Rory: A Scottish Outlaw (Highland Outlaws Book 3)

by Lily Baldwin

  “Alex!”

  She was jarred from her thoughts as a small body barreled into her. Alex smiled down into the upturned, impish face of a wee lass with tangled red curls and golden brown eyes. “Good morrow, Cassie.”

  “We’ve been waiting for ye over there,” the little girl said, raising a chubby arm and pointing at the next cottage farther down the lane.

  Alex turned back to Corc. “Apparently, ‘tis time for Will and me to move on.”

  “Go in peace, Alex. I’ll pray for yer health and safety and for the health of yer father.”

  Alex bent at the waist and pressed a kiss to his wizened cheek. Then with a smile and a wave, she started back down the path with Cassie straddling her hip.

  “Good morrow, dear friend,” Alex said to the woman standing in the cottage doorway with three wee bairns clinging to her skirts.

  “’Tis a fine morning now that ye’ve returned, Alex.”

  Alex put Cassie down and pulled Helen into a tight embrace. “Oh, I’ve missed ye.”

  Helen furrowed her brow with concern. “Are ye well? Ye look a bit flushed.”

  Alex could not entirely stop the smile that fought to spread her lips wide. “I’m well enough, but I tell ye, Helen,” she said, leaning closer and dropping her voice. “I met a man while I was away that could bring any woman to her knees with a single glance.”

  “Dear me,” Helen said, her bright eyes shining with mischief. “Please tell me ye’re not speaking of one of the monks at Haddington.”

  Alex cocked her brow at her friend. “I’m not entirely lacking in scruples.”

  “I ken,” Helen said, laughing. “’Twas a jest. Thankfully, the principles of yer soul hold the rather wanton demands of yer body in check. ‘Tis a good thing too, or ye’d have lost yer virtue long ago. So, where did ye meet this man, and when are ye going to marry him and give Luthmore an heir?”

  “Nay, not ye, too,” Alex groaned. “Ye sound just like Michael.” Her father’s steward never ceased pestering her about her duties as lady to Luthmore Castle—procuring a husband remained at the very top of his list, that and wearing shoes.

  “’Tis high time ye settled down. Anyway, ye need to get yerself a man. He’ll help cool those flushed cheeks.”

  “Ye ken ‘tis not a lack of desire to wed on my part, but who can I trust to hold authority over my people? The good men are dead or taken, and the bad ones simply won’t get past my gate. Anyway, Da’s health is not up to the task right now.”

  Helen’s head tilted slightly to the side as she gave Alex a knowing look. “Is there no one who could capture yer heart?”

  “I gave my heart to Robin.”

  “I’m speaking of love, Alex,” Helen insisted, stepping closer.

  Alex flinched. “Ye know I loved Robin.”

  “Of course ye did,” Helen said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Ye respected him and admired him, and deservedly so. But, Alex, ye were never in love with him. The sight of him never made yer knees weak or stole yer breath. And don’t play innocent with me. Since ye lost him, I know ye’ve been kissed properly.”

  Alex smiled but lifted her shoulders in defeat. “I’m fairly certain ladies aren’t allowed to marry for love.”

  Helen pointed at Alex’s grubby feet. “Nor are they meant to go about barefoot, allowing commoners to use their Christian names, but that’s never stopped ye.” A slow smiled curved Helen’s lips as she studied Alex. “I can tell ye’re losing patience with me, so I’ll stop nagging. ‘Tis just…God forbid something were to happen to yer da. Ye’d be leaving the lot of us without a laird for protection.”

  An ache coiled around Alex’s heart, nigh stealing her breath. What Helen didn’t know—what few knew—was how sick her father really was.

  Donnan had returned home from the battle of Dunbar alive but forever damaged. An enemy blade had struck his head, knocking off his helmet while another English knight took a swing with a mace, crushing his skull. Rendered unconscious, he fell to the ground where horses trampled his legs, crushing the bones. Only by the grace of God did Donnan survive, but he never walked again nor did his mind fully heal. Memories from before the battle came to him with ease, but when the sun set on a new day, most of his new memories were gone come morning. Also, stolen by the vicious blow to his skull was his ability to read and do sums. With regard to his lasting injuries, the clan only knew half the story. Everyone understood that Donnan would be bedridden for the remainder of his days, but Alex, and those closest to the laird, had concealed the weaknesses of Donnan’s mind—an addle-minded chieftain meant a vulnerable clan. And so, at sixteen, Alex took on the role of laird, but her every command remained always in Donnan’s name. The rest of their kin, and most importantly, neighboring clans, believed that Donnan’s mind was sharp as ever, and that he issued orders from his chamber, which Alex simply ensured were carried out.

  Alex slumped down at Helen’s table, suddenly weary, and accepted a cup of mead from her friend’s outstretched hand. “Thank ye,” she said and took a long sip, absently stroking her hand across a piece of soft, dark blue wool folded on the table. “’Tis lovely,” Alex said, admiring the fabric closer.

  “Aye, ‘tis that,” Helen agreed. “I bought it from a peddler who came through the village yesterday.”

  Alex straightened in her seat. “Not the same peddler who came through last spring?”

  Helen shook her head. “Of course not—ye know that man would never again get within a league of MacKenzie territory.”

  Relief eased the sudden tension from Alex’s shoulders as she again sat back. More than a year had passed since a dreadful beast of a man swept through town, selling rotted grain, soiled fabrics, and lewd wooden carvings. Alex had only been made aware of his presence after several villagers had come to the keep, complaining of a peddler who was trying to frighten and bully them into buying his objectionable goods. Flanked by two of the largest MacKenzie warriors, Gavin and Finlay, she had marched down and confronted the rodent—a sniveling Englishman, small in stature with greasy black hair, and cold, hard eyes. At first, she cast him from her lands in a firm but calm voice. In reply, he spat on the ground saying, “I don’t take orders from women.”

  She gasped in momentary surprise. Then fury seized her. She stormed at him. “How dare ye defy me, ye miscreant! Ye addle-brained churl! Ye goatish knave!” With every insult hurled, her voice grew louder. “Ye mewling, odiferous, spotted toad!”

  Eyes wide as saucers, the nasty little man turned tail and ran, pushing the poor beasts with the sorry job of pulling his wagon of spoiled goods as hard as he could. Alex liked to believe it was her fierce stance and sharp tongue that had chased him away, although she knew the accompanying effect of Gavin and Finlay unsheathing their broad swords may have contributed to the peddler’s flight.

  A piercing cry brought Alex’s thoughts back to the present.

  She smiled. “Wee Hamish’s wails are as strong as ever,” she said, leaning to see past Helen to the baby now awake in his cradle. “It would appear as though duty calls to us both,” Alex said before pressing a kiss to Helen’s cheek. “I’m off. I’ve still many families left to visit.” She looked down at Will who sat on the floor surrounded by Helen’s wee ones. He was handing out the rag babies Alex had found in a village shop on her return journey.

  “Come along, Will,” she said, standing. Then she turned back to Helen. “We’ve brought bread and cheese for the men in the fields. ‘Tis nigh time for the noon meal.”

  Helen stood and scooped Hamish into her arms. “Apparently so,” she said with a wink. “Now, make sure that husband of mine stops to eat. I swear he’s more apt to fly to the top of Torna Doon than to squeeze in time for a meal when there’s work to be done.”

  Alex nodded in agreement. “Gregor is hard working to be sure, but ye’re right. He’ll do himself ill if he doesn’t rest. Ye’ve my word. He will sit, even if only for a quick bite.”

  When Alex and Will resumed their progress d
own the village path, she decided to have Will carry on with the rounds on his own while she brought the men in the fields the bread and cheese.

  “Welcome home, Alex,” Gregor called out, in between issuing curt commands to the oxen as he steered their course. Alex set the food down beside the field that had been left fallow all spring and summer and now was being turned before winter. She darted toward the men, her feet sinking into the cool earth.

  “’Tis time to stop for dinner,” Alex said.

  Owen, one of Corc’s many grandsons, smiled. “Whoa,” he said, pulling on the oxen’s reins.

  “What do ye think ye’re doing?” Gregor snapped at the younger man. “Do ye think the soil is going to turn itself.”

  Alex muscled up to Gregor and thrust a finger in his face. “He’s listening to his lady, is what he’s doing.” She held her fierce pose as long as she could before she burst out laughing. Gregor joined in, his mop of red curls bouncing while he laughed. “Let me guess,” he said, catching his breath. “Ye paid a visit to Helen before stopping by.”

  Alex shrugged. “I might have. Anyway,” she said, grabbing Owen by the upper arm and thrusting him at Gregor. “Look at this lad, he’s nigh starving to death.” The laughter renewed at her jest, for Owen stood a head taller than Gregor and was as broad as a bull despite only having eighteen years to his credit.

  “I yield,” Gregor said. “I wouldn’t want to be the cause of Owen not gaining another stone by the end of the day.”

  Smiling, she helped them disable the plough and remove the yoke from the team so that the beasts could graze for a spell while they enjoyed their own meal.

  “And how were the monks this time?” Gregor asked, handing her a large piece of bread. Her stomach rumbled, and so she happily accepted. There was plenty to go around. Soon, the men tending the crops in surrounding fields joined them.

  “They were all well. Did anything happen here while I was away?” she asked.

  “Some of Malcolm’s sheep were pinched,” Owen said before taking a bite of cheese.

  Alex sat up straighter. “No one told me. Who’s responsible?”

  Gregor shrugged. “Tinkers most likely.”

  “My lady,” a deep voice said behind her, the owner of which she did not doubt was Michael. He was the only MacKenzie who called her ‘my lady’.

  She groaned softly.

  “Ye’re in trouble now,” Gregor said in a quiet singsong voice.

  “Gregor MacKenzie, ye must have seen him coming,” she hissed softly. “Ye could’ve warned me.”

  “Nay,” he said, chuckling. “This was more fun.”

  She looked down at her dirt smeared tunic and filthy toes and whispered, “What? Do ye think Michael will find something objectionable?”

  “Good morrow,” the steward of Luthmore castle said, drawing near.

  Shielding her eyes from the noon sun, Alex squinted up at him. “Can I assume ye’re not here to join our picnic?”

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Stand up, my lady, and dust yerself off. There’s a dispute to settle.”

  Alex sighed and reached for a hunk of cheese. She took a bite and with her mouth full said to the men, “Duty calls.”

  “A cow eats with more manners,” Michael scolded.

  Alex stood up and patted him on the back. “Do not fash yerself. Ye know I clean up fine and can be as enchanting as I please, when I please.” A hiccup intruded upon her speech.

  “Aye, ye’re a vision,” Michael said dryly. “Come on. Even though ye may not look or sound like Lady MacKenzie, Lady MacKenzie is needed just the same.”

  Chapter Four

  Alex walked into the kitchens and collapsed in a chair in the corner.

  “Don’t get too comfy there, Alex. My own legs are about to give way.”

  Alex smiled at Jean, Luthmore’s cook, who bustled about the room, wiping counters and issuing orders to servants hastening to and fro, her legs looking nothing like limbs about to give way. Closing her eyes, Alex released a slow breath and rested her head against the cold stone wall behind her.

  “Aw, pet.”

  Surprised by the sudden closeness of Jean’s voice, Alex opened her eyes and looked up into the cook’s soft brown eyes framed by her plump cherub face.

  She gently cupped Alex’s cheek with her dimpled hand. “I can tell ye’ve had a long day. Why don’t ye take yerself to bed?”

  Alex smiled and rolled forward, resting her head in her hands. Then she sat up straight and inhaled deeply. Blowing out her breath, willing her fatigue to follow the same course, she lunged to her feet. “There’s no peace for the wicked,” she said, stretching her arms above her head.

  Jean chuckled. “Ye’re about as wicked as a newborn puppy.”

  Alex smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ye only believe that because ye don’t know about my secret life, smuggling coin and riding alongside outlaws.”

  Jean’s laughter rang out. “Och, but ye’re incorrigible. Can ye imagine what stuffy ol’ Michael would say if he heard the jests ye make. He’s angry enough with ye going around barefoot like ye do. Secret life,” she said, shaking her head and hooting with laughter. “Smuggling coin, riding alongside outlaws. Aye, that would set him on his ear right enough.”

  Jean wiped her eyes and took hold of Alex’s hand. “No one has ever made me laugh harder than ye, pet.” An instant later her smile vanished. “Mind ye don’t tell Michael that I don’t chastise ye more. I’d never hear the end of his complaints. Always telling me to not encourage yer common ways, he is. ‘She’s the lady of Clan MacKenzie’” Jean said, imitating Michael’s disapproving tones.

  Alex clasped her hands together, feigning a look of contrition. “We’ve likely risked Michael’s anger enough with all this impious laughter.” She stood up and hooked arms with Jean. “Let us play the role of dutiful lady and cook. We must inspect the stores and plan the menu for Lammas before I go to the chapel for my evening prayers. I’ve tarried too long as it is.”

  Jean pressed her hand to her bosom. “Why are ye so anxious to pray? Is something amiss?”

  Alex pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. Jean had a tendency to panic at the slightest hint of trouble.

  “Calm yerself,” Alex said while gently leading the older woman toward the kitchen stores. “Naught is amiss. I simply do not wish to retire too late to visit my father. I have not seen him since my return.”

  After carefully inspecting the inventory, they decided on venison stew to finish off the meat from the most recent hunt and fried herring with creamed chestnuts. Then she made a pass through the buttery. When she was satisfied with the barrel count, Alex left the kitchens through the servant’s entrance and made her way to the castle chapel. Situated separately from the keep, yet still enclosed within the courtyard, the small kirk was Alex’s haven. Upon entering, the coolness and quiet of the chapel soothed her soul, and she felt the harried pace of the day slip away as peace enveloped her.

  It was her mother who had instilled in her the need to pray in the evenings before bed. Alana had stressed the importance, not only to show gratitude for the clan’s blessings and to pray for their continued wellbeing, but also for the benefit and health of Alex herself. She closed her eyes, and for a moment she was a child again, her small hand safely nestled inside her mother’s while they knelt together in front of the altar.

  “Mama, ‘tis so dark.” Alex’s gaze flitted over the walls, which were alive with dancing shadows from the flickering candlelight. She thought of the ghost stories her friend, Helen, had told her and Mary in the village earlier that day.

  Her mother’s violet gaze locked with hers. “Candlelight is peaceful, Alex, and peace is why we are here. Listen closely to what I say, for yer life will be forever one of service to yer people. As lady of the keep, the welfare of the clan is yer responsibility, a responsibility that will be more taxing with each passing year. Someday, ye may resent the sacrifice, which will lead ye down a selfish road—one where ye
may come to believe the people are here to serve ye. To protect yer people from yerself, ye must come to the chapel every night and give yer worries up to God.”

  Then Alana handed Alex a chain, from which hung a silver trinity knot. “Wear this always. It was my mother’s and now I give it to ye. It symbolizes the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit but also the Maid, the Mother, and the Crone, and ye, Alex—yer mind, yer body, and yer spirit. Keep yer faith in God. Hold close the council of women, and never lose faith in yerself. Remember my words, and ye’ll honor this one truth—the wellbeing of the people comes first, always.”

  Alex pressed her eyes shut and smiled, hearing her mother’s voice in her mind and remembering the feel of her touch. With Alana close in her heart, she knelt in the dimly lit kirk and closed her eyes. With each breath she inhaled, she invited acceptance into her heart to calm her restless soul, and with every exhale, she expelled fear and doubt.

  Feeling refreshed, she left her haven and made her way to her father’s solar. The one candle she carried provided the only light when she entered the spacious circular room. “Da, ‘tis so dark in here.”

  “I like the dark,” a low, quiet voice said in answer.

  “Nonsense,” Alex scolded as she crossed the large room to her father’s bedside and lit the candles on his nightstand.

  “It suits me in my crippled state,” he said.

  “All the more reason to keep yer curtains open in the day and candles lit at night. It will improve yer spirits, Da. Trust me.”

  With the room properly illuminated, Alex turned and sat down beside her father, taking his hand in hers.