A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9)

by Celeste Barclay

  “Edgar?” Brodie said under his breath, his lips not moving.

  “Nay,” Monty replied.

  “Clyth.” Brodie hoped the man had gone home and cut ties with the MacDougalls. If he hadn’t, the war would shift to the northern Highlands. The Gunns would be the first clan to face the full force of the strongest pact across the country. And they had nowhere to run unless they wished to fall into the North Sea or cross onto Mackay, Sutherland, or Sinclair land. He scanned the opposing forces, but he didn’t spy Liam Oliphant either.

  “Where is that new bride of yours?” Martin sneered.

  “Tucked away, waiting to scrub my back and minster to whatever aches.” Brodie’s wolfish grin spoke to which aches he meant. None that came from fighting. He noticed Danny eased into the formation, signaling that the sept forces were in place. It was what he waited for. With a piercing whistle, the battle commenced.

  Taken off guard, James and Martin bellowed out commands, yelling over one another. The Lamonts led the opposing force, so they hadn’t discovered the horde of warriors approaching from the rear. But as screams rang out, Martin and James looked behind them. Martin swung back to look at Brodie. He’d set his first target. But Martin had no chance to act before his men surged forward, both attempting to flee the army behind them and to engage the one in front of them. Brodie whistled once more, and the formation shifted. It opened to allow the Lamonts to surge past them. Brodie and the men from Kilchurn joined the fight as the Campbell, MacFarlane, and Ross ranks squeezed the herd of attackers like they were shepherds corralling sheep. The MacDougalls and Lamonts followed one another, just like the animals did. The fighting was vicious as Brodie and his counterparts worked to keep the Lamonts and MacDougalls from breaking free. But the Lamonts and MacDougalls stood little chance, outnumbered at least two to one. Pushed toward the river, the riders in front tried to retreat, but there was no place to move. Over the cacophony of clanging metal, war whoops, and screams of pain, those not closest to the river didn’t witness the first tidal wave surge down river.

  Brodie watched for Matthew and Nelson. He and Monty already agreed Nelson was Brodie’s target, leaving Matthew to Monty. Brodie waited until Nelson rode past where he fought. He ran the man through who’d engaged him before he spurred his horse after Nelson. He would end it without delay, or he would wind up in the crush and unable to extract himself before being driven into the river.

  Sensing him, Nelson turned to look at Brodie, shocked to find him so close. Brodie raised his sword, and with no preface, swung. “For my wife,” Brodie called out before cleaving Nelson’s head from his shoulders. Brodie watched the skull bounce before hooves kicked it. He supposed the retribution was for either wife, even if he’d intended it for Laurel.

  “For my sister!” Monty howled as he stood in his stirrups and barreled toward Matthew. The force that came with the speed from his horse made Monty’s sword spear Matthew clean threw. Monty twisted the blade before yanking it out. He spat at the dead man as he fell from his horse. With Donnan at Monty’s back and Graham at his, Brodie led them out of the fray as the Lamonts arrived at the riverbank. The momentum of their charge carried one man after another over the berm. There was little the defenders had to do but watch.

  “Waste of bluidy good horseflesh,” Donnan quipped with feigned regret.

  The first wave of battle was brief but intense. Brodie looked down at his side to find blood soaking through his leine. He’d barely felt the wound but realized it was more than a nick. It would have to wait until he was certain that any enemy who survived and came ashore wasn’t long for the living. He discovered more opponents than he would have liked ended up in the bay alive. But his archers picked them off, firing from the shore and the battlements. They cut down the handful who climbed the banks as they stood up. Used to daylong campaigns, Brodie found it unnerving to secure his victory in a matter of hours. He rode the battlefield as his men searched for survivors, both friend and foe. They helped the wounded to the keep and gathered the bodies for those who would mourn. When none of his men or his comrades remained, he looked at the destruction left in their wake.

  Laurel hadn’t been wrong to name it a massacre. But no regret tugged at him. No doubt niggled at the back of his mind. He knew he would ride into his bailey to find his wife, sure that she and his people were safe for yet another night. He’d done his duty as best he could, and he would never regret serving his clan.

  Thirty-Five

  Laurel’s patience expired. While she and the staff rushed to feed the villagers, find places for them to sit and sleep, and shuttled food out to the men, Colina remained absent. Laurel eventually ceased asking Aggie to tell Gara to work. The woman found excuses to stand in Laurel’s way or force Laurel to go in a different direction. After the fourth time, Laurel called the woman’s bluff, and Gara came out the loser. Instead of taking a detour, Laurel barreled past Gara, knocking the maid onto her backside. Rather than help Gara up, Laurel glared at the woman.

  “Be glad I only carried blankets. You wouldn’t have been so fortunate if I carried something scalding. You move for me, not the other way around.” Laurel tried to keep the peace, but she wouldn’t let Gara or any servant believe Laurel demurred to them. She didn’t wait to see if Gara stood. She already knew the hateful things the woman likely thought about her, but Laurel didn’t have the time to care. Between Colina not assisting as a member of the laird’s family should, and Gara being awkward, Laurel would accept no more nonsense.

  Laurel heard a piercing whistle, the whinny of several horses, then the clash of steel on steel. She didn’t hesitate to make her way across the bailey and up to the battlements. The Lamonts and MacDougalls weren’t attacking the keep, instead meeting Brodie’s forces head-to-head. Laurel didn’t fear arrows flying toward her like she would had it been an attack on the castle. She ran along the battlements until she could see Brodie atop his horse. She watched with morbid fascination as he swept one man after another off their mount, their corpse left in his wake. The last time Brodie fought was the only time she’d seen Brodie fight, and she’d been more focused on defeating David Lamont.

  Laurel watched in awe as Brodie wielded his claymore with one hand when he had to steer Lann and defend himself. Other times, he swung his sword with the power that came from both arms while Lann moved with commands from Brodie’s legs. She’d been proud of Teine’s fearlessness, but she knew her horse wasn’t trained to do nearly half of what Lann did. He and Brodie were a single entity, relying on one another but fighting as one. Brodie had aptly named his steed Blade.

  When the battle shifted toward the river, and Laurel could no longer spy Brodie, she descended the steps and moved throughout the bailey, checking on people. She watched as the fletcher scooped a massive load of arrows into his arms and sprinted to the battlements. Maids dashed to storerooms, gathering more sacks of grains for Berta to bake countless more loaves of bread. The villagers wouldn’t be able to return to their homes until at least the next day. The carnage from the battle had to be cleared away before it would be safe for anyone to return. She visited the herders, who brought cows, sheep, and goats to a crowded corral since they couldn’t risk leaving the livestock in the pastures. The danger that their enemy would reive some heads of cattle or kill them meant the animals came within the castle walls along with the people.

  Once her tour satisfied Laurel that everyone was well taken care of, she made her way toward the undercroft. She hadn’t checked their stores as closely as she wanted that morning. With no imminent threat to the keep or the people within, Laurel kept herself distracted by remaining busy. She shivered at the dampness in the space hollowed out beneath the keep. She prayed Berta stored their dried goods in the undercroft like she did in the kitchens and storage buildings, or the dampness would ruin everything. Sunlight poured through archways that would allow workers to bring large quantities of sacks and barrels into the undercroft and keep them there until the laborers could place them in the
correct storeroom. Taking the ring of chatelaine keys Aggie gave her that morning from her girdle, Laurel tried various ones until she unlocked the first portion of the cavernous cellar.

  Light filtered along the corridor, but Laurel was glad to have a torch. She let herself into a smaller storeroom and pried the lid off a barrel. It was filled with grains. She looked closer, scooping a handful and letting it sift between her fingers before doing it again, pushing her arm deeper with each pass. She nodded to herself when she didn’t discover any weevils. She’d placed the torch into a sconce, so she could use both arms and all her body weight to press the lid back into place and seal it. Satisfied with other barrels in the storeroom, she locked the door behind her and moved on to the next room. She discovered it was the buttery.

  The storeroom smelled of grain and yeast. The first barrel she pressed against gurgled with ale that the laird’s family provided their servants and warriors. Laurel looked around, counting the dozens of barrels. She’d sampled some the night before, and it impressed her. She’d asked Brodie to introduce her to the brewer at another time. Shelves built against the walls held miniature casks of wine. The smaller casks were used to make it easier for maids to bring wine into the keep without asking for someone stronger to carry a large barrel.

  Laurel sniffed at a few and recoiled each time. They smelled more like vinegar that wine. She doubted the vintner intended to store wine and vinegar together. The drink had gone off. She hadn’t been nearly as taken with the wine at the evening meal as she had been with the ale. Brodie sensed her evasiveness when he asked what she thought of the wine. When she’d relented and admitted it disappointed her, he’d confessed to sharing her feelings. He promised they would speak to the wine maker together.

  Laurel descended a flight of stairs and shivered once more, this time from the cold air. She suspected the only door on that subterranean level was the larder. Berta told her there were several shanks of preserved beef hanging in the storeroom, but Laurel wanted to see their size to better understand how much meat they had stored for the winter months. She needed to visualize what they would cook and what would need to dry for the guardsmen to eat when they were away from the keep. As she entered the final storeroom, she pulled her arisaid tighter around her shoulders and placed the torch in a sconce. She wished she had a second plaid. The keep’s builders perfectly positioned the larder to remain cold throughout the year to preserve the meat, but it was unpleasant to visit.

  Laurel walked among the hanging flanks of beef and sheep, noticing the meat was lean. She felt a burgeoning sense of pride for her new clan as she kept a mental inventory of all she’d seen. There were abundant supplies, and the quality of everything—except for the wine—was superior. The Campbells hadn’t grown powerful by muscle alone. Their leaders ensured their people thrived by keeping them fed well. She hoped Brodie would show her the pasturelands soon. She hadn’t paid close attention to the animals herded into the bailey, and she had paid no attention to the sheep in the glens of Ben Lui, more focused on remaining alive.

  Just as Laurel reached the back wall of the spacious larder, the door she’d purposely left open slammed shut. She hadn’t felt a wind that would push closed the portal that opened into the larder. It would have only shut if someone pulled it closed. With a torch in the sconce, it was clear someone was inside. Laurel hurried to the door and pulled on the handle, already suspecting what she would find. It was locked.

  “Bluidy bitch,” Laurel muttered. She was nearly positive Gara meant to punish her. Laurel recognized the jealousy Gara showed, but she didn’t understand the possessiveness if she’d never had a relationship with Brodie. As Laurel drew the yards of wool tighter around her shoulders, she wondered if Brodie chose not to tell her the truth. She considered what Aggie told her, but the housekeeper would be loyal to Brodie before she would be loyal to Laurel. Perhaps she kept Brodie’s secret. If Brodie had lied, Laurel wondered if that meant he’d lied about his plans to remain faithful. She held no interest in learning about Brodie’s past, but it scared her that Brodie might not value fidelity as much as he said.

  With no windows to look through or climb through, Laurel sank along the wall beside the door until her bottom rested on the freezing stone floor. Gara, or whoever locked her in, wouldn’t answer if she banged on the door. With a huff, she resigned herself to waiting for hours before anyone would think to look for her. She had told no one that she was going to the undercroft, so they wouldn’t know to look there. She was certain it wouldn’t be until Brodie, Monty, and Donnan returned that anyone would notice she was missing. They would be concerned enough to search for her. But until then, she could only draw her legs close to her chest and huddle to remain warm.

  A freezing larder to match a freezing reception.

  Brodie rode into the bailey with Monty, Donnan, and Graham. He was exhausted but livid. His brother rode out with the other men, and Brodie spotted him a few times throughout the battle. However, he could find Dominic nowhere once the battle shifted to the river, and his archers launched their attack. He hadn’t been there to see the few survivors leave the river only to be sent to their maker. He hadn’t been searching among the bodies like the rest of his men. Growing scared, Brodie gave the order to search specifically for Dominic. Fear washed over him and guilt that he hadn’t protected his younger brother threatened to choke him. They’d always found one another at the end of a fight, battered and the worse for wear, but together. Not a moment after he put out the cry, one of his men said he’d witnessed Dominic ride back to the keep. Brodie blinked at the man, even more fearful that his brother was hurt if he returned home. But when his warrior informed Brodie that there was nothing wrong with Dominic, Brodie nearly exploded.

  Duty demanded Brodie remain with his men, despite wanting to kiss Laurel and murder Dominic. He was relieved when he passed beneath the portcullis. He looked around as women and children gathered, searching for their husbands, sons, fathers, and brothers. He’d expected Laurel to rush out and greet him. But she was nowhere to be seen either. While anger manifested as he thought about Dominic returning to the keep, panic edged at the corners of his mind. Laurel wouldn’t miss their return. If it weren’t to see to him, it would be to find Monty and Donnan, or to see how she could help. He’d caught sight of her hair on the battlements twice when the battle began, but he had to pay more attention to who he fought if he wanted to remain alive.

  Brodie leapt from his horse and charged toward Dominic, who stepped out of the keep with Colina. He ran up the steps and grabbed Dominic’s leine. He demanded, “Where’s Laurel?”

  “I don’t know where you wife is,” Dominic said as he tried to push Brodie away.

  “You’ve been here for hours. Laurel wouldn’t avoid being here when the men returned. She kens her duties. Where is she?”

  “Where’s Laurel?” Monty asked as he joined the two brothers. He looked between the men, his eyes narrowing at Dominic. He felt uneasy around the man. Then he noticed Brodie was trembling with rage. Monty gritted his teeth and hissed, “Where’s my sister?”

  “The hell I should know. She wandered off hours ago. No one’s seen her. Probably taking a nap,” Dominic snapped.

  “Don’t confuse my wife for yours. Mine isn’t lazy,” Brodie barked before he turned his ire on Colina. “Have you done a single bluidy thing today or left my wife to run herself ragged? Where is she? Have you left your chamber long enough to notice?”

  As he fired one question after another at Colina, he realized he’d harbored more anger and resentment toward the woman than he imagined. Her ambivalence to her clan, and now her blasé attitude when Brodie asked about Laurel, made him want to rip her apart. He supposed bloodlust still pounded through him, but he’d only felt exhausted and calm when he rode in.

  “Leave my wife alone, Brodie. Speak to yours however you wish.” Dominic stepped in front of Colina.

  “Aye. Be the doting husband. Protect her from everything. Don’t even let her speak
for herself. It might be too taxing.” Brodie opened his mouth to say more, but he caught sight of Aggie running toward him.

  “Ma laird! Ma laird!” Aggie waved to him as she beckoned him to her. “I canna find Lady Campbell. It’s been hours since I’ve seen her.”

  Brodie’s heart pounded. Had someone sneaked in and taken Laurel? Had she been injured somewhere while watching the battle? Did she fall ill? Questions buzzed in Brodie’s mind as he looked at Monty and Donnan. He shook his head.

  “She wouldn’t rest,” Monty stated.

  “She wouldn’t be able to,” Donnan added. “She’d have to keep herself busy.”

  “Where was she last seen?” Brodie tried to calm his voice as he spoke to Aggie, who was visibly distressed. Aggie had been a second mother to him and Dominic, even before their own mother died.

  “Here in the bailey, ma laird. People saw her checking the storage buildings and visiting the shepherds by the corral. A few noticed she’d gone up to the battlements when the battle started, but that was before she worked her way around the bailey.”

  “Could she have gone into the village?” Monty asked.

  “I dinna think so,” Aggie replied as she shook her head. “I asked the guards at the gate, but none saw her.”

  “She’d likely cover her head with her arisaid to make her hair less visible to the Lamonts and MacDougalls. She might have gone to make sure no one lingered there,” Brodie reasoned. He spun on his heel, wincing at the pain in his side. Now that the fight was won, and the fatigue set in, he noticed the pain. He was certain he needed stitches, but he needed to find his wife more. He’d looked earlier, and the bleeding had stopped. It could wait until he knew Laurel was safe.

  He passed Graham as he moved toward the gate. “Can’t find Lady Campbell,” was all he said before his second fell into step. Brodie didn’t have to look back to know his brother wasn’t with him. But Monty and Donnan were. They fanned out as they reached the village, having walked since it lay just beyond the barmekin. He didn’t have to issue any instructions, the others knowing what to do without asking. Brodie knocked on doors. He was grateful no one answered, assured that the residents were at the keep. But it frustrated him that he didn’t find Laurel. It took the men an hour to work their way through the village and to no avail. The four men wore matching fearful expressions as they returned to the keep.