Highland Treasure

by Mary McCall

  A clatter sounded behind the buttery screen at the far end of the hall that separated the area where food and drink were brought from the kitchen and prepared for serving. Leonce walked toward the stairs to his quarters and called, “Freya!"

  "Aye, Chief.” The clatter ceased, and a tiny middle-aged woman came from behind the screen, wiping her hands on a cloth. Her mousy-brown hair was sprinkled with silver, and crinkles beside her eyes bespoke her innate humor and charm. She gasped.

  "Come with me,” Leonce ordered without breaking stride.

  Aonghus entered with Bertie in time to see Leonce place Justice upon her long-empty wall bracket beside the stairs. Then he mounted the steps, followed by Freya.

  The old warrior sighed. Serenity settled over him, and he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Take a look, lad, and always remember the role you played in this. ‘Tis a joyous day for Clan MacPherson."

  "Ah rot, I bloody well messed up my part.” Bertie looked down with his shoulders hunched and scuffed his toes in the rushes.

  "Nay, lad. You did fine...just fine."

  The battle cry that had earned Leonce the sobriquet Roarin’ MacPherson echoed throughout the keep.

  Bertie's eyes grew with fear. “Papa, nay! You promised you wouldn't kill her!"

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  Chapter Four

  * * * *

  Leonce vowed to destroy the beast that had done this foul deed. He stood beside the bed, his cheek throbbing beneath the scar. He couldn't draw his gaze from the battered form on his mattress.

  Hope slept on her stomach where he had placed her. He had sliced her gown down the back. Massive swelling and mottled discoloration in hues of purple, yellow, green and blue covered her back and right thigh. Material adhered to lacerated flesh on her right hip and left waist. Blood oozed from the angry red edges of the scabs.

  "'Tis us, lad,” Aonghus called as he opened the door and then ushered the boy in. “Bertie heard your roar and is frettin’ for his mother."

  "Oh, Mam! You said ‘twas not that bad!” Bertie cried, trying to climb on the bed.

  Leonce grabbed Bertie by the waist and lifted the boy into his arms, trying to gentle his own expression so he wouldn't frighten the lad.

  Tears gathered in Bertie's eyes. “She'll be all right, won't she, Papa?"

  Leonce nodded once, his jaw set. “I'll not allow otherwise."

  Freya draped a linen across Hope's legs and bottom. Then she pushed a small table from near the wall toward the bedside. Aonghus set her aside and took over the task. Bowyn came next with a huge cauldron of water, hung it over the hearth, and laid a fire.

  Leonce carried Bertie to the far side of the bed out of Freya's way. Two clanswomen arrived. One placed a tray laden with flasks, phials, bowls and linens on the table. The other deposited Hope's belongings on the floor next to a chest by the window. The women cast curious glances toward the reclining figure on the bed and expelled horrified gasps. Freya ushered them from the room.

  With the fire blazing and the water pot set above the flames, Bowyn approached the bed. “Saint Columba! How could she travel?"

  Freya prepared her worktable and sighed. “Since old Hilda died, you might want to send over to the Frasers for their healer, Chief. All I can do is clean the wounds and pray they mend."

  "Mam made some salve and balm. They're in a case in her pouch. One's for pain, and one's for festerin'.” Bertie sniffed and rubbed his nose, glancing sadly at Hope.

  "Tell me everything from the time you left, son."

  Bertie raised an anxious face. “Some man poured a potion down my throat, and I fell asleep. Every time I woke up, he did it again."

  "Where did he take you from, lad?” Aonghus asked.

  "I was inside my limits, Aonghus. I promise. He grabbed me from the end of the meadow. When I finally woke, I was chained up to a wall by a fire with a bunch of dogs. I was bloody scared, and I cried. Then a mean man yelled at me and told me to stop my cursed snivelin'.” Bertie grabbed Leonce's shoulder drape with one hand and rubbed his other arm under his nose, sniffing. “You ever kiss a man, Papa?"

  "What!"

  "I saw two men kissin', and one tried kissin’ me. ‘Twas more disgustin’ than seeing Aonghus kiss...I mean a man kiss a cursed woman.” Bertie grimaced. “Ouch! You're squeezin’ me too tight!"

  Leonce sat Bertie on the edge of the bed, suppressing the tide of fury the innocent question and remarks had provoked. Freya laid a steamy wet cloth over the material enmeshed into the wound at Hope's waist, causing her to cry out and struggle in an attempt to crawl away. Leonce reached for her, but she fainted from the torturous pain. The need to kill raged through him like a gale wind.

  "What happened next, Bertie?” Leonce asked.

  "The man started rubbin’ on me and laughed whenever I tried pullin’ away. Lady Hope told me the mean man was her cursed father, and the only thing he likes more than hurtin’ young boys is beatin’ her. She let him catch her, so he would leave me alone.” He gazed mournfully at Hope. “She said this is the first time he ever broke her skin open, and ‘twas her fault, ‘cause she provoked him."

  Bertie raised brimming eyes. “The brute told the men to hold her up, and he started thrashin’ her and rubbin’ his whiz-stick at the same time. I didn't think he was ever going to stop. She told him that he could beat her all he wanted, ‘cause of when he finished, she was going to the Highlands to wed his worst enemy. ‘The Lion will be my mate,’ she said, and I told her I wished she would too. ‘Tis bloody fun playin’ family with her. You want to wed her, Papa?"

  Bowyn held his silence as Freya gasped. Leonce drew his gaze from Hope and looked at Bertie, searching for veracity and finding it.

  "Did the lass truly say that, lad?"

  "She bloody well did, Aonghus.” Bertie nodded. “Made her cursed father go berserk, and he wet his pants. He hit her a couple more times, then stopped. The men holdin’ her let go, and she fell on her knees. Then her father kicked her leg and told her to serve him. I didn't think she'd be able to move, but she got up and got him a drink like nothin’ happened. Then somebody poured ale down my throat. The next thing I remember is wakin’ up in her lap in the woods."

  Bertie reached over and rubbed Hope's cheek. “We been travelin’ durin’ the night and hidin’ and playin’ during the day, cause ‘tis safer to meet up with a few cursed wolves than bandits."

  Leonce watched his son's tender gesture and knew the lad's alliance with the lass was already that of mother and son. “When did you sleep?"

  "Mostly at night when we were ridin'. Mam never slept more than an hour in the morn after we stopped. And she did that sittin’ up."

  The lass had certainly proven her stamina and sense of justice. He owed her, for without a doubt she'd risked her life to save his son. “How are you doing with the wounds, Freya?"

  "Not well. The material is grown in at her waist and still clings everywhere else. This may take several hours."

  "Then we'll spend several hours at the task. If your back starts bothering you, I'll take over."

  "Thank you, Chief, but my back is about mended from that slip—"

  "You'll listen to the lad and do as he bids you, woman,” Aonghus sternly ordered. His bushy brows drew together until they looked like a shaggy silver caterpillar resting across his face.

  "She will, Aonghus.” Leonce raised his eyes to heaven. The elder was possessive of Freya. They had bickered like an old married couple for years. Why Aonghus wouldn't give up his bachelor state remained a mystery. He would simply say that a Highlander shouldn't marry a Saxon, and she would always retort that ‘twas good the old coot knew he was beneath her.

  "If your back hurts, then mayhap some of Mam's balm will help. Her salve fixed my wrists. See.” Bertie held up his arms for inspection. “She's a bloody fine healer and has all kinds of cures in her case."

  Leonce gritted his teeth, observing the fading abrasions on the tiny wrists. “Get the balm and sal
ve you speak of, son."

  Bertie scampered off the high bed and ran to Hope's pouch. He pulled out a leather case, scrounged through the contents, and came up with two jars: one blue and one green.

  "Do you know which is which?” Leonce accepted the two containers.

  "The blue is for balm, and it soothes the fire, but the salve is what saves and makes festerin’ expire."

  "Here, Freya. We will put these to use later.” Leonce handed over the jars. At a tug on his plaid, he glanced down.

  "She told me lots of stories, Papa."

  "Did she now?” Leonce lifted the boy back up on the edge of the bed.

  Bertie nodded and crinkled his nose in a perplexed manner. “I'm thinkin’ mayhap you should hear one, ‘cause mayhap ‘tis not make-believe."

  "What is the tale about?"

  "A young girl with a cursed mean father. She told me so I'd know he was the evil one, and I wouldn't grow up thinkin’ there was some cursed thing wrong with me."

  Leonce glanced at Bowyn and Aonghus and then returned his gaze to Bertie. “Tell me this story."

  "Once upon a time...'Tis how all her stories start. She always says that first. Once upon a time there was a young girl in north England. Her father was a mean, wicked Norman baron, and her mother was a beautiful Highland maid. In England everybody thought the girl a cursed heathen, ‘cause of all they could see was her Scottish blood. And in Scotland all they could see was her Norman blood, so she was equally hated on both sides of the border."

  "Now that isn't true, lad.” Aonghus came around the bed and leaned against a corner post. “Everybody knows good Highland blood conquers and subdues Norman blood."

  "Aye, Aonghus. I know, but ‘tis the story."

  The elder nodded his approval. “Just making sure you know."

  "The young girl's mother taught her all about the Highlands when she was growin’ up, ‘cause of they were plannin’ to escape the evil baron. But the mother was bloody sick a lot. One day the girl sneaked into her mother's chamber when she was getting’ out of the bath, and there were bruises and cuts all over her. The mother said she'd been clumsy and fallen down the steps. Then she told the girl not to fret, so ‘twas a long time afore the girl knew how cruel her father was.” Bertie pinned sad eyes on Hope, and his lips trembled. “Mam told me not to fret too."

  "When did she learn he was cruel?” Bowyn asked from the foot of the bed.

  "During her eighth summer. She was out playin’ with some friends in a tree. When they climbed down, a bunch of the branches broke, and she got stuck. Her father came ridin’ along and told her if she jumped, he'd catch her. She did, but the evil baron backed up his horse. She landed in a heap on the ground.

  "Her father laughed and said that is what she gets for actin’ like a cursed heathen instead of a noble baron's daughter. He left her there with lots of broken bones, and she couldn't play for the rest of the summer.” He raised angry eyes to his father. “I bloody well wish I could kill him, Papa."

  Bowyn grunted his approval of the lad's sentiment, while Aonghus glowered over the abuse. “'Twould explain why the lass had to be knocked out of the tree."

  "Aye, Aonghus. ‘Twould explain a great deal.” Leonce glanced at the strain marring Hope's fever-flushed face. The tic throbbed in his cheek. He couldn't abide anyone abusing a woman or child. ‘Twas remarkable the lass had survived her youth. “Go on with the story, Bertie."

  "The next summer the girl saw the evil baron hittin’ on her mother and doing cursed things of a twisted nature to her. What does twisted nature mean, Papa?"

  "You'll find out when you're older."

  "Zounds! ‘Tis what Mam said too.” Bertie scrunched his face and huffed. “The young girl tried to stop the beatin', so her cursed father started beatin’ her too. The mother became desperate to get her daughter to her clan, but she kept gettin’ weaker. Then pretty soon she forgot, ‘cause she didn't know her daughter anymore. The evil baron didn't like beatin’ the mother after that, so he killed her."

  "Saint Columba! ‘Tis a horror story she told him.” Bowyn's neck corded as his rage surfaced.

  "Right after he killed the mother, the young girl found out her cursed father was going to sell her, so she escaped and went to live in a cave in the woods. She didn't see any of her friends for a long time after that.” Bertie wrapped Hope's hair around his hand and sniffed the strands. “She found a hurt baby eagle and took care of him, so he became her friend. Then one day she found Cassie all beat up and hiding in the forest."

  "Did the baron beat this Cassie?” Aonghus inquired.

  Bertie frowned and petted Hope's cheek. “Nay, Cassie's uncle used to get drunk and hit her."

  "The Normans are pigs!” Freya's color rose high.

  "How are you doing with her back, Freya?” Leonce took Hope's hair from Bertie and wrapped the tresses possessively around his own hand.

  "Slow, Chief.” Freya rubbed her lower back and sighed. “I'm needing more hot water."

  "I'll get it.” Aonghus took the bowl she held out and went to the fireside. “Keep talking, Bertie."

  "An old healer made friends with the girl. When the evil baron found out, he killed her too. So the girl and Cassie decided to escape to the Highlands together. But they never did, ‘cause they bloody well didn't know where to go when they got there. Then, after they grew more, some Highlanders raided Cassie away. The girl was sad and tried to go to her friend, but somethin’ evil happened, and she had to go back to England. She thought about bein’ a nun, but they wear too many cursed layers."

  Leonce frowned at the thin, tattered rag he had cut from Hope. How could she have stayed warm at all? “What happens next?"

  Bertie gripped Leonce's forearm and gazed earnestly into his eyes. “The part that makes me think ‘tis not a story."

  "Go on."

  "The evil baron stole a noble Highlander's son. He wanted to hurt the boy and do wicked things to him. She let her father catch her so he would hurt her instead. Then she made everyone fall asleep, got vengeance against her father, and escaped with the boy to the Highlands. And that's the end of the story."

  "'Tis a horrid tale to tell a young child,” Freya said irately, setting on the table the water bowl Aonghus had handed to her.

  "I told her ‘twas sad too, Freya. She told me it wasn't, ‘cause of the girl and boy left hell and went to the one place where heaven meets with earth. She even woke me up one morn and showed me.” Bertie turned a face filled with awe toward Leonce. “Did you know that the early morn mist is from glistenin’ angel dust? ‘Tis what makes them fly. It falls off their wings and hangs in the air as they follow the Good Lord on his nightly walks through the hills."

  "'Twas definitely the Highland blood that took in the lass,” Aonghus declared.

  Bowyn grunted his agreement. “'Twill still be hard for the clan to welcome her when they learn who her father is. We'll have to shield her from their scorn."

  Leonce nodded, glad both his commanders were supportive of the lass. “We will."

  Answering a knock, Bowyn opened the door slightly. After a hushed conversation, he shut the portal, went back to the foot of the bed, and clasped his hands behind his back. “The rogue got away, but the hunt is still on. Alan was coming to tell you when he saw the black stallion and tried to bring him into the stable."

  "Zounds! Did Diable kill him?” Bertie asked.

  "You knew the beast was savage?” Bowyn asked sharply.

  "Nay, he's a proud beauty and Lady Hope's friend. She doesn't even need a bridle to ride him, but no one else can get near him unless she tells him ‘tis all right."

  "How is Alan?” Leonce asked as Bertie untwined Hope's hair from his father's hand, reclaiming the curls.

  "Has some cracked ribs and pained breathing, but he got away from the beast. What would you have us do about the horse? The boar is still out."

  "From what I saw, that horse can take care of himself,” Leonce said dryly. “Tell the clan to stay clear of
him."

  "'Twill be hard. He has taken up a vigil outside the front door."

  "Want me to go talk to him, Papa?” Bertie placed the honey-gold lock amid the other strands. “He likes me, and I can get him to go away from the steps with an apple."

  "I'll go with the lad,” Aonghus offered.

  Leonce wiped a hand over his face. “I would hate for you to have to destroy the beast, but I'll not have Bertie harmed."

  "'Tis an old man's opinion, but I have a notion Bertie will be safe.” The shrewd eyes twinkled. “I also suspect that stallion will be camping close by until he sees the lady again."

  "Bertie, you can go, but keep Aonghus nearby."

  "Wait!” Bertie knelt on the bed in front of Leonce and held on to his arm. “Papa, Lady Hope says you're a lion, and I'm part of your pride, so I'm bloody important to you."

  "She is right.” Leonce placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

  "She also says if I want somethin', I should tell you, ‘cause you're my father and my chieftain. If you see the rightness, you'll give me what I want."

  Leonce cocked a brow. “Are you wanting something?"

  Bertie gazed imploringly at his father. “I'm wantin’ to keep her."

  "'Tis a problem with that request, son."

  Bertie panicked and grabbed Leonce's shoulder drape. “But she says she done somethin’ to her cursed father, and he's going to come after her. And she's lookin’ for a place to belong, so she needs to stay here where we can protect her. I don't want him beatin’ her again."

  Leonce placed a finger over Bertie's mouth. “He'll not be harming her again, and she will be staying here. But you cannot keep the lass, son, because she is already mine."

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  Chapter Five

  * * * *

  Four nights after Hope's arrival, Leonce bathed away the last of her sweats with tepid water. He wondered at the courage and strength of this young woman. Though the promise of a dream foretold her arrival, he never expected he would receive her wounded, or discover she was his enemy's daughter. Her delirious ravings revealed pieces of a clouded past along with many hardships she had overcome, but he still had questions.