Highlanders To Surrender To: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  "Geordie, Geordie," he groaned, "I submit. Ye beat me fair an' square."

  Geordie was still squatting on the ground, grimacing, with one hand holding Lachie down, the other poised to strike his enemy's still-bleeding nose.

  "Dinnae try that again, Lachie!" The smaller man stood up and put his foot on Lachie's chest. "Morag is my wummin an' if I see ye gein' her the glad eye ance mair ye will no' be seein' onything ever again!"

  He removed his foot from the big man's chest and dusted off his hands, then, with one last malevolent glance, he went inside again with a throng of his rowdy, drunken friends. Then they heard an almighty cheer going up.

  Helped by two of the inn staff, Lachie struggled to his feet and promptly vomited. Gavin and Kendrick grimaced in distaste and then decided to seek refuge in their own room. No doubt they would still hear much of the noise but at least it was private.

  Ken ordered some food for them as well as a straw mattress and blankets for Gavin. As soon as they were alone, he threw back his head and began to laugh uproariously. Gavin looked at him with a smiling frown on his face.

  "What is so funny, Ken?" he asked, puzzled.

  Kendrick shook his head and calmed down. "Gavin, I cannot believe you. Why are you so serious? It is only two drunkards fighting over a loose woman."

  Gavin paused, thinking for a moment, and then he looked Ken straight in the eye. "Those two men were fighting over the affections of a woman. Granted, she is no doubt a whore." He said the last word with difficulty. "But she is a human being, not a commodity to be traded. And that small man would have beaten the fat one to death in order to have her. As it is, the big one will be bruised black for weeks and he has suffered a broken nose into the bargain. And you find this funny? Neither of them even gave the lady a say in the matter." He looked at his friend in utter disbelief.

  "Why does she need a say in the matter?" Kendrick spread his hands and looked at his friend in amazement. "She is certainly not a lady and she is well paid for what she does. It is the oldest profession in the world."

  "And do you think she enjoys it?" Gavin asked, tilting his head to one side. "Do you think it gives her pleasure to be bedded by a different man every night?"

  Kendrick thought for a moment. "I think it must," he replied, "after all, it gives enjoyment to men."

  Gavin tossed down his ale in one draught. "These women do what they must to feed their families," he growled. "I have rescued two from the taverns. They take no pleasure in it, especially when men treat them roughly and even beat them. Tell me, Ken, would you like your sister to be doing it?"

  "NO!" Kendrick shouted. "Of course not! Such a thing is beneath her."

  "But you have used their services, have you not?" Gavin asked silkily.

  "But I am a man! It is different for us!" Kendrick's tone was hot and indignant.

  "Would you like me to leave?" Gavin asked.

  Kendrick hesitated for a moment and then his anger evaporated. "No, my friend, I would not," he replied with a smile. "I would like us to agree to disagree if that is acceptable to you."

  "Indeed, it is," Gavin replied. "Ah, here is our food. Let us bury our differences for the moment."

  "And let them stay in their graves!" Kendrick answered, laughing.

  Then they clinked their glasses of ale together and fell on their mutton stew.

  "The best that can be said of this food," Kendrick observed, grimacing, "is that it fills an empty hole in your stomach."

  Gavin laughed. "I have to agree," he replied. "Have you found any meat yet?"

  Ken stirred his spoon around the gruel-like gravy and scooped up a tiny piece of mutton the size of his thumbnail. "I think one sheep has fed this whole village," he observed dryly.

  "No doubt it is all we will get tonight," Gavin said with a sigh. “It may be vile, but we must finish it."

  They mopped up the rest of their thin stew with bread and then Kendrick refilled their mugs of ale. "How is Marion?" he asked, smiling. "The last time I saw her she was—"

  "Marion is dead," Gavin interjected heavily. "She took her pony out for a ride last year in the snow and the beast slipped and broke its neck. It died at once, but my dear wife was not so lucky. She froze to death next to the horse. We found her in the morning not three hundred yards from the castle."

  Kendrick said nothing for he could think of nothing to say. He had not known Marion well, but he knew that Gavin loved her deeply or, at least, he said he did. The idea of everlasting love had always left Kendrick curiously unmoved, yet Gavin’s expression was bleak. He had obviously loved her very much.

  "Gavin, I am so sorry," he said quietly, endeavoring to sound sympathetic. "She was a wonderful lady."

  Gavin nodded. "She was. Her smile could light up a room." He dropped his gaze to the table and looked down at his hands, frowning. He shook his head sadly. "It was my fault. She and I had an argument - something silly - the kind you always have in a marriage, but she was so angry! The last words we exchanged were ones of hate. When we found her, her face was so peaceful, and her beautiful blue eyes were looking up at the sky. I wonder if she ever forgave me."

  Kendrick found himself totally out of his depth and not a little irritated. He had never had another man bare his soul to him before, but he was a good actor and he could pretend a sympathy he did not feel.

  Then, all of a sudden, Gavin squared his shoulders and laughed sheepishly. "Listen to me," he said, "behaving like a maid. What has been happening in your life?"

  Kendrick smiled. "I started a new route, one that goes around Oban, Aberdeen, and Dundee," he replied. "I found some very good quality wool there - almost the best I have ever seen - and a young woman introduced me to a new form of weaving. Very attractive she was too!”

  Gavin smiled fondly at his friend. "Well, I wish you all the best with that, Ken."

  13

  Laird McColl

  Allana had reached Pitlochry and was taking her craft with her. Wherever she went, she attracted attention and soon, she had whole communities of crofters and villagers knitting. This had a beneficial consequence for the local wool farmers and dyers, who had more work than before and although weaving for the tweed industry had always been their staple, more diversity was always welcome. Also, she was a bit of a curiosity, a high-born lady with an upper-class accent helping and caring for the welfare of working-class people. Allana loved it. She loved finding out about the common folk, their hopes and dreams, their histories, tragedies, and triumphs. It opened her eyes to a world where farm workers were not just creatures who served, as beasts of burden did, but they were real people with real lives.

  Many people were afraid to ask a lady of quality into their homes, but Allana was not afraid to sleep on a straw mattress or even on the floor of a crofter's cottage. The glossy veneer on her refinement had become thoroughly scuffed and worn as she learned to bring in firewood, eat barley stew, and wash in a freezing burn. She always repaid the humble people for their services, however, particularly as her two sturdy guards had huge appetites!

  Everywhere the craft was spreading and Allana was proud to know that she was helping the worthy but poor people of her native land. However, when she reached McColl Castle, home of her father's friend Duncan McColl and his family, she was looking forward to laying her head down on a soft feather pillow. She was happy to throw in her lot with the peasants and crofters, but she had been brought up as a lady and was accustomed to the comforts that came with her status.

  She arrived on a day when there was a cutting east wind blowing, bringing with it a veritable deluge of rain. By the time her little party rode into the courtyard of McColl Castle, they were all soaked to the skin and shivering. Allana was welcomed with open arms by Laird Liam McColl, a short, wiry man somewhere in his mid-sixties with long gray hair and sparkling blue eyes set in a pleasant, good-humored face. Allana had never met him before, but he was a friend of her father’s and was generous of spirit.

  "Allana Dundas, I presume
?" he asked, smiling widely at her as she stood dripping on the stone flags of the entrance hall.

  Allana curtsied and smiled as well as she could from her quivering lips. "Yes, m’laird and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

  "As I am yours, young lady," he replied gallantly, bowing. "Now, we must get you out of those wet things before you catch a fever! I will have someone show you to your room and then, if it pleases you, we can have a nice, hot dinner together. However, if you would like to sleep for a while I quite understand."

  Allana was slightly bemused by Liam McColl's rush of words, but she was ravenous. "I would like to eat first, sir, and so would my guards."

  "I will see to them," he said at once. "You will find a carafe of spiced wine in your room, my dear. Come down when you are ready."

  "You are so kind," Allana said with a tremulous smile before following the maidservant upstairs to one of the most beautiful rooms she had ever seen.

  It looked out over the patchwork of rocks, little burns, blotches of scrub, and stands of fir trees. The heather blazed in purple glory, spreading a bright coverlet over the hill all the way to the river that wound its way through the foot of the valley in a twisting ribbon. It was gray today, but on a sunny day, it would be navy blue and cold enough to freeze the flesh of anyone unlucky enough to fall in it.

  Her room was magnificent. It was paneled in lustrous mahogany and hung with colorful silk tapestries. Her silk bed hangings were pale green with an embroidered silk coverlet of the same color and a carved granite fireplace had just been laid with a crackling log fire which was slowly warming up the chilly room. A maidservant came to strip off her wet clothes and help her into the only dry ones she had left. Allana sipped the mulled wine which tasted like the finest she had ever had. She wanted to lie down and sleep, but despite her host's courteous words, she thought it rude not to take him up on his offer if a meal had already been prepared.

  Allana knew that Liam McColl was a widower with a daughter, two sons, and several grandchildren, but beyond that, she knew very little about him. His wife had died some years before and he had never remarried, so Allana was slightly concerned in case he entertained any idea of courting her. Her father had told her that Laird McColl had no such intention, however. She sat down beside him at the table in the dining room and he looked at her with a sparkle in his eyes, smiling mischievously. Allana tensed. Men of a certain vintage always made her feel uneasy.

  "Now, I know what you are thinking," he said, sipping his wine.

  "Indeed, m’laird?" she replied, raising her eyebrows. "And what am I thinking?"

  "You are thinking..." He looked at her keenly. "That here is an old man who is looking for a second wife and wondering if I am going to start trying to woo you."

  Allana blushed. "You are a mind reader, sir," she answered, avoiding his eyes.

  "Let me reassure you, Mistress Allana," he said, his tone firm but good-humored. "I have no such intention. My wife died five years ago and I have seen no reason to marry again. I have sons, a daughter, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, brothers and sisters. I am a happy man, Allana. So, give yourself peace!"

  She laughed, embarrassed. "Thank you, sir." She was still not quite reassured, however.

  Liam finished his wine as the maidservant brought soup. Allana's stomach was growling and it seemed to her like the most heavenly food she had ever tasted. They made polite small talk for a while until the next course, roast venison with seasonal vegetables, arrived. Then Allana asked a question.

  "Do you know a man called Kendrick Muir?"

  "Indeed, I do," Liam answered, frowning. "He is a strange man: very private but outwardly sociable. I know hardly anything about him, although I have met him a few times, but he rarely comes here. You can talk to him for hours and find that he knows all about you and your business, but he is still a mystery. Why do you ask?"

  Allana shrugged. "I met him at a wake and he seemed very personable." She was not eating but picking at her food while Liam studied her. At last, he spoke.

  "Allana, I know we have only just met," he said, meeting her eyes frankly. "But I have been your father's friend for many years. May I ask you a personal question? Please refuse if you wish."

  Allana looked down at the table for a second, then raised her eyes to his again and nodded. "You may, m’laird."

  "Thank you, my dear," he replied, with a smile. "I wanted to ask you if you find this man attractive."

  Allana sighed, her cheeks flaming once again. "I... I do, m’laird," she answered, "and I allowed him to kiss me. Did I do wrong?" Her eyes were troubled and confused.

  "Be at ease, Mistress Allana," he replied. "You are of age and I am not your father. But I wanted to warn you that this man is a consumer of women. He plays with them, sometimes beds them, and then abandons them. I wanted to warn you, that is all."

  Allana thought for a moment. "We did not get any further than kissing, thank God.”

  The Laird shrugged. “Anyway, I know little of him beyond what I have told you, but he makes me feel uneasy."

  "Thank you, m’laird," Allana said gratefully. "I am most obliged to you."

  They began to talk about ordinary subjects again and Allana explained her mission to him. He was fascinated and when he saw her samples, the scarves and shawls she had made, he immediately bought them from her leaving her just one to show as an example.

  It was early evening, and the rain had cleared up, although the sun was still lowering and the sky was bruise-gray. Another wet night was coming and Allana was exhausted. She was yawning and struggling to keep her eyes open when Laird McColl took her firmly by the shoulders.

  "Now," he said in a mock-stern fashion, "I think it is time for you to go to bed, young lady. You look as if you could fall asleep on your feet. You can show me more of your craft in the morning and I will see how best to help you."

  Allana smiled at him. "Thank you, m’laird." Then she hesitated. "M’laird... What you said about Kendrick Muir, do you really believe it?"

  Liam nodded soberly. "Indeed, I do, Mistress Allana," he replied, "but as I said, I am not your father. You may or may not choose to take my advice, but I would counsel you to avoid him."

  Allana curtsied then said goodnight and made her way upstairs to bed, but her troubled thoughts would not let her sleep. Laird McColl had been very sure about his dislike of Kendrick Muir, but the Laird was only one man. He could have reasons of his own for disliking him or his judgment may have been clouded by other factors. The kisses she and Kendrick had shared had been flaming with passion and even now she could taste his mouth on hers. How glorious it had been!

  But that would all change if Laird McColl’s suspicions were confirmed. There would be no more touching at all, not even a kiss on the hand, and she would make sure of it. She would ask him outright next time she saw him and if she found out that he was not the man she hoped, then she would marry Nevin as their families had both wanted from the beginning. Settled in her mind on this point, she slept deeply and dreamlessly for the rest of the night and woke in the morning refreshed and ready for the day. However, she had no idea what was going on in her absence.

  Gwenda Kirk was delighted by the change in her son. He worked hard and took his responsibilities seriously, but he seemed to be distracted with his mind somewhere else most of the time. Whenever he was not at work, he was at Dundas Castle on some or other project he was working on with Malcolm. It was amazing, Gwenda thought, because the Lairds of the two estates had never collaborated quite as much before, so there had to be another reason. Could it be that her plan was succeeding?

  Allana had been away for a month now and she had sent no message, so the way was clear for Bettina and Nevin to pursue their relationship if they so desired. Gwenda took every opportunity she could to throw them together. She was not a Laird, but she had been a Laird's wife for a very long time and she knew the pattern of work that went with every season. It was spring and newly planted crops were beginn
ing to show green above the red soil.

  Gwenda used to ride past Dundas Castle with her groom at least twice a week, but one Sunday after Mass, she decided to take Nevin with her. The day was exceptionally warm and sunny and mother and son chatted amiably as they rode along.

  "You seem to be getting on very well with Bettina these days," Gwenda remarked with a casual air.

  Nevin looked up at the sky for a moment where two hawks were flying, their wings stretched out like sails as they glided on the currents of air above. They were beautiful, free, and had no choices to make and no responsibilities to shoulder. How he envied them! "She is a lovely girl," he eventually said with apparent nonchalance.

  Gwenda looked at him keenly. "A very quiet, polite girl who will not fight with her husband every two minutes!"

  Nevin sighed. The promise to his father had been weighing heavily on his mind and he was beginning to come to the same conclusion as his mother: that Allana was not the girl for him. However, he needed to be sure and he was determined to wait until Allana came back before making any decision.

  "Mother," he said firmly, "I will marry whom I please and I need no instruction from you."

  Gwenda looked up suddenly. Bettina was standing on one of the outermost turrets, looking down and waving. Presently, she disappeared then came running out of the high main gate, smiling with her hair flying behind her.

  "Nevin! Milady Gwenda!" she called, "how good to see you!"

  Gwenda smiled at her then dismounted and hugged her. Bettina was amazed. Lady Kirk had never embraced her before. "How well you look!" Gwenda remarked happily.

  "I did not think to meet you here today, Bettie," Nevin said. "Do you not usually spend Sundays with your cousin?"

  Bettie, is it now? Gwenda thought gleefully. Things were indeed looking up!

  "She is ill today, Nevin, with a slight fever, so I am all alone."

  "Come with us!" Gwenda said, putting her arm around Bettina's shoulders. "I would like to hear all your news."