Heart of the Highlands: The Wolf (Protectors of the Crown Book 2)

by April Holthaus

  Picking up a bucket of water, she slowly poured it over the plants that were clear of weeds. At least twice a week, she was forced to carry buckets of water from the creek just to keep the ground saturated. She had brought the water up from the river before returning with the dirty laundry. The crops were important. They were the only source of revenue to help pay taxes and buy the essential things needed to prepare for the upcoming winter months. And as it was, she was behind already.

  She grabbed a weed without paying attention, and a small thorn pricked her finger. She yelped in pain. Retracting her hand, Fallon examined the wound. Blood bloomed on the tip of her finger.

  Bloody prick!

  Using her skirt, she held her finger tightly until the bleeding stopped. Determined to rip out the weed that assaulted her, she reached in to grab it again, ready to mangle the thing when a loud thud sounded from the barn. Fallon peered over her shoulder at the barn doors. Believing the noise was probably just one of the livestock kicking its stall; she ripped out the weed and took her time standing up. Fallon brushed the dirt off the skirt of her apron and made her way to the barn.

  With the horses outside, the cow grazed alone in her compartment. Walking past the empty stalls, she investigated further, but nothing looked out of place. She thought perhaps a pigeon had flown in, knocking over a bucket of some sort, but there were neither birds nor a bucket in sight to have caused such a loud ruckus. Perhaps her son and her one servant had returned already from the market in Dumfries.

  “Braeden? Leoric? Is that ye?” she called out.

  Fallon heard a shuffling noise behind her as if something had been creeping in the shadows. Cautiously, she walked back toward the entrance. Poking her head out the door, she looked to the left where she thought the noise had come from, but no one was there.

  Fallon sighed, disregarding the noise as nothing more than the wind. Turning around to head back to the garden, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck stood on end causing a tingle down her spine and an uncontrollable shiver. Suddenly, she came face to face with the squinting, crinkled eyes of an old man. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Jesu’ Leoric! Are ye trying to scare the wits out of me?” she asked, as her hand flew to her pounding chest.

  “I am sorry, my lady. I just returned from the market. I purchased the candles ye requested.”

  Fallon let out a breath and looked down at the two beeswax candles he held in his fragile hands.

  “I had no’ expected ye to return so soon. Thank ye,” she said taking the candles from him.

  “I dinna mean to frighten ye, Mistress.”

  “I know, Leoric. It has been a verra long day. Have ye seen Braeden?”

  “He mentioned something about fishin’ in the river.”

  How many times did she have to tell that lad not to run off? Either way, he would surely hear about it when he returned home.

  “Verra well. If ye can tend to the horses, there are still a few things I need to do before the evening meal.”

  “Aye, my lady. Right away,” he said as he walked into the barn to tend to the day’s duties.

  Fallon returned to the garden. Kneeling on the ground, she continued to pullweeds, but all the while felt as if someone was watching her. Hair stood on her arms like flowers in bloom. Raising her head, she scanned the trees, the yard, and the house, but saw no one.

  Quickly, Fallon finished the gardening. Filling a small wicker basket with kale and green onions, she made her way to the house. With the barley she had picked earlier in the day, and the few chunks of beef left over from the night before, she planned to make a hearty stew that would last them at least the next couple of days. She washed the vegetables in the pail of water she kept on the porch, and then entered her humble dwelling.

  Once inside, Fallon grabbed the knife and began chopping the vegetables into small bits and tossing the handfuls into a large cast iron pot until she noticed a trail of bread crumbs on the table.

  At first, she thought some wild animal had made its way inside to steal a bit of food, but when the water from the jug also appeared empty, she knew she had been robbed. What else did they take?

  Fallon tensed in the eerie silence. Her eyes darted back and forth. Grabbing the small paring knife, she walked toward the closed bedroom doors. The floor creaked under her cautionary steps. Her mind raced with fear as every sound became a threat.

  “Mama! Mama!” her young son alarmingly called out as he swung the door open and ran to her side.

  Fallon jumped in place, startled.

  “What is it Braeden?” she asked, slipping the knife back onto the kitchen table.

  “I saw them, Mama. The Englishmen. They’re coming.”

  The English? But they are four days early! Taxes were collected at the beginning of the month and always on schedule. Fallon began to worry. She did not have enough coin to pay her dues.

  Quickly, she followed Braeden to the door. Poking her head outside, she saw three riders heading along the edge of the field towards her home; and with them, a rider-less horse. Immediately, she recognized two of the riders. They were known as the twins; Garrett and Everett, two boorish English soldiers with blonde hair cut close to their large, round heads. They were as vindictive and evil as a two-headed snake.

  The twins rode close to the third rider in the middle. He needed no introduction. How could she ever forget the one man who made her life a personal living hell? She called him the Devil of Falstone.

  “Lord, what could they be wantin’?” she murmured to herself. “Braeden, stay here!”

  Walking out, Fallon stood tall as she solemnly waited for her unwelcome guests to arrive. As they approached the cobblestone path near the front of her home, the three men stopped their horses just shy of her front door, nearly pinning her to the outer wall.

  “Lady Fallon, you are looking well, as always,” the devilish man commented.

  Fallon bit her tongue. Blasphemies were begging to be spoken, but she did not wish to provoke the beast. Oh, how she loathed that man!

  “I must say, Nathanial, I am surprised by yer visit. Can ye no longer afford a footman to collect yer taxes that ye have to carry out the deed yerself?” she mockingly asked.

  Nathanial sneered at her remark.

  “I am not here to collect your grain or taxes today. I have come on an entirely different mission.”

  “Well, then dinna let me keep ye from it.”

  “We are searching for someone. A Scot that may have traveled through here. They call him the Wolf,” Nathanial explained as his eyes searched around the yard.

  “We haven’t had any visitors in quite some time,” she replied.

  “Yes, well, this man is a murderer. We lost him on the road, and he abandoned his horse. He is on foot. It would have been feasible to seek food and shelter at the nearest inn, but as your little farm is between the hills where we lost him and the next town, my guess is that this would have been the first place he would have looked.”

  Fallon’s eyes wandered. Was this the man who had broken into her home?

  “Aye, well, as I said, we have seen no one. If he is on the run as ye say, then I suggest ye head out to look fer him elsewhere.”

  “I have men searching the area. There is a warrant for his arrest and any man or woman who assists this man will be punished for aiding him,” he stated as if he knew she was lying. “So, if you don’t mind, it is customary, for your protection of course, that we search your place. We are leaving no stone unturned,” he said nodding to Garrett and Everett as they slid down off their horses and walked in opposite directions to begin the search.

  “That is no’ necessary,” she angrily replied. “Ye do no’ have permission to invade my home.”

  “But I insist,” Nathanial replied, jumping down from his horse and making his way to the front door. “Perhaps a cup of tea while I wait.”

  Waiting would mean staying.

  “I will no’ now nor will I ever invite ye into my home.”<
br />
  Just then, as if either God had answered her prayers, or it was just the impeccable timing of an old man, Leoric walked around the corner of the barn. Fallon watched as the cart full of wood he hauled tipped over, spilling and blocking the door to the barn. Fallon inwardly smiled when she saw the irate look on Everett’s face.

  “Out of my way, old man!” Everett shouted.

  Fallon quickly ran to Leoric’s side and helped him pick up the wood. As soon as the rubble was clear, Everett impatiently kicked open the door. Fallon hurriedly followed in behind him noticing that nothing was out of sorts.

  “Well, as ye can see, there is no one here.”

  Everett walked around the empty barn for a moment longer before walking back towards the horses where both Garrett and Nathanial were waiting.

  “Anything?” Nathanial asked.

  “There is no sign of him.”

  “The house is empty as well,” Garrett replied, chewing on a chunk of bread he had taken. Fallon’s brows furrowed as she let out a low sounding growl.

  The twins mounted their horses and waited for Nathanial to join them.

  “Well, we will no longer disturb you. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “Forgive me if I dinna share yer enthusiasm.”

  “I imagine someday, Lady Fallon, you will accept my advances.”

  “I’d rather die a thousand deaths before accepting anything from ye. I made that mistake once already.”

  Nathanial smiled slightly, then mounted his horse. The twins began riding toward the field as Nathanial slipped his gloves on before heading out.

  Turning his head back to Fallon, he said, “I noticed your son is not clinging to your side. It seems foolish to allow a boy to wander off with a fugitive on the loose. Some may question your ability to parent the boy.”

  “He is no concern of yours,” she angrily replied at the mention of her son.

  With a crooked smile, Nathanial snapped the reins, kicking his horse to take off in a fast sprint. The twins joined him and Fallon watched the three of them until they disappeared into the distance.

  “Are they gone, Mama?” Braeden asked, creeping up behind her.

  “Aye. Run along and play. I will finish the chores.”

  Without argument, Braeden happily ran off towards the trees.

  Chapter 3

  “Damn them!” she spat as she picked up the bucket of moldy onions to toss into the woods.

  No matter how hard she tried to make things difficult for Nathanial and his men, nothing stopped them from their unannounced visits. Inwardly, she hoped they never caught the man they were looking for. For all she knew, he was just another innocent Scot they wanted to blame for some heinous crime they committed themselves.

  Fallon wiped the sweat from her brow and headed toward the supply shed. Turning the corner, she was startled by a dark-haired, battle-worn man slumped against the door. His arms were tightly folded across his chest and the weight of his gaze was as threatening as the tip of a dagger. His shirt and trews were badly torn; covered in ash and soot. Fallon tightened her grip on the bucket’s handle before speaking.

  “Ye are definitely no crone!” he mumbled.

  “Excuse me? Never mind.” She shook her head and squinted, “Who are ye? And what are ye doing on my land?”

  “I have need of yer horse,” he nonchalantly replied. The man’s narrowed eyes, lifted chin, and commanding voice aggravated her. Who did this man think he was? Intruding on her lands and demanding a horse. He was no better than the bloody English!

  “Ye are the mon they are looking fer, aren’t ye? Ye are no’ borrowing anything! Now get off my land. I dinna want any trouble here,” she ordered, holding the bucket out in front of her.

  Inwardly, she thought her action was insane. Had she meant to pummel him with onions or perhaps use the bucket as some sort of shield? The man was the size of an ox. No doubt he could take whatever he wanted and there would be nothing she could do about it. Those weak-willed thoughts she would keep to herself.

  “And what else do ye plan on taking?” she asked, pulling the bucket up to cover her chest where his eyes were drawn to the low-cut neckline of her dress.

  “Dinna flatter yerself, Lassie. Despite my considerable reputation with the lasses,” he punctuated the statement with a quirk of the brow and a wink, “I have no interest in ye.”

  Fallon dismissed his vanity with a wave of her hand. Had he just insulted her, though?

  He shifted slightly and a low groan escaped. His lips fell once again into a tight line as he ground out, “I mean ye no harm. I have lost my horse and am in need of another. If ye would allow me to take yers, I will be on my way.”

  “I only have the two, and can no’ afford to lose one of ‘em. I can no’ help ye. I suggest ye take yer things and leave.”

  Fallon felt heat roll over her and knew that a blush would follow as he stepped closer.

  “My lady, ye and I both know that if I wanted to take yer horse, I coulda verra well have just taken it wit’ out yer permission. I am trying to be respectful. It is urgent that I continue my journey and I am ordering ye to stand aside, woman. I am a protector of the crown. I serve the King.”

  “And I am the bloody Queen of the Fairies. I dinna care who ye are. The answer is no!”

  Straightening her posture, she held her head high.

  “Damn it, woman! Is there is no’ reasoning wit’ ye? I am trying to be nice, but to hell wit’ ye. I am leavin’ and I am takin’ wit’ me a horse!”

  Fallon sneered at his blatant disregard of everything she had said.

  “The bloody hell ye are!” she snapped, slamming the bucket to the ground.

  Taking a few steps forward, she blocked his path. Had it been more than one man standing there she might not have been so brave, but she had sacrificed enough and was no longer the young, naïve girl who just sat back and allowed people to use her and take what they wanted.

  As the man stepped forward, he hovered over her like a bull about to charge, but she was not going to budge, not unless he physically removed her. He raked his fingers through his hair, his sleeve falling from his wrist to his elbow. He winced from the movement. The moving fabric drew Fallon’s attention, and she saw the bloody bandage wrapped around his forearm. Her mouth dropped open. Quickly, he covered the bandage. He may have been a beast of a man, but he was hurt, and hurt badly from what she could see.

  “Ye are injured!” she said sympathetically.

  “Tis nothing.” He shrugged, standing up straighter and looking down his nose at her.

  “Like hell tis nothing. Ye are bleeding all o’er the place!” she said, trying to grab his arm to examine it.

  “I said tis nothing!” he barked, stepping aside to avoid her hand.

  “Oy, ye stubborn fool! Ye have come here to ask fer help, and now ye will no’ accept it?”

  Fallon figured that if he was injured, then it was probable he wasn’t lying about losing his horse. After all, Nathanial’s men did have a fourth horse with them. Perhaps this man was attacked in the woods and honestly did need her help. If that were the way of it, she might reconsider helping the stranger. It was, after all, the good Christian thing to do. Damn her soft heart.

  “Fine, I will consider allowing ye to borrow my horse, if ye agree to return it. But first, I must see to yer wound. Ye willnae get far if ye bleed to death, and I intend to have my horse returned. Ye cannae verra well do that if ye are dead, now can ye?”

  The man let out a loud huff, but gave a sharp nod, giving in to her request.

  “Come inside so we can get it washed. I can no’ inspect it wit’ it bleedin’ like that.” Does the man never smile?

  Against her better judgement, Fallon led the man inside her home and pulled a chair out for him to sit.

  “If ye try anything or are misleading me in any way, I have no problem giving ye a matching wound on the other arm,” she warned.

  “Ye have my word.”

  “Well I
dinna know ye so yer word does no’ mean much.”

  “I understand.”

  She saw him tilt his head to the side and watch her from the corners of his eyes, as if considering something. Grabbing a pitcher of water, she poured it into a basin and retrieved a clean cloth.

  “Ye may have to remove yer shirt, though there is little material left to call it a shirt. I should have a spare tunic ye can have.”

  The dark-haired man pulled his shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Placing his injured arm on the table, he sat in silence; his jaw clamped so tight a muscle twitched in his left cheek. Turning to face him, Fallon’s eyes casually surveyed the rest of him. She couldn’t help noticing the ripped muscles along his stomach nor could she miss the scrapes and bruising along his rib cage on his left side. Her eyes trailed the dark patch of hair that lightly peppered down the center of his chest to his belly button. It had been years since Fallon had seen a man such as him and by God was he magnificent to look at, even with the scars and bruises.

  Assessing the rest of him, she noticed several other scars along his arms, hands and stomach that had been healed for some time now. He was a warrior, that was certain, and most would consider him the fiercer and braver for his scars. But Fallon’s personal opinion was that the collections of scars indicated that as a warrior, he was quite a fearless one.

  Fallon sat next to him at the table and slowly began to unravel the bandage. The mangled flesh along his arm had been torn from his wrist to his elbow. She was not at all surprised to discover that it was already infected.

  “This may hurt a bit,” she warned, picking up the cloth and wiping away the dried blood.