Highland Honor

by Dana D'Angelo

  The women and bairns were busy clearing up the mess that was piled in front of the damaged home. He looked down when he heard Sileas’ melodic voice carry up to where he worked.

  “Go tae Griogair, Symon,” she said, gesturing at the house. “He’ll need someone tae assist him with the roof covering.”

  Her brother frowned, and appeared as if he would argue with her. But when Symon’s gaze fell to his aunt, he seemed to change his mind. Pivoting, he marched over to Griogair.

  “My sister says that I’m tae help ye,” he mumbled as he climbed the ladder.

  “Aye, we can use extra hands,” Griogair said. “Tie the bundles of thatch tae the ends, and let them hang over the side of the walls. The overhanging thatch will keep rainfall and snow from gathering too close to the foundation.”

  The lad compressed his lips. But he offered no further resistance and went to work. Griogair watched him for a minute to ensure that he tied the dried material down properly. But the lad was a quick study, so there was nothing for Griogair to be concerned about. He went back to hammering the wooden pegs into the new supports, maneuvering expertly across the top of the house. Two other youths weaved young branches between the slats in order to keep the roof covering in place. Still another boy tossed bundles of the dried material up to the workers on the roof, giving them a constant supply of thatch and bracken to manipulate. With several people laboring on the roof, he was confident that the house would be repaired in no time.

  After a while Griogair paused in his work. Standing up, he wiped his arm across his forehead. The hot autumn sun was now directly overhead, causing his tawny muscles to glisten with sweat. Loosening the pin that secured a portion of his great kilt, he let the excess material drop. Then as he pulled off his leine, he heard the titter of the lassies who labored below. He started to go back to hammering when out of habit he searched for Sileas. She seemed absorbed in her thinking, except she was staring straight at him. Her gaze followed the length of him, taking in the rippling display of hard muscles that cut into his torso.

  “Will ye look at that magnificent brawn?” Jannet said, her words cutting into the air. The two young females who worked beside them giggled at the widow’s remark.

  “Hush!” Sileas said, snapping out of her trance. Heat rose to her cheeks. “He’ll hear ye!”

  Amusement rose to his chest, and he suppressed the urge to chuckle. Although the women spoke in normal tones, he could discern every word they said.

  “I dinnae care whether he hears me,” Jannet said, her tone unabashed. “I’m nay longer young, but I recognize a braw lad when I see one.”

  Sileas cast a nervous glance at his direction. When she caught his gaze, he raised a brow and smirked. Her jaw dropped when she realized that he had heard their entire exchange.

  “I think the lad likes ye,” Jannet grinned, well aware that he overheard that comment as well.

  The blush on Sileas’ cheeks deepened on her fair skin and spread to the roots of her golden hair. “That’s enough.” She grabbed her aunt by the arm, and dragged the widow away from his view.

  ***

  Griogair smiled, remembering how Sileas had appraised him while he toiled on the roof. She watched him as if he was the first man that she had ever seen. This amused him since it was usually one of his brothers that garnered the attention of the opposite sex. Still, he was mesmerized by her earthy beauty. Several times he allowed his gaze to drift over to her as he wondered why an attractive lass like her was still unattached. She didn’t have any flaws as far as he could tell. Her movements were graceful, her figure was feminine, enticing and curved at all the right places. She not only possessed comeliness, but seemed to have all of her faculties as well. If she was at Tancraig Castle, all the bachelors from near and far would come to vie for her hand in marriage. Perhaps he might even become one of them —

  He let out an abrupt snort, deliberately ending his line of thought. What the hell was he thinking? He was far from wanting to settle down, and take on unwanted responsibilities. At the moment he was content, and a wife didn’t figure in his life. But even with his sound logic, he couldn’t deny that Sileas was an intriguing lass who would make an excellent mother...

  He gave his head a hard shake, and determined that he needed to get her out of his mind. Besides, he had far more pressing concerns to think about. The clan was lucky that the destruction was easily repairable. When he worked on fixing the roof, he had a lot of time to reflect on the devastation. And the longer he contemplated the situation, the more convinced he was that the next time Niall returned, he would cause even more ruin for the villagers.

  Niall was nothing like his older brother. It might have been possible to train the lad if he lived with another clan, however Alasdar had refused to allow any of his sons to foster elsewhere. It was left to Robart to mentor his younger brother in the ways of fighting. But after several failed attempts at teaching the temperamental youth, he threw up his hands in defeat. It was then that he allowed another man to take up the mentorship. In a way, this was fortuitous for Griogair since Robart’s attention then centered on him. It was because of this that he became the accomplished warrior that he was.

  Tilting his head toward the sky, he noted that he had a couple more hours left before it became dark. He and the lads had slogged steadily on the widow’s house, but they still needed a few more days to fully mend the roof. It helped that the boys who assisted him took well to instruction. It made the work much easier. The other homes needed fixing as well, but that was something that he would leave to the youths. Likely they would reassemble, and do more repairs the next day while he went about with his own business. At the moment he needed to clean up. From what he could recall, the stream wasn’t far from the peel tower, and he could easily walk the distance. Griogair picked up his leine and shrugged into his shirt. Whistling a jaunty tune, he walked away from the damaged buildings.

  As he started toward the brook, a piece of wood on the ground caught his notice, and he bent to pick it up. Twisting it in his hand, he examined the piece. Unfortunately it wasn’t the correct proportion for carving anything substantial. He started to throw it back into the bushes when he heard a soft whinny. His heart started to thud with anticipation. Could that be Niall? Thus far, his foster brother had been elusive, but perhaps the game of chase was finished, and he would finally get a chance to confront the lad.

  Griogair moved closer to the stunted shrubs, and parted the branches in order to get a better look at his quarry. But instead of finding Niall and his men there, he saw a woman with familiar straw colored locks. It was the pretty lass that had occupied his mind since the day he met her. Sileas had her back toward him, and he took the opportunity to admire her. The day was unusually warm, and she had cast her cloak aside, wearing only her kirtle. His gaze slid down her feminine form, noting her slender waist, and the soft rounded curves of her hips and buttocks. He imagined how she would look naked, how her soft breasts would feel pressed against his hard chest. His cock stirred at the thought, reminding him he had neglected it for far too long. But he knew better than to allow his mind to wander in that direction. He was here on an assignment, and the lass and her charms shouldn’t sway him from his mission.

  As he stood there, he noted the crudeness of the wooden fence. But his observation of the rudimentary construction disappeared as soon as he got a look at the magnificent nag within. His sleek coat was as black as coal, and he was of the variety that reivers used for forays and warfare. The animal stood at the far end of the yard, the wind blowing at his mane as he stared uneasily at Sileas. There was an unmistakable wildness about him, a wildness that would be difficult but not impossible to tame. Griogair had witnessed numerous horses in the Highlands that shared a similar demeanor. In those cases it took several men and many weeks to break the creatures. Very few men, let alone women, were skilled enough to domesticate the feral beasts.

  “What are ye planning tae do, lass?” he muttered under his breath. W
as she going to train the wild pony on her own? He frowned at the serious risk that she placed herself — if that was her ultimate scheme. Griogair was more proficient than most, since Robart had taught him how to handle savage horses. However the knowledge he obtained was hard-won, and he had scars and broken bones to show for it.

  Still, was it any of his business whether she wanted to kill herself? Nevertheless, despite his resolve not to involve himself with the lass, he pushed past the bushes, and made his way to the compound.

  Sileas was still unaware of Griogair’s presence. She stood with her long, silky hair hanging down to the middle of her back. His breath seized in his throat lest she disappeared if he made the slightest movement. She was like the first sign of spring after a long and difficult winter. Observing her now made him forget his tiredness. A soft breeze swept her hair aside, exposing her graceful neck. Suddenly an inexplicable, crazed desire surged forth, and he wanted to spin her around and kiss her.

  As if she now sensed his presence, she glanced over at his direction. When she saw him, she glared. “Are ye spying on me again?” she asked.

  “I heard your horse,” he said, ignoring her question. He looked around. It was clear that the nag was trapped in the paddock for a long while. The ground was thoroughly trampled upon and muddy “What are ye doing?”

  She opened her mouth as if she was about to tell him to leave, but then she seemed to change her mind. “I apologize for my ill manners. Ye caught me at a bad moment.” She gazed intently at the pony and then added, “I’m trying tae figure out how I’ll domesticate this galloway.”

  “Ye are embarking on a difficult task.”

  “I’m aware of this. However if we can capture wild nags and breed them, we will nay longer have tae resort tae reiving.”

  “Then reiving bothers ye?” his brows creased in puzzlement.

  “Of course it does.” She shifted her gaze to the distance as if she hoped to find answers to her burdens there. “If we had another means of surviving, we wouldnae be reiving.”

  “That would seem ideal,” he said. “’Twould make the lives of everyone better. And I’m certain that the queen would be happy with the decrease in lawlessness.”

  She gave him a small smile. “I wish my da would see things like that. But he’s verra set in his ways, and continues tae act in the tradition of our forefathers.” She sighed. “At least Symon now considers my idea. If only we can prove tae Da that raising these horses will make profit for the clan. Alas, he cannae spare any of his men, and we cannae hire the help we need tae round up the animals.”

  “How did ye get this nag?” He watched as the creature shed his nervousness and aggressively circled the enclosed area.

  “I stumbled upon him during the summer while I was out riding,” she said, her gaze softening as recalled the encounter. Her tone mellowed, and when she spoke, her voice was clear and sweet, like the distant strum of a clarsach. “I went tae that same place day after day. There were times when I dinnae see him, but there were times when I did. Slowly he allowed me tae get closer tae him. I consulted Johne about this bonny horse, and he told me vervain would relax the beastie. And so one day I fed it succulent sweet grass that was laced with the herb. It prompted the beauty tae become complacent, and I brought him home.” Her smile started to wane. “Since that moment, the stallion has grown tae distrust me. He has already injured one clansman, sae nay one wants tae go near the creature.”

  “It seems that ye betrayed his trust. Now ye must gain it back,” Griogair said. “How much money would ye need for this venture?”

  “I would need a lot of money.” She shrugged and pushed away from the fence. “’Tis just a dream that’s unlikely tae come true. We barely have enough coins tae feed the clan members.” All at once her brows furrowed as if she was reminded of something. “Why are ye here, Griogair? I thought ye would have returned tae the tower by now.”

  He gestured at the dirt on his kilt. “I was going tae clean up at the burn before I got sidetracked. ‘Tis probably best that I go there before it gets too dark,” he said, and started to leave.

  “That’s a guid idea,” she agreed. “But Griogair...”

  He paused and waited to hear what else she had to say.

  “The burn is in the other direction.”

  “Och, right,” he said and pivoted. As he walked away from her, he could feel the heat of her eyes on his back. Still, he spurred his feet forward. If he turned around now, he would kiss her. And right now he couldn’t afford for anyone, not even a faerie queen, to tempt him away from his task.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning, Griogair set out with his horse, intending to continue with his search. Niall was close by. He could sense it. He started to ride past the wooden pen when he saw Sileas’ younger brother Symon standing on the railing with a bucket in his hand. The foolish lad intended tae climb over tae the other side of the fence.

  The trapped horse snorted nervously while making a series of warning noises. It was clear enough to Griogair that the untamed beast disliked sharing his limited space. But the youth didn’t understand, or was ignorant of the cautionary signs, and he moved closer and closer to the animal.

  Alarm shot through him. Sliding off his mount, he raced over and jumped the fence. “Look out!” he shouted.

  Startled, the boy gaped at him. With no time to lose, Griogair dove at the lad, shoving him aside just as the creature reared his hind legs and kicked them out. Symon yelped as a powerful hoof clipped his arm. In the next instant, both of them tumbled to the ground.

  “Ye are going about it the wrong way,” Griogair stood up.

  The stripling turned on his back, staring up at the sky while his eyes were filled with suppressed pain. “I dinnae want or need your help.”

  “Of course nae,” he said, extending his hand to assist the youth up. “Ye just wanted tae get killed.”

  Symon ignored the outstretched hand, and pushed himself up from the ground.

  “Ye are too impatient,” Griogair said, letting his arm drop. “If ye arenae calm, the savage beastie will detect your nervous energy.”

  “I’m nae nervous,” he said irritably. Bending down, he gathered up the spilled apples and dumped them back into the container.

  “Hand me the bucket,” Griogair said.

  “I dinnae think he wants tae eat,” Symon said, his voice sullen. With some reluctance, he passed the pail to him.

  “Perhaps he isnae hungry as ye say,” he said, shrugging. “Your sister told me that the nag was brought here against his will. He distrusts anyone who approaches him. If ye want tae ride him, then ye must first re-gain his trust. After that he’ll follow your every command.” He glanced over at the lad, and indicated to the fence. “’Tis probably best that ye wait on the other side of the barricade.”

  He waited until Symon was out of harm’s way before he centered his attention on the nag. As he started to advance toward the small horse, the animal released a loud screaming protest, and began to frantically circle the pen. Griogair stopped and stayed as still as a statue. He didn’t want to make any sudden movements and further agitate the creature. After a moment, the beast settled down. Bending his head, he nuzzled at a scant patch of grass that somehow escaped being trampled upon.

  Seeing that the wild pony was getting used to his presence, Griogair moved again, although his steps were slow and cautious. The beast instantly jerked his head up, eying him with fear and suspicion.

  “I’m nae going tae hurt ye,” he said, stopping.

  The horse regarded him for a long moment. When he saw that Griogair was once again motionless, he bowed his head to the ground. His ears were perked as he continued to munch on the paltry clump of grass.

  After a while Griogair inched closer to the feral creature until he could almost touch the coarse mane.

  “I have something better tae eat than trampled grass,” he said.

  At the sound of his voice, the animal raised his head as if surprised
at how near Griogair had come. His entire body tensed, and he appeared ready to bolt at any second.

  “I ken ye are afraid,” Griogair continued in a low voice. He put out his hand with his palm facing forward, not daring to touch the steed. “But I promise that nae harm will come tae ye.”

  Moving his hand slowly into the bucket, he dug out an apple and lifted it in the air.

  “See? I brought ye a treat,” he said.

  The horse stared at the offering, conflict evident in his bearing.

  When Griogair pushed his hand forward, the abrupt motion started the creature, and he shied back. Almost as if he wanted to escape from his prison, he sprinted around the enclosed quarter. After running two laps, he stopped only to discover that his opponent was still in the same spot.

  Griogair held up his hand once more. This time, the small horse crept forward, his desire for the apple outweighing his leeriness. He came close enough to snatch the apple from Griogair’s hand before dashing off.

  All the while Griogair remained patient, waiting for the nag to return for yet another apple. He didn’t know how much time passed, but he was satisfied that the creature no longer saw him as a threat. Taking the bucket in hand, he slowly backed away, and made his way to where Symon waited.

  “I cannae believe ye got sae close tae the nag,” Symon said as begrudging admiration sounded in his voice.

  “Ye need tae establish his faith in ye,” he said. “And in order tae do that, ye must have patience and determination.”

  “Are ye all right, Symon?” a voice yelled.

  “Aye,” he said.

  Griogair turned and saw Sileas jumping off her mount, her expression filled with worry and fear.

  When she reached them, the blood on her face was starting to return. “I heard Symon screaming, and I thought something terrible had happened...”