Highlander’s Honorable Oath (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance)

by Fiona Faris

  Gretchen rose from her bed early in the morning and began her work for the day. She made herself useful in any way she could, assisting the cook in the kitchen in preparing the meals for the residents of the keep and helping the maids in cleaning the various rooms within. Today, she removed the white cloths from the tables and replaced it with red ones. She put away the dishes they commonly used and set the tables with new ones. She fried the chicken and was generous with much milk and honey, snowy bread, gravy, potatoes, and fruit.

  When she was done, Gretchen stared from the upper rail of the building at men leading horses to the stables while other men were repainting wagon wheels. Yet others were mending fences, with some holding nails and handling the pickets.

  “Gretchen!” a croaky voice called from within.

  “Oh, Mama!” Gretchen answered, hurrying inside the room. A somewhat haggard woman leaned her head on the wooden frame of the bed. Her face was wrinkled and bore the scars of recent illness. Her face was white, and her skin was pale. Gretchen grabbed a bottle of syrup, collected a spoon from the tray, and after she had poured the contents into the spoon, she offered it to the older woman with a smile on her face.

  The old woman took it willingly, eased herself back to the bed, and glanced at Gretchen, secretly grateful for her ministrations. She was Merriam, Callum’s aging mother, and had been in the keep since a couple of months ago. Many healers had seen to her health, but she kept getting worse day by day. The maids had also tried their best to observe the dosage and administered the drugs the healers had prescribed for her. But she noted a drastic turn around in her health when Gretchen got to the keep. The color was returning slowly to her skin, and she grew stronger every day.

  “May God be blessed for bringing ye tae me,” she said with her faint croaky voice.

  “Thanks tae God yer health is improving! I’d be so glad tae see ye well and healthy,” Gretchen said with a smile on her lips. She loved the new environment. There were plenty of activities that kept her engaged every day, unlike her quiet village home where she would barely have heard birds singing. Even Ava had been involved with the other maids’ small children, chasing each other all around and chattering loudly and happily.

  Gretchen glanced out the window at the far end of the courtyard where Callum stood with his hands resting behind his back, his sword at his waist. He was instructing the warriors on the training ground. She could also see Sir Gregory in his armor, standing behind Callum with his hands pressed tightly against his chest. He had a grim look on his face, and almost everyone feared him. He was that sort of man who wouldn’t take a second to take off the head of a warrior.

  Gretchen also noticed that everything had drastically changed at the keep. Everyone had a responsibility to deal with. There was enough food for everyone, and most surprisingly of all, fighting was rare among the workers, as many as they were, and people seemed to be living in harmony. And there appeared to be no theft. Theft? Right! Theft. That made her remember her money, which was stolen by someone she never knew.

  Thanks to Callum, she and Ava would be safe this winter. Although she missed the bridge, the market, and her serene environment, she scarcely could comprehend that only some weeks ago, she had found this place too noisy, and crowded. She had felt friendless and alone, which made her so sick at heart that she was physically ill.

  “Gretchen! Do come here!” Merriam’s old, croaky voice called out to her again, pinching her out of thoughts.

  “I’ll be right there. Mama!” she said and wandered into the room.

  As Callum approached his mother’s room, he paused in amazement. His mother had familiar company, and she was laughing. Callum stood just outside the door and peeped inside. Merriam sat in her chair, holding Gretchen’s hands as the two women talked. The pair giggled and laughed like schoolgirls. Gretchen had obviously been going beyond her duties while Merriam was enjoying every bit of it. Callum entered the room before either could see him; they both looked up with faces flushed.

  “Such a graceful lady! Where did she come from again?” Merriam asked.

  “From the village, close to the River Ness, and yes, she’s such a gracious lady” Callum replied, gazing at Gretchen who still had her hands in his mother’s.

  “She seems tae know the ways tae offer perfect cares, my health is gradually improving with her jokes that send me reeling in laughter,” Merriam said, still grinning widely.

  Callum smiled faintly, highly satisfied with his suggestion of bringing Gretchen to the keep. He went to his water closet for a nice bath. After that, he changed his clothes to something fit for a regular outing, scrubbed his hair, and returned to his mother’s room.

  As he walked into the room, Gretchen was taken aback with the sight she was seeing. Just some moments ago, Callum had looked oddly tired and smelt of horse and sweat, but now he looked refreshed, his skin, freshly washed, glowed with good health, and his hair gleamed like gold. She knew that his duties weighed heavily on him, and she could only pity him from afar and encourage him. She hadn’t had enough time to talk to him, so she would rather wait until she had the opportunity and give him some words of advice.

  Callum poked his head into the room again and made to speak. “I’d like tae have a trip with you both to the market after supper. Do get ready; the carriage will be prepared before dusk,” Callum said in a calm, yet authoritative voice.

  “Yes, my laird,” both women chorused and then slipped into an unusual silence. No one knew what the Laird was planning to do, as there was no expression on his face. But whatever he was planning to do would be all for their good and maybe fun, too.

  After he had spoken, Gretchen quickly set the table and hurried into the kitchen. She brought dishes that contained various foods. A dish contained fried chicken, another held some snowy bread, and another some fruits, with a huge bowl of milk. Callum looked amazed for yet another lovely meal. Since her arrival at the keep, she had taken extra caution preparing his food and giving to him and his mother plenty of milk.

  If only she were his wife, he would have walked close beside her and kissed her on her forehead and wrist. But since she was his best friend’s widow, the only right thing he could do was to protect her.

  Gretchen, on her side, was starting to remember her feelings for Callum. She sank in a well of imagination as she remembered how she had been used to gazing at his body every day when he, Fraser, and she would go hunting, how he used to ask for an embrace from her as a reward for beating Fraser many times in their competitions. She ought not to feel this way as she still grieved for Fraser.

  It was a grief that knows no end but a love that can heal all wounds.

  Chapter Five

  It was another week of various activities in the keep. It was a perfect time for resting, but Callum had decided against it. He would rather just enjoy his short moment before being clouded with the daily duties of the keep. Callum stood frozen before the scroll that lay beside him. His eyes slipped across the gaily decorated cover of the scroll and the red seal that signaled to him of an important issue to address. The hall of the keep seemed oddly still in the graying light of the early morning. Outside, past the line of floor-to-ceiling windows that fronted the building, the wind blew in sharp gusts from the moors, which signaled a cold winter coming.

  He ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the scroll, curious about its contents. It didn’t look like a scroll from another clan laird or from an emissary from another land. It was a scroll from his people, and using the red seal meant something critical was at stake. He took a deep breath, fighting back the curiosity that was aroused in him simply from just the seal. Callum broke the seal, and the parchment unfolded. His brows lifted as he read the contents of the scroll. The message was short and precise.

  From the Council of Youths.

  Greetings to the Laird. This scroll was duly sent by every clan member to crave yer attention. The outermost crofters who tend to the cattle herds have need of yer wise counsel. Deat
h has been taking our young men. Most ladies are now widows. A quick reply to us will be greatly appreciated as it will be most important to see you address this issue with urgency.

  Callum finished reading and eased himself forward. He clutched his hands to his head. He didn’t need that letter; he had known already that many men had been dying recently. But what was causing the frequent deaths he didn’t know. It certainly wasn’t food because the clan had generated plenty of food in recent times. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

  “My laird!”

  He looked up sharply, startled by the voice. Gretchen stood at the far end of the room and was looking at him from behind the kitchen door.

  “Is everything all right, my laird?” Gretchen asked with her hands resting on her waist.

  “Nothing much, my lady, just thinking about everything. The Council of the Youths has sent a scroll, demanding my urgent address to the incessant deaths of the men as if I caused them. I have tried my best, increasing food production and strengthening the security of the land. I have deemed it fit tae gather everyone around and tighten the embracement of our culture. What else can be done? My soul is weary!” Callum said, shaking his head. He closed the scroll and shoved other scrolls he had taken out into an opened cabinet and leaned his head back on the desk.

  “My laird, ye have tried yer best to keep the town peaceful. Death is by God, and nae mankind cannae stop it. This the youths also know. All they want is yer attention and encouragement. They want words that will soothe their souls and calm their nerves. Do write tae them and send a scroll across tae them. This I think will be treated as a subject of importance and will calm everything,” Gretchen said in her calm and measured way. She had a way of speaking that soothed him even as her words sank into his brain.

  Callum flashed her a grateful smile and whispered: “Thank you, milady.” She returned his smile, and, with a coy curtsy, she returned to the kitchen to continue her business.

  Callum thought of the words again. He was grateful to the spirit that bade him bring Gretchen to the keep. Since her arrival, almost everything about him had changed. For instance, he ate better than ever. His mother was responding to treatments and was recovering faster than he’d ever thought possible. He was silent for a while and, unbidden, the words slipped from his mouth

  “Such a graceful lady she is.” He thought about the word graceful and found that it might be too distant. “Such a goddess!” He let out a warm chuckle. Now, that was the right word.

  He rose to his feet and crossed to another cabinet where the virgin scrolls were stored. He took one, ran his thumbs on its surface, and returned to his seat. He found his quill and bottle of ink and dipping the nib into the jar, thought of how to start the letter that would give certain calmness to the down-trodden youths. He bent forward and began to write.

  As he scribbled, his gaze fell on Gretchen who had come out from the kitchen with a cup of ale. She offered it to him with a smile, and he accepted it with a murmured thanks. How had she known he was thirsty? He emptied the cup and handed it back to her, feeling her soft hand brush against his fist. The touch sent cold shivers down his spine. Their gazes met again, and his heart raced. Their faces drew closer and closer, their mouths nearer and nearer. He saw her smile at him and was ready to cover her mouth with his when she dropped the cup. It clattered to the stone floor, and the moment between them was gone in an instant.

  “Oh! Forgive me, my laird!” Gretchen said and bent down to pick the cup. She must have been lost in the moment, too. Almost immediately, Callum bent to pick the cup as well, and their gazes locked once more.

  “Here it is!” Callum said and handed the cup over to her.

  “O-oh, thank ye, my laird,” Gretchen said and turned, walking out of the room with a questioning look on her face.

  Callum watched her departure, his mind whirling with the possibilities. Had he almost kissed her? Did she want him to?

  He read through the letter and decided that it was soothing enough. He sealed it and placed it on his table. He would send one of the guards to deliver it later to the youth’s leader. Early the next morning, he would meet with Gregory and discuss how to attack the situation before gathering the youths.

  * * *

  The following day was a perfect day for walking. The paths were a carpet of rustling golden leaves, and the air hung heavy with the smell of dry bush and bonfires. Callum and Gregory were walking in the direction of the meadows and talking. They spoke at length about the increasing death rate of younger men in the clan and the recent scroll Callum had received in his office. Gregory was eager to hear the story of how young men had been dying.

  "What could be the cause?" Gregory asked in a flustered voice.

  "That question I do not have answers to, myself," Callum replied as they drew nearer to the gate of the training grounds.

  "Maybe the daily tasks are too gruesome for their lazy heads. Why was it the men and nae the lasses?" Gregory asked with a wry grin.

  "The men are the warriors. Many battles have been fought recently, chasing out crooks and thieves. Lots of injuries had been sustained. Maybe there was nae enough cares for them by the healers. I shall invite the healers to the gathering, too. Nae one is excluded," Callum said with a bit of anger wrapped in his voice.

  Gregory raised his eyebrows, wondering if he was the cause of the Laird’s ire, but as a laird, he ought to be angry. He switched to another topic and began to talk about his experiences with local warriors, village guards, and absented veteran warriors.

  As they walked, Callum noticed that Gregory had a habit of picking up twigs to play with before sending them twirling away into the bushes. He liked the way he carried himself, so at ease in his body. It was evident that he was intelligent and highly accomplished. Yet his manner was humble. Gregory never once flaunted his knowledge the way other veteran warriors did, always showing off their sword and archery skills. Callum would prefer to be humble himself and keep people guessing about his abilities. He hated showoffs.

  "That reminds me! Sir Dunkin has been out of town for weeks. Nae one knows why he went out of town, although he said he was going tae see his uncle," Gregory scoffed and swung the iron gate opened.

  "Uncle? Haha, naeone would believe he has an uncle. He's not to be trusted. I knew he wouldn't work with me as the Laird, but that's the least of my concerns at the moment," Callum said as they approached the standing warriors.

  The crisp air had a chill to it, and it looked like it might rain, but the cold had no effect on the warriors as they stood with their hands clasped to the hilts of their swords. They looked like they were ready for war as they all their armor and looked grim indeed. Callum and Gregory walked toward a man who had his sword firmly gripped in his hands and had a look of a general. They exchanged words softly, and he drew back with a bow. Callum gazed thoughtfully at the assemblage, his head tilting to the left and right.

  "The great Clan Glenbogle Warriors! Greetings tae everyone. We are the ones who stand in the cold and endure its penetration tae our bodies. We are th' ones who stand in the rain, enduring the lashes and fighting fer our clan! We are the able ones, deserting our families and friends, gathering every blessed day, training our wits outs, fighting for the best of our nation, fighting for our families, fighting for the wenches and nobles, fighting for the land. Who will fight fer us? We can only fight for ourselves. Nae one knows when we'd all fight and fall in tae the cold hands of death. No one knows when our souls get wearied, and we'd feel so down and drop it all. But we are fighters, and we never go down. We are the hope of the clan. We are the hope of nations. We go down, everyone goes down. We rise, the land rises. Do not be weary. I beseech ye! Be strong in yer soul! Be strong in yer mind! Be strong in yer body! Ye are the voice and hope of the clan. Ye are lairds too! Ye are fighters that even pain cannae be rid of ye. Ye are mysterious, and with ye all, I'm the proudest of lairds!" Callum shouted, gripping his sword firmly and raising it to the sky.

  "
Aye! Aye!! Aye!!! We are the voice of the nation! The hope of the clan, we shall fight till we conquer nations, we are the hopes of the clan! Aye! Aye!! Aye!!!" The warriors chorused in a loudly, mirroring the action of their laird, and raising their swords to the heavens, too.

  They chorused in solidarity, and they all felt something rush through their systems. They felt an unusual change in their spirit; they felt their strength renewed such that they could conquer any clan that launched an attack on them. Gregory smiled as he gazed at the warriors, and he, too, felt the strength renewed in him.

  "A wonderful speech, my laird! I have a hope already and my strength hath been renewed," Gregory whispered to Callum and smiled again.

  "Yer part in this cannot be forgotten, too," Callum said and smiled. He patted Gregory on his back, and they both walked amid the huzzahing warriors. They exchanged pats on the back, and much glad-handing was had all around. The warriors found it surprising to see smiles on their leader's faces. It was unusual, and it gave them strength. They looked stronger and happier.