Highland Soldiers 1: The Enemy

by J. L. Jarvis

  “It isnae raven black. It’s plain dark brown.”

  “There is nothing plain about you, lass.” From the sharp look he received, he returned to his story in haste. “Seeing you there on that rock made me think of a raven.”

  “So now I’m a crow?”

  “No, lass.” He shook his head, smiling, and started to say that she was too lovely for that, but stopped short. Flattery neither impressed nor pleased her. “Our clan motto is Rock of the Raven. I was reminded of home. I felt as though I had been drawn to that rock—to the raven on that rock—for a purpose. You see, where I come from in the Highlands, ‘tis said that the cry of the raven can foretell things.”

  “Soothsaying is wicked.”

  Callum winced. She did not make conversation easy. In fact, he was beginning to wonder whether conversation was worth all this effort.

  “What sorts of things can it foretell?”

  She’d surprised him with that. “Ah, well, it could mean the coming of an important guest or good fortune. It can also foretell of a battle, a loss, or a death.”

  “The raven isnae very specific then, is it?” said Mari, beginning to smile.

  “Ah, but look at us now. You’re not… flying off that cliff over there, and I’m—” He paused to rephrase what would have sounded like more idle flattery. He would not tell her that he was sitting beside a young woman whose beauty was different from any he’d seen. Nor would he marvel at how she intrigued him. “And I’m glad that you’re not… there—but here.” He inwardly groaned at how poorly that came out. He was not used to feeling awkward.

  She said nothing, but her frown made it clear. He was overstepping his bounds, but he could not shy away. “Tell me, lass, what’s so bad as all this?”

  “I cannae speak of it.”

  “Whatever is troubling you, it’s not worth doing that.”

  She shook her head gently, but said nothing.

  He tried to accept her silence, but only managed to make it look so. It should be enough, Callum thought, to have helped her. It was not. He wanted to know her, and to see her untroubled by whatever had brought her to this desperate moment. “You couldnae shock me.”

  “Nor will I.”

  With a sudden lurch, she rose to her feet. Callum leapt up after her, fearing she had changed her mind about hurting herself. But instead of running toward the cliff, she ran in the other direction. Callum caught her by the waist, as she bent over and vomited. Once more, he was reduced to awkwardness. He should withdraw, he decided. But she put her arms over his for support. Callum circled her waist with one arm and pulled her hair back with the other. By the time she was done, she was weeping and he was behind her, soothing her with deep, quiet words in her ear.

  She wiped her mouth with her hands and said, “May I please go to the water—just to wash?”

  Her pitiable plea struck his heart. He cast his eyes doubtfully at her. “Only if I hold onto you.” He trusted her, but with a fair measure of caution. He took hold of her wrist and led her a safe ways upstream from the falls, where he allowed her to kneel by the water. Having planted himself between her and the cliff, he released her to splash water on her face and sip gingerly from cupped hands. When she was finished, Callum offered a bit of his plaid, and she dried her face and hands with it. Her eyes softened to his as he offered a hand to help her up, and then led her away.

  Once seated beside her under a tree, he studied her and considered his next words with care. “It’s not an illness that sickens you, is it?” he said, knowing the answer.

  Once more, silent tears dropped from her soft moss green eyes as she shook her head.

  “Does the father ken?”

  When she did not answer, he imagined the father abandoning her and his rage erupted. “Will the cursed scoundrel not claim the wee thing as his own?”

  “He doesnae ken, nor will he. Ever.”

  Her bitterness brought him to a hush. “Och, lass. Did he force you?”

  Callum fought the impulse to reach for her hand and to pull her to him. He wanted to comfort her, to take on her burden—if only for a moment.

  She averted her eyes and softly said, “No.”

  Abruptly she rose to her feet. Callum followed, unsure of where she might go next. He would not let her return to the cliff. At the same time, his mind raced as he tried to absorb what she had told him.

  “It isnae right to talk like this with a strange man.” She stood poised to leave, yet hesitant.

  She was right, of course. She was vulnerable, and that made him want to help and protect her. That, and her large eyes and raven silk hair drew him to her. He had shown honor and no small restraint in his actions toward her. He had saved her life and stayed with her to help her calm down. He had done the right thing. Now, before he did the wrong thing, he needed to step away.

  She would need to be escorted home. There could be other Highlanders about. What gentleman would not do as much? It would be wrong to leave a lady out here in the woods unprotected, so Callum decided to see her home. And then, while she was turned away from him, he leaned down and brushed his lips on her silken hair and inhaled.

  She turned her head and, finding his face so close to hers, took a step back, but not before her gaze drifted down to his mouth. Her lips parted. “I must go.”

  He forced himself slowly to take a step back. This put her a bit more at ease, but she looked about as though lost. Whether unsure or unwilling, neither of them left. With each moment that passed, the thought of taking her into his arms grew more tangible. His thoughts turned to yearning. His instincts were not serving him well, and good judgment was waning. The fact that she lingered was not helping him live up to his former claims about duty and honor.

  At last, with her eyes cast to the ground, she said softly, “I dinnae ken where to go.”

  He sighed. It was no more than sympathy that he was feeling, he told himself. But he was, in truth, relieved that she was not leaving him yet. “Have you no home?”

  “Aye, but if I go there, I will have to behave as though nothing were wrong. I’m not ready to do that quite yet.”

  “You could stay here with me for a while. We could sit here—or go for a walk.”

  He could see in her eyes that she doubted his motives. And why would she trust him? She had told him that she had been with a man, by choice, and conceived a bairn, but would not tell the father. A man might draw conclusions about her, and yet he did not. Her pain and her spirit moved him. The fact that she kept her distance from him and her wits about her proved she had not given up. If she chose not to tell the father, she no doubt had good reason. He suspected a broken, but proud, heart, for which he admired her. She had faced the path on which this decision would send her, even if she had faltered today. Callum hoped she would find her way down that rough road. More than that, he wanted to help her. No, that would be madness, he corrected himself. That was not why he had been sent here.

  She said, “I’d like to go away from this place.”

  Callum nodded and got up and offered his arm, and they walked through the tall grasses.

  “If Jamie saw me out walking with a Highlander—and a royalist soldier, to boot—och! He’d save me the trouble and throw me over a cliff himself!” She nearly laughed, but soon sobered. She reminded herself that he was gone.

  “Jamie? Is he the wee one’s father?”

  “Och, no! He’s… he was my brother!”

  Callum nodded, trying not to reveal his relief—until he reminded himself that her Jamie was the same James McEwan suspected of murdering Archbishop Sharp, and whom he had been sent to find.

  Mari’s expression clouded. “He was killed by a Highland dragoon.” The way she said Highland left no doubt of the common contempt with which they were held in these parts. Her eyes swept from his plaid to his royalist uniform jacket and up to his eyes.

  He felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He may not have been there, but in her eyes it could have been he. Already storie
s spread of the Highland Host who now quartered themselves in the area, seeking to quell Covenanters. There were many clans in the Highlands, and as many standards of behavior. But in her eyes, he was no different from any of them.

  “I’m… sorry.”

  “They shot Jamie. They—had their way with Ellen, and then they shot her. She was a good friend to me. She was Jamie’s true love.”

  He reached out his hand, barely brushing the tips of his fingers to hers.

  She slipped her hand away. “The next day we went to bury them, but they were gone. We found Ellen’s body outside of the kirkyard, where the heathen are buried. Then the men sent me home. Women cannae go to a funeral. So I went home without even saying goodbye.” Her breathing grew heavy as her eyes filled with tears.

  “We never found Jamie. They do terrible things, you ken.” Her eyes darted toward him. “Of course you do.”

  He did. Although he had not been party to such deeds, it was not unusual to behead and dismember the bodies and send them to their hometowns for display as a warning. She had every reason to despise Highlanders. If she found out he had followed her here, she would spurn him as well. In these days of illegal meetings outside on the moors and in the hills, wandering off was suspicious. He had been sent here to put an end to Covenanter meetings and their illegal activities. He had not found her by chance by the cliff. He had been spying on her. When she had wandered off, he had followed her. He was doing his duty. He would not be sorry for that.

  She stopped walking. “By being here, talking with you, I betray Jamie and Ellen. It’s like turning my back on their memory.” Bitter tears led to gut-wrenching sobs that shook her lithe body until he could stand it no more.

  He put his hand lightly on her shoulder. When she did not flinch or scoff—either of which he expected—he gently enfolded her in his arms. It was for comfort, as one would comfort a sister. He told himself so, and he nearly believed it. But she clung to him as a drowning person would cling even to an enemy. She clutched folds of his sleeves in her fists, and he held her clinging form against his, not as one would comfort a sister. Good sense flickered and faded. He touched her chin with his thumb and forefinger and it tilted up. Her eyes opened to his, and with that, he was lost. He lowered his lips to hers, soft, barely touching. And he was undone.

  She placed her palms on his chest and pressed him away.

  He pulled away with a guttural whisper. “Och, lass.” Slowly, he shook his head and smoothed a stray hair from her cheek.

  She looked down as she mumbled a breathless goodbye, and then she was gone.

  Callum kept his eyes fixed on her until she had gone out of sight, then he leaned his head back against the tree with a heavy sigh. “Bloody hell, MacDonell. You’ve made a pish of it now.”

  6

  A Dangerous Path

  Mari ran until she was sure she was out of sight and had not been followed. Then, slowing her pace, she tried to sort through what had happened. “When will you learn?” she scolded herself. She had always been prone to dreaming. She had been told often enough to resist such sinful imaginings, but she had persisted. Love was one such dream for which she would pay dearly. She had longed for what Jamie and Ellen had shared. Thinking she had found it, she had been fooled into a love that was false. It taught her that love could not be trusted. Men could not be trusted. She had too easily given her heart. That was a mistake she could not make again. If she ever gave her heart to another, it would take a long time before he earned her trust. And yet, before she gave her heart and body to the bairn’s father, she had known him her whole life. Even that had not been long enough.

  And this man—this Highlander—was a stranger, a royalist enemy. He had happened upon her at a vulnerable moment. He could have taken advantage of her, but he had not. Savage Highlander or not, she would have gone over the edge of the falls to her death had it not been for him.

  How could she even have thought to do that? Yes, she wanted the pain to be over, but now she could see that she did not want to die. She wanted, more than ever, to live. He had given that to her. If a stranger could care that she lived, perhaps someone might one day care for her, too. Where, minutes before, she had felt only despair, she now felt a small bit of hope.

  She drew in a quick breath as she touched her lips. She could still feel it—his kiss. The kirk folk would say she was wanton. But the kirk folk would say it with or without this particular kiss. Still, this was not at all like her. A stranger! What had possessed her—his fine face and braw body? No, although he did possess both. He was kind when he need not have been, and that won her trust. When he touched her, a thrill went through her; and that won her heart. She had not meant to give it, but with him she had forgotten to guard it. That frightened her most.

  He would never kiss her again because she would not see him. He was gone, but she would not forget him. She would always remember his kiss, and that he was her enemy.

  * * *

  Callum MacDonell stormed into camp with a scowl that not only caught his men’s notice, but further reduced them to silence.

  “We break camp in the morning,” he told them as he stormed about, packing and moving things.

  “What happened to ‘bide here for a while—watch and wait?’” Charlie asked.

  “No need now,” Callum summarily said. No one hastened to ask for the reason, but they all exchanged quizzical looks. They had never seen him like this, so they tried to stay out of his way. No one wished to be first to step into the path of his fury.

  It was Duncan who, late in the evening, found Callum sitting alone on a rock looking into the night stars. He sat down beside him. The nearly full moon cast shadows of trees on the ground.

  Lifting rueful eyes, Callum said, “He has a sister.”

  With a blank look, Duncan said, “Who?”

  “Jamie. That’s what they call him.”

  It took Duncan a moment before he gave a nod of understanding. “James McEwan?”

  “Aye.”

  “They call him that, do they? And how do you ken?”

  “She told me herself.”

  “The sister?”

  “Aye!” Callum barked.

  Duncan turned to face Callum directly, but said nothing. There was no need, and Duncan was not one to waste words. Nor was he one to waste emotion, or at least the expression of it. He knew that any chiding due Callum would be self-inflicted. What Duncan did best was to listen.

  Callum said, “So you see, there’s no need to camp here when at least one of them kens that we’re out here.”

  “Aye, that makes sense.”

  “I had no choice but to speak with her,” Callum said defensively.

  “I dinnae doubt it,” said Duncan in his calm way.

  “It couldnae be helped. More than that I cannae explain without betraying a trust.”

  “But that’s not what troubles you.” Duncan studied Callum.

  “No.” Callum stared into the night. “I did the right thing, to begin with.”

  The last part caught Duncan’s notice. “Beautiful lass, is she?”

  Callum looked up at the stars, and then down at the shadowy ground. “Aye, she is.”

  Duncan studied his friend. What a pitiful creature he appeared to be now. They had grown up together. If anyone knew Callum, it was Duncan. But never had he seen his friend in such a state.

  “Callum, there’s no one I would rather have beside me in battle. But women can cloud our good senses.”

  “Och! A dark thundering cloud.”

  Duncan let out a rare laugh. “Aye.”

  Callum stared out over the moors at the farm. “I followed her from one of the farms. I thought she might have been taking a message or supplies to her brother.”

  “But she was not.”

  Callum shook his head. “We’re to quarter ourselves on her damned farm tomorrow.”

  Duncan considered their plight for a few moments. “Now that you ken her, could you not use that to get infor
mation about her brother’s whereabouts?”

  “She thinks he’s dead.”

  “If she’s telling the truth.”

  “She is.”

  “How can you be sure? You’re a royalist. Why would she trust you?”

  Callum leveled a dark glare at Duncan. “Trust me. She was telling the truth.”

  “He’s bound to contact someone at home sooner or later.”

  “Aye.” Callum nodded gravely. “And when he does, I will betray her, and then I will lose her.”

  “You just met her. Would the loss be so great?”

  Callum turned to his friend with a look of misery that more than answered his question.

  Duncan winced. “Just look out for the lads. You’ve embarked on a dangerous path. They’ll follow you no matter where you take them. So be mindful of where that might be.”

  * * *

  For the rest of that day and the morning that followed, Mari’s traitorous heart would not rest. She begged silent forgiveness from Jamie and Ellen each time her thoughts strayed to the stranger. She stayed busy, hoping to distract herself. When that did not work, she found solace in knowing that she would not see him again. Once she accepted that fact, she let herself think of the Highland soldier. He would never be near enough to trouble her again, so her heart would be safe.

  Except when she dreamed. In the night she awoke, reaching out for him. And in the dark hours when dreams hung in the air like a fresh mist, her heart and her longing were for him.

  The next morning she went walking across the land she and Jamie had explored as children. Such grand adventures they had had on the wild Scottish moors! She went now as a penance to remind her what was proper. For once in her life she would do the wise thing and not love. Love was not like it sounded in stories and ballads. Love was a hollow ember that burned trust and hope, leaving only a fool with an empty heart and full belly. And a hungry one. Mari set out for home with a full bowl of porridge on her mind.