Highland Honor

by Dana D'Angelo

  A few paces later, his horse made more powerful hacking noises.

  “We’ll be arriving in the town soon,” he said, frowning. “Just hold on until then.”

  Chapter 4

  “Fresh hares caught this morning! Great for stews, pies and roasting!” Sileas called out, trying to be heard over the din of the town market.

  A man pushed through the crowd as he scanned the different stalls. He was a portly fellow. His face was round and soft but the expression on his countenance was anything but kind. Still she reasoned that she had no qualms about selling her wares to friendly or unfriendly folk. In fact, she recognized him as the cook at one of the eating establishments in town. Likely if he bought the meat, he could make a number of meals for his customers.

  “Get your fresh hares,” Johne yelled beside her, his voice bellowing out to the crowd and making several heads turn. She was grateful that she brought the old clansmen with her instead of Symon. She was starting to become hoarse, and it helped to have someone with her whose voice carried better than hers.

  The fat man’s dark eyes darted to her stall and settled on the hares that she had on display. Turning to look over his shoulder, he spoke to a servant who carried several baskets of produce. Sileas held her breath in anticipation. When they began to move in their direction, she let her breath out in a rush, and thanked Providence for answering her prayers.

  “I’ll give ye this for the hares,” the cook said, extending his hand, a copper coin held tightly between his thumb and index finger.

  She bit her lip and stared at the coin. “They’re three coins each,” she said.

  “Three coins each?” he said incredulously. “Surely ye jest!”

  “’Tis nay jest,” she said, shaking her head. “I need the money tae help my ailing brother.”

  “A likely story,” the man spat. “Ye can take my offer or ye can leave it.” His beady eyes stared at her expectantly as if he could smell her desperation. “Well? What will it be?”

  Johne stood quietly beside her. He knew very well how much the remedy cost. They had already gone to the town healer to inquire about it. She had also told him countless times about the enormous expense it took to obtain this elixir. Somehow the healer had formulated the herbal remedy, but no one could figure out what was in it. If Sileas took the cook’s offer, she wouldn’t have enough money to buy the medication. And if she couldn’t get the cure... She couldn’t bring herself to complete that last thought. The result was too horrible to contemplate.

  “I’m sorry, guidman,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “I need three copper coins for each hare.”

  “That’s ridiculous! I’m nae going tae get scammed by a lass, bonny or nae.”

  “Perhaps ye would be better off selling yourself,” the assistant suggested, leering at her body.

  The cook whipped his head to stare at his assistant. The diminutive man cringed slightly, but he relaxed when his employer let out an abrupt barking laugh.

  “My servant might be right.” The portly cook turned his attention back to her, his gleaming eyes ogling her body. His stare settled on her breasts and he licked his lips suggestively. “I can always use a guid lass. What’s your price?” he asked.

  “I’m nae for sale,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Ye should take the offer, lassie,” the assistant snickered. “Cook is a verra wealthy man in this town. ‘Tis doubtful that ye will get a better deal than that.”

  The cook gave a lascivious chuckle. “I’ll give ye —” He abruptly stopped as a massive shadow fell over him. Furrowing his brows, he turned quickly. But his jaw slackened at the sight of the enormous man who eclipsed the sun.

  “Is your business here finished?” he asked in a deep voice.

  “Aye,” the fat cook said. He backed away from the newcomer and bumped into his assistant in the process. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip. “I’m finished.” Spinning around, he hastened away just as his shadow scrambled after him.

  “Do ye have devil’s nettle?” the new arrival asked Sileas, drawing her attention back to him.

  She turned and found her eyes fixed squarely on the man’s broad chest. Glancing up, she took a slight step back at seeing the brawny man standing in front of her. It was impossible not to stare. She appraised his lean muscular length, quickly taking in every detail of his male perfection. From his appearance, she gauged that he was well over six feet tall. His hair was long and reached his shoulders, making him seem fierce. But his sun-kissed face was fair and unmarked. The men living in the Borderlands were gaunt and looked half-starved, but this man was well nourished, virile and incredibly handsome. He had an air of confidence about him that suggested that he knew his place in the world and commanded it well. One thing was certain. He didn’t belong in this area. Judging from his clothing and the deep brogue that she just heard, it was clear that he wasn’t an Englishman either. She had sold goods at this market town for years, and she knew that different people passed through it. Most men in the vicinity were clothed in hose and tunics. This man, however, wore a great kilt and a light brown jacket that covered the upper half of his well built frame. It did little to hide the wide expanse of his chest. In all ways he appeared manly and lethal. The muted fabric of his kilt draped and folded over his athletic form. And while there was a distinct chill in the afternoon air, he seemed unaffected by it. Jutting up from his back, she noted the handle of his claymore. The leather belt he wore held several small items including a dirk, and a sporran, which hung at the front of his kilt.

  The stranger was perhaps twenty-five years old, and was about six years older than she was. He seemed bold, powerful and dangerous, which was appealing and fascinating all at once. She frowned at the thought. Where did that notion come from? She had never met this man before, and she knew nothing about him. Nevertheless, a shiver raced through her spine as she considered his brutal strength. Likely he could break an individual with his bare hands. But what was a fearsome Highlander doing in this market town?

  The horse beside him bent its head, and let out a powerful sneeze, jerking her out of her contemplation. “Sorry. Ye were asking me about devil’s nettle?” she said, belatedly remembering his inquiry. She twisted her lips in puzzlement. This wasn’t a plant that she knew of. “I dinnae believe that I have it.”

  He closed his eyes and for a moment, he allowed his frustration to show. “Are ye certain? The town healer told me that ye had some. She’s the one who sent me here.”

  “Nay,” she shook her head. “I’m afraid she’s mistaken.”

  “I think he might be talking about yarrow, lass,” Johne said, cutting in. “Horse-traders often call the herb devil’s nettle.”

  “Sae ye are a horse-trader?” she said, eyeing his powerful physique. He resembled a mighty warrior but didn’t bear semblance to any horse dealer that she had come across. Still, he was very specific in asking about the yarrow plant for his steed. As far as she was told few people understood the plant’s effectiveness for ailing horses. In fact, on the way to the market, the old clansman had educated her on the merits of the herb. If anything, Johne knew everything there was to know about horse remedies, and he had much more experience in dealing with beast and horse-traders alike.

  Glancing surreptitiously at the fine quality of the Highlander’s clothing, she gathered that he possessed wealth. And judging by the concern he had for his sick horse, he might get distressed if he couldn’t purchase the yarrow. If the town healer didn’t have the plant readily available, then it fell on Sileas to sell it to him. Here was the opportunity that she prayed for.

  “Well?” the Highlander demanded, ignoring her query. “Do ye have it or nae?”

  Even though her heart started to pound uncontrollably in her chest, she tilted her head up until she met his gaze. “Aye, I have it. But it’ll cost ye three hares,” she said quickly.

  “Three hares?” he said, his brows snapping down with confusion and annoyance. “Does
it look like I carry three hares?”

  At her hasty reply, Sileas felt a blush creep up her neck. She prided herself in not allowing other people to fluster her, yet clearly this stranger had the ability to shake her. She was conscious of his desperation, and had full plans to sell him the dried plants for more than their worth. She recognized that it was dishonest and even felt guilt swirling in her belly just before she stated her price. Perhaps she wanted to assuage her misconduct by offering him the hares as well. But when she spoke her words came out wrong. Still, yarrow was an inexpensive plant that wasn’t easily available at this time of year. If anything, the meat had more value. Straightening her shoulders, she firmly thrust her conscience aside. Her brother’s life was at risk, and she needed the money.

  “Ye can have the yarrow, but only if ye buy these three hares.” She pointed to the game that was already skinned and strung up on long sticks.

  “I have nay need for meat,” he said, staring incredulously at the skinned hares.

  “As ye said, nay one else in town has the herb ye seek.” she swallowed. “Ye can take my offer or nae.”

  Observing his surroundings, he took in the other market stalls. The vendors were promoting various meats and vegetables, but there was no one selling medicinal plants. He ran an aggressive hand through his hair and let out an exasperated breath. “Fine, how much do they cost?”

  “Nine copper coins,” she said, holding her breath.

  “Nine!” he exclaimed. He opened his mouth to say something more, but he abruptly shut it again. “I dinnae have time for this,” he muttered under his breath. Digging into his sporran, he pressed the coins into her hand.

  Without meaning too, a broad smile began to spread across her face. She finally had enough money to see the town healer, and get the medicine she desperately needed. She started to move away from him, but he caught her arm.

  “And the yarrow plant?” he said.

  “Och, sorry.” The heat first rushed to her cheeks and zipped up to the top of her head. She glanced over at the old clansman who was staring at them. “Bring over the sack, Johne,” she said.

  Her command brought Johne out of his stupor, and he bent to grab the sack that was lying near his foot. Taking it from his gnarled hand, she fumbled inside the bag. All the while she sent a silent prayer of thanks to her aunt for insisting that she carried the dried herbs with her. Her hand brushed against a pouch and she quickly pulled it out.

  “When ye give the yarrow tae the horse, make sure that it drinks plenty of water,” Johne said. “It’ll need it.”

  “Aye.” She handed the small satchel to the Highlander. “Ye heard what auld Johne said.”

  The stranger took the bag from her outstretched hand. Without another word, he led his stallion away from them.

  The smile on her face froze when she noticed the hares still hanging in her stall. Grabbing the game, she ran after her customer before he disappeared into the crowd.

  “Dinnae forget your hares, guidman,” she said, thrusting the skinned meat at him.

  Sileas turned to walk back to her market stand when a stripling of about five years old jumped out from behind a table. The lad stood in front of the stranger, his short legs spread into a wide stance.

  “Halt, Scum Master!” he yelled loudly as he brandished a wooden sword. There was a fierce expression on his young countenance. “I’m taking ye tae the queen tae atone for your crimes against humanity!”

  As she watched the commotion, fear for the lad flooded her heart. Not very many men treated bairns kindly in the market square, and she wondered how the Highlander would react toward the innocent youngster. When she dealt with the brawny stranger, he seemed scary and intimidating. He could easily crush any person in his path. Yet this wee bairn had the courage to challenge him. She exchanged glances with Johne, uncertain whether or not she should intervene. If anything, this bairn was no match for a ferocious looking horse-trader.

  But the brawny Highlander astounded her. From her vantage point, she saw that his surprise turned quickly to amusement. He raised his hands above his head. And what he said next made her jaw drop.

  “Please dinnae take me prisoner,” he said. Glancing at the meat that he carried in his hand, he pushed them at the boy. “Here, take these as payment.”

  The lad stared at the unexpected turn of events, a bewildered expression on his face. Then when his good fortune registered, he gleefully rushed over to a woman who was bartering with a merchant. The bairn gestured toward the ginger-haired stranger, his eyes glowing with excitement. His mother spun around to gape at the horse dealer, however he was already on his way.

  Even when the man was long gone, Sileas continue to stare at the spot where the Highlander stood, and replayed the scenario in her mind. No doubt he had astonished her. For someone who appeared so savage and cold, he was kind and generous to the lad and to her. She was well aware that she over-charged him for both the game and the yarrow. She knew first hand that very few people would have paid her price, but the braw horse-trader bought the items from her without much argument. He then turned around and gave away the meat to someone unknown to him.

  A shout in the next stall pulled her out of her musing, and she remembered her purpose for being in the market town in the first place.

  Walking quickly back to her booth, she said, “Gather our things, Johne. We’re going tae see the town healer now.”

  Chapter 5

  Nearing dusk, Griogair entered the busy courtyard of Eddlemont Castle. A couple of young women were sweeping the cobblestones. Two more servants struggled with buckets of slop as they made their way to the pig pen located on the other side of the square. At his approach both lassies stopped their sweeping and peered at him. As recognition hit them, they giggled and waved. He nodded his head in acknowledgment. It was good to be back. By now the other people who were in the courtyard recognized him as well, and they called out their hearty greetings. The cloak of familiarity covered him, and he felt as if he had returned home. Indeed Eddlemont Castle had been his home for almost twenty years. He took in the environs and noted that aside from the weeds growing throughout the cobblestones, and the weather-beaten walls of the castle tower, little else had changed since the last time he was here.

  Off to the right, he saw a handful of bairns running around and playing tag. But once they heard the clopping of hooves, they stopped their game, and gaped at him as if he was a giant that abruptly appeared in their midst. As he got closer, a few of the older ones remembered him, and they raced up to his horse, begging to be taken up and allowed to ride with him to the stable. He laughed at their enthusiasm. Meanwhile his horse’s ears perked, and he swooshed his tail as if to show that he too was pleased to return to the castle. Griogair gave his friend a pat on the head, grateful that the yarrow had finally taken its effect.

  Suddenly a bairn that was about six years old pushed his way to the front of the group. “Griogair!” he yelled, waving a stick in the air. The hound beside him barked, its tail wagging frantically as if to offer its own greeting.

  “Hamish,” he said, dismounting. He reached over and ruffled the youngster’s hair. He hadn’t seen Robart MacRell’s son in over a year, but the lad was growing quickly, and would no doubt turn into a great warrior like his father. That realization caused a tightness to form in the middle of his chest. The loss of Robart was a great blow to everyone who loved him. He was far too young to die. And now he would leave behind a wife and young son. With that awareness, his earlier amusement waned. He forced a smile to his lips. “Do ye want tae ride my horse?”

  “Aye!” he said, his eyes brightening with excitement. He dropped his stick and allowed himself to be lifted onto the saddle. The other youths grumbled at their misfortunes, but they continued to trail behind the steed.

  “I didnae ken that ye were coming back,” Hamish said, holding tightly onto the reins.

  “Neither did I,” Griogair said. A ball of guilt rose to his chest, but he brushed it aside.
“’Tis guid tae see ye again.”

  The lad grinned at him. A short while later they arrived at the stables. He handed the reins over to the waiting stable boy. The other bairns crowded around the stallion while Griogair lifted Hamish off the mount.

  “Run along now,” he said.

  Hamish made a sound of disappointment. “Come play with us,” he urged.

  “Nay,” he shook his head. “Go back tae your game. I’m here tae see your grand da.”

  For a moment the lad’s bottom lip jutted out. But his friends called for him, and he ran off with his dog.

  As Griogair exited from the stable, he became momentarily blinded by the afternoon sun. A movement from his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he turned in that direction. Alasdar MacRell.

  “I saw ye from the tower,” he said when he was within earshot. The MacRell held himself erect, and appeared like the powerful clan chieftain that he was. However upon a closer examination, Griogair noted that the laird’s shoulders drooped slightly. The dark hairs on his temple and chin were shot with silver. Ever since he could remember, Alasdar had wrinkles on his forehead. Although they were now deeper and more pronounced. His lips were set into a grim line, as if he no longer had any reason to smile. Griogair knew him well enough to recognize that his foster father was deeply pained. In the past he rarely showed emotion, but with the death of his eldest son, the cracks in his armor were showing.

  “Alasdar,” Griogair said, embracing the man who was like a second father to him. “I came as soon as I could.”

  “Thank ye for coming,” he said, his face as unmoving as stone. There were dark circles under his eyes, betraying the strain that he was under. He led Griogair through the courtyard and into the great hall.

  “I’m sorry tae learn of what happened, Alasdar.”

  Griogair’s words caused him to blink. For a second the walls that held his emotions in check trembled. But then the moment passed, and he continued to the trestle table. “Nay more sorry than I,” he said, as a shadow crossed over his narrow face. “I named Niall as the new successor tae the chiefdom. Little guid that would do if he gets himself killed as well. The timing is bad, Griogair.” Alasdar gazed at him, his eyes intense and rimmed with red. “Robart wasnae supposed tae die.”