The Highland Henchman

by Amy Jarecki

  “’Twas as I thought as well. He wouldna just extend an invitation to this tournament without attaching a few strings.”

  Bran stepped back while Calum and Ruairi took their places on the bench. He nodded a subtle greeting at Ruairi’s henchman, Rewan. They both folded their arms across their chests. At a meal like this, Bran stood guard behind his chief, just like every other henchman in the room. The threat of something going awry was too great, and there were very few men present he could trust, especially not those milk-livered Hamiltons seated across the hall.

  Lord Ross stood and pounded the hilt of his dirk on the table. “Welcome, my Highland friends and my Lowland neighbors. I trust your accommodations are acceptable and I invite you to enjoy my hospitality during these days of challenges for brawn. I’ve invited you here to improve relations, to foster the concept of one Scotland…”

  Someone across the hall cleared his throat. Bran homed in on the source of the sound—a fair-haired man, solidly built with narrow eyes. Though he was sitting, by the breadth of his shoulders Bran could tell he’d come for the tournament. The man scanned the room and his gaze collided with Bran’s. He tipped his blond head back in silent challenge.

  Vehement was the misplaced contempt Lowlanders had for Highlanders, and it didn’t surprise Bran to see it here. The tension hung in the air with apprehension akin to the night before a battle. This might be a tournament of skill, but everyone knew it was more. Ross was rolling the dice in a high-stakes game that would match Highlanders against Lowlanders. Lord Ross would be lucky to see out the games without a full-on altercation erupting.

  As if he could hear Bran’s thoughts, Ross continued. “I ask you all to cast aside your prejudices and join with me in this week of games to determine the best warrior in our beloved Scotland.” He held up his tankard and looked straight at the fair-haired Hamilton. “The victor will receive a sword forged by the master smith of Glasgow.”

  A servant placed a claymore in a bronze scabbard in his hands. The weapon hissed across the metal as Lord Ross drew it. He held the sword high and assessed the shiny new blade with appreciation. “On one side it reads, ‘Unite and Protect.’” He turned it over and ran his finger along the flat side. “The reverse side is the same motto in Gaelic, ‘Aonaich Agus Dìon.’ I commissioned this claymore to honor both our Lowland knights and our Highland warriors.”

  Calum and Ruairi exchanged smirks, but Bran kept his eyes on the Lowlander. Unperturbed, Blondie took a long draw of ale from his tankard. Bran didn’t care for the idea he and his clansmen may have been invited for their entertainment. But one look at the piece of fine weaponry and Bran wanted it. He glanced at Rewan beside him. “I’d like to take that back to Raasay.”

  Rewan wore his scraggly hair straight. His thick beard made him look like a Highland barbarian. “Why waste it on your puny isle? It should be in Lewis.”

  Calum leaned back and eyed them both. “Let it be won by a MacLeod. That is for certain.”

  Ruairi raised his tankard. “These Lowland nobles are no match for a rugged Highland warrior. They’ll be sleeping in their warm beds while we camp on damp straw in windblown tents. ’Twill go to Rewan, mark me.”

  Calum raised a brow and glanced back at Bran. Words were unnecessary. Bran understood the challenge. Calum purposely kept his guard hidden on Raasay so no one would have an inkling of their might. He worked his men hard. Unbeknownst to all outside Raasay, the laird and his men had embarked on several privateering missions, from plundering English ships to seizing a Spanish galleon filled with treasure in Tortuga. Bran had been there for it all and Calum had driven him like no other—as if he expected more from Bran. The hard work had paid dividends. No one on Raasay could best him, including his revered chief.

  Lord Ross sheathed the sword and returned it to his squire. “Eat, drink, my friends. Let no one say they were not offered hospitality from my hand.” He clapped, and servants laden with trenchers of food swarmed across the hall. Bran salivated at the smell of roast meat and freshly baked breads. His stomach turned and he swallowed hard. The Highland henchmen would have their supper in the kitchen after their chieftains dined. He would have it no other way, for he would defend his laird and see to his safety or die in the process. This was the price of belonging. Bran held his appointment of knight—of henchman—with pride.

  No sooner had the meal begun than a rustle of skirts came from the wide stone stairwell. Every head in the hall turned. A spry lassie wearing a bronze tiara, with exquisitely long auburn tresses, hastened toward the dais. Her cheeks flushed with a healthy glow, her green gown clung to shapely curves. The lass was tall for a woman—she might even come to Bran’s chin if she stood beside him.

  Bran’s folded arms tensed against his body while his hungry stomach flipped upside down. He had only seen one woman in his entire life who could compete with this maiden’s beauty, and that was Calum’s wife, Anne. But this lass, this woman, was far younger and had a spring in her step reminding him of a butterfly flitting between daisies.

  With practiced grace, the lovely—but late—young lady danced up the steps to the dais and pecked Lord Ross on the cheek then kissed his wife. By the stern look on Lady Ross’s face, Bran realized this must be the Honorable Enya Ross, their youngest and only unwed daughter. Enya patted her mother’s shoulder and slipped into the seat beside her. She scanned the wall of Lowlanders first, her gaze stopping for a moment at the Hamilton man, and then continued around the room.

  Bran forgot to avert his eyes when her gaze met his. Once connected, he could not look away. His stare held as if a lightning bolt arced between them. Though he couldn’t hear her over the crowd, her red lips parted and she gasped. Something deep inside stirred, as if his heart had actually fluttered. Was she the same lass he’d seen on the hill? The one he thought just might load an arrow into her longbow? She smiled. The right corner of Bran’s mouth ticked up. She snapped her gaze away and looked at her mother. Bran’s eyes traveled to the frowning matron—who was glaring directly at him.

  He shifted his attention across the room—anywhere but the dais. He wasn’t there to wench. With clenched teeth, Bran scanned the great hall for possible threats. He had no business ogling a baronet’s daughter. His duty was to watch Calum’s back, win the tournament for the clan and return to Raasay with the prized sword. That was all.

  The blond Lowlander scoffed and raised his tankard.

  Rewan leaned in. “Ye have some sort of barney with Claud Hamilton?”

  Bran swallowed. That was Claud Hamilton, heir to the Hamilton earldom, sitting across the room eyeing him like a caged dog? “Nay, never seen him before in me life.” Did the bastard have some sort of claim on the lass? That would be right. Lord Ross would be looking for a highborn match for his beauty.

  “Mayhap he’s sending a challenge across the hall,” Rewan said.

  Bran clenched his fists. “I’d wager every man in this room is ready for a challenge. ’Tis why we’re here, no?”

  “Aye.” Rewan nudged him. “And I’ll show ye something about the might of Lewis.” He chuckled. “Br-ä-n.” Rewan drew out his name. “Yer mother should ha’ named ye Snowflake.”

  “Stuff it in yer arse. We’ll see who’s stronger soon enough.”

  Frowning, Rewan assessed Bran’s folded arms. “Why don’t ye spare yerself the embarrassment and concede defeat now. I’ll be happy to take that claymore back to Lewis.”

  “Not on yer life.” Bran glanced to the dais. Enya pulled a piece of meat from her eating knife with her teeth. Her gaze floated his way and she smiled and slowly chewed. A rush of heat prickled across Bran’s skin. How could she make eating look so—delicious?

  ***

  Every time Enya looked up, that Highlander was staring at her—or was it her gaze kept straying toward him? It mattered not. The man standing behind the redheaded laird was the same warrior she’d watched when he rode past the hill. And he made her so self-aware. Aside from her unbearable etiquette lesso
ns, she’d never thought twice about cutting up a piece of roast lamb and placing it in her mouth. But now she studied her meat, cut it precisely and took every care to lift it to her lips. With each bite, her eyes drifted to the north wall, where he stood with his muscles practically splitting the seams of his linen shirt. It was impossible not to stare.

  Enya’s mother touched her shoulder, cutting through her thoughts. “I was looking for you this afternoon.”

  “Oh? I managed to squeeze in a bit of target practice with Rodney.” Enya swallowed her grin, fully aware it would irk her mother to know she’d been doing something unladylike.

  “Honestly. Must we put a leash and collar on you during these games?”

  Enya sighed. The same old talk on “refinement” again. “Of course not. I shall play the part of the delicate maid and do you proud.”

  “You had better.” Mother leaned in. “I’ve noticed Claud Hamilton looking your way. He won’t want a woman who trudges through the mud with a bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder.”

  Enya arched a brow. “Have you asked him?”

  Mother’s jaw dropped. “My heavens, you are insufferable.”

  Enya patted her mother’s hand before the matron had one of her spells. “I was teasing.” But she couldn’t resist one more ribbing. “I promise not to let on to Lord Hamilton I could skewer his heart from one hundred feet.”

  Mother grasped Enya’s hand and squeezed her fingers. Hard. “I’ll hear no more of this. Do you understand? Your father is in negotiations with the Hamiltons and it could mean a great alliance for you as well as the family. You do know Lord Claud is third in line to the throne?”

  “Aye, Mother. I’m aware.” Enya cast her gaze to the south side of the wall. Claud chatted with his brother. From a distance, he appeared reasonably attractive, though aloof in an aristocratic way, not unlike her father. Her wayward eyes panned across the hall. Larger than the others, the Highlander was anything but aloof. But he looked like he could best anyone in the room and she doubted he needed to prove it, though she wouldn’t mind if he proved it to her.

  And where did that entirely inappropriate thought come from?

  Enya cleared her throat and focused on her trencher. She didn’t want to admire any man—not until she found adventure.

  ***

  Making his way to the dais, Enya watched Claud climb the stairs then bow before her father. “The meal was splendid. You did quite well to accommodate such a diverse crowd, my lord.”

  “These times require one to be, shall we say, open-minded.” Lord Ross raised his tankard. “Are you ready for the tournament?”

  Claud’s gaze shifted to Enya. “I am looking forward to it.”

  Lord Ross inclined his head. “I’m sure you remember my daughter.”

  She smiled and held out her hand. Claud clasped it with warm fingers. With grey eyes, his gaze roamed from her face to the flesh of Enya’s breasts exposed by the square neckline of her stomacher. Bowing, he pecked the back of her hand. “So good to see you again, Miss Ross.”

  Enya pulled her hand away and rubbed it. “’Tis a pleasure, Lord Hamilton.”

  His eyes remained on her cleavage. “I noticed the tulips in the garden. Would you like to take a stroll?”

  Heat spreading across her cheeks, Enya tried not to cringe. “That would be lovely.” She shot a panicked glance to her brother. “Robert, would you care to join us?”

  She could tell he tried not to laugh, the heartless barnacle. “Perhaps not this evening. I’ll leave you to entertain our guest.” He regarded Claud. “But I shall be within earshot if you should need my assistance.”

  Enya swallowed. She would much prefer Robert to join them. I’ll wager that was Mother’s doing. Enya glanced to the north wall. The Highlander and his laird were gone—just as well. She didn’t need a rugged warrior distracting her. She stood and placed her hand in the crook of Claud’s arm. “Very well. A stroll through the gardens should be quite pleasant.”

  The cauldrons blazed along the stone garden path, though a chill iced up her arms now the sun had set. An involuntary shiver trickled down her spine and Enya rubbed the outside of her shoulders.

  “Are you cold?” Claud asked.

  “A bit. I should have brought my cloak.”

  “Please, allow me.” He removed his grey woolen mantle and draped it across her shoulders.

  Enya pulled the sides closed and clasped it under her chin to cover the flesh above her bodice. “You’re very kind. Thank you.” The heavy cloth smelled a tad musty, but the body heat that remained warmed her. She had walked this path countless times, even in the dark. Never had it given her unease. Tonight, however, she imagined the garden to be a dark forest filled with vile creatures hidden in the shadows.

  Enya desperately tried to think of something clever to say, but only came up with an insipid question. “What is it like being the heir to the Hamilton earldom?”

  He chuckled. “’Tis most likely boring to a lady like you.”

  “Like me? Whatever do you mean?” Enya tensed. There she went, challenging him. Mother told her to be demure. Right. Her sister, Alison, was demure. How would she act? She’d probably turn red, bat her eyelashes and giggle. Enya didn’t giggle, nor did she bat her eyelashes.

  Claud puffed out his chest and frowned, making his slender nose appear a bit too long for his face.

  Oh dear, I’ve put him off straight away. Definitely not the way to begin a courtship, Enya.

  But then his mouth curved up. “Apologies. I suppose I should not make assumptions. How about if you start? What is it you like to do on a sunny afternoon?”

  She couldn’t hold in her wicked smile. Oh, how she wanted to shock him with her real idea of fun, but she cleared her throat. “There are so many wonderful things to do when the sun’s out.” She drummed her fingers against her lips. “Hmm. I suppose if I had my choice, I’d go riding.”

  “A worthy pastime. Do you prefer to ride sidesaddle or in a hackney?

  In a saddle, my legs either side, galloping with my hair flying in the wind. “I like the feel of a horse under me.”

  “Ah, do you prefer a spirited mount?”

  “Aye, I do. Very much.” They passed a statue of cupid with his bow and arrows, and she eyed him. “Now ’tis your turn.”

  He plucked a yellow tulip from a raised flowerbed and twirled it between his fingers. “I do not have a great deal of idle time. My father’s given me a fair bit of responsibility, keeping the crofters in place and collecting their rents.”

  “That does sound dreary.” They walked a bit farther until they reached the pinks and reds of azalea blossoms looking like a splay of confetti in the dancing firelight. “Do you ever have a yen to travel?” Enya asked, hopeful.

  He brushed the tulip across her cheek and then held it out to her, his gaze dipping to her breasts. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Enya reached for the flower, realizing the cloak had opened. She squeezed it closed. “I’ve heard tale of the South Seas and the riches of the New World.”

  Claud laughed and continued along the path. “Your brother warned me about your fancy for adventure. No, I daresay there is quite enough to keep me busy right here. Besides, when I marry, I wouldn’t expect my wife to accompany me on any necessary trips abroad. They’re fraught with danger and abominable sicknesses like scurvy.”

  Enya pursed her lips. Robert probably made her out to be daft dreamer. That was what everyone thought of her. Why couldn’t she be normal like her sisters? She stole another peek at his face. And why couldn’t Lord Claud make her insides flutter like they had when she looked at the Highlander? Here she stood beside a perfectly eligible courtier, and all she wanted to do was turn tail and run for the solace of her chamber.

  He stopped and faced her. “You’ve gone quiet. Have I said something to offend you?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Good.” He stepped closer, fixating on her mouth. “Are you looking forward to the tourn
ament?”

  Enya crushed the tulip stem between her fingers and stepped back. “Very much. I shall watch with great interest.”

  “May I…” He hesitated, and then looked her in the eye. “May I carry your kerchief?”

  Enya didn’t know why she wanted to refuse, but her shoulders tensed. She cast her eyes to the sleeve where she kept it and pulled. What harm was there in giving it to him?

  Claud snatched the white linen trimmed with lace and held it to his nose, taking a deep breath. “It shall bring me luck, my lady.”

  Enya turned toward the manse, but Claud caught her hand and pulled her uncomfortably close. “Why the hurry?”

  At eye level, he stood no taller than she. “I thought—”

  He pressed his lips to her ear. “You are very pretty.”

  Enya dropped the tulip and stepped back. “Th-that is kind of you to say.”

  He held her hand to his lips and kissed, holding it there far longer than necessary. “I will look forward to seeing you often throughout the games.”

  She gulped. “I’d best return before Robert comes searching for me.”

  Chapter Three

  Before dawn the next morning, Bran hummed his lullaby for Griffon, his prized golden eagle. Bran chained his jesses to a perch when traveling—the bird’s mews was far too big to transport. Though the leather hood covered his eyes, the eagle responded to Bran’s voice and pecked against the chain that held him captive.

  “Are ye hungry, laddie?”

  He held out his gloved hand with a nibble of dried meat. The bird swiftly snatched it. With a practiced flick of his wrist, Bran fastened a lead to the leather jesses. “What do ye say we hunt a pigeon before I break me fast?”

  The sky glowed orange against the wisps of spring clouds as Bran headed for the woods with Griffon perched upon his shoulder harness. Aside from a lad scurrying with an armload of firewood, the estate remained quiet, having slept through the night, awaiting the excitement of the day to come.