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

by April Holthaus

  “Dinna be afraid, lad. Remember what I said. Brave men dinna cry!”

  Brave men dinna cry.

  They were the same words his father, Aldrich spoke the night he found young Rylan alone in the woods. And after all these years, he had a better appreciation for all Aldrich had done for him.

  Braeden wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Sniffling, he held his head high and nodded. His act of courage would have made Fallon proud.

  “Alright, you have seen the boy,” Nathanial said from his chair on the dais.

  He waved to his guards. One of them grabbed Braeden by the upper arm and began hauling him out of the room.

  “Nay…nay!” Braeden cried as he struggled with one of the guards.

  The guard did not anticipate Braeden’s next move, and frankly neither did Rylan. Stomping hard on his captor’s foot, Braeden slipped his thin wrist out of the husky guard’s hand and snatched his dagger from his belt. The guard laughed when Braeden pointed the blade toward him.

  “Best drop the knife, boy, if you know what is good for you,” the guard warned.

  But Braeden refused to listen. Quick as a rabbit, Braeden stepped forward and swung, slicing the man’s hand. The guard balled his fist and raised his hand to strike Braeden in retaliation, but Nathaniel who caught it in mid-swing stopped his hand.

  “I said the boy was not to be harmed,” Nathanial said sternly.

  “The boy attacked me. He should learn some respect,” the guard angrily replied.

  “I have no reason to believe that wound will be the end of you. Question me again, and you will have more to worry about than a simple cut on your hand.” Turning to Braeden, Nathanial assessed the boy. "You're a brave lad, and will be a fine warrior someday—but not just yet," as he snatched the knife from Braeden’s hand. “Return him to his room,” Nathanial ordered.

  As the door closed behind them, Rylan and Nathanial were left alone in the room.

  “I have kept to my part of the bargain so what have you to give in return?”

  “I wonder. Have they ever found yer father’s killer?”

  Nathanial’s demeanor suddenly changed like the wind. He stared at Rylan for a long while before speaking.

  “Had I not seen with my own two eyes, I would never have believed it. My mother spoke at length about my father’s whore and her bastard child. They searched for you for a long time.”

  “And now ye know, Brother,” Rylan said.

  “Do not address me as your brother! You are my father’s bastard. You are nothing to me but a dead man, and I will see to it that you pay for your crimes.”

  “Guards,” Nathanial hollered, as two guards raced in. “Get this filth out of my sight.”

  At the bottom of a long, spiraled set of stairs descending to the basement, the guards led Rylan down a dark narrow hallway. Stopping in front of one of the doors, they opened it andtossed Rylan inside. The smell of stale piss and rat feces burned in his nostrils as he stumbled inside. He heard the click of the lock on the door behind him, and the jingling sound of keys faded as the guards returned to their posts.

  Rylan was partly impressed with his temporary accommodations. He half expected to be chained to the wall or stuffed inside a small room with fifty other men. But instead of being trapped in an overcrowded rat’s nest, his cell was barren and offered a pallet of dry hay, with even a pot to piss in. He was being treated like bloody royalty, by prison standards.

  Rylan walked to his pallet and laid down. A small sliver of moonlight shined in through the bars of a narrow window near the top of the wall illuminating the room. Shadows danced along the brick and mortar as passing clouds swept across the sky.

  Rylan paced, listening to the sound of rushing water from outside his window sloshing against the rocks that surrounded the castle wall. The sound of water meant his cell faced east of the lake. It also meant that the dungeons were near the outbuildings, the furthest point from the castle tower and below the guard house. Orienting his thoughts, he considered the possibility of escape. It would take weeks to dig through the crumbling walls around the window frame to dislodge the bars, and that was only possible if he had the right tools.

  Rylan knew very well he could have taken on the three guardsmen in the woods, but as Nathanial assumed, allowing himself to become captured had lead him right to a reward: Braeden. It was also the only way to gain entrance into the heart of the keep.

  A pinch of guilt stung his heart that he had deceived Fallon, but he did what needed to be done in order to keep her safe. As long as Fallon understood his message, she should be half way to the abbey by now, and should be able to find protection there allowing Rylan enough time to find her son and ensure he was safe.

  Even in the last hours of his life, Rylan remained steadfast as he faced the cold eyes of death; still unmoved by his fate. Death was not something any man could escape.

  Lying on the hard, stone ground laden with hay, he waited for the sun to rise and the guards to come. Throughout the night, he filtered through his memories, searching for those, which made him the happiest, but his mind became clouded with thoughts of Fallon.

  Left with an unfathomable emotion he would never explore, guilt weighed heavy on his heart. His only comfort he had was knowing that her son would be protected and far away from the dragon’s lair.

  Rylan woke from a deep slumber as the cell door flew open, crashing against the wall. Two of the tower guards pulled Rylan off the ground and out of his cell.

  “You are coming with us,” one of them said. “Lord Blackwell wanted us to see to it that you are given better accommodations.”

  The other guard chuckled.

  Turning the corner, they walked down a long hall to the exit. Kicking open one of the doors near the far end, it led to a downward staircase. One of the guards tugged at Rylan’s iron chains as the other reached for a lit torch on the wall.

  The stairwell was dark and where they were heading was even darker. Further and further, they descended as if walking down to the bowels of hell. When light from the torch illuminated the landing at the bottom of the stairs, mice skittered across the floor.

  Opening the door at the bottom of the stairs, they pushed Rylan inside the dark and empty room. He collapsed onto the floor, tripping over his chains. Disoriented, he was unable to regain his balance and composure.

  “I heard they call you Rylan. Isn’t that so? So…the infamous Wolf has a name. You don’t remember me, do you?” the guard asked.

  Rylan looked up at the unfamiliar man, but said nothing in return.

  “I was there that day you killed my cousin Jamie,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “But that wasn’t a fair fight. Jamie wasn’t supposed to die, and you cheated him of what was meant to be an honorable man-to-man fight. And now I’m here on behalf of his mother who wishes to see you rot in a shallow grave.”

  Taking advantage of his vulnerability, the guard lunged at Rylan in full assault.

  Kicks to the head, the stomach and groin caused immeasurable pain to radiate throughout Rylan’s body. The sounds of laughter and ridicule were muffled by Rylan’s groans and cries, which echoed off the cemented stone walls. Rylan tried to block the pain; focusing his mind, but with each blow of the steel-toed boot a new swell of pain emanated. Rylan began to spit up blood. His muscles tensed, and his body convulsed.

  He could beg. He could plead. But Rylan knew that no amount of begging for mercy would make them stop. All he could do now was pray for a quick death.

  Chapter 15

  It had been days since Fallon had seen the face of another. Wandering through the woods, she walked tiredly through a dense forest of never-ending trees and shrubbery. With no path or directions to guide her, she continued to head south toward Falstone.

  Ever mindful of her surroundings, Fallon carried on with caution. She was on English soil and unfamiliar ground. As Fallon walked deeper into the woods, the wind began to die and heat swelled.

  As the leaves settled,
Fallon could hear the burbling sound of rushing water nearby. Following the thrumming sound, she came upon a shallow brook. The surface of the water glinted with sparkles of light as chords of sunlight speared down through the canopy. It was calm, but her peace and serenity were soon disrupted by boorish grunts and moans from across the shallow current. Instinctively, Fallon hid behind a patch of ferns, keeping low to the ground as the sounds neared.

  On her hands and knees, she watched as the shrubbery began to move about. The long grass parted, and to Fallon’s surprise, a tiny man emerged. Fallon had never seen a man with a child-sized body and adult-like features. The small man sluggishly walked towards the brook; his short legs waddling like a goose. With one swoop of his hand, he lifted the bottom of his jerkin and pulled out his manhood for all Mother Nature to see before Fallon had time to realize what he was doing. Blushing, Fallon was quick to divert her eyes as the not-so-tiny man relieved himself.

  Once she was sure, he was quite finished, Fallon glanced back toward him to see if he had gone, but he stood quietly, taking in the scenery. He bore no colors or insignia. Instead, he wore a plain yellow-stained tunic underneath a brown leather jerkin and matching brown trews. His hair was an auburn color and curly, but it was short and tangled.

  At least he did not appear dangerous. Once the thought popped in her head, Fallon fought against it, but it had been days since she had last seen anyone in this god-forsaken forest and there was no better opportunity than the one facing her right now. If she were to make it to Falstone, she needed help. And other than his blatant disregard for urinating in front of her, though through no fault of his own, he did not appear to be a dangerous man. Biting her bottom lip, Fallon stood.

  “Excuse me,” she said with a timid voice.

  “Ach, you have startled me, my lady.”

  He’s English!

  Oh dear, she thought, worried he would turn her over to the guards.

  “I do apologize,” she said in her best English accent, hoping to hide her identity.

  The small man seemed to survey his surroundings, appearing on guard as if he was expecting an ambush.

  “I can assure you I am quite alone,” she assured him.

  He studied her for a moment before speaking.

  “And why would a woman be out in the woods alone with no horse or escort?” he asked.

  “My horse ran off when I stopped by the creek to rest, and I did not have anyone accompanying me,” she lied.

  Fallon saw no good reason to explain the truth. He did not look like a man of God, and confessions were merely for church, so she owed him no explanation.

  “The woods are a dangerous place for a lady to be out riding alone.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she proudly explained.

  The wee-sized man smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “And where, may I ask, were you heading?”

  “Falstone,” she replied, fearing she had given him too much information already.

  “You have quite a way to go before you reach the city of Falstone, nearly two days ride. However, by the direction you were heading, you would reach Carlisle long before you would ever reach Falstone. Falstone is that way. To the east,” he said pointing behind her.

  Fallon turned in the direction he was pointing. It was in the direction completely opposite that which she had been traveling since nightfall.

  Ach! All this wasted time and effort and she was not even heading in the right direction. Fallon buried her face in her hands.

  “Tell me again how you lost your horse?”

  Feeling deflated, Fallon slowly walked to a large boulder and sat.

  “Seems to me your story is a bit fabricated with you meddling about spying on me,” the little man groused.

  “Spying?” she said in confusion from his blatant allegation. “I did no such thing.”

  “Were you not watching me taking a piss just now?”

  Fallon angrily bit her tongue, as any response would have admitted she did in fact witness the deed.

  “Ah…you’re blushing, my lady.”

  “Then you must be colored-blind,” she spat.

  The dwarf chuckled.

  “If ye are just going to mock me, I have little patience to hear it. As ye mentioned, Falstone is quite a distance away and I must take my leave. Good day,” she responded in a fit of anger as she stood and began to stomp away from the rude little creature.

  “My lady, I’d be careful in these woods. I need not remind you that you are on English soil and your accent is slipping.”

  Fallon froze at his remark. She had not realized what she had done.

  “You don’t have to worry, my lady. Your secret is safe with me,” he said, his voice more calming now that he had her full attention. “You may be able to fool others, my lady, but I know a Scottish accent when I hear one and a bad English one as well.”

  Fallon kept her back to him, afraid to turn around as fear elevated within her. How could she have been so foolish?

  “I am no Englishman if that is what you are afraid of. My name is Vorwen Nørgaard, and I’m Danish, not English. I am simply a merchant making my way up the coast to the marketplace of Bellingham. I know it sounds absurd, the thought of a Danish dwarf, but I assure you it’s the truth.”

  Fallon slowly turned to face him.

  “I know nothing of Dwarves,” she admitted.

  “Then you don’t know what you are missing,” he said with a raised brow.

  “What do ye sell?” she wondered.

  “A little of this, a little of that. I am a very important man where I am from,” he said putting a strong emphasis on the word little as the word rolled off his lips.

  His smile made Fallon quietly giggle.

  “And as we are being honest, what has brought you here to the land of Lords and Ladies?”

  “They kidnapped my son and took my companion hostage. They are both being held at Falstone,” she admitted, looking down, her shoulders slumped.

  “I am sorry.”

  “Dinna be. I have every intention of getting them back.”

  “Perhaps I may be of some assistance.”

  “I dinna see how.”

  “Dinna be so quick to underestimate me, my lady. I have an abundance of resources. And it so happens that I have a cart which can take you as far as the River Tyne. It may not be all the way, my lady, but I can get you close.”

  “Very well then. When do we leave?”

  “Follow me.”

  Fallon stepped on the rocks, keeping her slippers dry as she crossed the meandering shallow stream. They climbed to the very top of the hill. Waiting ever so patiently was a chestnut-colored horse pulling a small wagon with the strap that hung low around its massive neck. Within the cart, however, were four restless swine fretfully moving about the small man had forgotten to mention.

  “Pigs? You sell pigs?” she said undermining his “important” role.

  Vorwen chuckled.

  “No, my lady. I am not a pig merchant; however, they do provide good companionship when one travels alone.”

  Fallon’s brow furrowed at his nonsensical remark.

  “Ye are a curious man, Vorwen.”

  “Most dwarves are, I suppose. Shall we make haste?”

  “Aye.”

  Fallon inwardly smiled, feeling a great sense of accomplishment for the first time in days. She prayed luck would follow her on her journey. Slipping her foot inside the stirrup, she mounted the tall creature and sat far back on the saddle as she waited for Vorwen to mount. After only a few failed attempts to climb in the saddle, he mounted in front and snapped the reins.

  Fallon gazed over the terrain of spotted trees and golden meadows as Vorwen led the horse eastward. Her mind raced in circles, consumed with thoughts of her son. No matter how many reasons she could come up with, Fallon could not fathom an explanation as to Nathanial’s motivation for taking him. He could have taken him any time during the past seven years, so why no
w? Her only explanation was now that Nathanial was Lord of Falstone; perhaps he needed to appoint a successor. Nevertheless, the thought of Nathanial molding her son into another pompous English Lord and brainwashing him against his own people caused her stomach to churn like the tide.

  Fallon knew this day would come. She feared it every day. But when Nathanial publicly denied his paternity, she thought she had no reason to fear losing her son. She was wrong.

  There were stories that came to her through whispers of several Scottish children taken from their homes who’d been either sold or adopted by English families. It was the English King’s way to weed out the Scots and raise the children in his image with his ideologies. Was that what was to become of Braeden? It was not a question of how, but when. What greater enemy was there than one who took children from their homes and turned them against their own blood?

  For hours, they rode through wooded groves and endless meadows until they reached the outskirts of a large city. Like a long divide parting the north from the south, a stone wall, stacked no higher than the height of the average man, stretched across the land. On the other side of the wall, the township occupied a great expanse with a number of structures scattered around the city. Towering over the small homes and buildings stood a grand cathedral. Its bell towers emerged like mighty spears reaching toward the sky.

  As they neared a break in the wall, they stopped for a moment to admire a newly constructed archway that led into the city. Depictions of faces were deeply carved within the arched alcoves high on the wall with the Latin words: congregabo omnes homines, “all men may gather” written underneath.

  “This is Bellingham, my lady, and as far as I can take you.”

  “I am very thankful for your kindness for escorting me this far, Vorwen.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Vorwen, with so many guards, do ye think it is safe to cross the wall into the village?” Fallon asked.

  “Hadrian’s Wall has been here for centuries. It was built by the Romans to keep out the northern savages. But fear not, my lady, as there are no Roman’s here,” he jested.