Highlander: Secrets (The Scottish series Book 1)

by Ceri Bladen

  They slid off their mounts. Feistier than the others, Kameron’s horse baulked when he commanded him towards the blazing buildings. The heat was hot against his hide and it was evident he disliked it. Kameron cursed and slid off his saddle, grabbing the reins tight when his boots touched the floor. “Angus, take Eachann away from the heat, he’ll bolt otherwise.”

  “Aye, Laird, no problem,” Angus let the lie slip out of his lips easily. Eachann was never ‘no problem’.

  A couple of hours later, bone weary and filthy, Kameron pulled the last sack out of the barn. There wasn’t much left, but at least the oats could help feed the extra mouths requiring shelter in Calder Castle over the winter—if the sacks weren’t tainted by smoke and useable.

  “That’s all we can save, I fear, Laird.” Angus nodded towards what was left of the barn.

  Kameron widened his stance. “Aye, ye are right. Let’s get these sacks back tae Calder Castle before the MacAlpin bastards return and steal them.”

  “Aye, Laird. Dae ye need me tae—” Angus stopped when he heard yelling.

  “Laird! Laird!”

  Kameron turned towards the voice and his brow furrowed. Donald was dragging something towards him. “Aye?” He walked towards Donald, feeling for his dirk strapped to his belt—criosan biodag—just in case there was a problem.

  “Laird. Laird.”

  Donald march towards him, struggling with something. Kameron’s eyes narrowed before he realised Donald held a kicking lad. He relaxed and sheathed his dirk. He used the back of his arm to wipe the soot off his brow, ignoring the sting in his eyes.

  “Laird, we managed tae find this bairn hiding in the thistles,” Donald said when he stood in front of Kameron. “He was standing in the bogs, making enough noise tae wake the deid. He was pulling our riders towards the swamp, tae injure our mounts, no doubt.”

  Kameron frowned, his face taking on a fierce expression as his eyes narrowed on the kicking bundle being held aloft by the large Highlander. The lad was bundled in thick clothing, protecting him from the nasty thorns and chill. As was common in the Highlands, the lad’s small feet were bare and red. The hood of the kilt hid the boy’s bonnet and crest, but Kameron didn’t need to see it to know he was a MacAlpin. A muscle worked convulsively along Kameron’s jaw. If he weren’t so annoyed with the lad’s clan, he might have been impressed at their cunning.

  Every muscle in Kameron’s tired body tightened, and rage boiled inside him for the events that he hadn’t been able to prevent. He turned away and spat the smoky tasting phlegm from his mouth onto the ground. “We’ll take him with us. Throw him in the dungeons. Tomorrow, we will talk.” Kameron turned his back on Donald and the lad. The sight of a MacAlpin turned his stomach as much as the fallen bodies of the villagers, spilling their blood onto the ground, did. He was their laird, and they’d trusted in his leadership and protection. He had failed them—but wouldn’t again. He’d find a way to control the MacAlpins and get justice one way or another.

  “Angus, bring me my mount. We’ve saved what we can. Leave men to guard the place in case the bastards return, and we’ll check again in daylight.”

  Once Aileana’s feet touched the ground, she pushed her chin to her chest, not wanting her face to be visible to the inhospitable stares boring into her. She concentrated on controlling the shaking which attacked her body and tried to push her dire situation out of her mind. If only I hadn’t slipped in the bog, I would not have been captured. She cursed her misfortune. The only thing that went her way, tonight, was her foresight of pulling the kilt over her bonnet and muddying her face. The mud, the darkness of the night, and the cumbersome great kilt hid her feminine features well from the large men. Tomorrow would be a different matter, but there was nothing she could do. She would face the consequences on the morrow.

  In the cold darkness, Aileana stood still, not drawing attention to herself. For once, she was glad no one wanted to speak to her. From under the shadows of her hood, her eyes searched for the large man she had stood in front of—the man who’d been called ‘Laird’. Although he had barely said two words—and nothing to her—she couldn’t help herself from watching him. He had helped move the sacks upon a trumbel cart and was now sat high upon the biggest, blackest horse she had ever seen. He hadn’t given her another glance since being hauled in front of him and she was glad of that fact. His cutting gaze had made her feel unsettled because although she was chilled to the bone, his look had flooded her body with warmth. The unusual feelings disturbed her, but she couldn’t stop searching him out to see if it happened again. He swung his horse around and looked directly at her. She jumped and tore her gaze away. She looked at the ground as her heart thumped in her chest. It was if he knew what she was thinking.

  “Home, tae Calder Castle.” Kameron’s voice filled the night air.

  Chapter 2

  Calder Castle – MacMahon lands, Scottish Highlands

  “Stay in there, laddie,” Donald said, pushing Aileana by the shoulders into the dungeon. He watched as the lad’s hands and knees hit the chilly, stone floor. He shrugged—he’d pushed too hard, but it wasn’t his problem. He had no soft feelings towards a MacAlpin, not after tonight. “Enjoy your night in that hard scratcher, laddie.” Donald glanced at the planks resembling a bed which were placed along one of the damp stone walls. “’Tis better than the frozen ground where yer clan has made my kin sleep tonight,” he growled before turning on his heels to leave.

  As Donald slammed the metal gate shut, locked it, and turned to go. Then his conscious suddenly nagged him. The lad was young—around the age of his eldest. Although the boy was at the scene—after feeling the laddie’s tiny shoulder bones through his kilt—he doubted the youngster could lift a sword let alone kill with one. Donald turned back. The boy was still on all fours, facing away from him. He grunted. “There’s a chanty in the corner,” he shouted through the bars. When the lad didn’t respond or move to look at him pointing to the chamber pot, he shrugged his large shoulders. “Piss on the floor then, laddie.” This time, he turned and left—not wanting to stay in the freezing, pungent dungeons longer than he needed. He had a warm meal waiting for him and an even warmer wife.

  Aileana stayed still on the stone prison floor, staring at it, until she heard the footsteps dim. Her hands and knees smarted with pain, but she didn’t dare move, for fear of him coming back. So far, none of the dimwits who had captured her had realised she was a lassie not a laddie. And, to her way of thinking, it would be better if they didn’t realise while it was night-time. She’d heard what people got up to in the dark and didn’t want any part of it.

  When the stagnant air around her settled and everything was quiet—apart from an occasional scream from an inmate—she lifted her head to glance behind at the gate. No one was there. Very carefully she removed her hands from the damp floor and stood. She made her way over to the scratcher, eager to sit and catch her breath. She’d attempted to warm her hands by rubbing them vigorously together, but it didn’t help. She was chilled to the bone from the weather and from the fear of what was going to happen to her.

  Tomorrow, the laird would surely find out she was the daughter of the late Laird of Ackergill Towers and what would he do? Kill her? Humiliate her in the town stocks where the villagers could throw rotten food at her? Send her back to her brothers? Her heart raced. The last option could be the worse for her. Her brothers had made her go on that raid, and she had failed. If she was returned to them, there was no saying what their punishment would be!

  Aileana uncurled her hands and looked at her muddy, calloused palms and fingers. Since her ma had died, her sire made her work with the servants. She was the image of her mother, and her father resented that, so he never wished to set eyes on her. When he died, she thought it would change, but although they didn’t send her away, they ignored her until they needed her to do something. She rubbed a palm and sighed. It didn’t matter to her she was made to work, it made her stronger in many ways, but she’
d never be strong enough to challenge her brothers. She had felt the sting of a backhander too often to know that.

  In the fading light, Aileana tore her gaze back to the stone wall of her cell. Until tonight, her brothers’ night-time raids worked because they attacked the smaller clans around theirs, taking a couple of livestock or food. But tonight, they had become reckless.

  A couple of nights before, when full of whisky, her brothers reminisced about their sire’s last wishes. Donnan brought up his father’s dislike of the MacMahons and that, on his death bed, he had obsessed about the past—of his father’s lost wife. She’d overheard Donnan say their sire had asked them to make the new Laird of Calder Castle life hell. Aileana was wise enough to understand Donnan said this just for the fight, but the other two were willing to go along with Donnan’s schemes. She bristled at their rashness. The only lives they made hell were innocent folks—and hers! Fed up with thinking about the past, because her mood was low enough as it was, she curled up on the hard bed and attempted to sleep.

  A while later, shouts from outside the prison made Aileana curious enough to stand and make her way over to the small opening in the thick wall. The loud uproars and shrieks were made from jest—not warnings of danger. The glee in the low voices wasn’t something she was used to—in her family’s fort there was rarely time for merriment.

  On tip-toes, Aileana craned her neck to see out of the tiny window of the cell. It was dark, but the full moon highlighted the loch near to the fort. She placed her hands on the heavy stone sill to steady herself and peered out. Men jumped into the water, shouting and laughing. Her forehead puckered. It was freezing outside, with winter snow flurrying around. She drew back. How on earth are these men bathing in such weather? She let out a breath. Men are fools. And they think they know better than women! No woman would bathe, risking an illness, or worse! she thought.

  A loud splash made her look a second time, but Aileana quickly withdrew, her hand over her mouth. A man had climbed up onto a large rock and stood, hands upwards, drinking in the moonlight—naked! She screwed her eyes tight as her blood pounded in her ears. While working with the servants in Ackergill Tower, she had heard talk of what was inside a man’s trews or beneath his kilt, but she had never seen it! Unsure whether to look or not, she decided she wasn’t a child anymore, and if she was to marry, she would have to see a man’s body—all of it. After she told herself no one would know how ungodly she was being, she rolled back on to her tip-toes for another tentative look. “Nae, I cannae.” Her cheeks coloured and heated. She went to turn away, she couldn’t. “Stop being a bairn, Aileana. It’s yer only chance to see a naked man,” she said to herself, as her pulse jumped. She screwed her eyes shut, only being prepared to open them when she felt calmer.

  Opening one eye at a time, she focused as another man climbed up the large rock. He was naked to. Aileana felt a tingling which swept up the back of her neck and across her face. This man, looking magnificent and proud, was the laird. Curious, she studied his face. The laird had a strong jaw, covered in a short dark beard. His black hair, which brushed his shoulders, dripped water on his solid shoulders. Becoming bolder, her eyes took in the distinctive cut of muscles covering his arms and torso. He was gorgeous. Her heart picked up a beat. What would it be like tae trace a finger o’er his chest? She giggled as her gaze ventured lower, but she forced them back to his face. She couldn’t look—even without the prospect of being caught. Her hands fell to her sides as gloominess engulfed her again. She wasn’t in here to be entertaining herself with thoughts about the laird, she was here because she’d been doing wrong.

  Disheartened, she withdrew from the small gap, but as she did, the laird turned towards the tower and looked straight at her. She jerked away. There was no way he spotted her, but it felt he had. To stop the fluttering in her stomach, she hugged her arms around her waist and went to her scratcher, away from the temptation of looking again, even though the scene kept playing in her head. Saying her prayers, Aileana knew sleep was definitely a long way off.

  After Kameron climbed upon the large rock—just off the shoreline of the loch—he stretched his arms towards the moon to thank the gods for the folk, livestock and crops they saved after the raid. Although he was a Catholic, and believed in only one God, it was a ritual he had watched his father, and his father before, perform, whatever the weather. He didn’t want to risk bad luck on his kin not carrying out the ritual.

  When he lowered his arms, Kameron’s skin tingled—and it wasn’t the light dusting of snow swirling in the air. His gaze was drawn to a small opening in the North tower where the gaol was. His eyes narrowed. Normally, it mattered not if one of the prisoners watched their merriment—it might teach the man freedom was more fun than doing wrong—but this felt different. His gaze moved along the wall to the numerous wooden shutters on the North wall. They all seemed closed. The women folk of Calder Castle knew not to look out of these openings during the men’s bathing time in the loch. A small smile touched his lips—he had an inkling some flouted that rule.

  “Hey, ye coming back in?” shouted Angus.

  Kameron couldn’t help but give another glance towards the gaol’s opening before his men’s voices filtered back into his consciousness. “Aye,” he said, pulling his gaze away from the tower.

  “I’m getting out now, it’s too damned cold!”

  “Nearly frozen my bawbag off, so it has!”

  “Fairy.”

  “Who ye’s calling a fairy, yer only just in!”

  Kameron smiled. “Watch out.” With that, he jumped back in, laughing at the complaints from the ones he splashed.

  Chapter 3

  Calder Castle – Scottish Highlands

  Next day…

  Kameron lifted his gaze from his bowl of porridge. He had no hunger. Although he swam in the loch last night, the smell on his clothes from yesterday’s smoke turned his stomach, stopping him from breaking his fast. Sighing, he pushed his bowl away and sat back in his ornate wooden chair.

  Kameron scanned the hall, his blue eyes narrowing on its occupants. Men were gathered around the communal bowl containing the porridge, with their wooden bowls and horn spoons. They each took a spoonful of porridge and dipped it into their own bowl of milk, cream or buttermilk. Kameron rubbed his beard, bothered that after the raid by the MacAlpins, his men weren’t relaxed enough to sit at a table to eat—their soldier instincts had kicked in and they stood, ready for the ever-present call to arms. It was a dire situation to be sure. It was a more violent raid than the usual stealing of livestock and food. He’d have to get to the bottom of it swiftly, so he sat and thought his options through, ignoring the conversations and normal morning chaos going on around him.

  The old laird of Ackergill Tower—Laird Dougal MacAlpin—died last winter and everyone waited to see which of the three sons would take over. Normally it would be the eldest son, but it was wildly known he was born out of wedlock, and the middle son contested the straight handover of the title. Kameron’s jaw tightened. Mayhap it is why the raid took place—one of them trying to show their strength? He let out a snort. It was folly to think good leadership came from brute strength, but he had heard the MacAlpin boys were hot-heads, especially Donnan, the middle boy.

  This morning, his first port of call was to question the MacAlpin lad, to see if he knew why the clan attacked so viciously. Although he doubted such a young laddie would be privy to that information, he could scare him enough to take a message back to Ackergill Tower when he released him. From what he could make out yesterday, the laddie was only around ten and two winters, with no whiskers on his chin—he would be able to frighten him easily. He tapped his fingers on the table and rolled his shoulders, trying to shift his strange mood. He had been agitated throughout the night, not sleeping a wink, which was probably to do with the raid and the fact that everyone looked to him for a solution. He rubbed his neck as he watched the activity in the hall. But there was something else niggling him, and he did
n’t know what. Perhaps it was better if he stayed in the hall for longer, otherwise, the young laddie would not be in for a good time.

  “Are ye talking tae that laddie, this morning, Laird?” asked Fergus as he took a seat on the top table.

  “Aye.”

  “Good, ye need answers. Laird.”

  “That I ken.” Kameron watched Fergus take his knife and fork out of his sheath tied to his belt and cut a bannock. Still not hungry, Kameron took a gulp of his buttermilk. He rubbed his brow to ward off his brewing headache and forced himself to relax. Being angered wouldn’t make finding solutions any easier, so he continued to make idol chat and watched his clan milling around the hall—for them, he would have to find a solution. He let out a puff of air. To anyone looking in from the outside, it was a normal day—servants tending to the feeding of people, the fire underneath the cooking pot, the younger less experienced servants cleaning up the leftovers, if the dogs hadn’t nabbed theirs first—but it wasn’t normal. Kameron could sense the grief and anger in the air.

  It wasn’t long before he spotted a female servant, Wynda, whom he enjoyed many trysts with. When she caught him, she smiled, brushing her dark hair behind her shoulder. He nodded back, recalling their last encounter in his chamber. Perchance I will seek her out and forget my worries for a wee bit? An urge to pound this strange mood out of his system surged through him and his mood lifted—desire replacing his annoyance. He would seek her out before going to the cells—it would put him in a much better frame of mind. He stood and turned to his men. “I’m going tae the gaol, tae see if I can find out why the MacAlpins conducted such a bloody attack.”

  Donald looked up from his bowl and shrugged. “Does that clan need any justification?”