As Richard approached one of the buildings in the village, a woman with silver hair and sporting aged yet still stunning features approached. “Richard,” she said. “It appears we have visitors.”
The woman nodded. “My name is Gavina,” she said. “I am Richard’s wife.”
Richard and Gavina waited for Sean and Rose to offer their names, but Sean could sense Richard and Gavina feeling their hesitancy to offer up their identities and smiled with a dismissive wave of the hand once they realized the information was not going to be divulged.
“Do not worry,” Gavina said. “Plenty Highlanders in these parts are fleeing from somebody. Ye do not have to tell us who ye are. We are of no trouble to ye.”
Richard placed his palm on Sean’s shoulder. “Do ye drink?”
Sean shook his head. “No. Not at the moment. I must keep my wits about me.”
Richard winced. “Nonsense,” he said, slipping his arm around Sean and squeezing. “Come with me. Indulge in one drink.”
Sean found himself being pulled away as Gavina cozied up alongside Rose, Richard guiding him away and toward the fire where the other Scots were gathered and partaking in a meal.
“Is that yer wife?” Richard inquired, nodding over his shoulder to Rose.
Sean shook his head. “No. No, not at all. It is not like that.”
“What is it like, then?”
“It is…” Sean searched for the words. “Merely an arrangement.”
Richard pouted his lip. “Quite curious. What kind of an arrangement?”
“I am guiding them through the Highlands. They are fleeing from nobility due to a…transgression the English feel was committed. As I said, we are on the move, so we cannot stay for too long. Only an hour or so.”
“Sound like quite the trouble has been stirred up.”
Sean nodded. “Quite.”
Richard, looking at Sean inquisitively, placed his hand on Sean’s chest with a gentle pressure to bring him to a stop. “I know of ye,” he said curiously.
“I doubt that,” Sean replied.
“No,” Richard said, pointing a finger. “Your looks. The way you carry yourself…No, I have heard of you before.” He leaned in, smiling as he said: “Yer the one they call the Wanderer. Aren’t ye?”
Sean didn’t reply—but he could tell that the lack of response said everything to the man in front of him.
“Aye,” Richard said. “Word of ye has spread to even these parts. Ye have quite a reputation on ye, Highlander.” Richard then reached into his belt; a small flask stuffed near the edge of his hip. “Made it myself,” he said. “Whiskey.”
Sean took the flask and pulled the cork on top off. He took a sip, the liquor sending a warm sensation through his body that temporarily warmed his flesh. He passed the flask back, Richard taking a sip before his eyes glanced in Rose’s direction as she spoke with Gavina. “Her,” he said.
Sean said: “What about her?”
“Ye sure ye are not with that lass?”
“What makes ye say that?”
“The way ye were looking at each other. The way ye rode alongside one another. I sensed a lover’s tension between ye.”
Sean huffed, gesturing to the flask. “Then ye must have had more than yer fair share of the drink today, my friend. We are not together.”
Richard’s lips formed into a wry smile. “So ye say,” he said, looking away and Sean sensing Richard’s apprehension to accept Sean’s answer as fact.
“Ye know,” Richard said. “That’s how I met my wife. I mean, she was not too keen on me when we first met. I sense the same tension with ye two.”
Sean laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The old man was so insistent to immediately jump into conversations of this kind. They really have a lot of time on their hands around here, he pondered. The only thing worse than running into a pugnacious village elder is an inquisitive one.
“I think,” Sean said, “that we don’t need to waste time with this kind of talk.”
Richard laughed. “Of course, we do. Ye’ll have to forgive me, but we don’t see many people come through here that often. We relish the company.” He forked a thumb over his shoulder. “I am sure my wife is being just as inquisitive with yer female friend. So come, tell me my good man…” he stepped in closer. “Ye fancy her. Don’t ye?”
Sean found himself turning his head and focusing his attention on Rose, captivated by her profile as she spoke to Gavina and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I wonder, he thought, I wonder what that woman is thinking about right now…
Rose was finding it hard to dodge Gavina’s questions, the queries pouring out of Gavina at rapid pace. She was not speed-talking, but she was certainly following up one question with another without a moment’s hesitation—and it was somewhat entertaining. Gavina could sense that those who dwelled in this village, being that they were responsible to only themselves with no children offering up the hindrance of parenting, were always in a somewhat…inebriated state with no one to keep them in line but them and them alone.”
“Tell me,” Gavina said, her focus leveled at Sean. “Is that man that rode in with ye yer husband?”
Rose laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head incredulously. “No. Not at all. He is merely a guide I hired to help navigate us through the Highlands.”
Gavina flexed her brow. “But he is not a bad sight to take in, is he not?”
Rose shrugged. “I do not dwell on such things. It is a waste of time.”
Gavina nudged Rose with her elbow. “Oh, come now. Ye are a woman. Thoughts of being…close to another is part of our being.” She nodded to her husband. “It is probably the only reason I have been with Richard so long. He is a fool…but he is quite lovely to spend time with.”
Rose couldn’t help but smirk as she sensed the playful and loving and flirtatious undertones in Gavina’s words. She loves her husband, she thought. The two of them have lived in bliss with nothing but pleasure and love and a life free of turmoil keeping them company. I do not begrudge her. It is not the worst recipe for happiness that I have heard…
“How long have ye resided here?” Rose said as she took a look around her surroundings.
“Just under 20 years,” Gavina said. “We have lived in peace that entire time. We are in such a remote area, and far enough away from Lord Brumwald’s castle that we are never bothered.”
Rose’s eyes looked to the mountains. “Is it true that savages dwell in there?”
Gavina nodded heavily, her tone shifting slightly to a direr timbre. “Aye. I’m afraid so. I do not think it is wise for ye to travel that. If ye truly insist on doing it, ye must be desperate.”
Rose bit her bottom lip from the tension. “Aye,” she said. “Desperate indeed.”
Gavina held up her hand. “Then I will not have ye indulge in the talk if ye do not want to.”
Rose smiled. “Yet, ye seem to be privy to asking me questions about my love life, or lack there of.”
Gavina laughed. “Aye. It’s because whatever is brewing between ye and that rough but handsome man is palpable. I am yer elder, my dear. Trust me when I tell ye that being around as long as I have tends to lend ye a certain perspective.”
This is silly, Rose thought, still finding herself trying to focus on the task at hand. I cannot be having this conversation. This woman is amusing, but this is not the time.
“I do not wish to take up ye or yer husband’s time more than we need to,” Rose said. “We simply wish to eat, give our horses’ some rest, and take our leave. I don’t mean to be rude. I am just too distracted right now to talk about men.”
Gavina stood in front Rose, shifting her weight and reaching out to touch Rose’s cheek. “Ah. So young, ye are. I see much of myself in ye. I was much like ye in my youth—pugnacious, ferocious, relentless. I was a wanderer for so many years. I always seemed to on edge in one way or another.”
“Ye could have fooled me,” Rose said. “Ye seem so…relaxed.”
“Because I made the time.”
“For what?”
“For love.”
Love, Rose’s mind gibbered. I do not have the energy or time for such foolish errands. “That is not my preference,” Rose said. “Survival is my sole mission.”
Gavina puttered her lips. “I said the same thing. Every woman for herself. I must have muttered those words daily. But ye know what the best part about love is, my dear?”
Rose looked at Gavina, shrugging and waiting to hear the rest.
“Ye can never plan when it hits ye,” Gavina said, nodding to her husband lovingly. “And that’s exactly what happened with me.”
Rose couldn’t help but note as Gavina looked Richard with such an adoring and unceasing gaze. It was so potent the way that she was looking at him, so richly abundant. She had never seen a woman look at a man like that before, and for the briefest of moment—Rose found herself envious. Is that what I’ve been missing? she pondered. Do I resist love because I simply have not found it?
Her gaze then drifted toward Sean, the two of them locking eyes and once more feeling that same connection they did the day they met and finding that it only grew in intensity the longer that time went on. Staring deep into his eyes, Rose found her heart fluttering and her skin flushing, thoughts of Sean in a more intimate setting creeping into her mind as she held her gaze and never broke it for a second.
Chapter Sixteen
Lord Marcus dismounted his steed, his men surrounding him as he stood in the heart of the lush and expansive forest and turned his head to the sky. He sniffed the air, his senses elevated as he listened to every chirp, snap, and gust of wind that echoed around him. He was searching, looking for any sign or clue that would point him in the direction of the Scots.
One of Lord Marcus’ men, a strapping gentleman by the name of Henry with thick auburn hair, slipped off of his saddle and came up alongside Lord Marcus. He waited for a moment as Lord Marcus set about his tracking, watching him with a curious set of eyes before saying: “Any clues?”
Lord Marcus kneeled to the ground, pressing his hand to the dirt and finding it warm to the touch from the rays of sun that cut through the tree line overhead. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “Nothing.” He jutted his chin ahead of him. “There’s three ways they could have travelled to. It is merely a matter of trying to deduce which. At this point, I can only speculate where they could have gone.”
Henry placed his hands on his hips, squinting and trying to track alongside Lord Marcus. “You don’t see anything? Any prints? Anything that might point us in the right direction?”
Lord Marcus stood and leveled his gaze on Henry. Scrutinizing. A glimmer of suspicion in his eye. “You sound worried, my friend.”
Henry nodded over his shoulder. “Perhaps it’s because the man that Lord Brumwald sent with us seems to be waiting for trouble to arise.”
Lord Marcus diverted his attention to the man in the rear, Cutler, seated proudly on top of his horse. He could sense the man’s disdain, his focus never wavering from Lord Marcus during every leg of the journey.
Lord Marcus smirked. “He’s no doubt been sent to dispatch of me if we fail in our plight. The move to ambush the Scots last eve seems to have been…a mistake.”
Henry nodded. “I found it rather curious that you decided to go out with several men to try and take them on your own accord.”
“So, now you’re questioning my methods.”
“Never, my Lord. As I stated—I just found it rather curious that you did. Was there a reason?”
“Must there be a reason,” Lord Marcus said with a wince, “for me to obliterate this rebellious scum from the face of the earth? They murdered the king’s nephew. Outright war will be initiated if we do not deal with them swiftly.”
“Still,” Henry said, “the decision has brought about the presence of a man who has inserted himself onto our backs like ticks on a fawn. I feel that he will be a hindrance more than an ally or an asset.”
Lord Marcus gestured to the woods in front of him. “This is treacherous terrain, my good man—anything could happen at a moment’s notice. He could…fall, become attacked by a wild animal, fall privy to the blade of a savage’s sword.”
Henry hid a smile. “One could only hope.”
Lord Marcus shrugged. “Or one could take the initiative.” He looked over his shoulder. “Cutler!” he called out. “May I converse with you for a moment?”
Cutler kicked his heels into the sides of his horse and set out into a light gallop, arriving alongside Lord Marcus and jutting his chin with a regal and snooty glare in his eye. “Yes, Lord Marcus?”
“We are still attempting to track the Scots,” Lord Marcus said. “We are just finding it difficult to navigate the terrain.”
Cutler sighed, shaking his head as he did so. “I was under the impression that you were the most well-versed tracker in these lands, Lord Marcus. They say that you rival even the most seasoned of Scotsmen.”
“To a certain extent. But these woods are expansive. There is only so much that one man can do to navigate them.”
Cutler waved his hand dismissively through the air. “You have spent more time than an Englishman should in these parts. I feel that it has…tainted your senses.”
“Tainted my senses?”
“Yes. I understand now why I have been sent to pray witness to your methods. Your seeking out of the Scot and attempting to overwhelm them with only two other men at your disposal was a ghastly and foolish mistake.”
Lord Marcus flashed a smile, shrugging an forcing a sarcasm-soaked innocence. “I am but a mere servant for the crown, Cutler,” he said. “I am prone to being human on occasion.”
“Not when the vengeance of one of the king’s kin is at stake,” Cutler said as he held up a finger. “We must find these Scots immediately. I want this sorted out now so that no more time is wasted.”
Lord Marcus turned his head to the right, a pensive look coming over his face as he cocked his head. He made it a point to exaggerate his posture, his entire body language indicative that something—or someone—was captivating his attention.
Cutler caught onto this, perching up high on his horse and trying to track whatever it was that was grabbing Lord Marcus’ attention. “What is it?” he inquired. “Do you see something?”
Lord Marcus nodded. “As a matter of fact,” he said. “I do!” He pointed to a small opening no wider than a single man could fit through in a grouping of trees. “Over there!”
Cutler dismounted his horse, resting his palm on the handle of his sword as he cozied up next to Lord Marcus. “What?” he said, eagerness in his tone. “What is it that you see?”
“I think I see…something,” Lord Marcus said, still holding his finger on the small grouping of trees. “Come with me. Let’s see if we have stumbled upon something.”
Lord Marcus proceeded forward, a hand on his sword as he flashed a quick look to Henry. Henry nodded, walking away upon seeing the glint in Lord Marcus’ eye, his back now turned entirely on the situation.
Lord Marcus continued walking forward, Cutler right beside him with a worried expression and a trembling stance. “I think I see them,” he said. “I think I see something!”
“Perhaps you do,” Lord Marcus said. “You are skilled man. A smart man. Aren’t you?”
Cutler nodded. “So, I have been told.”
Lord Marcus withdrew his sword. “Then tell me,” he said, “why is it that you cannot see the fact that I am luring you into a trap?”
Cutler stopped where he stood, his expression slack and soaked with confusion as he turned his sights on Lord Marcus. He opened his mouth to offer up a retort—but Lord Marcus quickly buried three-quarters of his blade into Cutler’s belly and cut him short before he had the opportunity to do so.
“Trust me, my good man,” Lord Marcus said. “This is for the best.” He pulled out the sword, Cutler stumbling back and clutching at his belly as his skin went pa
le.
Lord Marcus removed a rag, cleaning the blood from the blade as Cutler stumbled over his own feet. He bobbed and weaved, struggling to catch his breath for several turns before falling onto his back. He took two more breaths, his eyes went wide, and then he passed on into the unknown as Lord Marcus watched with an expression that was neither satisfied nor horrified.
Henry approached as Lord Marcus finished cleaning his weapon and placed it back in its sheath. He sighed as he took note of Cutler’s body, saying to Lord Marcus: “I suppose that’s the end of that.”
Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Page 14