The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “I do hope that I am not speaking out of turn, miss, but I wish to tell you that I am deeply sorry for the loss of your brother. I have offered my prayers on your behalf. Master James was a good man, very kind. I have asked the Lord to keep you comforted,” Charlotte said bravely, yet with a respectful timidity.

  “Thank you, Charlotte. Your words do, indeed, bring comfort. James was a kind soul and I shall miss him greatly. Thank you,” Isabel replied, choking back her tears.

  Isabel’s internal dialogue was that of a darker desire than merely finding comfort. Her need was for vengeance. That the Mccallion Clan would brutalize her family so, merely for the money, was dreadful to consider. Yet something inside of her knew that there was more to this raid than greed.

  Mccallion villains, she thought. James should never have trusted Edan. This was surely his own doing. And for that, he is going to pay.

  In times past, the Mccallion Clan had been robbers and thieves, but never murderers. They planned this. She had heard that Edan was not yet Laird, but he would soon be, and he surely had great authority in the clan already. He had betrayed his friend, Isabel was certain of it. She knew not why, but it had to have been so. Nothing else made sense.

  “Charlotte,” Isabel broke the silence as her servant fluffed the gown where the hem touched the floor.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  “I need to get away for a time. To clear my head. I am thinking to ask my father to allow me a short journey. Perhaps we will leave tomorrow or the following day. Please be ready for whatever his response,” Isabel was slowly formulating the plan as she spoke. Usually, she would plan ahead, but she had not planned for her brother’s murder, and now she would find the steps along the way.

  “As you wish, my lady,” Charlotte agreed, ignoring the internal dread of a long journey when the rains were sure to come pouring during the week.

  Dinner approached, and Isabel descended the long, curving staircase. Candles lit the interior of the grand home as darkness laid hold of the skies beyond the walls. She reached the lower floor and entered into the dining hall where her father sat at the head of the table. A glass filled to the brim with wine was held in his hand. Isabel saw the way he swayed slightly and his one eye shone as glass, and knew that it must not be his first.

  To the left of the Duke, his brother Ezra sat firmly, looking on him with compassion. A number of lords and ladies filled the other spaces, and Isabel sat in her usual chair. Only one seat remained unoccupied. To the right of her father, the space belonging to James was a lonely reminder of their pain.

  Rapidly raising, and subsequently spilling, his glass of wine, the Duke of Gordon gargled, “To my son!” The portion that had remained in the glass was chugged in one go and what had spilled before dripped into his sleeve.

  Throughout the dinner, the same toast was made numerous times. Each time, the red stain on the Duke’s sleeve grew from the extra splashes. The dinner party was awkward and uncomfortable, and Isabel knew that her father being drunk beyond his wits might be just what she needed to sneak out.

  Indeed, once the guests departed, she walked her father to his room where his attendants were waiting to change him for bed.

  She stopped just outside his door. “Father?” she asked. “I wanted to ask you if I might be allowed to travel with Charlotte to clear my head? I would wish to leave in the morning, and I shall return three days hence.” Her heart beat quickly at the lie. She knew that in his right mind, her father would never let her go. Especially now that he had lost his beloved son, the idea of Isabel leaving seemed too great a risk.

  “Yes, yes, my dear. Anything you wish is yours,” he mumbled sluggishly under his breath.

  “Thank you, father. You are most kind. Now I shall help you get to your attendants.” She handed him off to one of the men waiting to ready him for bed.

  “Do you think that is wise, niece? Do you think yourself clever for taking such advantage of his drunken pain? Your father shall have a fit in the morning if you be gone. Yet, I think you know this and merely have no care as such. What selfishness you must possess to be so careless in this season!” Ezra bellowed in the hallway.

  Feigning intense fear at the accusations, Isabel lied, “Uncle, you do not understand. It is not at all what you assume. I assure you, I simply wish to go south and clear my head. You misunderstand, truly.”

  “Do not toy with me, girl. I will not believe you, but I will allow your father to make his own judgment in the morning. You had better pray that the Lord will go before you,” he said harshly. His eyes betrayed nothing. He did not wish for her safety, only a harsh penance for her disloyalty to her father in asking him while he was witless.

  “You need not believe me. My father is the duke, and he has permitted me to go. I follow his authority, not yours. I will return in three days as promised,” Isabel said confidently. She turned to leave, giving her uncle her back.

  Once she reached her bedchambers, she saw that her hands were shaking. She tried to steady them, but they would not. The cold from the funeral rains still chilled her, even more so the coldness in Ezra’s eyes.

  “Charlotte,” she called. “Ready a hot bath for me. And pack warm clothes for us both. We shall be departing early tomorrow. Before sunrise. Alert the stable boy, we need a horse cart and a driver.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Charlotte was in for a very busy evening. She stoked the fire before preparing the bath. While Isabel bathed, she informed the stable boy of their need and returned to pack a few gowns and blankets for the proposed three-day journey.

  In the bathing room, Isabel stepped out of the tub after washing and analyzed her body in the long, mirrored walls. She was quite thin, but her years had developed an ample bosom and rounded hips, accentuated by the corsets she wore. At one point in the evening she had considered disguising herself as a man for the journey and remain unrecognized and perhaps appear as a better adversary for Edan, but she knew that her figure would never allow for such a falsehood to pass.

  She dried herself and Charlotte assisted her in dressing for bed, and then left the room. The moment she blew out the candle, she smiled and whispered a promise.

  Tonight, I rest. Tomorrow I will set out for revenge! May God have mercy on any one who stands in my way!

  Chapter 2

  Edan sat quietly considering the events of the previous week. His dearest friend – a man for whom he would die – murdered by his own clan. Days later, he was officially declared Laird of the Clan Mccallion. His mother appeared for the ceremony – one of the first times he had seen her leave her bedchambers since the death of his father over a year ago. It had been an overwhelming six days, to be sure.

  “Ye dinnae look overly thrilled, to be honest, me Laird,” Caitriona said, stressing her brother’s new title. She knew he was in shock and grief and confusion while also being thrust into power and authority over the whole clan.

  Edan sighed. “Aye, I’m thrilled. But ye ken this is a lot for a few days.”

  “Dinnae worry, ye Titan. Uncle Callum has trained ye well and it isnae like ye’ve got to solve all our problems in a fortnight. I’m certain they’ll give ye at least a month to fix it all,” she teased. Caitriona knew her teasing held sway over her brother’s moods. No amount of distress or anguish of his could stand against the teasing of his sister. She was barely a year younger than he, but most of the time, he felt that she was the one caring for him and not the other way around.

  He gave a laugh, but the gloom quickly returned. “I ken it’s true, he has taught me well, but I cannae help wishing it were Faither who’d trained me.

  Or that I didnae become a Laird in the first place, he thought to himself. An honor it is to be sure, but not like this. Not when I have to decide between the death of me friend and the safety of me clan. Nobody warned me about this.

  “Ye’d be foolish to wish anything otherwise,” she replied gently. “But … It seems that this be the card ye were dealt and ye’d best accept it a
nd be the Laird we want ye to be. My big brother, Laird of the Mccallion Clan, Ruler of the Highlands, a Man Among Men!” she burst with enthusiasm. Again, he found himself powerless to her joy.

  “Ye are the most annoying sister ever!” he joked.

  “Aye, it seems likely,” she replied. “Now, come me Laird, join me in yer kingdom, yer subjects await.” Caitriona pulled his hand so that Edan would have to stand and follow her. She was small, but sturdy, with a stout frame and dark hair like their mother’s. Edan had the burgundy shade that had once belonged to his father. Like both their parents, they each had light blue eyes, with the big and round shape of their mother’s.

  “Ye are quite the brute,” Edan commented on her strength.

  “And I’ll be taking that as a near and dear compliment. I think I’ll be a warrior, maybe even the next Laird. I can chop me hair right off,” she replied. Then adding in hushed tones, “I can even stuff something into a pair of trousers, and everyone will believe I’ve got bullocks as big as yers!”

  “One of these days, ye’ll have to start watching that mouth of yers. Ye dinnae have any bullocks, but yer mouth sure makes up for the lack. And it’s certainly bigger than the junk I’ve seen on any bull,” he teased back.

  “Aye, it is rather large. But I havenae any intention of marrying soon so I dinnae ken why I’d need to change it now. I’ll be a girl later. I’ll parade me bosoms like that old hag Morvan and her daughter Lorna! Have ye seen the rack that mother passed to daughter? I could suckle the whole of the island had I those beasts,” she added crassly.

  “Will ye please, for heaven’s sake, calm yer tongue?” he nearly begged.

  “I’ll calm me tongue when ye aren’t looking so knackered and miserable. I say it all to shock ye and it does the trick, dinnae deny it,” she justified with a twinge of seriousness. Deep down, Caitriona was truly worried for her brother. His sadness had grown great since the death of his dear friend at the hands of his own clansmen.

  Their uncle, Callum, had been a temporary Laird during the ambush, since the death of Edan’s father until he was old enough to take the position. It was now up to Edan to deal with the matter, and there were still so few answers as to what truly happened and how it must be handled.

  Edan and Caitriona went into the main hall where they could dine and drink with their friends and relatives. Their mother had returned to her bedchambers and not been seen again since the ceremony to give Edan his Lairdship. He did not expect to see her again soon. Since his father’s death, she had been inconsolable, and he was unsure if she would ever recover. If a year had not been sufficient time, how would five?

  I cannae blame her. I’d be hiding too if I had the option, he considered.

  “Here he is! Cheers to the Laird!” shouted one of the men in the hall, raising his cup of whiskey. The other men joined in raising theirs, grateful for the excuse to down another swig.

  “Aye, cheers to ye, me brother,” Caitriona whispered only to Edan amidst the vast noise and raucous activity in the hall.

  “Thank ye for the strength ye always possess,” he replied, grateful that she cared for him so.

  “And for me wicked tongue?” she inquired.

  “Aye, thank ye for that as well,” he said with a smirk.

  The evening commenced with festivities and drinking. Edan tried to forget the burden of what must be to come in handling the situation of the ambush and the injury of the Duke of Gordon and murder of his friend. As deep as his sadness was, he could not imagine the pain felt by the Duke and his brother at having lost James.

  He also knew that James had had a sister who must now be in grave mourning for her heroic brother. And it was up to him to keep his clan safe despite the awareness of their responsibility in this matter. How could he support his family and friends when he knew they were the cause of James’s death?

  Before the evening had finished, he had called for a meeting with his counsel the following day in which plans and decisions could be made how to proceed. The group that had led the ambush knew they were courting their doom but would not share details of what happened and would not betray one another. Not only that, but they had been under the lead of Callum, his uncle, during the ambush.

  Callum knew well his nephew’s affection for James. Edan could not help wondering what he had been thinking when he allowed the battle to ensue against the three Englishmen and their guards. Could it truly be that his uncle wanted them dead? He had far less care for the English, having lived through greater turmoil at their hands.

  “Me Laird,” came the hushed tone of Robert, his friend and confidant who sat in his counsel. With a motion of the hand, he urged Edan to come closer and into the dark.

  “What is it, ye pillock?” he joked, nervous at the seriousness on his friend’s face. Robert looked grim.

  “Cormag. I finally got it from Alistair. It was Cormag who charged forth and cut down yer friend. I dinnae ken what to say, my Laird. It isnae a secret that Cormag hates ye, but I never would hae thought him to go this far,” he said sadly.

  Anger and bile rose from the pits of Edan’s stomach. He could feel the rapid beating beneath the muscle of his chest. Broad hands clenched in fists and his jaw tightened beneath the auburn stubble. This was not what he had bargained for. Cormag’s hatred of him had always been born from jealousy, but even with the constant conflict between the two, Edan could never have imagined such a brutal betrayal. And how could he defend his clan in the midst of this atrocity? How could he stand for them when he felt such shame and disgust at their actions?

  “Thank ye for the report, Robert,” he finally breathed through clenched teeth. “And by the way, only call me Laird in front of the others. I appreciate the respect from ye, but ye are no servant of mine. I’m still yer friend.”

  Robert nodded and departed, giving Edan time to breathe and consider the news he had just shared with him. The following morning they would discuss and make decisions.

  Chapter 3

  “Charlotte, are you quite certain he brought the correct trunk? I have two of a similar color, and it was so dark this morning, I thought it was the navy. You are certain it was not the black?” Isabel tried to confirm for the fourth time. The black trunk contained trinkets from her youth, but after Charlotte packed the navy one for their journey, Isabel had snuck in a bundle of knives.

  “I am certain my lady. I packed it last evening and set it by the door. I do not think there would have been any way for the coachman to have picked the wrong one. The black was in your closets,” Charlotte clarified, as she had done each time before.

  Isabel’s love for planning was taking its toll on her now that she was formulating her idea as she went along. It was unusual for her, and she did not know if it would be her undoing.

  Perhaps my uncle was right, she thought. I haven’t thought this through and there is so much risk.

  She had told the man to drive north, past the border and with great speed. Within perhaps another three or four hours, she knew they would reach the lands of the Clan Mccallion. The speed made for a bumpy ride in the back of the coach.

  Outside they heard the driver pushing the two horses forward quickly. If all went according to plan, they would be spending the better part of the day at the mercy of the clan, at which point Isabel would try to get close to Edan. Perhaps it would take a day, perhaps it would take twenty. Or perhaps she would be the next body lowered into the ground beside her brother.

  “My lady,” Charlotte began bravely. “Do you think it wise to travel north? I mean not to question you, but considering the events of the past week, I worry for you.”

  Isabel looked compassionately at Charlotte, thinking for the first time about the risk she was putting her and the young coachman at by bringing them on this journey.

  “Fear not, I will do my best to keep you safe should anything occur. I am the only one who is truly in danger. It is money they want, and I am certain we shall avoid them at all costs anyway. Do not be afraid,
dear Charlotte,” she reassured, despite her internal awareness of the fact that she could make no such guarantee.

  The journey was otherwise quiet save for the continued bumps and snorts of the horses being pushed to their limits by the weight of the carriage. They had to make a stop here and there to feed and give the beasts water. They stopped, perhaps, more than necessary as the coachman was uniquely attached to the horses and he hated to see them working so hard.

  But just at the point when Isabel thought they might be traveling for an eternity, the sound of the coachman fearfully uttering a woah to his horses sparked hope in her heart. She peered out the window and saw that, indeed, a raiding party had come. The coach and horses were worth a significant amount and, for the first time, Isabel realized that they would likely go through her trunk as well. She hadn’t planned for that, and she felt utterly senseless for not thinking it through further.