the man afterwards.

  “Kill him . . . and get . . . the sword back. Take it . . . to England. Tell the king I stole it . . . and forced you and your siblings . . . to come with me. You can talk him . . . into a pardon.”

  “You stole the king’s sword?” she spat. “Nay. You told me he gave it to you.”

  Her father tried to laugh but ended up wincing. “That sword is too valuable. The king would never . . . give it away. He killed Scots . . . to get it.”

  “By the rood, I cannot believe this!” she said through gritted teeth. “Now it makes sense why you wanted us all to come with you. If we’d stayed in England, we would have been condemned for your crime. And that’s why you even had Blaine and Newell traveling in disguise. I can’t believe you did this, Father.”

  “Rhoswen, listen,” he said, but she kept on going.

  “Our plan was to use that sword in trade to get Lockie,” she said, speaking of her six-month-old nephew. “You never said anything about killing the Highlander!”

  “Listen to me,” he said again, trying to wet his lips with his tongue. His eyes slowly closed and then reopened. “Drummond . . . killed your sister.”

  “Nay,” she said, not wanting to believe it. She spoke softly so the others wouldn’t hear their conversation. “Ailsa was married to Ranulph as part of an alliance and you know it. He wouldn’t have killed her. She died birthing his son.”

  “Not true,” he ground out. “She died when . . . Drummond discovered . . . it wasn’t his . . . baby.”

  “What are you saying, Father? Ailsa was a virgin when she left England to live in the Highlands.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Logan walking up behind her. “What is yer faither sayin’? Is there a problem?”

  “Nay,” she answered. “I just need a moment of privacy, please,” she told him, holding back the tears and trying to maintain her composure. Logan nodded and instructed everyone to step into the next room.

  Once they were gone, her father continued.

  “Your sister was . . . not a virgin. Your mother and I . . . knew it.”

  “Nay, that’s not true. My older sister was an angel.”

  “When she left . . . England. . . she was already pregnant. With the stableboy’s seed.”

  “The stableboy?” gasped Rhoswen, not able to believe what she’d just heard. “Didn’t our stableboy die right after Ailsa went to Scotland?”

  “I . . . killed him for what . . . he did.”

  “Nay!” She stood upright and took a step backward. Suddenly, she felt like she didn’t even know her father. “What about Mother?” she asked with a stiff upper lip. “Did she really take her own life mourning Ailsa’s death? Or was it because of you that she did it? Or did you mayhap kill her, too?”

  “Nay,” he said and moaned in pain. It was using all of his energy to speak. “I loved your mother. She took her own life . . . because I betrothed Ailsa . . . to a Highlander. And Ailsa was murdered.”

  “Papa, I cannot believe what I’m hearing!”

  “I betrothed her to . . . save face. So our . . . family’s name wasn’t sullied.”

  “You disgust me! How could you do such a thing to your own daughter? You are not the man I thought you to be. You purposely sent her far away and endangered her by marrying her off to a Highlander in a fake alliance, knowing she was already pregnant. It is your fault that Drummond killed her. You sent her to her death!” Rhoswen’s lip trembled and her knees quaked. Her fists clenched at her sides. How could her father have done these horrible things? And how could she have been so gullible that she hadn’t even known about it?

  “I was . . . wrong,” he admitted, struggling to breathe now. “I was angry with Ailsa . . . but I loved her.”

  “Well, you have a twisted way of showing it,” snapped Rhoswen. “Ailsa is gone and all we have to remember her by is her child. I thought that is why we’d planned this mission – to get Lockie. God’s teeth! I still cannot believe you stole the king’s sword to trade it for Ailsa’s child!”

  “Forget the boy,” said her father. “He’s only . . . a bastard.”

  Rhoswen’s eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped to hear her father say this. “That little boy might not have a true father, but he is of our flesh and blood and don’t you forget it. I will never just leave him to the Scots as you suggest. Why did I ever let you talk us into coming with you? You never cared about anyone other than yourself. You never wanted that sword to trade for Lockie, did you? You only wanted it because the legend is that whoever uses it is undefeated. God’s eyes, you wanted the sword all along for revenge – just to kill Drummond, didn’t you?”

  “Rhoswen, I’m dying. Listen . . . to me. You need to . . . kill Drummond for me.”

  “Don’t ask me to do your dirty work after what you’ve just told me.”

  “Then do it . . . for your mother. And . . . your sister.”

  “How do I even know what you say is true?” asked Rhoswen stubbornly.

  Her father’s hand shot out and he gripped her hard around her wrist. “He did it. He told me
so in a missive. We must get vengeance . . . for your sister’s death.”

  “So let me try to understand this,” she said, pulling out of her father’s grip and rubbing her wrist. For a dying man, he still had a lot of strength in him, probably set off by his thirst for revenge. “The whole plan all along was to kill Drummond and to risk your children’s lives to do it? We don’t even have a home to go back to anymore, do we?”

  “I’m sorry, Rhoswen . . . but I couldn’t . . . leave you. Unless you find the sword . . . and return it . . . we have no . . . title, lands . . . or castle.”

  Rhoswen froze. If her father died, she and her siblings would be trapped in Scotland, homeless and with nowhere to go. Returning to England could mean their deaths. And without the sword as trade, she would never get her sister’s child.

  Her father seemed to be losing strength quickly. He could die at any minute and this frightened her more than anything, because she didn’t know what to do.

  “Wake up!” she spat, shaking him until his eyes opened. “Don’t you dare die and leave us like this. I will never forgive you.”

  “Kill . . . Drummond . . . and set my . . . soul free.”

  “Nothing is ever going to set your conscious free from the things you did. It is your fault that Ailsa is dead and your fault that Mother took her own life. You don’t want to save an innocent child, but yet you want to save your soul? Forget it, Father, I will not do your bidding. I will save Lockie, but I don’t care about the sword. And I will not kill a man no matter what he did.”

  “I taught you to fight . . . now do it.”

  “I don’t want to do it. I am a lady, not one of your soldiers. You can’t order me to do anything.”

  “I am . . . dying . . . Daughter.” His eyes closed and his breathing became shallower.

  Rhoswen was doomed. Because of her father’s choices and now his vow of vengeance even from his deathbed, her family had no hope for the future. It angered her and she felt as if she wanted to scream. She’d thought her father was teaching her to wield a sword in secret because he loved her and wanted to teach her how to protect herself. She was wrong. It was clear to her now that he only did it in case he needed her help to kill someone someday, and now that day had come. Well, she refused to be a part of this deceit any longer.

  “If you’re going to die, then do so already,” she said, feeling her heart harden. “You didn’t care about Ailsa or mother or even little Lockie, who we’ve never even met. So why should I care if you find redemption and why should I give a damn if your soul goes to hell?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Rhoswen? Is everything all right?” asked Logan, sticking his head inside the room.

  “I’m . . . sorry. Please . . . forgive me,” said her father, reaching out for her with a shaking hand, but Rhoswen didn’t take it.

  “Everything is fine,” said Rhoswen, flashing a fake smile at Logan. “Why don’t we go get something to eat?”

  “Rhos . . . wen,” her father’s weak voice called out as she headed to the door. “I love . . . you,” he said, his words causing her to stop in the doorway. She’d longed to hear those words from his mouth her entire life, but she never had. Why did he have to tell her this now, when it no longer mattered? Part of her wanted to turn around and rush back into his arms and tell him she forgave him, but she couldn’t. He’d lied, cheated, stolen and killed. He’d made a fool out of her and she no longer knew who he was. It was something that could never be forgiven.

  “Rhoswen?” Logan held the door and looked back at the dying man on the table. “Did ye hear yer faither?”

  “I heard him,” she said.

  “Are ye sure ye want to leave him now? He’s dyin’. Isna there somethin’ ye want to say to him as well?”

  “I’ve already said everything that he needed to hear,” she said, pushing past him, walking out into the tavern as her father drew his last breath.

  “Rhoswen? How is he?” asked her sister, running to her side. Newell was there as well.

  “He’s dead,” she said, feeling no emotion at all.

  “Nay!” cried Blaine, starting to run for the kitchen, but Rhoswen grabbed her arm and held her back.

  “Sit down and eat,” she told her sister in a stern voice.

  “What’s the matter with you?” snapped Newell. “We want to see him one last time. You act as if you have a cold heart.”

  “Father has been dead for a long time,” she told them. “The man in that room is not the man we once knew. Now, I’ll tell you again – sit down and eat your dinner.”

  Blaine and Newell looked at each other, tears welling up in their eyes.

  “Sit down!” she commanded, and they slowly sat down, but neither of them ate. Rhoswen slowly settled herself on the bench and picked up the spoon. With the poise of a lady and with no emotion at all, she ate the pottage, feeling numb inside. She didn’t feel the loss of her father and she no longer felt anger, love, or anything at all. Tears wouldn’t come, and neither did she want them to. She had to be strong now, and figure out how to keep her family alive. She needed to figure out where to go, where to live, and how to save little Lockie. That was all that mattered.

  “We’ll leave for the Highlands in the morning, with or without an escort,” she told her siblings. “And we will do whatever it takes to save Lockie because that is what Ailsa and Mother would have wanted us to do.”

  Chapter 4

  “Lady Rhoswen, are ye sure ye dinna want to take yer faither’s body back to England?” asked Logan a short time later. He stayed in the tavern talking to Rhoswen and the other two, while Hawke, Caleb, and Ethan wrapped the dead man in a blanket and carried the body out back. Logan had built a quick wooden casket and it was ready for use outside the back of the tavern.

  Old Callum could be heard all the way from the kitchen complaining about his bread table while Cuddy argued with him that he was the one who always had to clean up the messes. “I’ll no’ be wantin’ that blanket back now either,” said Callum. “I’ll no’ be givin’ my customers somethin’ that was wrapped around a dead Sassenach.”

  Logan walked over to the kitchen and stuck his head inside the room. “Add the damned blanket to my bill,” he said, closing the door and walking back to Rhoswen.

  “We’ll bury my father here,” said Rhoswen.

  “Here?” Logan asked. “I’m no’ sure Auld Callum will like that. As a matter of fact, I can guarantee he willna. Yer faither’s a lord and needs to go back to yer castle.”

  Rhoswen slammed down the spoon and stood while Newell and Blaine watched her with sullen looks upon their faces.

  “We are not going back to England and I don’t want to hear you suggest it again.”

  She stormed away from the table and out the door.

  “Newell?” asked Logan, not sure why Rhoswen seemed so angry. “Ye’re Lord Asquith’s squire. Dinna ye think ye should see to buryin’ him?”

  “I – I don’t know,” said the boy, seeming very shaken and unsure of what to do.

  Blaine looked over at Newell with tears dripping down her cheeks. “I want to see him one last time, Newell. Go with me so we can pay him our last respects. It’s what Mother would have wanted.”

  Mother? Thought Logan. That was an odd thing for the handmaid to say. Something was not right here and Logan started to think that these two were not who they pretended to be. “Ye two seem awfully close to Lord Asquith. I suppose I can see that his squire would care so much about him, but a lady’s handmaid?”

  Blaine looked at Newell and burst into tears. She reached out and hugged him, hiding her face on his shoulder.

  “Stop it,” Newell whispered to her. “He wouldn’t have liked you acting this way.”

  “Why dinna ye two head on out back through the kitchen?” suggested Logan. “Ye can pay yer last respects. Meanwhile, I am goin’ to go find Lady Rhoswen.”

  Rhoswen paced back and forth outside the tavern, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She cursed her father for the things he had done and for dying and leaving her in this position. She also cursed herself for being so blind that she didn’t know what had been happening right under her nose.

  “Lady Rhoswen?” asked Logan, following her out of the tavern.

  “What is it?” she snapped.

  He stopped in his tracks and looked at her from the corners of his eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Now,” he said, taking her by the elbow and leading her to the stable that was used to shelter the horses of the travelers who stayed at the inn. Once inside, he lit a lantern. “I’d like to ken what is really goin’ on.”

  “Whatever do you mean? We were attacked by bandits and now my father is dead. I’m sure you already know that so why do you ask?”

  “I’m no’ talkin’ about that.”

  “Then what do you mean?”

  “Let’s start with Blaine and Newell.”

  “What about them?

  “Who are they really?” he questioned her.

  She was about to stick to the plan and tell them what her father had wanted people to think, but then she realized it didn’t matter anymore. Plus, she was so angry with her father that she didn’t want him controlling her actions from the grave.

  “All right, I’ll tell you,” she said releasing a deep breath. “They are my siblings.”

  “Och, I thought so.” Logan plopped down atop a pile of hay. “Why would ye disguise them and pretend they are someone else? It makes no sense.”

  “It was my father’s idea. We were only following orders,” she explained. “He said they’d be safer if no one knew they were noble.”

  “But ye werena in disguise so why were they? Wasna he worried about yer safety as well?”

  “I – I suppose not.” She was going to tell him she knew how to defend herself and was skilled in wielding a sword, but something made her keep that information to herself.