Highlander's Lionheart (Beasts 0f The Highlands Book 1)

by Alisa Adams

  Godet and her sisters made a simple shelter out of the pine boughs leaning against some low hanging branches to give them shelter from the night air and dew. Godet watched as her sisters and Aunt Hextilda crawled into the shelter, wrapped their plaids over themselves, and fell asleep instantly. She looked at the men scattered all around the glen. Many were sitting against a tree or rock with their plaids wrapped snugly around them and were fast asleep as well. There was a small group in MacDonell plaids that sat with their backs to the girls’ shelter, guarding over them.

  Loughlin sat against a tree near a fire. He saw her eyes scanning the camp and came over to her. “Sleep. All is well. The men have full stomachs. Ye are a good leader. I will guard. Then Liam will guard. Ye need to rest,” he told her firmly as he towered over her.

  Godet noticed he looked beyond her to check to see if Flori was asleep. Though Flori had once again been pulled up onto Loughlin’s horse to rest earlier and Aunt Hextilda onto the big warrior’s horse, both were exhausted and had fallen asleep within the pine bough shelter straight away. Godet looked up at Loughlin, too exhausted herself to argue. She nodded a silent thanks to him and went under the shelter. She lay down in limp exhaustion, grateful for the warmth of her sisters in the Highland mountain air. Within moments, she too was asleep.

  As the sun rose, they began to smell the sea. They would be approaching Fionnaghall from the back of the old castle. Godet led the way through a forest that was thick with silver birch and scrubby pine. The nearer they got to the coast, the rockier it became with fewer and fewer trees. The hills themselves to the north of Fionnaghall were nothing but giant rocks with only a valiant tree thrusting up to the sky here and there.

  Finally, there through the trees was Fionnaghall. The group sat in the shade darkened protection of the rocks looking down toward the castle. They drank some water and ate oat cakes and more dried meat to fortify themselves for what may come.

  Godet sat on Bluebell, barely nibbling on her cakes as she was studying the castle. She had a deep visceral feeling staring at the big castle. This was her home. This great, old, and timeless heap of falling down white stones was the Ross home just as it had been for hundreds of years. There was something imposing, breathtaking, and, yes, beautiful about the white castle shining in the morning sun on the sea cliff. It was aptly named Fionnaghall, white shoulders, lovingly named for a bride a Ross warrior had built it for centuries ago.

  Godet’s head filled with memories of her parents and grandparents during her childhood. The last time she had been here it was simply to get in, get her sister Flori, and get out. Now, however, she was angry and determined to keep this great, white castle for her family. For though Fionnaghall was old and badly in need of repair, she was almost ethereal. This white, shining castle, proudly looking over the sea cliffs was theirs. There was something elegant about the old girl that made pride swell up within Godet’s breast.

  Aye, Fionnaghall is ours, not Mungan’s! she told herself and she was not willing to let any of her men lose their life for Fionnaghall but she realized with a rising feeling of strength that she was willing to give her life to get their Fionnaghall back.

  As Godet sat upon Bluebell she was smiling grimly, the oatcake now forgotten in her hand. She was watching the castle closely, in particular, the courtyard. It was very quiet for this time of morning. The sun was fully up now and the castle should have been bustling about. There was only a little activity, however. She saw two men putting their fishing boats in the sea, down from the cliffside at the small inlet. The courtyard of the castle had a few people walking about, seemingly doing their morning chores. Someone was bringing some cows into the row of stalls for milking. She could tell their milking was overdue from the plaintive lowing of the cows. A rooster crowed his triumphant call. It all seemed the same yet vastly different. It was so empty of the busy life it once had. She heard the grumbling of the Ross men behind her. They had noticed the same thing in their home.

  “I know she looks empty, but all the better for us,” Godet murmured quietly to them. “Seems Mungan has a smaller group of warriors here than before.”

  “Where did everyone go?” Ceena murmured back to her.

  Godet studied the courtyard, watching and alert. She got her answer. She watched as Mungan walked out of the main hall. She saw him waving and shaking his fists at three men who wore his plaid. She was too far away to hear what he was saying, but his furious actions were clear. As one of the men went to walk away to his waiting horse, Mungan kicked him hard, sending him flying into the dirt. Then he lunged toward the prone man struggling to get to his feet in the dirt. Mungan knocked him down again, grabbing his head and banging it on the ground, once, twice, three times, until the man lay limp and unmoving. The other two men leaped on their horses before Mungan could stop them and rode out the gates, away down the fields to the south of the castle.

  “There’s yer answer,” Godet said watching quietly. “He is a cruel man. Too cruel for good men to follow. They are leaving him, it seems.”

  “Like rats leaving a sinking ship,” Ceena whispered curtly.

  “He seems crazed,” Brigda said with a shudder. “Almost unhinged, like my father gets,” she added in a hushed voice.

  “We are not alone facing him this time girls,” Godet said reassuringly.

  Brigda looked at her and placed her hand over Godet’s where it rested on her horse’s withers. “Ye are not alone this time Godet,” she whispered.

  Ceena added her hand to Brigda’s over Godet’s hand. “Just give me the chance to fight him, Godet!” she whispered harshly.

  “Sards!” Godet exclaimed staring down into the courtyard, “He just ordered the gates to be closed. We must switch plans.”

  The girls stared at each other, thinking through all their plans. They needed those gates open! “Speaking of switching plans, isn’t that Aunt Hexy heading down toward the front entrance?” Ceena murmured worriedly.

  Godet turned her head to the front of Fionnaghall. With dread, she saw that it was indeed Aunt Hexy on King Bobby trundling across the big field, as calmly as you please on her way to the gates. “Oh no, no, no!” she whispered urgently, “what is she doing?”

  Aunt Hextilda had not yet reached the gates. Godet looked at her sisters. Then her eyes landed on Brigda. She nodded once curtly and they all nodded back. “Brigda, with me! Ceena, lead them along the outer wall of the castle, stay close to it, it’s harder to see from the top if ye are right against it. Forget the back tunnel, we are going in the front door instead of the back.”

  Godet and Brigda galloped down to catch up to Aunt Hextilda. The big drafts came thundering up alongside the little pony. “Aunt?” Godet hissed. “What are ye doing?”

  “I am gaunnie go back to me home and enter in the front door,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “And us?” Godet said urgently. “What de ye expect Brigda and I to dae?”

  “Ye shouldnae have come. Weren’t ye going to go in the back tunnel? I was gaunnie distract them all!” Aunt Hextilda said.

  “We had a plan, aunt, ye are not following it!” Godet cried in exasperation.

  “I am helping!” Aunt Hexy replied enthusiastically.

  Godet groaned and turned to Brigda. “New plan, Brigda, we are her servants. Aunt Hexy, did ye hear that? We are yer servants, traveling with ye,” she said firmly to her aunt.

  “Aye, I heard ye, keep yer voice down. We dinnae need them hearing our plan, dae ye ken? No need to get riled up noo!”

  Godet groaned and rolled her eyes. She saw they were nearing the guards at the gate. She straightened up and made sure the hood of her cloak was tight. She glanced at Brigda and nodded to her to do the same. With Brigda’s bright red hair, she might be noticed by any MacKenzie warriors that were inside. She saw that Ceena was leading the group of Ross warriors along with Brigda’s men. She did not see Loughlin or his brother Liam and the MacDonell men who had come with Liam. She had no time to think about that, however.
She had an aunt who had a mind of her own and was ready to approach the gates, ready to say whatever she needed to, to get inside. Godet stifled a groan and rode toward the gate behind her aunt on the proudly prancing little pony. She was hoping and praying that of all the probabilities, the one they hadn’t considered - an interfering aunt - would work and not get anyone killed.

  24

  “Ho the gates!” Aunt Hextilda called out as they got close enough to the gates for the two men to hear her.

  Both of the warriors standing there took a step forward. They had fierce frowns on their faces as they looked doubtfully at the old lady on the little pony.

  “Dinnae ye know who I am?” Aunt Hextilda called out in her raspy voice.

  The men stood resolutely still, not saying a word. Just looking her over silently.

  “Mokit, manky, mingin, bowfin bampots!” she murmured.

  “Aunt,” Godet whispered under her breath. “Dinnae anger them by calling them dirty, smelly, idiots, please?”

  “Aye, I suppose,” Aunt Hextilda muttered back at her. “Ye there,” she called out in a weak, tremulous voice as Godet smiled under cover of her hood. “I am quite puckled and puggled and need to rest. Open the gates if ye please for an auld woman,” she pleaded.

  “Who are ye?” one of the warriors thundered in a threatening voice.

  “Sards, that dinnae seem to work,” Aunt Hextilda mumbled to Brigda and Godet. “Unfeeling man!” she whispered in a hiss.

  “Answer him, aunt!” Godet urged.

  “I am Lady Hextilda, returned home,” she said authoritatively.

  “The crazy aunt!” one warrior whispered to the other.

  Aunt Hextilda started to say something, but Godet grabbed the sleeve of her cloak. She shook her head slightly at her aunt. “Let them think ye are crazy, why else would ye be returning?” she said in a hushed whisper.

  Aunt Hextilda narrowed her eyes at the guards then smoothed her expression out into a pleasant, vacant pout. “When I left, I forgot a few of me things. I need to retrieve them,” she explained. “Me nieces forced me out so quickly ye see.”

  The guards stared at her a moment, still frowning. “Who accompanies ye?” one guard demanded.

  “Oh, these two? They are just me lowly servants. No one important. A woman me age cannae be traveling alone noo, can she?”

  The men looked at her quizzically then tried to peer behind her to the two women wearing the cloaks, on the big draft horses. “Why are they on those big horses?” one of them asked.

  “Daft man, Fionnaghall is known for these horses. And after all, this is our home!” The Aunt Hextilda added in a mumble, “Not yours!”

  “Aunt!’ Godet hissed under her breath.

  The guards did not seem to hear her remark. “We will open the gates. Put those horses in the stalls. They belong here with Laird Mungan.”

  Aunt Hextilda started to say something, but Godet and Brigda nudged their horses forward. Little King Bobby had no choice but to move forward as well. The three women rode through the gates on their horses.

  “Wait in the courtyard,” the guard said curtly to her. “I will send word to Laird Mungan.”

  “Ye dae that,” Aunt Hextilda said very quietly in an acidic voice that the guard could not hear.

  “Dismount from those horses, they are not yours! Put ‘em in the stalls like he said,” the other guard ordered nastily as he returned to the gates while the other guard went in search of Mungan.

  Godet watched both guards walk away. Brigda was staring at her. “Dae we dismount from Avens and Bluebell?” she asked Godet.

  “Absolutely not. They don’t fit in the stalls anyway, the bowfin man,” Godet whispered quietly. “Stay put. We are safest on the horses. They have no other large drafts but ours. Let the size of our horses give us an advantage,” Godet said. “We will need it,” she added quietly.

  “What dae we dae now?” Brigda asked. She looked at Aunt Hextilda who seemed to be quite content to sit there on her pony, petting and crooning to him.

  “We wait for Mungan,” Godet said firmly.

  It didn’t take long for Mungan to come sauntering out of the castle. His small, dark eyes stared with a fiery intent like a hawk eyeing it’s prey as he stopped at the top of the steps to the great hall. He was a tall, skeletal man. His clothing hung on his long limbs like seaweed clinging to ancient driftwood on the sea. He was a hairy man to be sure for he wasn’t balding yet, indeed, the mess of hair on the top of his head stood straight up. It was stiff with grease and dirt and filth. It gave him a look of wild alarm or perhaps, a crazed lunatic who stood forever in a storm. Even the hair at his temples contributed to this apparition for it winged wildly out and away from his face like horns. His eyebrows too were a long, bushy mess of black and gray hairs as they stuck straight up like wild vines climbing and clawing their way to the top of his forehead. His gray beard was long and messy with the sides crawling up the sides of his cheeks to intersect with his eyebrows and the hair winging out from his temples. He looked like a menacing, shaggy, and gaunt beast, something from the darkness of hell, something evil and starved for new victims.

  Godet froze. Not daring to breathe or call attention to herself. Mungan looked far worse than her memories, worse than her nightmares. He had changed in the time that she and her sisters had been gone. It was impossible to think that he could look any more horrid, any more insane, but he did. She heard Brigda let out a low whimper, but Godet could do nothing to soothe her fears. This was on Aunt Hextilda for now. She had to wait. She had to be patient.

  “What de ye want ye auld womon?!” he screeched at her.

  “I am here to retrieve me things ye vile auld manky, boggin bampot,” Aunt Hextilda shot back at him.

  “Och, I havnae missed that sharp mouth of yers, ye conniving auld hag! What things de ye think ye left that arnae noo mine?” he said walking down one step as he glared at her, his fists working at his sides.

  “I left some of me clothes. Those disrespectful nieces of mine rushed me out before I could properly gather me things. I dinnae think ye want this auld hags dresses noo, dae ye?” she retorted with a challenging glare at him.

  Mungan had stopped listening to her though. He walked down the steps, just a few and halted. His attention had turned to her two companions. “Who dae we have here?” he hissed, his voice whisper-thin and serpent-like.

  “Me servants. I couldnae come all this way by meself noo could I?” Aunt Hextilda replied hastily.

  “Ye couldnae come all this way by yerself at all, auld witch,” he said quietly and threateningly as he slowly advanced down the steps, his eyes not leaving the two women on the big draft horses behind Hextilda. “Someone brought ye I wager.” He stopped at the bottom step and looked at the two big horses. “These are some of the horses of Fionnaghall that yer nieces stole from me. I could have them executed for that,” he said in a menacing whisper.

  Aunt Hextilda let out a nervous laugh. “Weel noo, as ye see I have stolen them back,” she spoke quickly and laughed another short laugh.

  Once again, Mungan ignored her and advanced again until he was standing beside Brigda and was looking up at her. He reached out a claw like hand and grabbed her ankle tightly, putting pressure on her skin as he squeezed. Brigda openly trembled. Trying to keep her mouth closed, her whimper behind her lips.

  “Yer servants, are they? I dinnae think so,” he hissed threateningly. “Raise yer hood!” he suddenly thundered into the silence.

  Brigda jumped. Mungan’s loud voice was so unexpected compared to how quietly he had been speaking. She looked over at Godet, a question in her eyes. Mungan’s eyes caught her movement and his head turned as sharp as a snake following it’s prey’s movement as he turned to the other rider. He watched with sharp interest as that person subtly nodded her head.

  Brigda slowly raised her hood off her hair and lowered it to her back. She dared not look down at him, but instead, she stared straight ahead. Mungan’s eyes were p
enetrating as he watched her. He took a step and stood in front of her to get a better look at her face. He let out a quiet hiss. “Weel noo, ye arnae who I thought ye may be,” he said thoughtfully, “and a red-headed beauty ye are.” He was staring at her with razor-like eyes.

  Brigda could not stop the tremble that ran through her body. Mungan saw it and cackled a high pitched, odd discord of a sound. “Frightened, me beauty?”

  He saw the other rider move very slightly and he spun toward the movement. “And ye? Who are ye I wonder?” he said slowly and menacingly as he slyly walked over, slow and steady, slithering like a snake. “Shall we have a look at ye?” He tilted his head up at the rider on the second horse.

  Godet still had her head covered by her hood. Her head was slightly down and averted away from Mungan. He grabbed her ankle and squeezed his claw-like fingers around it. She knew he was waiting to see her flinch of pain, but she did not move. His hand traveled up her leg, stopping every few inches to squeeze painfully, trying to get a reaction from her. His actions were disgusting and inappropriate for a lady, but she was playing a servant. She knew, either way, he would not care. He loved to torment, to bully. She would not let him win, not anymore—not ever again.

  When his hand crept upward to her knee and his fingers dug in she took a silent deep breath. She gathered herself as his hand traveled up her thigh, bringing him even closer to her. She could smell that vile filthy smell of him that brought back too many memories. When he was just close enough to where she wanted him, she drew back suddenly and gave him a mighty shove with her foot, dislodging his hand from her thigh.

  Mungan went flying backward and landed on his buttocks in the dirt. He was staring up at her in shock. Godet quickly lifted the tail of her cloak off her saddle to reveal a scabbard. She drew her claymore out of it with a hissing flash of metal in the sunlight as she tossed back the hood of her cloak. She sat there atop her stallion, staring at him with eyes blazing fire.