The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Darach waved his hand dismissively. “Aye, tis a dream for sure.”

  “Is it?” Elle gazed around the spacious hall. “Unless my eyes deceive me, you live in relative comfort. None of the people in the bailey were poorly dressed or looked as if they were starving.”

  “A fact we never take for granted, lass. On any given day, a fleet of longships could appear on the horizon, promising our end. Aye, our bellies are full and our wool is of the highest quality and warm. But fear lives in our hearts.”

  “You are a confusing man,” Elle commented. “By the look of you, I’d never guess you feared anything.”

  He responded with a mirthless laugh. “Not the kind of fear ye think. Not for myself, lass. I care little for when I die if it’s to protect my family and lands. But I fear for my clan’s future, every waking moment.”

  Before Elle could collect her thoughts, the quiet inside the hall was shattered by the throng of soldiers and people who flooded inside through the main doors.

  “Is it true, Darach?” A younger man who looked very similar to Darach stood at the forefront of the crowd. “Is that woman . . .”

  Darach sighed and stood, shoving the bench he shared with Elle back several feet. Any trace of appetite she had left disappeared the moment she met the young man’s angry eyes.

  “Is what true, Aidan?” Darach asked.

  “That she’s Norse.”

  Darach folded his arms over his broad chest. “I see the rumors are already swirling as fervently as sand in the wind. Twould be best to bite yer tongue, lad, until all the facts are known.”

  “We know enough already,” Aidan assured him, his gaze never leaving Elle. “She is a Viking whore.”

  Darach slammed his fist down on the tabletop. “Apologize to the lady.”

  Elle swallowed her last sip of ale and stood up next to Darach. Without thinking, she rested her palm on his arm. The last thing she wanted to do was cause trouble. Especially for Darach. He’d been so kind and understanding. “Please,” she pleaded. “If I am the cause of such distress—”

  “No,” Darach cut her off. “My brother is a fearmongering fool sometimes,” he bellowed. “Rude and undisciplined.” He pinned his sibling with a fierce look. “Beg the lady’s forgiveness. Now.”

  A low rumble rose from the people standing behind Darach’s brother—obviously in shock and disagreement over what Darach demanded from Aiden.

  “Tis midday,” Darach pointed out. “Get back to work if ye wish to eat in my sire’s hall tonight.”

  Slowly, the crowd dispersed, leaving Aiden and a handful of soldiers behind.

  “Stirring up shite with our kinsmen won’t endear ye to our father,” Darach warned his brother. “If ye have questions, come to me directly.”

  “Is she?”

  “Aye. But there is more to her story, lad.”

  “Her bloodties are enough to convince me she belongs on the executioner’s block.”

  “Thank the Almighty ye don’t have the authority to make that decision,” a deep voice sounded from the other side of the hall.

  Everyone turned, finding who Elle guessed was the laird standing with his attendants.

  Tall and imposing for his advanced age, his dark hair and beard was peppered with gray. He took a few limping steps. “When a man can’t sit in his solar in peace, it is a sad day, indeed.”

  “Father.” Darach bowed.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb ye,” Aiden said, bending at the waist.

  “Forgive my errant, youngest child,” the laird said to Elle as he approached. “Lady Elle, I believe?”

  Used to dealing with men of power, Elle immediately curtsied. “No forgiveness is required, sir.”

  “How did ye know?” Darach looked about the room, finding Cameron standing in the shadows from the direction his father had come. “Bloody Christ,” he cursed. “Did ye have time to wipe the dust from yer feet before ye made yer way to my father?”

  Cameron walked deeper into the room, no trace of regret on his face. “I did what I thought was best to protect ye.” He quickly left.

  Darach started after him.

  “Darach,” his sire called. “Cameron can wait.”

  “Aye,” he growled, turning back to his father. “But not for long.”

  “My captain tells me ye have a story to tell, Lady Elle.”

  “Aye,” she said.

  “Then join me at the high table. All we have is time, and ye’ll find me a patient man.”

  Elle didn’t hesitate, she accepted the laird’s arm and walked with him to the other side of the hall, ready to present her story, hoping she’d find a sympathetic ear.

  Chapter Seven

  “Tis a mystery to me,” Aiden told Darach as they both exited the great hall, summarily dismissed by their sire.

  Darach waited until they were outside to react. “Ye are of an age to know better, lad.” He grabbed a fistful of his sibling’s tunic, pulling him close. “The next time ye wag that tongue . . .”

  Aiden didn’t fight against Darach’s greater strength; he went limp in his grasp. “Did ye expect me to remain silent while ye marched the lass inside our hall? The Norse—”

  “Are fooking heathens birthed by Satan’s mistress herself,” Darach finished for him. “Make no mistake, lad, I feel the same hatred as ye. But their women . . . our women . . . are innocent. Can ye no understand? Tis a man’s world. And I’ll not have a woman’s blood on my hands.” He gave his brother a shake, then released him.

  Aiden straightened his tunic, looking a bit wounded by Darach’s harsh chastisement. “What will ye do with her, then?”

  “Confirm her story, first. If the lass is related to the MacAlpin’s, I will personally see her home.”

  “The MacAlpin’s?”

  “Aye.” Darach shook his head. “Another hard lesson about why it is so important to listen before ye act.”

  “I’m sorry, Darach.”

  “Save yer sweet words for the lass, not me.”

  “How is she related to the MacAlpin’s?”

  “She claims her ma was born here, taken by force when she was young,” Darach said.

  “By God.”

  “What horrors has the woman endured to find her way home?” Darach muttered.

  Just then, the riders Darach ordered to stay behind and burn the ship rode through the gates carrying some of the cargo they’d taken.

  “There’s more to haul back,” Kerr said as he slid from the saddle. “I’ll need more hands and horses.”

  “Do what ye must,” Darach said, eyeing Elle’s small trunk secured to one of the mounts. “Give me the lass’s baggage.”

  A few minutes later, Darach carried the trunk down a footpath that led to the small loch where he liked to pass time alone. No one would disturb him there. He found a spot to sit and set the container on the ground before him. What would he find inside? He knew what he hoped to find—the truth. Without hesitation, he opened the trunk.

  “All contact with yer family has been severed?” the laird asked, after hearing Elle’s tale of capture and her eventual escape from Norway.

  “I know not if my sire and mother are alive or dead, sir.”

  “Yer siblings?”

  “Much the same.”

  “God have mercy,” the laird muttered, taking a drink of wine. “Ye have my sympathy, lass. I do not know how I’d live another day if my children were taken from me. Tis hard enough to live without their mother.”

  She recognized the pain in his eyes, the same look she’d seen in the eyes of the men she’d shared space with on the longship. All of them had been wrongly displaced by war, taken from their families and lands, and sent away, never allowed to return to their homeland. “Death might be a kinder fate,” she whispered.

  The laird gave her right hand a squeeze. “Sadder words haven’t been spoken by a more tender woman.”

  “If I cannot find sanctuary here, I am afraid I have nowhere else to go. Unless you send me to O
rkeneyjar. I am sure someone there could find a use for me.” Though the very thought made her soul quiver with fear.

  “Use?” the laird repeated. “Have the ravages of war cost ye so dearly, girl? Hope exists, if ye let it.”

  Tears burned Elle’s eyes. She was hungry, thirsty, and exhausted beyond measure. Her heart was heavy with sorrow, not only for the loss of her family, but from the deaths of those men. As deeply rooted as her faith was, she still had a tendency to believe in omens. And what more ominous omen was there than to arrive in a strange land with a ship full of dead men. If word spread about her circumstances, no one would want to get near her from fear of sharing in her bitter cup of fate. She tried to push the horrid thought from her mind.

  “My clan has little dealings with the MacAlpin’s. But I am sure . . .” The laird fingered a strand of her red hair, openly admiring it. “Once they set eyes upon ye, it would be difficult to turn ye away.”

  “I am ever grateful, sir. And until arrangements can be made, I have capable hands and a strong back. I am willing to work for my upkeep.”

  The laird stretched his hands out, palms up. “Place yer wee hands in mine, Elle.”

  She did so without hesitation, feeling the callouses on his palms.

  “These are the soft hands of a lady, not a serving wench. I’ll no have it said I took advantage of ye. My son, Darach, has spoken wisely. Ye will be treated as any guest—eat at the high table and have leave to wander about the inner bailey, with an escort of course. I cannot promise the women will take kindly to ye being here, though I will issue an order for them to treat ye well or stay silent. And no man will molest ye, that much I can promise.”

  “God bless you,” she said, withdrawing her hands from his.

  “Save the blessings for yerself, lass. Ye need them more than I.”

  She waited patiently as the laird summoned two servant girls who listened to his careful instructions. Elle was to be given a bath and fresh clothes, then assigned to a private bedchamber where she could get some much needed rest. Once finished with his servants, the laird excused himself, joining his attendants once more.

  The older of the two women stood before Elle with her hands propped on her hips. “Well, girl?” she said. “The laird might be fooled by ye, but ye’ll find no comfort here.”

  “Nola!” the second woman exclaimed. “Ye promised the laird—”

  “To what, Kyla? Kiss the feet of a red witch?” Nola crossed herself. “A bath ye’ll get. A fresh gown ye’ll have. But don’t expect anything more. Speak not to me or the other women in this household. Understand?”

  Elle nodded and stood, keeping her thoughts to herself. The Norse were hated enemies here, and rightfully so. Her father’s people had stripped Scotia of its peace and wealth, enslaving its sons and daughters, and claiming the fertile land for themselves. She followed the women through the hall and down a long corridor. Nola opened the door to a small but neat bedchamber, giving her a shove inside.

  “Do what ye will within these four walls. When I can spare the lads, I’ll have buckets of water brought to ye. I’ll not have ye in my kitchens bathing where everyone else does. As for a gown, Kyla will give ye one of hers.”

  “Thank you.”

  Nola didn’t give Kyla a chance to say anything. She dragged the younger woman out of the room and slammed the door.

  Frustrated and feeling all alone in the world, Elle finally surrendered to her grief, sinking to the floor and weeping for everything she had lost.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morn, Darach joined his family in the great hall to break his fast. The room was quieter than usual, and as he walked toward the high table, many pointed and whispered. He knew why they were wagging their ungrateful tongues. Several loyal servants had shared the gossip with him. No doubt started by Cameron, a man with a deep hatred for the Norse—even for a helpless lass like Elle.

  “Father,” Darach greeted his sire as he claimed his rightful place next to him. “I see our loyal kinsmen have wasted no time targeting Lady Elle.”

  “Aye,” the laird sighed. “She’s a beautiful woman, Darach, sweet and intelligent. But I fear her presence will cause much unrest. There’s nothing to be done about it. So long as no one harms her, I am of a mind to let the talk run its course.”

  Darach helped himself to a generous portion of meat and bread. “One of the women told me they are calling her the bringer of plague. A red witch.”

  “Is it true?” Lili asked. “She arrived on a ship full of corpses?”

  “Bite yer tongue, lass,” the laird ordered. “I may have no control over what the commoners think and say, but my own daughter will conduct herself in a respectable manner. Ye are too old to believe such nonsense. Are ye not?”

  Lili averted her eyes. “I am sorry, Father. But how can ye expect me not to be curious about the woman?”

  “Ye have a fertile mind, girl,” her sire continued. “Use some of that intelligence to figure out a way to stop the vicious lies instead of adding to them.”

  Lili gazed at Darach then, and he nodded in agreeance. “Aye, she was the only survivor on the longship. There was no evidence of murder or catching sickness on those dead men. We inspected the bodies. It matters little now, they’re in God’s hands. And I trust what the lass told me.”

  “Trust or lust?” Aiden chided.

  Darach dropped his piece of bread on his trencher and reached for his brother’s wrist. He’d like to snap it to teach the lad a valuable lesson about when to shut his bloody mouth.

  “Darach,” his sire growled. “Leave it be, lad.”

  Out of respect for his father, Darach sucked in a frustrated breath and turned away from his youngest brother. It was times like these he regretted that his other brother, Gannon, was away. He and Darach had been inseparable growing up. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he said, then excused himself from the table.

  He made his way to the kitchens to find out what chamber Elle was staying in. The women stopped working as soon as he entered. Nola eyed him with distaste, likely knowing why he was there.

  “Where did ye put the lass?”

  She set the ladle she was holding aside, then wiped her hands on a cloth before she answered. “The red witch?”

  Superstitious fools—he expected that kind of behavior from closed-minded women, who’d never stepped foot off clan lands. But Nola was well-traveled, smarter than most of his father’s servants. “Ye have no right to insult her.”

  “I have every right—she’s a Godforsaken heathen.”

  Darach growled and took a step closer, hoping to intimidate the older woman with his superior size. She chuckled.

  “Ye little whelp of a man,” she said, unimpressed. “I’ve known ye since ye were wiping snot on the back of yer hands.”

  “Much time has passed since those days, Nola. I am the future laird, and ye will respect my position, and the woman.”

  “Respect is earned,” she offered. “And that lass…”

  “Where is she?”

  “I’ve not seen or talked with her since last night.”

  “Did ye offer her a bath? Fresh clothes?’

  Nola shifted uneasily on her feet. “I couldn’t spare any hands.”

  “Ye’re a bitter one,” he said unhappily. But what could he do? Punish her? Ridicule her in front of the younger servants, which would only earn Nola their sympathy? “Put an end to the gossip, Nola. If I overhear another lie, I will personally take a strap to yer back.” An empty threat, but he hoped it proved an important point.

  “Kyla will show ye where to go, she’s taken a liking to the red witch.”

  Darach grabbed two buckets of hot water and linens, then followed Kyla out of the kitchens and to Elle’s chamber.

  A lone guard stood outside her chamber. Darach waved him off. “Go break yer fast, I’ll watch over the lass.”

  “Thank ye,” the soldier said, then departed.

  “Do ye wish me to attend her?’ Kyla aske
d.

  “Nay,” he said. “I will see to her needs.”

  Kyla raised an eyebrow. “Alone?”

  Darach set the buckets on the floor. “Are ye concerned with the lass’s virtue? After everything I’ve heard, she could be the Virgin Mary and it would still not make a difference. She is perfectly safe with me.”

  “As ye wish.” Kyla scooted down the passageway, turning back to look at him.

  Finally alone, he rapped on the door.

  “Enter,” Elle called.

  Darach opened the door, then reached for the buckets.

  Stunned by his presence, Elle jumped out of her chair, only wearing her shift. Once again Darach found himself admiring her flawless skin and the generous size and shape of her breasts, her dusky nipples visible through the white material.

  “I—I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, hugging herself, doing her best to cover her chest.

  “I apologize for the unannounced visit, lady.” He set the buckets down, then closed the door. “Under the circumstances, if I didn’t deliver the water and linens myself, there’d be no way for ye to bathe. The women in this house aren’t pleased by yer arrival. It will take some time.”

  “Time I don’t have.”

  “Are ye expected somewhere?”

  Darach couldn’t take his eyes off her, though he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Admittedly, it seemed he always caught the lass in a state of undress, and he liked it too much.

  She lowered her arms to her sides. “Thank you for bringing the water and linens. Did my trunk arrive?”

  “Aye.” He reached inside the folds of his leine and produced two small bundles of leather. Elle rushed forward, looking desperate to inspect her possessions, but Darach stepped back. “Wait.” He unfolded the material on the first bundle, revealing the silver brooch with rubies. “It is as ye said, lass. And this . . .” He pointed to one of the distinct designs etched into the valuable metal. “Is a footprint, one that binds ye to the ancient kings of Scotia.”