Gallowglass

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  As Robert looked through his things, my heart fell. If he really had money on him, that meant he wasn’t really Robert Kirk, the man who had been taken by fairies. He would just be a regular man, and a con artist at that. Worse, it would mean that I’d let someone pull the wool over my eyes yet again. I steeled myself for the sight of pounds Sterling or travelers checks or whatever sort of currency Robert had, but what he placed on the table made my jaw drop.

  First, Robert laid a gold brooch set with amethysts and pearls on the table. It was round, about three inches across, the surface etched with the spirals and winding animorphs that were typical of Celtic artwork. Just as I got up the nerve to touch it, he laid a jeweled dagger beside it.

  Now, the brooch was gorgeous, but the dagger was a true work of art. It was long and slender, one of the sgian dubh’s I’d read about. The scabbard was covered in whorls and knot work, and the knife’s handle was studded with rubies and emeralds. I spied tiny flashes of light between the larger stones; upon further inspection, I learned that dozens of tiny diamonds were set between the red and green gems.

  “Robert, these must be worth a fortune,” I said, grazing a fingertip across the brooch.

  “Did you steal these?” Chris demanded. I smacked my jerk brother’s arm, but Robert answered him anyway.

  “They were fair given to me by the queen herself,” Robert replied, omitting the name of the queen in question, “as I now give them to ye, Karina lass. I trust they are worth the price of a few shirts and trews.”

  My head snapped up. “These are priceless!” I squeaked. “Are… are you sure?” Part of me wanted to bite back the words; while the grant allowed for my travel and accommodations, I’d still had to budget down to the last penny. Chris, who had been rather well off before the lawsuit hit, had been contributing to the trip as well, but Olivia’s lawyers had threatened to freeze his bank accounts more than once. Those were the sorts of threats a poor girl like me took very seriously.

  “I am,” Robert replied as he placed the brooch in my hand and closed my fingers about it. “A man pays his own way. Do not argue wi’ me, lass. And,” he added, that twinkle having returned to his eyes, “I’ve a feeling that the brooch will look a fair sight better on ye than it e’er would on me.”

  I smiled, ignoring the tiny, rational voice in the back of my mind that wondered how in the world I was going to turn the brooch and dagger into actual money. The rest of me couldn’t wait to wear those sparkling amethysts. “It’s settled, then,” I said, rising from the table. “We’ll stop at the market for snacks, and then Hamilton’s, pick up a few shirts and trews, and then we’ll head to the priory. After that, it’s on to the cottage in Fife.”

  “Rina,” Chris warned.

  “I’ll get you a bottle of single malt if you let it go.”

  Chris weighed his options, and apparently decided that a bottle of hooch was worth betting on his sister’s safety. “I’ll let it go, for now,” he said.

  I nodded. “Fair enough.”

  ***

  After a quick stop at the market—where we picked up sandwich fixings, some fruit, and I replenished my olive supply—we hit the local sporting goods store. Well, Robert and I hit it; Chris went off with a handful of my carefully conserved cash to find the single malt he’d been searching for all his life.

  “That Olivia drained more than the inspiration from him,” Robert commented as Chris stomped away from us.

  I shrugged, and pushed open the door to Hamilton’s, the town’s sporting goods store. “What can I say, he gets cranky.”

  I don’t know if Robert knew what cranky meant, but he accepted my explanation and followed me into Hamilton’s; the sign in the window boasted that if they didn’t carry it, you didn’t need it. We would just see about that.

  Our first order of business was securing footwear for Robert, being that his leather boots had already gotten him a few interested glances. As we headed toward the show section I assumed that finding Robert some modern footwear would be a simple task. Yep, wrong again. It seemed that men in the seventeenth century had inordinately large feet, something that greatly intrigued the saleslady.

  “O’ course his feet are huge, just look at the man,” she commented after she’d measured and touched and fondled Robert’s feet. “He’s a braw one, isn’t he, like a warrior of old. What are ye, man, six foot six or thereabouts? And ye have muscles as the day is long… Are ye a professional athlete, then?”

  Robert’s brow furrowed, though I didn’t know if it was due to her calling him an athlete, or because the woman was sizing him up as if he was a leg of mutton. “I… ah…”

  “He’s shy,” I interjected. “Are there, maybe, some work boots in the back that would fit him?”

  “Certainly there are. I’ll just pop back for a look.” She turned to enter the storeroom, then she added, “I hope he is no’ so shy when it is just the two o’ ye.”

  My eyes widened, and it took me a moment to find my voice. “We aren’t like that.”

  “Mmm. Perhaps, he and I could be like that,” she added with a knowing smile. My mouth dropped open as she sashayed into the store room.

  “Lass?” Robert asked. “Is something amiss?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Come on, let’s pick out some clothes while she finds boots for your giant feet.”

  After we’d trolled the menswear section of Hamilton’s, Robert’s arms were laden with jeans, sweaters, knit cotton shirts, and a few packages of socks and underwear. I herded him toward the changing room, though he was protesting the need to try things on; maybe he was like a modern man after all.

  We had covered the store in record time, mostly because I wanted Robert to be safe in the changing room before the horny saleslady returned with his boots. Not only did I not know how Robert would react to her advances, I didn’t want to go through the hassle of explaining that he was married, and a reverend, and therefore please keep your grubby paws off of him.

  Not to mention, one minute she thinks we’re a couple, then the next minute she hits on him. Who does that?

  No sooner had I shoved Robert into the changing room than the saleslady reappeared, boxed boots in hand. And, she’d brought two other girls along for the show. “Here we are,” she trilled, once she spotted me. “Trying things on, is he? I’ll just give a quick knock and offer my assistance,” she offered as the girls giggled.

  Before I could decide between telling her that no way, no how was she getting into that changing room, and asking her why she’d brought along an audience, Robert himself cracked the door. “Karina? Would ye come here, please?”

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “I… I do no believe these blue trews are fitting me properly.”

  “Well, then, step on out and show us, so that we may give ye our professional opinion,” called the saleslady. I seriously considered decking her and her entourage.

  Robert grumbled something under his breath, but he obediently exited the changing room. Being that I was busy glaring at the saleslady, I was fully aware of when her jaw dropped and her eyes got so wide I worried they’d roll right out of her head. When one of the girls squealed and covered her mouth I turned toward Robert, and almost squealed too.

  When Robert had been wearing my brother’s old sweats and ratty t-shirt, he had looked good; hell, he had even looked good in that thick leather armor and chain mail. But now, clad as he was in a burgundy knit shirt that stretched across his chest and shoulders, along with a pair of jeans that fit exceptionally well, he was downright mouthwatering.

  “Around,” the saleslady said, making a twirling motion with her hand. “We need to assess the entire fit.”

  I glared at her; the woman wanted a peek at his butt. Had she no shame? Then Robert turned, and I realized that I had no shame either. Like I said, those jeans fit exceptionally well.

  “These trews are somewhat snug,” Robert said.

  “That is how they are supposed to fit,” the salesl
ady murmured as the girls nodded. Before she could get any more ideas, I grabbed the boots from her hands.

  “Here, try on the boots,” I said, thrusting the box at Robert and shoving him back into the changing room. “I’ll wait here.” He nodded, and shut the door behind him. I turned around and leaned on the door, fanning my overheated face.

  “No like that, eh?” the saleslady quipped.

  “It’s complicated,” was all I said. She nodded, then she and the other girls—seriously, did those two even work there?—went off in search of other men to harass. Me, I wished for a cold drink to magically appear at my elbow.

  Robert made his final selections soon enough, and we hauled his starter wardrobe to the cash register. I even sprung for matching waterproof jackets for him and me; dorky, yes, but also practical. These Scottish nights were awful chilly.

  While the cashier rang up our purchases, it occurred to me just how much I’d enjoyed our shopping trip. Not only was I having fun, I was having fun with an attractive man, one that seemed to appreciate both shopping and my company. Scotland suited me, in more ways than one.

  Once Robert had been properly outfitted, we met up with Chris and his single malt, and the three of us headed toward Inchmahome. Being that Chris wasn’t drunk, not yet anyway, I gladly let him drive. Not only was he the better driver, mostly because he actually owned a car, it also gave me the opportunity to study Robert in the side view mirror.

  I suppose he could be from the seventeenth century. Robert’s dark hair, while neatly trimmed, didn’t conform to any recent style. And there had been his confusion in Hamilton’s about operating common clothing fasteners, such as zippers and Velcro. Nor was his bearing that of a modern man. Robert carried himself more like a warrior than a reverend, his eyes constantly scanning the area with his spine held as straight as an arrow. I wondered if he even knew how to slouch.

  Added to that were the odd things he said. Robert’s brogue was so thick that at times I hardly understood him, and he used such quintessentially Scots words as fash and ken; as yet, there had been no havering, but one could always hope. Granted, all of those words were still used today, but the way he said them reminded me of a knight from a bygone era, one who had lived and died during the age of chivalry. Yes, Robert had proven that he was a chivalrous man, from the way he held doors for me to the way he’d laid down on the floor at the B&B and hadn’t even looked toward my bed. Despite Chris’s conclusions, Robert had been no threat to my virtue. If only…

  Great. I’m fantasizing about him, and I still don’t know if he’s legit. Or crazy. Hell, maybe I’m crazy.

  As I wrestled with my less than wholesome thoughts, Robert caught me watching him in the mirror. My cheeks heated, but before I could look away he smiled. As I smiled back, red face and all, I realized that I believed in Robert, and not just because I wanted to. With Jared, I’d so desperately wanted him to be the man of my dreams that I had been willing to tell myself all sorts of lies to make him into that man. The truth was that Jared had only ever used me, and I deserved better.

  I wasn’t lying to myself about Robert. It was plain to see that he was a good, honest man.

  Once we reached the lake—Robert snorted and corrected me with “loch”, refusing to accept that the advent of English tourism had long ago doomed Menteith to lakehood— it was just a short ferry ride to the island and the ruined priory. As soon as our feet touched the island’s shore, Chris started in on me.

  “So Rina, why are we here?” he asked. “Ghosts? Vampires? Werewolves?”

  “It’s just a priory,” I bit off.

  “But your tour is all about paranormal crap,” he pressed. “Isn’t the motto ‘Find The Magic’, or something?”

  “It’s a spiritual tour,” I retorted, forgoing that the grant had arranged the tour and that’s why we were on it; it seemed that this tour was the only one that lined up with the housing they’d also set up. “And priories are spiritual places.” When he rolled his eyes, I whined, “Can’t you just enjoy the scenery?”

  Chris harrumphed, then he stalked off toward the tourist signs. I glanced at Robert, and shrugged. “Chris is just irritated. I have taken him to a few haunted spots, and some that claim to have had fairy sightings” I admitted. “You know how some people think magic still exists?” Robert nodded. “Well, Chris doesn’t. Not even a little bit.”

  “Ye will be hard pressed to find a place devoid of magic here in Scotland,” Robert said. “The very fabric o’ the land is woven with enchantment.”

  From what I’d seen so far, I agreed. Not being in the mood to follow the tour group, or my brother, I skirted the visitors’ center and headed toward the tree line, my mysterious man hot on my heels. Once I was certain that Robert and I were out of earshot of the rest, I asked him what I really wanted to know.

  “How did it really happen? When you were taken, I mean,” I added when Robert quirked a brow. “The history books all say that you had a stroke while walking on Doon Hill.”

  “Och. I was as healthy as a horse.” He stopped before one of the tourist markers, though I didn’t think he was reading about the priory’s history. “What else do these books say about me?”

  “That you betrayed the Good People, and that they punished you by imprisoning you in the Minister’s Pine atop Doon Hill.”

  Robert smiled, pleased that I’d remembered the euphemism, only to sigh and rub the back of his neck. “I swear to ye, lass, I’ve ne’er betrayed anyone in me life. Even after she took me, I ne’er did.”

  “I believe you,” I murmured.

  “Do ye, now?” He flashed that grin again, and took a few steps toward the trees. “Well, it was like this: I did uncover a fair bit o’ their secrets, but I did no’ put to paper anything that could have caused them harm. And, I revealed nothing that they did no previously agree to bein’ revealed.”

  “Then why were they mad at you?”

  “They were no’ mad at all. They allowed me free passage to and from their hollow hills, and ne’er once did I suffer a glarin’ eye or a harsh word from my hosts.” We reached the tree line, and Robert ran his hand across an oak’s rough bark. “I caught her eye, I did.”

  “Her? Her who?” I asked, then I remembered what Robert had told me at the Minister’s Pine. “Oh, you mean Nicnevin?”

  “Aye, lass, the Seelie Queen herself,” Robert said, as nonchalantly as if he’d been relaying the day’s specials at the market. “She was wantin’ me to play piper to her maiden, ye ken.”

  “I thought the Seelie were the good ones,” I said.

  Robert barked a laugh. “Ne’er mistake one o’ them as good, lass. There’s blatant evil, and then there are those who would view us as pets, not as living beings with hearts and minds and souls. Personally, I’ve come to prefer the blatant evil. At least they are honest about their intentions.”

  I nodded; I myself had never had any patience for insinuations and double-talk. “So, about the queen… You became her, um…” I spread my hands, unable to say the word ‘lover’ to a minister.

  “Consort?” he supplied, to which I nodded. “Nay, I refused her.”

  “You refused the queen?”

  “Aye, that I did.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinkin’ that I was a married man, and that she was needin’ to find her sport elsewhere,” Robert replied.

  “How did she not kill you?” I wondered.

  “Verily, she nearly did. She tried to bribe me, trick me, humiliate me before the whole o’ her court.” He was silent for a moment. “Once, I found a chink in her armor, if ye will. I assembled the means to contact a relation o’ mine, and explained to him the actions that would set me free o’ her.”

  “And?” I pressed. “Did she catch you?”

  “Nay, but ‘twas no matter. My relation, he did no’ do what I’d asked, and he left the ritual incomplete. Afterward, when she learned of my attempt to escape, she was no verra pleased wi’ me.” Robert
was silent for a moment, staring out at the water. “E’en so still she wanted me, always plying me wi’ gifts I did no’ want nor need, but I refused her. After all manner of indignities, and my countless refusals, she set me in a ring against her gallowglass.”

  “Gallowglass?”

  “Once, in our world, they were warriors for hire,” Robert explained. “Mercenaries of a sort. In Elphame, the gallowglass has the dubious honor o’ being the royal assassin.”

  “Oh,” I murmured. Robert’s words sunk in, and my eyes widened. “Oh! You had to fight against an assassin?”

  “Aye. And I won. By right of succession, I then became Nicnevin’s gallowglass. And so I have been these last many years, until a lovely lass arrived in Aberfoyle and sought to free me with a talisman o’ her own creation.” Robert caught my hand, and brushed his lips across my knuckles. “For the gift o’ my freedom, Karina, I will e’er be in your debt.” I blushed yet again, cursing my glass face while my fingers curled around Robert’s hand. If he kissed my hand again, I was going to have to stick my head in the lake-not-loch.

  “So, um, what happened after you became her gallowglass?” I prompted. Robert released my hand, and gazed toward the priory.

  “She bound me to her with a curse, and occasionally loosed me into the world to carry out her will.” He laughed through his nose. “The teind to hell? I collected it every seventh year. The wild hunt? I rode beside her steed, guarding her most glorious person. When e’er she took a lover, I escorted him to her bower.” He turned his gaze back to me. “But I ne’er went there meself.”

  “Not even once?” I squeaked. “Isn’t she supposed to be incredibly beautiful?”

  “Aye, that she is,” Robert agreed. “But she has no soul, nor any heart to speak of. If I am to make love to a woman, I need to be in love wi’ her. And I canna love naught but a pretty face. I require a pretty heart, as well.”