A Highlander's Scars

by Aileen Adams

She laughed at herself, shaking her head in disapproval. What happened to the Fenella who believed herself above such thinking?

  He was not just another man, and he certainly was not of the Cameron ilk. He was Donnan.

  The question of whether he recognized her came to mind again, but it was a question which she dismissed. Why would he? They hadn’t seen each other in years, not since he’d left to join the army. Before then, even. She’d been little more than a young lass.

  And he had not liked her very much. She was a bit of a pest, she supposed, with no other way to show him she did not care for him. The way of children—no way to tell someone how they cared, so they chose to tease and pester, instead.

  They were no longer children.

  Heavy footfalls from behind caused her to spin in place, heart in her throat, and for one brief, shining moment, she was certain it was him. That he’d come out to speak quietly with her, to explain why he’d come, and to tell her she was not alone in wishing to understand better what Angus and his clan had in mind.

  That they might exchange a few words to bridge the gap of the years between them.

  A foolish idea, as it wasn’t Donnan at all.

  She lowered her eyes in the presence of Angus Cameron. “I was merely taking a bit of the air, refreshing myself,” she explained, breathless. What if he’d noticed her listening in?

  “I had asked myself if ye were well,” he grunted. “Ye seemed out of sorts.”

  “Aye, but I am feeling better now.” She stepped aside, hoping to get around him, but he was having none of it.

  A sick feeling rooted itself in the pit of her stomach as she realized they were alone. There was one thing she’d told herself from the start, weeks earlier when she’d first arrived, never be alone with the man, for every time he looked at her, his eyes lingered far too long.

  “I had best return,” she whispered with on breathless words.

  He might mistake it for flattery at his attention, which was all well, so long as he allowed her to get away.

  “Ye dinna need to be in such a hurry.”

  He would not allow her to leave. No matter how she shifted from one foot to the other, hoping to slip past, he found a way to place himself before her. A man of his size ought not be so light on his feet.

  “Lorna will want me to assist her in clearing the room,” she pointed out as desperation spread through her body and left her shivering.

  “She will do well on her own,” he informed her with a dismissive wave of his large, callused hand. He might crush a man’s skull with hands that large. What might he do to her?

  This was the height of foolishness. She’d never been one to shrink and shy away from a challenge, and that was all he was. Simply a challenge.

  Rather than pretending to be one of the weak, shy things around the household, then, she raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “What is it ye want from me, Angus Cameron?”

  His face went slack for the briefest moment—her forthrightness surprised him, she could tell—before his mouth spread in a wide smile. “I like a lass with spirit. I always believed ye had it in ye. Where have ye been hidin’ it all this time?”

  She would not allow him to toy with her in such a manner. “What is it ye want?” she asked again.

  His smile faded. “I see. ‘Tis just as well, as I am a busy man and have little time to waste in niceties. I’ve made plans for us to wed.”

  A laugh burst forth before she could stop it. “I’m sorry,” she snickered. “Ye took me by surprise, is all.”

  “A pleasant surprise?”

  “Nay. Just a surprise.”

  When he did not join her in laughing, the truth hit her. The man was serious.

  “I canna see why,” he observed, clasping his hands behind his back. “I thought I’d made it clear to ye that I favor ye over the other lasses in the clan and the household.”

  “I’m merely one of the lasses who tends the house.”

  “You are a Gordon. No matter what ye do with your hands or how ye try to disguise who ye truly are, you’re the only child of Aleck Gordon, and there is no one to contest your claim to the land, the silver and gold, all of it. Uniting our clans would be a great step toward uniting all the Highland clans.”

  “That is what you’re about, then? I thought as much.”

  “You ought not to have been listening. That’s nothing for a woman to hear.”

  “We do not share the same opinion of what is and is not for a woman to hear.” She glowered at him. “And as for marryin’ ye, I have no desire to do anything of the sort.”

  “Which is just as well,” he murmured, “as I dinna recall asking whether ye had the desire to marry me or not.”

  “Ye cannot make me do it.”

  “Can I not?” With a slight wave of his hands, he signaled the arrival of four familiar faces. Four of his men who descended upon her like buzzards, taking her by the arms and tying a strip of cloth over her mouth.

  This could not be happening! She kicked and screamed from behind the fabric, fought until the muscles in her shoulders ached and pulled, until there was no choice but for the men to take her by the legs as well or else risk a kick in a sensitive place.

  As they carried her away, she caught sight of Angus’s smirking face.

  6

  Donnan bit back a curse. Damn the woman. She knew him.

  He had not expected that. He hadn’t expected her to look at him at all. So few people did, and with good reason.

  Why did she have to be observant? Why did she have to stare up at him when anyone with sense would look away, out of discretion if not self-preservation?

  Who would wish to look upon his ruined face if they did not need to do so? Och, but she’d always been a stubborn lass, insisting on having her way.

  Would that she didn’t ruin things for him by raising a fuss at his presence.

  Did she know why he was here? How could she? As far as she need know, this was a chance meeting. Nothing more.

  If she alerted Angus Cameron to any suspicions, he would certainly see to Donnan’s removal from the place. If Donnan could speak with her, he might set her mind at ease.

  Would that she’d not disappeared so quickly.

  “Come,” one of the clansmen beckoned. “I’ll show ye where we bed down.”

  He’d seen it for himself on riding up to the house, but followed just the same. It would do well to get to know some of them, he supposed, and learn what to expect in the short time he planned to stay.

  The camp brought to mind his army days, which were the very days he least wished to remember. He’d left it behind, had he not? He’d promised Bronwen that he’d not return to war, when her illness was at its worst, and she’d spoken to him as a son.

  He hadn’t the heart to correct the woman in her final hours.

  When he’d promised, he’d done so with all his heart. He was tired of war, of fighting. Walking among the tents and fires, hearing the sounds of soft laughter and the neighing of horses, made so many other memories leap to life.

  Screaming. The stench of blood and waste. Men begging for help and crying out for their mothers. Smoke in his eyes, in his lungs.

  The man he’d followed, a stout fellow with a friendly smile, gestured to where he might bed down for the night. “You’ll find everyone here is open to sharin’ whatever they have.”

  “Thank ye,” Donnan grunted, his head down. He had no intention of asking any of these men for a thing. He’d rather starve or freeze to death than think of it.

  Even so, he needed to speak with them. After choosing a place to lay his head for the night, he raised his hood and began walking through the camp alone.

  With his face in shadow, it was easier to observe unnoticed. Men laughed, told tales of their prowess both as warriors and as men. The sort of talk which always rang out over a camp or, really, anywhere young men were together.

  And they were young men, mostly, and nearly all of Clan Cameron. They were preparin
g for something, too. More than one of them sharpened blades on knives and swords. The few outsiders he happened to notice seemed to look about themselves in a bewildered manner.

  They hadn’t known what they were consenting to when they’d agreed to join with the Camerons, that much was clear. Now, how could they leave?

  Where were the ones who’d refused to join? Penned up somewhere, he reasoned, and looked further out beyond the camp to the other buildings. Stable, barn, blacksmith. Where would they be?

  Too much curiosity would draw attention to himself, so he could not afford to explore yet. He remained in the camp, tuning his ears to the talk around him once again.

  Doing what he could to stop thinking about her.

  How could she not see what was happening here? He’d always given her at least a bit of credit—she had good sense, even if nearly every memory had to do with her hardheadedness.

  It was hardheadedness which had brought her here, no doubt. Once she’d set her mind upon her goal, no amount of reason could get through to her. And she had set her mind upon the good-looking, strong, powerful Angus Cameron.

  What lass wouldn’t?

  Bile rose in his throat at the memory of how she’d fallen over herself in the man’s presence, how she’d been unable to take her eyes from him. If it hadn’t been for her mooning about, the lass would not have ruined his cloak.

  The wine might wash out, though it mattered little either way.

  What he would not be so easily able to rid himself of was the nagging sense that the strident, over-confident Cameron was not good enough for her—or, for that matter, any woman. Donnan had seen his kind before, and his kind was never the sort capable of making a good husband.

  It was none of his affair.

  “Aye, who are ye? You’re the one who just arrived this evenin’, is that right?” A voice from his left, where a trio of men sat around a low fire with bowls of stew which two men from the kitchen carried between the pair of them, going from group to group that everyone might eat.

  “Aye,” Donnan replied with a brisk nod.

  “Join us,” one of them suggested, waving him over. The fact that the three of them were not of the clan told him this might indeed be a worthwhile visit.

  Even so, he was wary.

  They offered him a bowl already full of meat and vegetables, which he took with another nod. The aroma made his mouth water, and he was glad to dip a piece of bread in to eat.

  “One thing I can say for Clan Cameron,” the man nearest him grinned. “They know how to eat well.”

  “Ye aren’t of the clan?” Donnan asked, glancing around.

  “Nay.” Nothing more than that. The three of them returned to their meal, neither looking up from the bowls they held.

  He weighed this carefully before continuing. “What brought ye here?”

  “What brought ye here?” The man seated across from him narrowed his eyes, watching from over the fire. “I suppose it was the same as what brought the three of us.”

  Donnan refrained from offering a reply. Instead, he asked, “How long since ye arrived?”

  “A fortnight,” the third man explained. “A long fortnight.”

  “What are ye waitin’ for? What I mean to say is, to what end do ye make camp outside the great house?”

  The second man, who Donnan wagered was the smartest, eyed him still. “Why do ye ask? Ye are here as well, and ye must know that what brought ye here is the same as what brought us.”

  “I must admit,” he murmured, deciding a bit of truth would not prove harmful, “I dinna believe we are here for the same reason. I came as a favor to an old family friend and ally. He wished to ensure his daughter was safe and well. I dinna intend to stay once I know for certain how she’s faring.”

  “There are a great many lasses here,” the first man observed, a knowing smile touching the corners of his mouth.

  “Aye, Angus knows how to draw them—like a cat to cream,” the third laughed.

  But the second man, the one with the sharp eyes and flame-red hair, remained silent. “Who is she, then?” he asked.

  Would that he had not asked. “One of the lasses who works inside the household. I saw her when I was in there. Fenella is the name.”

  All three men bore identical looks of surprised amusement.

  “Her? Och, she’s doing fine,” the third man chuckled. “She’ll be better once Angus has his way.”

  “It will be soon, from what I’ve heard,” the first reported. “He’s made the plans final.”

  “Plans?” Donnan asked. The stew lost its taste.

  “For the weddin’. Did he not speak of it?” The three of them laughed.

  “Not that I heard,” he choked out.

  None of the men seemed to notice his disgust. So it was public knowledge that they were to wed. He had arrived at the right time, then.

  Little chance of Aleck Gordon settling Ewan’s debts if his daughter had already aligned her daft self with Clan Cameron through marriage.

  The thought of Angus Cameron uniting the clans in such a way—and using the Gordon name to his advantage, along with the wealth and power which came along with it—turned Donnan’s stomach and set his blood to boiling.

  How did she not see it for what it was, this plot of his? How could she walk into such a trap with both eyes open?

  7

  They carried Fenella to the stables, kicking all the way.

  Kicking for no reason, as the men holding her ankles seemed amused by her efforts. No matter how hard she struggled, they were stronger. All she managed to do was tire herself out.

  They dropped her—unceremoniously—in a dark pen filled with straw and reeking of animals. She scrambled to her hands and knees, off her smarting backside, and ran for the gate which closed and locked before she could throw her weight against it.

  It wouldn’t have made a difference if she’d gotten to it in time, she knew, not with four full-grown men standing on the other side, but she wanted them to know she was not to be taken lightly.

  They left her there without a word, with no explanation. Their snickers of distaste and amusement faded as they strode away.

  The sound was soon replaced by another. More than one—many, in fact. Shuffling. Coughing. Whispering.

  Fenella froze, eyes wide, holding her breath out of fear and the desire to better hear what was all around. She was not alone, that was for certain.

  But those weren’t animal noises coming from the other pens, running up and down two walls. She’d heard them her entire life, spending too much time in the barn and stables for her father’s liking.

  They were people. So many people.

  Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and when they did, she made out shapes. Men. Women.

  Children.

  Tears welled, threatening to choke her. “Hello?” she whispered. “Who is here?”

  More noise, muffled speaking and soft weeping. She jammed the knuckles of one fist into her mouth to quell her own cries. What was Angus doing, locking these people away?

  “Dinna speak to her,” someone said. “His woman.”

  They were speaking of her, whoever they were. “Nay, ‘tis untrue,” she insisted.

  There were walls made of stacked logs between each pen, with gaps between the logs through which she could see into the enclosures to either side and across from her. She gripped one of the logs, pressing her face to the gap between it and the one above, searching the darkness for some idea of who she spoke to.

  “I’ve seen her,” the male voice continued. “And I’ve heard him speak of her. He wouldna leave her here unless he wished to use her as a spy.”

  “That isn’t true at all!” she hissed. “He had them bring me here because I refused to marry him. That is why I’m here with ye. Not because I’m a spy for him. I would never do such a thing.”

  “Ye said ye wouldna marry him?” The voice came from in front of her, across the straw-covered floor and in the pen opposite.
“Why would he tell everyone ye will?”

  “I could not say,” she whispered, “but we never discussed it until this very night. We did not even discuss. He told me. I said no. That is all of it.”

  “Do ye believe ye have a choice, lass? When Angus Cameron wants something, he takes it.”

  Whoever the man was, he made a point strong enough to bring her to her knees. She sank to the floor, not knowing what she knelt in, and caring very little.

  Who was she to think she could stand up against a man such as him? All he’d done was wave his hand and men had appeared to do his bidding. She was one person, alone.

  “Why are ye here?” she asked no one in particular, merely needed to understand, and to hear voices to remind her she was not truly alone.

  For what felt like a hundred years, there was no answer.

  Finally, a small voice spoke with a heavy tremble. “My man said he would not join Angus Cameron or his father. He wished to remain loyal to Clan MacQueen and couldna see how giving allegiance to the Camerons would be anything less than treason.” A hitching sob. “They took me away! And told him he had no choice but to do as they said, or else he would never get me back.”

  “Who are they that ye speak of?”

  “I dinna know who they were. Men. Acting under the name Angus Cameron, said they were there because he asked ‘em to be. I dinna know what became of my man…”

  Fenella closed her eyes, her forehead against the wooden wall. How could he be so cruel?

  How was it that she was surprised? She’d seen it in him all along. It was the reason why his presence had always left her unsettled, why his gaze made the back of her neck crawl as though something slithered over her skin.

  And he was to be her husband—in his mind, at least, for she bore less intention that ever of marrying the brute.

  What alternative was there? What could she do? These people were taken from their homes and locked away when they refused to obey Angus’s wishes.

  How much worse would he make it for her when she continued to refuse him?

  “Do any of ye know how long you’ve been here?”