Highland Gladiator

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Ye had yer grandfather tae make ye a man,” she said. “He taught ye a trade and made ye who ye are. But me…I never had a mother tae teach me tae be a lady. I only had a father and older brothers, and they taught me the things they knew. They are the ones who taught me tae fight, and I learned tae fight better than they do. But as I got older, I realized that lads dunna like a lass who fights.”

  Lor’s eyes finally had warmth in them as he squeezed her fingers. “Some lads do.”

  Isabail laughed softly. “Not most of them.” She hadn’t meant to speak about the lad she’d once been fond of, once, but now she didn’t see any harm in it. “His name was Mitchel dun Machair. He was a distant cousin to the Keith. Mitchel was big and dark, and he had a way of smiling that set a lass’s heart tae fluttering.”

  “What?” Lor said in mock outrage. “I thought ye said ye’d been true tae me.”

  “It was a very long time ago.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It had better be. Well? Who is this man who caught yer eye?”

  Isabail laughed softly. “He’s but a distant memory, I promise,” she said. “He dinna like a woman who fights. He wanted a lass tae tend his home and bear his children. I’ve no skills in a home, and bairns frighten me, so Mitchel married a pretty lass from another clan.”

  Beside her, Lor shifted slightly so that he was closer to her. “Did he tell ye that he dinna want a lass who could fight?”

  Isabail looked at him, feeling the heat radiating from his body. It reminded her of the last time they were alone, when he’d made love to her in his tiny cottage. She found herself wishing they could do the same thing tonight. Being this close to the man made her feel hot all over.

  “He told me that Pearl would make a better wife because she dinna fight like a man,” she said. Then she lifted her eyebrows in an ironic gesture. “Pearl was her name, and she was white and round just like a pearl. I remember wishing I could be just like her, but now I realize that was just foolish. I could have never been happy being a Pearl for the rest of my life.”

  Lor smiled faintly. “Now Mitchel is saddled with a round, white Pearl,” he said. “I would wager that she is as bland as her name. If Mitchel had been smart, he would have taken a chance on a redhead who demands bird eggs. But I’m grateful he dinna.”

  The flattery brought a flush to Isabail’s cheeks. “Ye prefer a woman who bullies ye for bird eggs?”

  That brought a chuckle from Lor. “I would take a woman who bullies me every time,” he said. Then his smile faded. “I like a strong and courageous woman, never afraid tae speak her mind.”

  Isabail was genuinely touched. “Ye’re not afraid tae marry her?”

  “Ye dunna see me running, do ye?”

  She squeezed his fingers, wishing she could do so much more. “Lor…I want tae say something to ye, so forgive me if it doesna come out as it should,” she said, stumbling over her words. “For what happened tae yer grandfather and yer village…I am very sorry. But I’m not sorry that I found ye at the Ludus Caledonia. If it sounds disrespectful, I dunna mean it that way. I simply mean that…I thought I’d lost ye when Careston burned, but when I found ye at the Cal, it was as if my life had begun anew. I feel strongly that it was fate that brought us together again. We’re not meant to be apart, you and I.”

  His eyes had a weary glimmer to them. “Nay, we’re not,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, Isabail…thu fhèin. Remember that.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she didn’t ask. In truth, it didn’t really matter to her. He loved her and that was all that mattered.

  Only you.

  Impulsively, she kissed him, her tender lips against his warm mouth. It was soft and delicious, but it was a stolen kiss. Tonight, there could be nothing more and they both knew it. Quickly, Isabail pulled away and bolted to her feet. She was halfway across the common room and to the stairs before she turned to look at him, blowing him another kiss before dashing up the steps to her rented chamber.

  That night, she slept with peaceful dreams of the blond smithy, now warrior, who had captured her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Auchnacree

  After leaving Blairgowrie before sunrise the next morning under cloudy skies, Lor and the Keiths reached the village of Auchnacree just before sunset.

  Lor saw it as a scattering of stone and sod cottages amid gently rolling hills. In the late, gray afternoon, the smoke from the cooking fires was hanging heavily in the air. The earth around them was a rich dark-brown, muddy from the recent rains, with patches of green grass on occasion.

  The village was concentrated on the hills. It was a fairly substantial settlement with a main road that went through town and then smaller cottages that spread up into the hills. The main road had mainly residences, as people began to turn out to greet their returning chieftain, but there were also at least three merchant stalls that Lor could see—a tanner, and a blacksmith with his bellows going at full blast, and then a man who propped open the shutters on the front of his stall to display what looked like fabric and other trinkets.

  Lor’s thoughts began to darken as they entered the village proper. When he was a child, the Keith lands were mysterious and dark, so being in the village of Auchnacree was something of an odd experience for him. He looked at the curious faces of those around him, expecting to see the wicked and only seeing what looked like normal people, much like the people of Careston. There wasn’t anything mysterious about them as far as he could see.

  But he knew they were killers.

  Niall brought the horses to a halt in front of the largest building in the village. It was a great stone hall with a sharply pitched roof and slender windows that were placed high up by the roofline. There was one door in the front, a massive oak-and-iron panel set within an arched doorway.

  Niall dismounted, followed by his sons and Isabail, and finally Lor, who was so busy studying the building that he hadn’t even noticed everyone was off their horses. He also hadn’t noticed that nearly everyone in the village had turned out to greet them. He was only aware when a small girl ran up to him, handing him a sprig of bog myrtle with a cluster of catkins on the end. Startled by the child tugging at him, he took the greenery as she ran back into the crowd.

  Lor’s gaze lingered on the host of faces staring back at him. It was so very odd to know he was in the heart of Clan Keith, looking at the people who had killed his grandfather and destroyed his village. For a man who had been suffering rage since that very day, there was a sense of satisfaction that he was finally here where he needed to be.

  Friendly faces that wouldn’t be so friendly once he finished with them.

  “Come,” Niall said, catching Lor’s attention. “My sons will take the horses tae be stabled, but ye will come with me. There are people I want ye tae meet.”

  Lor obeyed, following Niall as Isabail joined him. When their eyes met, predictably, she smiled.

  This time, he smiled in response before he could stop himself.

  The door to the hall yawned wide, and he stepped into a large chamber that was surprisingly bare. There was a big table, well worn, but only a few chairs. The hall had been built long ago and was without a hearth, but there was a great iron cage in the center of the room that acted as a brazier, and it was packed with peat and kindling. Smoke billowed up to the ceiling, finding a way out through the slender windows.

  Niall had Lor sit down at the table, near the fire, and sent men running for food and drink. Across the dim hall, Lor could see Isabail speaking with a trio of older men, pointing to Lor as she spoke. Lor was curious about the older men, but he was more interested in watching Isabail speak.

  There was just something about her that gave him pleasure simply to watch.

  He sat there by himself for quite a while, trying not to be obvious about watching Isabail, as pe
ople milled curiously around the entry door to the hall, peering in but not entering. Ewan and Ossian eventually returned with an old lady between them, and the three of them were allowed into the hall, but Niall closed the door after that.

  Ewan and Ossian were surprisingly gentle with the old woman, who stared at Lor rather strangely before collecting her chair. Isabail and the three men she’d been speaking with also made their way over to the table, with Isabail taking a seat next to Lor as the others settled down. Women appeared from the shadows with drink and an iron pot of something steaming. When they reached the table, wooden cups were dunked into the steaming pot and passed around.

  It was some kind of soup and Lor drank it down, hot and salty. As Isabail took his cup and dipped it into the pot again, Niall spoke.

  “I’m sure ye wish tae rest after our journey, but ye must understand that our folks have been waiting weeks for our return,” he said. “They are eager tae see ye, and our elders are eager tae speak tae ye. After that, we’ll show ye tae a place where ye can rest, but for now, ye must meet those ye will serve.”

  Lor looked around the table as Niall began to introduce them. “This is my brother, Tyrone,” he said, indicating the silver-haired man sitting next to him. “Next tae him are our cousins, Lorne and Ailbert. Their mother was our father’s sister.”

  Lor nodded his head in greeting to the two men who looked a good deal alike, both with very little hair, both with bulky bodies. Ailbert had a big gash on his face that ran from his ear down his jaw, and it looked fairly fresh.

  Niall continued to the woman seated at the end of the table. “And that is Clova, my father’s last surviving sister.”

  Lor looked to the old woman, her gray hair in braids wound up on her head in no particular pattern or style. She was wrapped in a tattered shawl, but in her hands she held a bundle of weeds that sent thin ribbons of smoke into the air. She inhaled the smoke from time to time, and Lor could smell a distinctive sweet odor from where he sat.

  “These are my kin, the elders of our village,” Niall said. “They are worthy of yer respect. They are why I dinna tell ye the reason behind our visit tae the Ludus Caledonia, the very reason I purchased yer fealty. It is something ye must hear from all of us, as they have the right tae speak on it, too.”

  So now they were getting down to the truth of the matter, and Lor was understandably curious.

  “Go on,” he said.

  Niall sat down finally, reaching for a wooden cup. Instead of dipping it into the pot of soup, he took the wooden pitcher on the table and poured cloudy ale into the cup. He needed the drink more than the food, and a mood of expectation settled in the hall.

  “Those of us who went tae the Ludus Caledonia know where ye’re from, but there are those at this table who dunna,” he began. “What I say, I say for their benefit. Ye went tae the Cal tae learn tae fight after yer village of Careston was burned. Isabail thought ye’d be perfect for our purposes because of yer connection tae Careston. Ye were born there. Ye lost everything when it was raided. Is there anything else ye’d like tae tell the elders?”

  Lor found himself looking around the table at the older Scotsmen and one very old Scotswoman at the end of the table, smelling her smoking weeds. These were the people who had razed his town, who had taken everything from him, but as he looked at the group, he could feel doubt clawing at him.

  His fealty was purchased by the very people who burned his village. They knew he was from Careston, yet they purchased his fealty in spite of that knowledge. Isabail had originally told him that her father needed a warrior to lead the men of their clan, but she had never been clear on what, exactly, he would be leading them against. She’d only mentioned that they’d had trouble.

  Now, Lor was about to discover that reason, but it seemed to him as he looked at the weary faces around him that these didn’t look like people guilty of burning Careston. The hatred he had for them, and the powerful desire for vengeance, were now mingled with doubt because the facts as he reviewed them weren’t making much sense.

  Something was off.

  “Nay,” he said after a moment. “They know that Careston was my village. My grandfather was killed in the raid. I went tae the Cal because…because I had nothing left. ’Twas a new life I needed.”

  That was the truth, somewhat, but it was enough so that those at the table understood his motivation to a certain extent. But the death of his grandfather wasn’t something Niall had heard before.

  Briefly, the man closed his eyes, shaking his head with sorrow. There was a pained look in his expression that was not the reaction of a guilty man.

  Lor’s confusion was growing.

  “God be with ye, lad,” Niall muttered. “I dinna know about yer grandfather. It would seem that the raid on Careston has touched us both in different ways. It has taken yer grandfather and now it threatens tae take everything the Keith hold dear.”

  Lor wasn’t following him. He was looking at Niall, at the others around the table, sensing desperation and sorrow.

  “Why am I here?” he asked.

  Niall took a healthy swallow of the strong ale. “Because we need help,” he said. “We need a strong man tae lead our young men, at least the ones we have left. We need a man tae help us ensure our survival. Ye’re here because Drostan Lindsay is trying tae destroy us, much as he destroyed Careston. He wants tae burn us from the earth.”

  Lor was more confused than ever. “What does Drostan have tae do with this?”

  Niall settled back in his chair, wearily. “Because it was the Lindsay who burned Careston,” he said simply. “His men were dressed in the wool that we sell. They struck after dark and killed the men of the town first, or at least the ones they could find, before setting the town alight and burning the women and children. Those who tried tae flee were cut down. All the while, they wanted everyone tae think it was the Keith because of what they wore.”

  Lor stared at the man, struggling to comprehend what he was being told. “Are ye saying that the Lindsay…?” He couldn’t even finish, closer than he’d ever been to revealing his true feelings on the entire matter. “But that canna be. It makes little sense.”

  Niall held up a hand, pleading for understanding. “It makes sense if ye know the history between Lindsay and our clan,” he said. “The land we sit on used tae belong tae one of the last great Lindsay chieftains, many years ago, and when he died, it went tae his daughter. She married a Keith, and the land has been ours ever since. But in that time, many a Lindsay chieftain tried tae gain the land back, until I was born, and then they seemed tae stop trying until Drostan became the chieftain. Since then, he has renewed the efforts worse than his forefathers.”

  “The burning of Careston is not all of it,” Tyrone, Niall’s brother, chimed in with his heavy Scots brogue. “When Drostan became the chieftain, they started wandering intae our lands, stealing our cattle or our women. Then we’d find our lasses days later, beaten and sullied. Drostan denied it was the Lindsay, but the women they assaulted told a different story. They told of being taken tae Kirkburn Castle and attacked.”

  Niall put a hand on Tyrone’s shoulder to silence his emotional brother, who would start yelling at some point because his daughter had been one of those women damaged by the Lindsay.

  “They would raid our farms on the outlying lands,” Niall said. “The harassment was constant. Then Drostan sent a man tae make us an offer of money if we would vacate the land. I refused. A month later, Careston was burned tae the ground. That’s when it became quite interesting.”

  Lor was hanging on every word, shocked to the bone by what he was hearing. “What do ye mean?”

  Niall drained his cup before answering. “We have ties tae Clan Murray,” he said. “Some of our women have married intae their clan. Angus Murray, the chieftain, was told that the Keith had burned Careston. More than one person told Angus that they saw Lindsay
men burning the town while wearing our wool.”

  Lor had to make a conscious effort to keep his jaw from going slack. “Is that true?”

  Niall nodded slowly. “If ye dunna believe me, I can produce several men who will tell ye what they saw.” He sat forward in his chair, his intense gaze on Lor. “Ye lost yer village tae a clan that was supposed tae protect ye, Lor. I suppose they felt it was a small price tae pay for running the Keith off lands they believe are theirs.”

  “But why should they want the land so badly?”

  “Because there is a silver mine here, mined by generations of Lindsay and then Keith. ’Tis not a great deal of wealth, but it is enough tae keep us comfortable. ’Tis how we paid for ye. And Drostan Lindsay wants it.”

  “And it doesna stop there,” Tyrone spoke up again, firmly but quietly. “The Lindsay grow bolder still. Look at Ailbert. See the gash on his cheek? ’Twas a Lindsay patrol who did that while he was out tending his sheep. They sliced him with a sword and beat the young shepherd who was attending him. The harassment goes on, and it will continue until something is done.”

  Lor was in a fog of confusion. He looked at the older man with the big gash in the side of his face, having a difficult time believing any of this was real. But in the same breath, fragments of the situation were starting to make sense.

  He began to think back to his encounter with Drostan after the destruction of Careston. Back to that day of days when he’d staggered to Kirkburn Castle to beg Drostan for help in punishing those responsible for his grandfather’s death. Drostan had been sympathetic. He’d been more than supportive about Lor going to the Ludus Caledonia to learn to fight, to prepare himself for his vengeance against the Keith.

  If what Niall said was true, then Lor would have played right into Drostan’s hands.

  He would be the instrument of continued harassment against the Keith.

  The realization hit him like a hammer.

  “I couldna tell ye any of this,” Isabail spoke up, piercing his thoughts. “I told ye that we needed a man tae lead us because of some trouble, but I couldna tell ye what the trouble was. Ye had tae hear it for yerself once we reached Auchnacree.”