Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance

by Kenna Kendrick

  Lord Marcus frowned. He knew of the legend of the Wanderer. He had heard many tales of the man’s exploits. Unlike most of the English, the thought of crossing paths with the Wanderer to Lord Marcus was one that entailed a potentially exciting showdown. He relished the challenge. He liked the idea of hunting down a man as formidable as him.

  “The Wanderer,” Lord Marcus said. “You are sure this was the name you heard?”

  The tavern owner nodded. “Several were speaking of it. He was alone in the tavern at first. The woman, she was with a group of individuals. She approached this man they called the Wanderer. They appeared to be bartering about something. They left together after Lord Jessup was dismissed from the premises.”

  Lord Marcus squinted, piecing together the story and making his deductions. “I would say,” he said, “that it sounds like this woman is the leader of the one they call the Scots. One might think I am being rash to just to such conclusions, but this all seems highly suspicious. And it sounds to me like she was retaining the services of the one they call the Wanderer.”

  The tavern owner shrugged. “I cannot say for sure. But it was suspicious, aye. After they confronted yer man, they left together, the woman, the Wanderer, and the group of Highlanders that were with the woman.”

  “How long ago did they leave?”

  “Late last night.”

  “Which direction did they ride?”

  “East, Lord.” The tavern owner held his hands up in submission. “And that is all I know! I swear to ye! I have no quarrel with the English. None at all. As I said, I am merely a tavern owner looking to run a business. That is all!”

  Lord Marcus placed the lamp down on the counter. He then stepped around the counter, approached the tavern owner, and stood a few feet shy of him. He then took a step closer, pulled the tavern owner in close, and hugged him. “You are a good man,” he said. “And I thank you for your honesty.”

  The tavern owner remained rigid as Lord Marcus embraced him, confused and fearful. Lord Marcus broke them embrace, stepping back and gesturing to his men that the time had come to leave. “East, you say?” he asked the tavern owner.

  “Aye,” the tavern owner said. “They rode east.”

  “I thank you kindly,” Lord Marcus said as he headed toward the exit. He then stopped in the doorway, his redcoats lingering behind him as he then said: “Burn it,” with a seething and lethal tone.

  One of the redcoats then responded swiftly to Lord Marcus’ orders, raising the lamp and smashing it against the countertops which then became ignited in a fiery blaze. The tavern owner attempted to charge toward one of the redcoats, but his legs were quickly kicked out from under him, his head colliding with the floorboards and sending him into a daze.

  The rest of the redcoats exited the tavern as the tavern owner riled on the ground, the fire quickly stretching through every inch of the tavern as the door leading in was closed and a block of wood was placed over it to make sure that the tavern owner remained locked inside.

  Lord Marcus and his men mounted their horses tethered to post just outside the tavern, the blaze of the fire scorching the windows and cracking the glass as the tavern owner’s screams rang out from inside. With the fiery blaze illuminating Lord Marcus’ emotionless face, he jutted his chin toward the east and said: “We ride. And we do not stop until we find this woman and the Wanderer.”

  The redcoats all rode in unison to the east, hard and fast as the fire consuming the tavern glowed vibrantly behind them before collapsing in on itself and sending the citizens of the town into an all-out frenzy.

  Chapter Seven

  Sean watched the Scots setting up camp inside the forested area as he remained perched on a rock. They were not his friends. He had no true loyalty to them, so it did not bother him to not exert any effort in the building of the camp as he nibbled on a piece of dried meat that he had stuffed away in his satchel.

  They had decided to make camp in the outcropping that Sean had spoken of earlier, a moss-covered section of a cliff area on the edge of the mountain which spilled down twenty feet into an area of trees. Sean chose the spot because the outcropping rested in front of a narrow grouping of trees, too tight for multiple people to get through, so if anyone attacked—they would come in smaller numbers.

  Tents were erected. A fire was built. Rose oversaw the preparations and tossed the occasional look in Sean’s direction. Is she suspicious? he thought. She seems to look at me like she is now heeding that man’s Brandon’s words…

  Sean looked in Brandon’s direction, Brandon hunched over a pile of wood he was organizing to build a fire. Brandon was not looking in Sean’s direction, but his disdain was apparent from the perpetual scowl he was sporting on his face.

  Sean didn’t trust any of the Highlanders with him, however found it easier to speak to Rose. There was something that he felt he gravitated toward; a kind of essence akin to his own. She’s like me, he thought. She fights to survive. She does not waste any time with trivial matters.

  He watched Rose as she sat perched on a stone across the wine, sharpening the blade of her sword and focusing on the task at hand with an unblinking set of eyes—fearless, on guard, ready to fight at a moment’s. Sean saw Rose take a loose strand of her hair and tuck it behind her ears with a delicate and feminine twist of her fingers. The woman was formidable. He had not doubt about that—but she was still a fine and fair woman with features so mesmerizingly striking that even Sean, the most obstinate of most men his age, could not help but note this.

  “Wanderer,” a voice said in front of Sean, snapping him out of his daze.

  Sean lifted his head, the woman named Kelly now standing in front of him, her ginger hair tied in a braid draped over her left shoulder. “Aye?” he said.

  “Can I ask ye something?”

  Sean shrugged. “Do not suppose why ye cannot.”

  Kelly sat beside Sean, not even bothering to request his permission to do so. “I heard a story,” she said, “about ye stealing ten prized show horses from an English Lord by yerself. Is that true?”

  Sean huffed. “When will ye people drop these ridiculous inquiries into me past?”

  “It is a good story. I’d like to know if it is true.”

  Sean gave Kelly a sideways glance—but he said nothing.

  “I’d really like to know,” Kelly pressed. “It is quite an impressive feat to steal ten horses in broad daylight. That is the story, by the way, that it happened in broad daylight. How does one Do that? Ten horses at once?”

  Sean bided his time for a moment as Brandon ignited the flaming pile of wood, a soft glow emitting through the camp and casting an ominous yet appealing glow on Sean’s face. “I do not know of what ye are talking about,” he said.

  Kelly sighed, turning away in disappointment.

  “But,” Sean said, “I would be inclined to think that a man stealing ten horses in broad daylight would Do so by getting said English Lord drunk the morning of and spiking his drink to make he slept must of the following day. Makes it quite easy to steal ten steeds in those conditions.”

  Kelly flashed a smile, looking at Sean with fascination. “Why would an English Lord get drunk with a Highlander?”

  “He would not,” Sean said. “But he would with the beautiful woman the Highlander paid to seduce him.”

  Kelly laughed, impressed as she stood up from the rock. “Oh, I like ye, Wander,” she said. “But if ye spike me drink…”

  Sean flex his brow. “Ye will kill me?”

  Kelly clicked her teeth and winked as she sauntered back over to the other Scots and assisted a few of them in preparing the night’s meal.

  Sean turned his focus back on Rose, finished with her sharpening and watching over the members of her group with a watchful eye. Sean stood, wandering in her direction and standing beside her, Rose not bothering to acknowledge him though he well knew that she was tracking him his entire walk over.

  “We should head out at first light,” Sean said.
“There is a village not far from here. The English were expelled from the area not long ago. We should gather enough supplies fer a two-day trek.”

  Rose nodded. “Aye. Then first light it is.”

  Sean crossed his arms, watching as Rose was as the Scots set about their duties of preparing the camp. They worked swiftly, like a swarm of coordinated hornets who knew their jobs and performed them with efficient grace.

  “Highly organized, they are,” Sean said with a nod.

  Rose returned the nod. “They are a fearsome lot, indeed.”

  “Ye trained them?”

  Rose shook her head. “We trained together. Me father was a swordsman. Many of use learned must of what we know from him.”

  “He trained ye at a young age?”

  “The moment I could stand,” Rose said. “Me father insisted.”

  Sean squinted. “What happened to him?” he asked. “Yer father?”

  Rose’s gaze drifted, Sean noting a solemn look in her eyes. “He perished,” she said. “Along with must of our clan. It was an attack by the English.” She pointed to the Scots. “Only we survived. The English tried to hunt us down…but obviously they failed. Until now, that is.”

  Sean turned to Rose, curious to know more. “What happened?” he asked. “What happened with this English knight ye killed?”

  Rose shook her head. “It was an accident. I blamed myself at first, but it was just pure happenstance that this man took me mask off, and it just so happened to be a man a ran into a few days before.”

  “How did he learn yer name?”

  Rose nodded toward Kelly. “Kelly and I were sharing a drink in a tavern a few days ago. We were both a little worse for the wear. But she accidentally blurted out me name. The knight happened to overhear it, he approached me, tried groping me, and Kelly scared him off.” She sighed. “So foolish…”

  “No,” Sean said. “These things happen. It was no coincidence.”

  Rose glanced at Sean. “Are ye saying ye are a God-fearing man?”

  Sean shook his head. “It is not like like. But I do believe in some elements of the idea of fate. Life has a strange way of letting moments like these occur more than once in a while.”

  Rose stood, cocking her eyebrow, Sean unable to note the lethal yet feminine quality in which she did so. “And what moments of faith plague ye, Wanderer?”

  Sean immediately thought of his family, of them perishing in the fire that he had witnessed upon his return from an afternoon hunt. He thought of his wife, of his child burning and crying out for his help but to no avail. He thought of the countless night he was unable to sleep, of the nightmares that came as a result—but he couldn’t tell Rose this. He didn’t want to, either. He was a loner, the one they called the Wanderer, and his secrets were his and his alone.

  “I have had me fair share,” he said to Rose, already regretting asking her so many questions that were now being turned on him. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Rose looked away. “Ye say this journey will take a little over a week?”

  “Aye,” Sean said.

  “Where will ye gae after?”

  “Wherever the road takes me.”

  “Sounds like ye live one day at a time.”

  Sean nodded. “I do.”

  “Quite a vacant existence,” Rose said. “Does it not get lonely?”

  Sean shook his head. “No. I have me steed and me thoughts to keep me company.”

  “I can only imagine what goes through a head like yers, Wanderer.”

  Sean’s mind once again drifted to thoughts of his wife screaming at him through a burning blaze. “Ye have no idea,” he said to Rose as he prepared to walk away.

  But then there was a snap of a twig, Sean cocking his head like an eagle in the direction of the noise and resting his palm on the handle of his sword as he heard it.

  “What?” Rose asked.

  Sean breathed in the air, listening intently on all the sounds around him. “Grab a bow,” he said, slowly removing his sword. “Someone approaches…”

  Silence held sway as Brandon and Kelly joined alongside them, weapons in hand as Sean moved toward the grouping of trees in front of him. He waited, sword in hand as time ticked by—ten seconds…twenty…

  And then they attacked—a group of three bandits in tattered clothing rushing at Sean and the Scots with swords raised and screams evacuating from their lungs. They charged, but Sean took down two of them with quick scythes of his sword. One of the attackers had struck at Sean’s torso, but Sean batted the blow away as the tip of the blade nicked at his chest before disposing of the man. Rose took care of the third bandit with a strike from a bow and arrow, the bandit dropping dead to the ground as she lowered her bow.

  Sean kept his sword held up, scanning for signs of any addition intruders—but none ever came.

  “Ye are wounded,” Kelly said.

  Sean looked down at his chest, his left pectoral muscle slightly gashed, a ribbon of red flowing from the wound and down his tunic. “I will be fine,” he said.

  Rose came up to Sean, examining his wound and shaking her head. “I can handle that,” she said. “Come with me.”

  Sean shook his head. “I am fine.”

  “The wound will get worse if ye do not tend to it now. Come. There will be no discussion. I cannot have me guide dying on me before I reach me destination.”

  Sean reluctantly followed after Rose into her tent, Rose already in the process of fetching supplies from her satchel to help tend to Sean’s wounds. “Sit down,” she said. “Remove yer tunic.”

  Sean sat on the ground, peeling off his tunic and dropping it beside him. Rose turned around with a few ointments and a rag in hand—and she paused once she laid eyes on Sean’s sinewy and scar-peppered torso. Every inch of his body was well-sculpted, the muscles thick and appearing to have the consistency of stone, starting with his round shoulders and all the way down to the abdominal muscles.

  The scars on his left shoulder, lower back, forearms, and right bicep were deep, clear indications of several battles fought and won. But Rose blinked a few times to not focus on this and sat down in front of Sean as she dabbed a cloth with one of the ointments.

  “This will sting,” she said as she pressed the rag to Sean’s chest.

  Sean didn’t wince. Didn’t flinch. He just could not help but feel the warmth of Rose’s palm as she pressed it to his chest, his heartbeat increasing as his skin began to go flush.

  “Keep this clean,” Rose said. “Dab it with this ointment twice a day, just as I am now.”

  Sean said nothing, focused in on Rose’s glimmering eyes as she slowly looked up at him. The two connected gazes, neither saying a word as Rose kept her hand pressed to Sean’s chest and Sean leaned in every so slightly to increase the pressure. For a brief moment, they shared just the space between one another, their minds running wild before Sean finally blinked himself out of the trance.

  “Thank ye,” he said, taking the rag from Rose and snatching up his tunic.

  Rose handed over the ointment and moved away. “Aye,” she said. “Not a problem.”

  Sean donned his shirt and stepped out of the tent, Rose’s eyes wide as she collected her breathing and tried not to think of how hard and formed and defined Sean’s body was, her body, for the first time in a long time, reacting with a warm and titillated sensation that took her several deep breaths to suppress.

  Chapter Eight

  Sean could smell the smoke from the fire wafting into his face, the heat from the blaze lapping at his skin and causing it to turn a beet shade of red. He raised his arm, trying in vain to block out the incessant torridity of the inferno as he struggled to see through the thick and acrid smoke.

  “Sean!” he heard the voice of his wife call out. “Sean, help up! Please!”

  Sean squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could. No, no, no! his mind gibbered. Please, not again. I have seen them suffer far too many times. Please, God, do not do this to me.
Not again!

  “Sean, my God!” he heard his wife scream. “It burns, Sean! It burns!”

  Sean couldn’t refrain from opening his eyes, the screams of his loved ones like a fisherman’s hook in his heart, piercing it and drawing him in despite his attempts to refrain from looking. Sean saw the blaze upon opening his eyes, the towering and spiraling flames licking at the heavens. He couldn’t see his wife. He couldn’t see his child. He could only see the roar of the fire, crackling and rising and growing like a disease that could not be cured.

  He ran toward the fire, the flames catching onto the fields around him. It engulfed every inch of his body, his tunic and his boots and every other inch consumed by the fury that seemed to come from the depts of hell itself. Sean waved his arms madly as he tried to work his way through into the center of the fire, the screams of his wife and the cries of his child making him feel weak at the knees as he fell down, the fire now overcoming him and consuming him completely.