What would her mother and father say? They would be so disappointed, so angry.
Marion felt a lump rise up her throat. She felt horrible for stealing and for leaving.
Maybe I should turn back.
No, I have to find my parents. I need answers. I cannot turn back, I cannot! How could I live a sheltered life, knowing what I know and having such a big unanswered question in my mind, a hole in my heart?
She convinced herself to go on.
The day dragged on, as did the next one. She stopped more frequently and asked for directions wherever she could. The ever-growing hunger was still pressing in her stomach, making her nauseated and clouding her already tired mind.
Next time, she was more careful. She would only sneak into a garden in the middle of the night, when she was sure the families were asleep. Marion never took more than what she needed, still feeling uneasy about taking from someone else. But to her surprise, though she still felt a hint of guilt, stealing got easier each time she filled her stomach.
By the fourth night, she thought she couldn’t be far from Scotland anymore. The scenery had changed, and the meadows were gone. Instead, she saw flatter moors, stony roads, and very few houses along her way.
The exhaustion started to take over her, and she felt her sore legs and arms. It became harder to keep her eyes open, so she dismounted and let Bells go and graze again. Marion leaned against a thick tree, letting her eyes close and her hands feel the hard, rocky ground beneath her.
The long journey, sleepless nights and lack of food finally got the best of her. She burst into tears and cried with all her heart.
Where am I supposed to go now? I don’t even know where to start! I don’t even know their names! What if they won’t remember me? Or will not want to see me?
Marion was sobbing into her hands.
Oh, what have I done? I left without a goodbye, talked back to my loving parents and acted like a common woman. I have stolen and disgraced the entire family. What will they think of me? Will they even take me back?
She kept sobbing uncontrollably, until a more horrifying thought entered her mind.
The Earl of Brookville… after he hears of what I have done, he will not marry me, that is certain. And no one else will either, for that matter. Oh, I will be an old maid, forever a burden to my parents.
Marion had ruined her life as she knew it.
Even if she were to return now, the damage was done. She had no other choice but to keep going, and hope that her search would produce results. At least she would have answers, she would know where she came from. And upon her return, she would beg for forgiveness from everyone. But she would think about that later, when the journey was over.
The sobs finally slowed down and ended as she drifted to sleep.
Marion woke up abruptly. She heard voices of men. She took a quick glance towards the road and saw a band of six men moving along the road.
“Ye’re such a dobber!” she heard one of the men yell and slap one of the other men on the back.
Oh no. I am in Scotland. They must be Highlanders!
Marion tried shifting herself behind the tree without making a sound, but in vain. They had noticed her.
“Oy! There’s a bonnie lass, sittin’ over there, she is,” she heard a rusty voice say.
3
A New Ally
The border of Scotland, 1522
All the drowsiness of Marion’s mind was gone in an instant, and she sprang to her feet. But before she got a chance to grab her bundle with the leftover food and tartan in it, a tall, scruffy-looking Scottish man, named Bill, with ginger beard and hair pulled it from her reach.
She turned around to grab Bells, but another man had taken the horse by the reins. Bells didn’t like this strange man, and she reared and pulled back. Marion quickly yelled,
“Let her go!”
Laughter broke out as the men rounded Marion. Bill, the man with the ginger beard, was digging through her bundle, clearly disappointed that there was nothing of value in it. The other man was still holding Bells, who had calmed down a bit and was looking nervously around with her ears moving rapidly.
An older man, Connor, small and skinny with long, tangled hair and sharp eyes stood further away, holding three horses by the reins. Two of the men, still sitting on their horses, looked at the last man, who had dismounted and was making way towards Marion and the other men.
Marion took a few steps back, pressing her back against the tree. Each of the men were quiet, as if they were waiting for something. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it was about to burst out of her chest. She had never been this scared in her entire life—after all, she had heard about the barbaric ways of the Highlanders. But she wasn’t going to let any of them see how terrified she was.
“What do we have here, a young lass? And an English lass fer that matter,” said the man, Jack, who was walking towards Marion.
He reached Marion and she looked up at his face suspiciously. He was very tall, with curly dark brown hair and a serious face. His shirt was dirty and ripped at the seam, and Marion was wondering what the red stains on the shoulder were. Maybe blood?
“What is a young English lass doin’ all the way in Scotland by herself?” Jack asked.
“I am heading up the road, to visit my relatives,” Marion lied, hoping they would let her go if someone was waiting for her.
To her surprise, the whole band of Highlanders burst into humorless laughter. Even Jack, the man standing in front of her, flashed a crooked smile.
“Up the road, eh? Lass, there’s nothin’ up the road fer days. Ye must be lost,” Jack said, eyeing Marion up and down, which made her suddenly feel like he could see through her clothes. She felt the hot rush of her blood racing to her cheeks, hoping the men wouldn’t notice it. Reflexively, she tightened her cloak around herself.
To look at a high-class woman in such a way! Marion felt disgusted and her breathing suddenly became shallow, like she couldn’t take a deep breath to reach the bottom of her lungs.
Her heart was pounding and she had no idea what to do. The men had surrounded her, she was all alone, and they could do anything to her. They could kill her. They could shame her in the most unimaginable ways. She was terrified and all she wanted to do was to get on Bells and ride as far away from these smelly men as she possibly could. But she was rounded by the men, one of them still holding onto Bells’ bridle.
“I… I am in Scotland looking for my parents. I found out I am adopted and wished to find my real mother and father. Sir, you may be right, I may very well be lost, as I don’t quite know where to start. The only clue I have is the blue tartan in the bundle one of your men took from me. I’d appreciate him giving me my bundle and horse back, so I can carry on,” she said with a shaky voice, turning to look at Bill, the ginger-haired man who was still holding onto the bundle.
Jack turned around with a blank face, reaching out his hand towards the ginger man, who murmured something and walked closer, handing the bundle over.
“This tartan? Ye havenae much to go on, dae ye?” he said, pushing the blanket back in the bundle and handing it over to Marion. “Let’s take her to the Laird, he will ken what to do with her,” he continued, this time speaking to his crew.
The ginger-haired man, Bill, stepped closer. He was now so close to Marion that she could smell his breath that stunk of alcohol. She twitched her face while he whispered, “Jack, don’t ye reckon we should have a wee bit of fun first, eh?”
A flush of fear and shame filled Marion and blushed her cheeks. Suddenly, she wasn’t afraid anymore, she was outraged, offended. She didn’t think twice, and it happened like a reflex, she spit in his face.
Bill backed up, taken by surprise. He wiped his face on his dirty sleeve. “Ye may be English, but ye act like a whore!”
Marion took this opportunity to turn around. She was going to run, run until her feet couldn't carry her anymore. Anywhere was better than here.
But before she had taken two steps, she felt a big hand on her arm. It grabbed her and pulled her back.
“Let me go, you monsters!” she yelled, fighting back with all her power, which made no difference.
Jack lifted her easily over his shoulder as if she were a bag of flour and carried her towards the road. No amount of kicking and screaming helped. Marion was tightly held on his shoulder until he set her down by the men’s horses.
“Lass, we’re nae goin’ to hurt ye. We’re goin’ to the Laird’s castle, and ye will come with us. It’s dangerous fer a young bonnie lass like yerself to stay here in the moors. Besides, ye are an English lass in Scottish territory. Ye could be a spy fer all we ken,” Jack said with a gentler expression than before.
Marion looked around suspiciously. The men were mounting their horses now, as if they had forgotten she was even there.
“Fine. But I want Bells,” she said, pointing at her horse.
Jack chuckled, and lifted Marion up onto her white mare. He then grabbed Bells’ reins while he mounted his own horse and kept holding on to them tightly.
The caravan of six men and now one displeased English lady started on the road.
“Where are we going?” Marion asked Jack, who was sitting on a dark bay horse, riding in front of her and still holding on to Bells’ reins.
“To Gille Chriost, little lass,” Jack answered shortly.
That doesn’t tell me much.
Marion thought it better to not ask any more questions. After all, she didn’t care where they were going, she wanted to leave and continue her journey.
Wherever they were going, she hoped the Laird would be a reasonable man who would let her go. She had heard of the Highlander’s ways and barbaric fights with the English before. She had even heard of the women who had been at a wrong place at a wrong time.
Well, Jack and his men didn’t hurt me—maybe the Laird will listen to reason, too, Scottish or not.
The journey lasted for hours and Marion was starting to get too tired to be scared and worried anymore. She wasn’t used to long rides. Hunger pressed her stomach like a rock and she was thirsty. The men around her acted like she wasn’t there. They talked to each other and laughed loudly, as if Marion was just another horse in the pack.
Just as Marion was about to open her mouth and tell Jack she wanted a break, she saw a high wooden wall peeking around the bend. The gate was closed, and in front of it she saw two armed guards. They lowered their swords and hurried to open the gate as the band of Highlanders and Marion approached.
Behind the gates, Marion could see a tiny town. They kept walking along a muddy pathway that lead to a busy square. She saw women walking around with their children. Children were playing with each other. The women were dressed well, but not as well as they were at Marion’s manor. Their clothes had seen better days, and suddenly Marion felt very self-conscious about her own gown that made her seem overdressed.
The muddy pathway continued between houses and they passed a blacksmith. Marion heard the sound of a hammer hitting metal somewhere deep in the shed and she could feel the warm wave of fire coming from inside as they passed the open door.
“They’re back, they’re back!” the blacksmith yelled in excitement and ran up to Jack, who leaned down to pat his back, smiling.
Marion was sincerely curious about this tiny town so far from everywhere else. It was like nothing she had ever seen before. She was used to clean and fancy towns with many shops and well-dressed people. Instead, this town looked like it was inhabited only by peasants, who had never seen silk in their life. Regardless, she saw many smiling faces, as if they didn’t care that their clothes were dusty and had patches on them.
There were vegetable gardens, pig sties, chickens and geese running around, and further away on a small pasture, she spotted a herd of sheep.
She was looking around this tiny town that was surrounded by tall wooden gates. It looked as if the mountain that rose above them on the north side was watching over the village, like a hen covering her eggs with her wings.
On her left, she could see the castle rising behind the blacksmith’s cottage and the town’s market. It was built mainly from grey rock, and it seemed very old. Green leafy growth had taken over the outer walls from the corners. The wooden window panels were open and even the front door was wide open. It made the otherwise gloomy castle seem more inviting.
Marion snapped back to reality when she heard sharp clanging noises ahead. She reached her head to the right, trying to take a peek behind Jack’s back to see where the noise was coming from. She saw two men ahead, fighting each other with swords.
Though Marion had never seen such an event before, she knew they weren’t really fighting. They were training. The yard was emptied around them and it was clearly an open space for practicing. The two men swung their swords in a fast pace and the men’s feet were moving so quickly, Marion found herself wondering how they didn’t trip over themselves. She had never seen anything like it and was completely mesmerized by the scene in front of her.
The young man was tall and dark haired. He was wearing a dirty white shirt that was halfway open, revealing a strong and muscular chest. The older man was now lying on the ground, defeated by the former. He had a long white beard and was wearing a thick wool jacket despite the warm summer air. Though clearly an older man, he didn’t look the least bit fragile.
The old man must be the Laird Jack was talking about. But who is the younger one? Maybe his son?
Marion glanced at Jack and decided it would be better if she talked to the Laird herself. She asked Bells to move up a bit, so that her horse was now standing right next to Jack’s big stallion.
She hopped off Bells and started towards the fighters. The older man stood up and dusted himself off. Marion took brisk steps towards him and curtsied stiffly.
“The Laird of Gille Chriost, I presume? My name is Lady Marion and I appear to have been kidnapped by your men. I would like to leave, if that wouldn’t inconvenience you too much,” she said with a hint of sharpness in her voice. She could have been half-way to finding her parents now, and this unexpected detour frustrated her, despite this wonderful little town’s charm that had mesmerized her.
The old man stared at her for a minute and then burst into a howling laugh.
“Me? The Laird? Lass, ye’re barking at the wrong tree,” he said and turned towards the younger, taller man, who was smiling a crooked smile.
The Laird of Gille Chriost didn’t look at Marion, but instead, spoke directly to Jack.
“Ye’re back. And in one piece,” he said with a sarcastic, but serious voice. He lifted his head and glanced at the band before turning his eyes back to his opponent.
“And ye brought a treat, I see,” he said.
Fionnghall chuckled to himself as this well-dressed, clearly high-class English lady spoke to Edgar, his sword maker. Sure, he’d make a great Laird, too—in another life.
“Jack, would ye like to explain why ye have brought an English lass with yer? Are ye tryin’ to get me in trouble?” Fionnghall asked, not looking at the woman dressed in red, who now looked a bit flushed on her cheeks.
He listened quietly, when Jack told him all about the little woman, found all by herself. Apparently, she was looking for her parents. Fionnghall felt a touch of sympathy in his often so quiet heart, but he brushed it away as quickly as it had come.
“I daenae care what she’s doin’. She doesnae belong in me castle. What if the Sassenachs find out she’s here? They’ll make our lives a living hell. Get rid of her,” Fionnghall said and turned around to walk back to his sparring partner, but Jack stopped him.
“Would ye really feel all right sending the poor lass back out by herself? Look at her, she’s not eaten fer days. She’ll be dead before the day is over. Yer of all people should know what it is like to miss yer faither and mother,” Jack said. No one else in the castle would ever talk to Fionnghall this directly, but Jack had known him since they w
ere but babies.
Fionnghall pressed his lips together and pondered for a moment without turning around. He didn’t want to seem weak in front of his men, but on the other hand, he didn’t care to have this English intruder in his castle, a Lady or not.
Well, I guess a night will suffice. Jack will be happy and I’ll get rid of the lass soon enough.
“Fine, Jack, have it yer way. She can stay fer the night. But she must be out by twilight, and ye will personally escort her to England,” Fionnghall said, still not looking at the dark-haired woman.
“Deirdre!” he continued, calling for a tiny young woman who was standing a bit further away, looking at the newcomer curiously.
“Aye, brother?” she said as she swiftly approached Fionnghall, looking at the English lady from the corner of her eye.
“Take the lass out of me sight,” he said and waved his hand somewhere towards her.
“Laird, if you don’t mind, I’d rather leave. I will be just fine on my own, thank you very much,” the lady snapped and crossed her arms over her chest.
Fionnghall stopped and turned slowly to look at her in the eyes. They were deep brown and full of fire. She surely was beautiful, though extremely annoying, and she had a sharp tongue.
“Ye’re goin’ to stay. Jack’s right, I will nae have yer death on me conscious,” Fionnghall said.
An English lass in me castle. God curse Jack and his heart.
Fionnghall returned to his opponent, getting ready for another round. In the corner of his eye, he saw Deirdre taking the English girl’s hand and leading her towards the castle. A bit of a spitfire, she was.
The interruption had messed with Fionnghall’s thoughts. He patted his opponent on the back and holstered his sword, heading back to the castle.
Dinner was about to commence and he needed to wash up. Funny enough, despite the cold breeze in the air, his chest felt warm. He kept turning his thoughts back to the new girl, remembering how well she tried to cover up her fear, her blush giving her away. He cracked a smile before catching himself.
Mesmerized by a Roguish Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 29