Marcus smirked, feeling a sense of pride welling up inside of him as he squeezed Henry’s shoulder. “Your flattery is unwarranted,” he said, “but welcomed nonetheless.”
Henry opened his mouth to offer up more tidings of flattery—but he was cut short when he spotted something across the courtyard.
“What is it?” Marcus said, seeing the glint in his companion’s eye. “What catches your attention so?”
Henry jutted his chin, leaning into Marcus’ ear and whispering: “Over there. Next to the troths. Look.”
Marcus squinted, following Marcus’ eyeline and focusing his attention on the area where several horses were partaking in replenishing their fluids with large gulps of water out of troth. Directly adjacent to the troths were two women, sporting dresses the color of cornflower blue and covering their mouths as they exchanged secrets. Lord Marcus was immediately mesmerized by the woman on the left, her aquiline features complimented by a set of curves that tugged at his more primal instincts and started to make his heart flutter.
“Who are they?” Henry asked. “I have not seen them before.”
Marcus shrugged. “I do not know,” he replied. “They are chambermaids, clearly.”
“New arrivals? The castle is still in the midst of filling all the servant positions.”
Marcus felt his feet moving in the direction of the chambermaids, gravitating toward them before he was even consciously aware of it. He said nothing as he approached, the chambermaid on the left captivating him the closer he came to her. Her hazel eyes were shaped like almonds, her smooth skin possessing hints of a copper tone and made him ponder if the parts of her that were covered possessed the same kind of hue.
The chambermaid’s eyes went wide as Marcus came closer, shifting her weight as her companion grabbed onto her arm and whispered something in her ear as Marcus came a few feet shy of them and bowed.
“My ladies,” Marcus said. “My name is Marcus.”
The chambermaid on the right giggled, the one on the left nudging her slightly to force her to go quiet.
“My name is Ilsa,” the one on the left said. “This is my friend Sarah.”
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Marcus said as Henry came alongside him. “This is my companion, Henry. We hail from Shefford back in the King’s country.”
“Shefford,” Ilsa said. “I have heard of it, though I have not had the pleasure of visiting.”
Marcus shrugged. “It is not an area worth noting. Rather plain, really.”
“How long have you been in Scotland?”
Marcus pondered, squinting as he tried to deduce how long it had been. “I cannot say for sure. Time seems to have blended into one day since our arrival here.”
Sarah gestured to Marcus and Henry. “You are members of the King’s guard, I presume?”
Marcus tugged at his tunic, the red and blue colors and chainmail outside of it a clear indicator of his position within the kingdom. “Indeed, we are,” he said.
“You must have seen many battles. I can only imagine what it is like.”
“It is nothing something I relish,” Marcus said. “I merely perform my duties as best as I can.” Come now, he thought. Ask her to take a walk! Be bold, Marcus!
Marcus felt his heart beating to the point that it felt it was almost audible to the naked ear, his entire being feeling equivalent to that of an adolescent who was laying eyes on a woman for the very first time.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Ilsa,” he said. “Would you…um…perhaps like…to take a walk with me?”
Sarah giggled again, burying her face in Ilsa’s shoulder. Ilsa nudged Sarah off, rolling her eyes at her friend’s lack of grace as she said: “Of course, Marcus. That sounds rather lovely.”
Marcus held out his hand, Ilsa smiling as she rested her delicate fingers inside his palm and allowed him to lead the way.
“Henry,” Marcus said. “Will you be alright for a few moments?”
Henry smirked. “Take your time, my friend. Perhaps Miss Sarah and I can occupy the time with our own conversation.”
Sarah nodded politely as Marcus allowed Ilsa to coil her arm around his as they began to stroll through the courtyard, titillated as he felt Isla’s skin press against his.
“Where do you hail from?” Marcus inquired.
“London,” Ilsa said.
“London? So few people I have met are from there. How is it that you are a chambermaid? I do not mean any offense. I am just use to encountering royals when someone says they are from London.”
Ilsa shrugged. “It was only by happenstance. My father is a guard for the King’s residence. It provided us with many opportunities that most are not fortunate enough to have.”
“What brought you to Scotland?”
Ilsa smiled. “I wanted to come. I always dreamed of traveling. The only way I was able to make such a wish happen was to become employed with Lord Brumwald. I feared he would be a treacherous man to work for, but it turns out he is quite pleasant.”
Marcus nodded. “Quite pleasant, indeed. He is a good man. An honorable man.”
“That he is. Do you fight under his name?”
“I do. I just experienced my first battle several days ago.”
Ilsa brought her hand to her mouth, covering it in a way like she was shy to say her next words. “What is it like?”
“What is what like?”
“Battle. Warfare.”
Marcus huffed. “Honorable, yet…troublesome. I do not relish taking a man’s life. But the campaign we are on is one that I do relish. The presence of the English in this land is quite necessary. The Highlanders are savages. They do not possess the grace or sophistication that the English do.”
Ilsa stopped in her tracks, a pensive look stretching across her face. “Do you really think so?”
“I do,” Marcus said. “These people must learn the ways of the crown. They will be better for it.”
“Do you not think that we are…invading their home?”
“I do not.”
Ilsa took a step toward Marcus, her sweet aroma causing his heart to beat even faster. “Let me ask you this,” she said, “how would you feel if someone invaded Shefford? How would you take it if someone came into your home and began demanding that you change your ways?”
Marcus felt his heart drop. He had never before considered such a proposal. Had it been from anyone else’s mouth, he might not have even considered in indulging in such talks. But there is something about you, he thought as he looked into Ilsa’s eyes. Something I cannot explain…
“I don’t know,” Marcus replied to Ilsa’s inquiry with a shrug. “I would be inclined to think that I would not take to kindly to such a proposition.”
The two then stared deeply into each other’s eyes, both of them unable to help themselves from smiling. Marcus knew in that moment, at that very point in time, that he had found the love of his life. It was not just that she was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. But her spirit, her intellect, the way she was able to speak to him in a way that cut through to his very core was the real draw. Marcus knew the second that Ilsa smiled at him the way he did that he would marry her, that this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with—and that is exactly what ended up occurring.
They were married a week later in a small ceremony, the two of them finding it impossible not to smile the entire time. Their marriage was like that for its duration, defined by nothing short of happiness, fulfillment, and love, and when Ilsa announced to Marcus but two months later that she was bearing his child—the level of joy he felt doubled in size.
Marcus had never felt that way before in his life. He had never imagined that he would find love, much less one that was so warm and kind and open and generous and fulfilling to a degree he never thought possible, and in all of an instant—it was completely stripped away from him. Ilsa was taken from him, her life and that of their unborn child cut short in the practical blink of an eye, taken from them by
a pack of Highlanders who attacked the castle one night and burned it to the ground. It was the reason that he hated the Scottish so, the catalyst for his lethal and grim demeanor.
The death of Ilsa and the child brought Marcus down to the deepest pits of despair, his soul turning black the moment he was told that she was no longer among the living. It was as if all the light in his life had been taken away, and the man he once was had been replaced by a vessel of destruction, a lethal individual who cared for nothing and no one except his constant service to the crown. There was no more living. There was no more breathing. There was simply existing, going from one day to the next and never caring about anything more than the tasks at hand that he was assigned…
Lord Marcus blinked himself out of his trance as he shook of the memories of his youth that felt like they had occurred so long ago. The distance of the memories made his heart feel as if it were dipped in a thick layer of grime that weighed him down. Those times are no more, he thought. My love is dead. All that I care for has passed. There is no point in dwelling. I will never let anyone know about what happened. Henry is the only one who is aware of the sadness that wells within the deepest depths of my soul, at least the soul I once had, anyway.
Slapping the reins on his horse, Lord Marcus gestured to the base of the mountain resting but a mere 100 yards away, turning to Henry as he said: “We approach the base. The Scots are no doubt near.”
Henry nodded, cocking his head as he looked at Lord Marcus and said: “Are you alright, my friend? You appear to be lost in thought.”
Lord Marcus nodded. “I am fine, Henry. I am fine…”
But deep down, Lord Marcus knew, no matter how far he tried to bury his memories, no matter how much he pretended that he was no bogged down by the burden of heartache, one thing would forever be prevalent in his life as much as he tried to escape it—he missed his wife, and he wished during every moment of every day that he could have her back, though he knew it would never, ever happen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The muscles in Sean’s leg felt weary, burning as he ascended the mountainside with Rose and Kelly in tow. They had remained in silence for quite some time, none of them wanting to speak up about the fact that the rest of the Scots had abandoned them. But nonetheless, despite the fact that everything felt dire and out of control, they continued their journey, 3-quarters of the way to their destination as they reached an area where the mountains turned from green to white and warm to cold.
“How far are we from making our descent?” Kelly inquired.
“Not far,” Sean said. “We are but a couple hours away.”
A twig snapped in the distance. Sean held up his fist to indicate to Kelly and Rose that they needed to stop. He reached for his sword, ready to draw it out as he made out a few figures moving through some brush directly ahead of them.
“What is it?” Rose asked.
Sean shook his head. Sighed. “It’s the Rot,” he said. “But they have not drawn their weapons…”
Silence held sway for a few moments as the trio waited for Sean to give an order. After a few moments, a rugged and strained voice called out from ahead: “We see ye, Highlander…We see ye…”
Sean held his head high. “I assume,” he said, “that I am speaking to the rest of the Rot. I advise ye to proceed carefully, my friend. I have dispatched of several members of yer party. I do not wish to continue contributing to the depletion of yer numbers.”
A beat. “A negotiation is in order, perhaps,” the voice said. “What say ye?”
Sean nodded. “Aye…I think that would be best for all. Show yerselves. Let us conduct some kind of truce so that me and my companions may pass.”
Moments later, four men emerged from the shrubbery, dressed in the same tattered black clothing and thick wool coats that the Rot sported. They were relaxed, approaching Sean, Rose, and Kelly with cautious steps yet still resting their hands on their weapons just in case something went awry.
The man in the lead, a large scar on the left side of his face, pointed to Sean and said: “Ye killed several of my men.”
“Ye ambushed us,” Sean replied. “Ye attempted to draw first blood.”
“Because this is our territory. Ye have trespassed on our lands.”
“We are not trespassers. We merely seek to pass through. We are fleeing from the English. Ye no doubt can empathize with this plight.”
The man with the scar took a moment—and then he nodded. “Aye,” he said. “That is the reason we dwell up in the mountains. There is not a safe haven in the Highlands. This is the only place we have found any solace.”
Sean took a step forward. “Then let us pass through,” he pleaded. “We mean ye no harm.” He reached into his belt. “Here,” he said. “Consider this my apologies for having dispatched of several of yer mean.” He produced the sack of coins that Rose had given him when they first negotiated back at the tavern, half of his payment which he so willingly tossed over to the man with the scar.
The man with the scar caught the sack with one hand, taking his time to look inside of it and counting it with his eyes. After a moment, he pocketed the sack and stood aside, clearing a path and motioning with his hand for Sean and his companions to pass through.
Sean nodded, looking at Rose and Kelly and cautiously making their way through the opening. All eyes were darting around nervously as Sean, Kelly, and Rose passed through, Sean hoping that there would not be any kind of last-minute reprisals as they distanced themselves from the Rot and made their way to the edge of the mountain to make their descent.
“Do not come back,” the man with the scar said. “Consider this yer one pass.”
“We won’t,” Sean replied. “Believe me…”
Sean could feel the gaze of the man with the scar burning the back of his neck as he began the descent down the mountainside with Kelly and Rose walking directly beside him, all of them breathing easy as they made their way down and hoped to God that the Rot wouldn’t change their mind at the last minute.
Sean guided Rose and Kelly to the base of the mountain, the entire journey taking a couple of hours and leaving them weary and depleted as a result. “We must rest soon,” Sean said. “We are far enough ahead of the English that we can afford to take a night to ourselves.”
Kelly, breathing heavily as they came to the edge of a forested area, said: “We have no supplies, no horses. Is there somewhere nearby that we can take refuge in?”
Sean nodded, pointing through the trees as he replied: “Half a mile from here rests a small village. I once worked a small job for the man who owns the tavern. He has several rooms we can stay in. I might be able to negotiate something with him. But we must move fast, daybreak is upon us.”
They made the last leg of the journey to the small village, arriving outside of it just as the early signs of day began to cut through the clouds and formed pink and orange hues in the sky. The village was small, only four buildings in total, gathered in a half circle with the tavern resting on the most eastern side.
Sean led Kelly and Rose toward the tavern, only a few villagers meandering about as they approached. Nods were exchanged as Sean, Kelly, and Rose entered the tavern, the sweet and tangy aroma of spiced meats lingering in the air as they walked inside.
The tavern was spacious, several round wooden tables polished with a high gloss and several lanterns adorned throughout offering a dull but warm glow throughout the establishment. Sean stood in the center of the empty tavern, waiting for the proprietor to make his presence known which happened only a few seconds later.
The man was larger, standing a good four inches over Sean with a barrel chest and a thick beard. His feet were gargantuan, dull thuds reverberating throughout the tavern as he made his entrance through the room in the back. “We are closed,” he said. “Ye will have to come back later.”
Sean took a step forward. “Good morning, Lachlan,” he said. “I trust ye can find some room for a few weary travelers.”
&n
bsp; The tavern owner, Lachlan, squinted as he laid eyes on Sean. “Wanderer?” he said. “Is that ye?”
Sean nodded. “Aye, my friend. It is good to see ye.”
Lachlan smiled. “I see that ye are still alive.” He stuck out his hand. “Welcome, my friend.”
Sean slapped his palm into Lachlan’s meaty hand and shook. “We seek rest and food, my friend. That and a resupply consistent of horses. We have been through a tumultuous journey, as of late.”
Lachlan gestured to Rose and Kelly. “These are yer companions?”
“Aye. Indeed. I know that ye have two rooms upstairs at yer disposal. I cannot pay ye, but I was hoping that some kind of agreement could be reached so that we can utilize the facilities?”
Legend of a Highland Lass: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance Page 19