Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance

by Kenna Kendrick

  But Lord Marcus didn’t care for such things. He wasn’t a materialistic man. He cared not a thing about nobility. He only cared about consistently moving, always being on the hunt in some form or another, and the reason for doing so haunted him nearly every moment of every day.

  As Lord Marcus came to the bottom of the stairs, he slipped his hand in his tunic and pulled out a faded and folded up letter that had been sent to him so many years ago. It was from his now-deceased brother, the letter short but nonetheless evoking a sickly feeling that was just as potent as it was the day Lord Marcus first read it: “Your wife has perished, brother. She has succumbed to the sickness…”

  It was hard for Lord Marcus not to tear the letter to shreds every time he read it, having read it more times now in the 3 years he held it in his possession than he could count. It still enraged him, fueled him, really, to embark on an incessant campaign of vengeance and rectification. It was his drive, his motive, and slowing down meant dealing with the pain instead of just projecting it on others.

  Lord Marcus folded the letter and put it away, quickly hustling his way out of the castle and into the tavern where he gathered three of his men and ordered them to follow him to the stables.

  “Where are we going?” one of the men inquired.

  Lord Marcus flashed a smile. “Hunting, my good man,” he said. “We are going hunting.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sean felt the sweat gather on his brow as they came into the second hour of their ride. It was the middle of the night, and the weary nature in which their horses were trotting had indicated to him that the time had come to take a brief respite.

  Sean turned to Rose, her gaze still drifting, clearly still lost in thought about the death of Brandon, Lachlan, and Eamon. “Rose,” he said. “We just rest for a moment. The horses tire, and the day has been tumultuous enough for ye and yer people.”

  Rose shook her head. “No. We should continue to ride. I don’t want to waste the time.”

  Sean pointed down the road. “We are not far from the castle belonging to the man they call Lord Brumwald. Also, chances are this Lord Marcus might be convening with him at this very moment. We should stay on the outskirts, rest for the time being. As long as we keep the noise minimal, we shouldn’t bring about any attention.”

  Rose huffed. Sean could sense her eagerness to push through, to keep going until they reached their final destination without ever looking back. But it wasn’t an option. The woman will exhaust herself and everyone else before that happens, he pondered. She’s spiraling right now, furious beyond all measure at the loss of her men, though I do not blame her.

  “Rose,” Sean insisted. “Take a rest. There is nothing wrong with giving yer people two hours’ worth of respite.”

  Rose took a glance behind her shoulder at the rest of the Scots, all of them clearly weary and itching to lighten their physical burden if only for a brief while. Finally, she held up her hand, the group coming to a stop before she addressed them.

  “We shall take rest for two hours,” Rose said. “Make sure that ye replenish yourselves. Sleep for a short while, if ye can. We must converse our energy. We are no good to ourselves if we don’t.”

  The group slowly slipped off of their saddles, all of them either huffing or sighing or stretching their relief as a temporary camp went about being set up. Sean told Rose to abstain from building a fire, and Rose in turn told all those around to keep their voices to a dull roar as they gathered around in a huddle and three of the men volunteered to take the first watch of the hour.

  Sean and Rose sat near each other. Kelly, all eyes currently on her, held her hands up as she went about regaling the others with a story of Brandon and one of his exploits he had endured while he was still among the living.

  “It was a long time ago,” Kelly said.

  “How long?” another asked.

  Kelly smirked. “Let’s just say that Brandon had less facial hair than he ended up garnering.”

  A light laugh was exchanged by the Scots.

  “Anyway,” Kelly continued, “Brandon had taken a fancy to a young lady in the village where we were bartering for pelts. The lady worked for her father, who was elderly and incapable of sustaining conversation due to his age—at least that’s how it appeared.”

  More laughter was exchanged, Sean sensing that several of those in attendance knew how the story ended and were eagerly anticipating the ending.

  “Brandon,” Kelly said, “was blindsided by this woman’s beauty. He would have given in and gave her all the pelts away for free if she had asked. Luckily, he only sold them for a third of their value because he was intent on taking her for a drink and whatever activities might have followed. But that is not the humorous part of the story. The part that deserves noting was the fact that Brandon wandered off for her with a drink that night. It was a most merry affair. The young lass got Brandon drunk and invited him back to her room that evening. Once he was stripped naked, a band of friends loyal to the woman barged in, stole Brandon’s money, and all of his clothing before fleeing into the night. Brandon, the hot-blooded man that he is, ran out into the courtyard trying to give chase with nothing on but a boot he was using to cover his more intimate of parts.”

  The group couldn’t help themselves but erupt into laughter, Rose included. Sean even found himself sporting the slyest of smirks, surely amused by the story and somewhat gladdened at the fact that a moment of alleviation had been found.

  “That was quite a ruckus of a night,” one of the female Scots said. “I have never seen Brandon more enraged in my entire life.”

  Another one of the Scots, a man with a thick beard the color of a raven, held up his finger. “That is nothing compared to Lachlan’s water incident?”

  “Water incident?” Kelly inquired.

  “A similar story akin to Brandon’s,” the man said. “We were out fishing one morning. We attempted to locate a stream where we could go about our duties, but we came across a man and his family who had already laid claim to the spot they were attempting to fish at. He had a daughter, a fine young maiden with hair the color of fire. Lachlan was so distracted by this he rarely blinked the entire time. When we made our leave, we approached a hill that spilled out into a separate part of the river, but Lachlan, exchanging glances with the young maiden, was so distracted that he fell from his horse, tumbled down the hill, and fell into the river.”

  The laughter once again erupted. Sean wanted to eagerly remind them of the need to keep quiet, but the joy was contained enough, and the moment welcomed enough, that he decided not to say a thing. Let them have this, he thought. They suffered more loss today than most do in a month.

  Kelly, slapping her leg, said: “That sounds like something Lachlan would do.”

  The man telling the story wagged his finger. “His anger afterward at us for indulging in laughter at his expense was by far the best part.”

  One of the other Scots leaned in. “I was there! Remember? He started hurtling rocks at us from the river and cursing to high heaven!”

  The man telling the story laughed. “Yes! Yes! That’s right! And when he tried to throw a third stone—”

  “—he fell right back into the river!”

  The Scots were buckling with their reminiscing, Kelly practically falling over herself as Rose reached out and steadied her with her hand.

  “Alright,” Rose said, waving them all off. “Let us lower our tones. We do not know who lingers in the woods with us.”

  The group took a moment to fall silent, stifling their amusement as their smiles melted into frowns reminiscent of dire reflection. The silence held court for a few moments, until Rose stepped in and said: “Let us not forgot these stories. They are the ones that will keep the memories of Brandon, Lachlan, and Eamon alive.”

  Kelly nodded repeatedly, twiddling her thumbs for a moment before she reached into her leather satchel and produced a leather, flagon-like pack.

  “What is that?” Rose s
aid with a squint.

  “Something that belonged to Brandon. Only him and I knew about it.” She held it up. “A type of shine that he brewed for him and me alone. It was our little secret.” She pulled off the cork sealing the top, holding it up to the glow of the moon like it was a painting of Brandon himself. “I think he would want us to have this,” she said. “Something for us all to remember him by.”

  Kelly passed the flagon to Rose, Rose sniffing the opening and wincing once she took a whiff. “God in heaven,” she said. “This smells like something you douse arrow tips with before lighting them ablaze.”

  Kelly smiled. “You’re not too far from the truth.”

  Rose raised the flagon in a toast, throwing back a swig and squinting from the bitter taste before passing the flagon back to Kelly. Kelly then held up the flagon and said: “To Brandon, Lachlan, and Eamon. May we never forget the sacrifices that they made.”

  The group passed around the flagon and indulge in a sip. When it reached Sean, he responded by standing and meandering off from the campsite. No one paid much mind to it, save for Rose, who stood and followed after him not long after he departed.

  “You don’t indulge in vices, I see,” Rose said, Sean lingering near the edge of the woods.

  Sean said: “I’m trying to abstain, considering the hectic nature of our circumstances. I feel it’s better to keep my wits about me until we’ve found clear passage.”

  Rose tracked Sean’s eyes as he scanned their surroundings. “How far are we from this castle?”

  “Not far. It’s best we keep the noise to a minimum, though I understand fully your people’s need for a moment of reprieve.”

  Rose nodded. “That they do. This has been one of the longest days for us that I can recall in recent memory.”

  “We’ll head out in two hours.” Sean pointed to the left. “There is a river that cuts through the forest for about six miles. It runs in a clear path around the castle itself. It almost provides as a kind of guide that avoids the grounds entirely.”

  “As stated before: men might be watching those grounds.”

  “Do ye have archers?”

  “Four. The most skillful I have ever met.”

  “Good,” Sean said. “Then they will flank our caravan as we ride through. We’ll send one scout slightly ahead of us to keep a close eye. We will deal with any resistance or sentries that we find should we come across any.”

  “Fine by me,” Rose said with a shrug, the two of them then sharing the silence as the conversation with the Scots turned into a dull roar.

  Sean couldn’t help but feel a fluttering of anticipation as Rose stood beside him. It was odd to him how being in Rose’s mere presence could titillate him so, at how bizarre the notion was that not even exchanging anything verbally, at how standing just a few feet shy of her, managed to kindle something in him that he had not experienced in ages. I feel drunk, his mind clamored. I feel intoxicated by her very presence. What is this? Is she some siren from folklore, luring me in until I am at my weakest? What will happen then? Will she strike? What will she do?

  Rose turned to Sean; her lips parted on preparing to say something. “I must bring something to yer attention,” she said.

  Sean squinted. “Okay. What is it?”

  Rose drew a breath. “That moment we had.”

  “What moment?”

  “When we…touched. It was unexpected. I feel it must be addressed, considering what we’ve said about keeping this situation to…services rendered.”

  Sean was praying that the moment wouldn’t come back to him. He had only indulged in that very brief, very subtle move of affection because he was—and he was disappointment this was this case—vulnerable in that moment. He knew it meant something, but it was easier to charge through it and not acknowledge it.

  Sean waved his hand dismissively through the air. “It was a fluke,” he said. “A moment where neither of us were thinking. That is all.”

  Rose bit her bottom lip, looking away as she nodded. “Aye,” she said, a layer of depletion, perhaps disappointment, in her tone. “Perhaps ye are right.”

  “I know that I’m right,” Sean said defiantly. “It is an unnecessary distraction.”

  “Aye. Unnecessary. Neither of us has the time to indulge in such silly thoughts.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Besides,” Sean said with a shrug, “you’re not my type of woman anyway.”

  Sean knew he said it to dig at Rose. He didn’t really mean it. She was perhaps the most striking women he had met in some time, on the same level as his wife, though it killed him to say so. But nonetheless, he saw that the comment had brought a rise out of Rose, Rose leering at him as she turned, faced him, and crossed her arms defensively.

  “And what makes ye think,” Rose said, “that I have any interest in ye, Wanderer?”

  Sean looked away. “I never said ye did.”

  “Yet ye make that comment with such confidence.”

  “I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “Yet ye clearly meant it.”

  Sean smiled incredulously and turned away. “Ye are quite a headache, Rose,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t know how to put up with ye.”

  Rose shot her hand out and grabbed Sean swiftly by the elbow, her firm grip and causing the rhythm of his heartbeat to increase. He looked her in the eye, seeing that Rose was taken aback by her own actions but still holding onto him, nonetheless.

  “Ye should release me,” Sean said, unable to emit a playful tone in the way he said his words.

  Rose arched her eyebrow—playful, surreptitious, flirtatious. “I’m not worried about going toe-to-toe with ye, Highlander.”

  “Then clearly ye know nothing about me. I have killed many people before.”

  “But not woman and children.”

  “Ye don’t know that.”

  Rose shrugged. “Those are the tales I have been told.”

  Sean look down and saw Rose’s eyes ablaze, that same, proverbial kindling fire between them now reaching a pinnacle that was beyond the point of being doused. Whatever physical reactions they were having to one another was unable to be staved off. Their emotions, their reactions were like a force of 100-riders strong hurtling themselves towards a flimsy gate of resistance that was about to be demolished in the blink of an eye.

  “Stop touching me,” Sean said fruitlessly, feeling himself gravitating closer to Rose.

  Rose, her lips quivering, looked Sean square in the eye as her eyelashes fluttered and her rate of breathing increased. “Or what?” she said, biting her lip in anticipation as her and Sean came closer and closer together.

  Their lips inched near each other, just a hair’s breadth from making contact. Sean couldn’t fight the feeling, completely consumed by the woman in front of him and giving up a fight that was about as worthwhile as kicking water up a hill. They came in close, their lips on the cusp of touching—and then Rose held up a finger.

  “Wait,” she said, urgency in her tone. “Do ye hear that?”

  Sean did, perking up at the subtle sounds of what appeared to be leaves being tussled not far away. He nodded, his eyes scanning from left-to-right as he tried to make out the source of the noise.

  Sean and Rose wandered together with their hands resting on the grips of their swords, only shreds of visibility open to them in the otherwise darkened forest as they came to a stop a few feet shy of their original location. They waited for several turns, nothing but the hoot of an owl and the chill of the nighttime breeze keeping them company—and then four riders burst through the woods, swords held high and prepared to strike as Rose and Sean’s eyes went wide upon seeing the men in English garb on horseback.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sean shoved Rose to the left, pushing her out of harm’s way just as Lord Marcus, charging in the lead with his other two men, swung his sword directly over her head. Rose fell to the ground; her cheek missing being sliced by just a couple of
inches.

  Rose rolled over, shooting up to her feet and calling out to the other Scots: “On yer feet!”

  The Scots shot to their feet, retrieving their weapons quickly and spreading out as Lord Marcus and the other two riders cut through. Kelly, nearly embracing the fate that Rose had, found herself ducking and roll as one of the incoming Redcoats took a swipe over her head. The Redcoat turned his horse, bringing the sword down upon Kelly. She propped up on one knee, the Redcoat’s sword making contact with hers, the cling of the metal ringing out throughout the camp.

  Rose and Sean ran toward the center of the fight, the Redcoats gathered in a circle and scything their weapons at the incoming Scots. They parried, countered, struck back with all their might.