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

by April Holthaus

  The weather was promising as clouds covered most of the sky, shading him from the hot sun. The humid air, however, did little to keep him cool.

  Rylan had never met a woman quite like Fallon before. There was much mystery about her that Rylan wanted to unveil. He could spend all day peeling back each layer at a time just to learn more about her. But as stubborn as she was, she had given him little to go by. There were many secrets, but sadly, he had little time to discover them. The only mystery he did reveal was the taste of her sweet strawberry lips.

  At first, Rylan paid little attention to the spark of attraction he felt for her, but now that she was out of sight, he found himself thinking of nothing else. Not only was Fallon smart and cunning, but beautiful. She had the warmest amber-colored eyes that burned in the back of his mind like embers. They haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

  It was not like Rylan to be distracted by a woman. In fact, he swore up and down that he would never allow himself that kind of distraction.

  Rylan wrestled with himself, trying to convince himself that she was not his concern. He had his own problems and duties, not to mention he needed to return to the King’s castle within the fortnight. King James was to set sail for France and Rylan and the other protectors were bound by oath to travel with him.

  Since James was still a relatively young king, the threat against him put Scotland in an uproar. There were those who opposed James’ ruling and others who had begun to secretly support his uncle Henry, the King of England.

  Just the past year, several leaders of the Highland clans had been charged with treason against the crown. No one was to be trusted, even his own clan. The MacKays were in the midst of a war with the Sutherlands in an effort to return to their rightful home in Varrich. With war at their front door, no one could predict the future of his clan. His laird, Ian MacKay, was desperate to return his clan to their rightful place but Rylan did not know at what cost. With war came sacrifice. In the end, there were no winners and no losers because both sides would suffer great loss.

  It was near nightfall when Rylan reached the gates outside Annandale Hall. The Duke’s red stone estate was tucked behind a wall of pines and a tall black iron gate. The yard was well manicured; even the shrubs were trimmed into circular forms. The home was meant to resemble Charles’s estate in southern England. Charles De Walt held many titles and land from the southernmost tip of Scotland to a small villa in France. He had great influence and the English King’s ear. He resided in Scotland as an advocate to help sustain peace and order between the two feuding countries.

  As Rylan rode up to the gates, two of Charles’s guardsmen, dressed in blue and red attire, greeted him.

  “Who are you?” one of them asked.

  “I am Rylan Arnett of Varrich, the rightful home of Clan MacKay. I am here to seek an audience with Sir Charles De Walt.”

  “Leave your weapon,” the guard said as he swung open the gate door.

  Rylan unlatched his sword belt and tossed it to the guard. Dismounting, he followed a long gravel pathway that led to the door of the large estate. Walking up the flight of steps to the front entrance, he found the Englishman waiting on the top step. He was dressed in a long, elegantly designed, cream-colored doublet that reached to his knees, layered with a blue velvet mantle.

  “Rylan Arnett. Now here is a man I do not come across very often. It is good to see you again, old friend. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit, and so late in the day?” Charles asked in a deep voice.

  “It is good to see ye as well, Sir De Walt. I hope I am no’ disturbing ye.”

  “No. Not at all. I have just returned from a rather engaging dinner, but no need to discuss politics. What can I do for you?”

  “I have come wit’ a request, but perhaps over a dram of whiskey?” Rylan said as he followed Charles inside.

  “Very well,” Charles said, leading the way to the sitting room.

  The room was painted bright white with several windows allowing the light to enter. Pictures of floral designs and naked women were hung high on the walls and bookshelves were stacked with books and nautical décor.

  “Do ye travel much on the high seas?” Rylan asked as he kept his attention on a wooden model of an old Viking ship.

  “No. I do not care for much time at sea. Every time I travel my stomach whips and turns like the tide. But asking about my various expeditions is not why you have come.”

  So much for English pleasantries.

  “I am requesting that ye pen a letter to the King’s Counsel in London.” Rylan pulled a piece of parchment from his tunic and held it out for Charles. “There is a warrant for arrest on my head, and I am asking for a full pardon.”

  Charles put on his spectacles and began reading the letter.

  “You are asking for them to dismiss a murder charge? I don’t know how well that will go over after you have slayed Jamie, the Sherriff of Yorkshire’s own nephew.”

  “I did it in self-defense, and ye bloody damn well know it. And that is where ye come in.”

  “I don’t see how my word would change much. Jamie was just recently honored with a new title. He was to become the new Lord of Rotherham, since the old Earl had died.”

  “Which is why I need fer ye to speak in my defense. I have no witnesses to support my claim. Ye have influence. Perhaps ye could have me named the Earl of Rotterdam, aye?” Rylan gave him a wink and lifted his whiskey for a sip, holding Charles’s gaze the entire time.

  “It’s not as easy as all that, and you know it,” Charles responded, his brows drawing together. “What do you have to offer to make it worth my while?”

  “Come now, Charles. Can you not think of a good reason to help me?”

  Charles’s eyes narrowed on him. He knew that Rylan was not asking. He was threatening. Rylan would not consider Charles a friend; they had done business together. Rylan knew nearly all his secrets. Even those that would cost him his own head. Charles could not deny Rylan’s request, and they both knew it.

  Rylan drew his lips up in a parody of a smile, but no mirth or goodwill reached his eyes. “Ye owe me Charles, and ye damn well know it.”

  Charles’s eyes darkened and his breath hitched. He finished his glass of whiskey in one large gulp, and then nodded. Clearing his throat, he ground out, “I will see to it and do what I must.”

  “Tis all I ask.”

  “Where are you headed now? Back to the Highlands, I suppose. Off to fight another battle.”

  “No’ quite yet. I have another issue I must attend to. Let me ask ye a question. Are ye familiar wit’ any clan business involving the Montgomerys?”

  “The Mongomerys? As far as I know, they are as loyal as ever to their King. Why do you ask?”

  “Just following up on something.”

  “If I hear anything different, I will be sure to send word.”

  “My thanks.” Rylan took another sip of his drink to hide his eagerness.

  James squinted as he watched Rylan. He knew the tactic well. “There is something…I can’t put my finger on. I have seen that look before.”

  “What look?” Rylan raised his hands, palms up, looking side to side.

  “Ah-ha! It is a woman, isn’t it? It’s always a woman.”

  Rylan stood, his voice low as he replied, “I dinna wish to discuss it.”

  “That is too bad. I’d say that it is about time you settled.” Charles looked Rylan up and down, and then chuckled.

  “The only settling I will be doing is atop my saddle.”

  After their brief discussion, Rylan left Charles’s estate to seek out a room for the night. The nearest town was Boreland. The town was small, but growing, and to Rylan’s relief he did not see any Englishmen. It would take days for Charles’s letter to arrive in London and from there it could take weeks until Rylan received word of his pardon.

  After obtaining a room at the local inn, Rylan stopped by the tavern to quench his thirst. He would stay the night, and i
n the morning, he would fulfill his promise and return the horse to Fallon before making his way back home.

  Grabbing a drink from the barmaid, he found a table near the back of the room. As he passed a group of patrons, he recognized one of the Englishmen he had seen visiting Fallon’s farm a few days ago. Lowering his head, he snuck around back and found a table in the shadows behind a half wall that separated the bar from the dining hall.

  “Have you had any luck finding that Scot of yours?”

  “No. The bloody heathen must already be half way to the Highlands by now,” Everett replied.

  “Then why do you keep searching for him?”

  “Have you never heard of the Wolf before? The bastard has a bounty on his head so high I could afford to buy the Castle of Reeds and fill it with servants and coin. I’d be so rich I could piss wine.”

  The man chuckled.

  “So, where are you heading?”

  “There is a small farm house we searched earlier. I think I am going to head back there. It is owned by a woman who I have wanted for quite some time. I’m of a mind to taste her sweet honey,” Everett wickedly replied.

  Rylan’s grip on his glass tightened at the mention of Fallon. The idea of this filthy swine even considering laying a hand on her made his nostrils flare and blood burn.

  Just then, the door to the tavern swung open and a mob of English guards blew in like leaves on a windy day. God’s teeth! Where are they coming from? I didn’t see a one earlier. Loud and distracting, they hollered for ale as they began moving tables and chairs around to accommodate their party. Rylan looked back to Everett’s table, but he was already gone.

  Rylan threw back his shot of whiskey. Obligated by duty, but bound by honor. Rylan believed he had little choice. He had to save her. He raced to his room to retrieve his belongings, then to the stables. Mounting as quickly as he could, Rylan furiously rode back toward Fallon’s farm. Tomorrow would be too late.

  Chapter 8

  Fallon tightened the straps on the wagon. She had spent all afternoon collecting wheat and other grain that had been gathered, and stacked them high on top of the wagon.

  “Have ye finished filling the crates?” she asked Leoric, who was placing the last two onions inside the wooden crate.

  “Aye, my lady,” he said carrying the box to the wagon and setting it on the end.

  “Leoric. I think that’s it. Ye should be able to take off now.”

  “Is the wee Braeden joining me on my journey? I just dinna feel right leaving ye here all alone. Perhaps young Braeden should stay.”

  “I thank ye for yer concern, Leoric, but I will be fine. Besides, ye need Braeden’s help. The sooner ye leave, the sooner ye will return. Where is that lad by the way? I swear he is always running off,” Fallon asked.

  “I believe he returned inside to wait.”

  “Verra well. I will make sure he is ready to go within the hour.”

  “Very good, my Lady.”

  Fallon walked back to the house and peeked in on Braeden, who had fallen asleep on his pallet waiting for Leoric to ready the horses. She walked to his bed and pulled back the covers to wake him. Lingering over him, she softly ran her fingers through his thick brown hair. He was such a precocious child. His curious nature made him want to grow up faster than Fallon was ready for. To her, he was still her baby, but in the eyes of man, he was a tiny warrior. Just as Rylan explained. She knew she could not hide him away from the world forever, but she was going to as long as she could.

  Like a waterfall, memories flooded her mind. Memories of good days, bad days and days long forgotten. The previous life she left behind was full of regret, but she couldn’t look back now. Since she moved to this little farm, it was the first time in her life she had been proud of her accomplishments. It had been the first time she could stand tall and prove herself to those who would have thought her incapable, but no more. When she placed a gentle kiss to his forehead, Braeden stirred awake.

  “Is it time to eat?” Braeden asked, always thinking of his stomach.

  “Aye, and Leoric is ready to take ye to the market.”

  At the mention of traveling into the village, Braeden jolted up faster than a spooked horse. His excitement motivated him to jump up from the pallet, toss his shirt over his head, run into the kitchen to grab an oatcake, and take off outside before Fallon even had time to bid him farewell. Slowly, she followed him outside to the wagon where Leoric was sitting on the bench seat holding the reins.

  “Leoric, when ye get there, make sure ye speak to Ricard MacMillan. He offers the best price for vegetables this time of year. In addition, please send my regards to Lady McVie on the birth of her new bairn. I believe this is her fifth and another lass. Poor Ronan will ne’er get the lad he’s been hoping fer. Tis a shame. A man cursed wit’ five daughters is a mon wit’ out heirs,” Fallon said with a soft giggle.

  “I will. We shall return this time tomorrow, my lady.”

  “God speed and safe travels.”

  Fallon returned to the empty, quiet house. Sitting in her wooden chair near the hearth, she picked up the embroidery she had been working on the past several weeks and continued working on her masterpiece.

  As she rocked back and forth, she felt a slight tug on her apron. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a familiar golden medallion. The image was worn with several nick marks and scratches. Fallon imagined it hanging around Rylan’s neck in the midst of battles. That image quickly turned into the arousing memory of Rylan’s naked backside. Her cheeks suddenly felt heated. Regardless of what she told Braeden, Fallon knew very well Rylan would come back, if not to return her horse, he would at least come for his medallion. He should have discovered that it was missing by now.

  Slipping the medallion back into her pocket, she continued her stitching. Thunder rumbled. Startled by the noise, Fallon dropped her needle. It hit the floor and rolled under the table. Kneeling to the floor, Fallon crawled under the table to retrieve it. Thunder rolled again. Fallon spun around to face the window and stretched to look through it. The sky was as blue as a field of bluebells, without a spot of cloud. Fallon realized she had mistaken the clap of a mighty storm with the roaring sound of hooves galloping down the cobblestone path.

  Is it Rylan? Has he returned so soon?

  Fallon scurried to the window. Her heart beat fast with anticipation. Peering out, she felt a pinch of disappointment when she identified a rider coming her way.

  “Everett. What could he want?” she whispered aloud.

  It was unusual for one of the twins to ride alone. Garrett and Everett were usually inseparable. Everett rode his horse into the yard. Dismounting quickly, he leapt to the ground and started to walk around. Fallon went out to greet him.

  “I did no’ expect ye to return. I thought Lord Blackwell and his men would be far gone by now and off Scottish soil.”

  “My orders have not come from Lord Blackwell.”

  “Well, as I already so kindly explained to yer Lord, there hasn’t been any travelers through here other than ye and yer men. So unless ye have come fer another reason, I cannae help ye.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but I like to be thorough.”

  “Verra well. Suit yerself, but if ye would excuse me, I have work to do,” she said, turning quickly away from him, but as she began to walk away, he forcefully grabbed her upper arm.

  His fingers dug into the muscle, his knuckles white. Fallon knew she would have a bruise where he held her, and hoped that was the worst that resulted from this visit.

  “Let us hope, my lady, that what you say is true and you are not harboring a fugitive. You will do well to remember had it not been for our generosity and protection you would not be able to afford this pathetic little farm of yours.”

  “Protection? Is that what ye call it? I would think to consider it brutality,” she said, yanking her arm out of his painful grasp.

  Everett disregarded her comment and started walking towards the barn.
Filling a bucket with corn, Fallon began to feed the chickens, purposely ignoring her unwelcome guest.

  “Where is that old blind man you call a servant?” Everett asked.

  “Leoric has taken my son to the market.”

  “Has he now? Not a very wise decision leaving you alone with a fugitive on the loose.”

  “Aye, well, as I said, we have no reason to believe that anyone would do us harm. We have no coin nor anything of value. And besides, we have Lord Blackwell’s sworn word that we would be protected. Isn’t that why ye are here?” she sarcastically reminded him.

  “Of course. With it being such a hot day today, perhaps it would be fitting to invite me in to your home and offer me a drink.”

  Fallon gritted her teeth.

  “Fine!”

  Entering the croft, Everett searched each room, claiming it was part of his job protecting her. Fallon allowed it, hoping he would finish his task and leave. Filling a tankard of ale, she set it before him on the table.

  “As ye can see, there is no one here. Will ye be leaving now?”

  “Well aren’t you a feisty wench?” he retorted as he slammed back the ale in one, then two gulps.

  Fallon hated being forced to put up with Blackwell’s men. She felt like a nail under their hammer.

  “I am just simply stating that I would no’ wish to waste yer time. Clearly there are other places to look.”

  “I think it is best I wait here, just a little while longer.”

  Fallon gave a soft smile and a sweet curtsy, though she wished she could bash him over the head with a chair. As she tried to walk past him, Everett forcefully grabbed her arm and slid the other around her waist, pulling her onto his lap.

  “Let go of me. I have work to do!” she demanded.

  “Your chores can wait.”

  Fallon struggled to stand, but his grip tightened.