Niall put his hand on her shoulder. “I dunna know why ye worry,” he said. “She never liked ye.”
Isabail looked at him sharply before breaking down into laughter. “She’s a contented woman ever since Nikolaus returned tae her. I dunna think I’ve seen a bad day with her since. Did she ever tell ye the full story of her and Nikolaus?”
Niall nodded. “When you married Lor, she felt as if she finally could. With my grandfather dead, there was no reason to keep her secret. It was quite a story. Nikolaus is quite a man.”
Isabail smiled faintly. “So is his grandson.”
They headed back into the cottage shared by Isabail and Lor, and as Niall perched himself on a stool by the hearth, the pair finished their packing while listening to Niall tell stories of the first time he saw Isabail’s mother and how proud the woman would have been of her daughter. Speaking of Isabail’s mother wasn’t something Niall did very often, so it made Isabail quite emotional.
When the packing was finished, Isabail and her father stayed up long into the night speaking of Isabail’s mother.
Yer mother would have been proud of ye, lass.
She believed her father. But the one thing Isabail was most proud of in her own life was the blond warrior sitting by the hearth, sharpening a dirk on a whetstone. Lor sat silently through Niall’s reflections, looking up once in a while to smile at his wife, who would smile in return. Isabail was certain her mother would have adored Lor, as they all did.
The best thing she’d ever done in her life.
Thu fhèin.
Words spoken from his heart to hers.
Epilogue
The Ludus Caledonia
“The horse and the sword are in excellent condition,” Clegg said, a hint of satisfaction in his tone. “I am glad to see all three of you, Lor. I must say that I am also surprised.”
It was a warm autumn day as Lor stood in the bailey of Caelian Hill. Axel was there, as was Luther, who had seen Lor ride in with Isabail, Ewan, and Ossian. They were more than astonished to see Lor, who had the strangest feeling as he stood there in the dusty bailey.
He felt as if he’d come home again.
It was difficult to describe… Camaraderie, comfort, familiarity…all were present. But so was the innate sense of satisfaction. Satisfaction that he’d kept his promise and returned the items to Clegg. Lor was a man of his word in all things.
“I realize ye werena expecting tae see me so soon, m’laird,” he said. “But the situation has presented itself and so I’ve come. I hope I still have a place here.”
Clegg nodded. “Indeed, you do,” he said. “But I must ask you why you have returned so soon. When you came to me, you were very clear that you sought vengeance for the death of your grandfather. Has that changed?”
Lor shook his head. “Nay, m’laird,” he said. “Vengeance was mine in the most unexpected way possible. ’Twill take time to explain. Suffice it tae say that my burden has been lifted and I am a free man, free in more ways than ye know. Ye did this for me, m’laird. It was because of ye that I had the opportunity. But there is something ye should know.”
“What?”
There was a dull glimmer in Lor’s eyes. “I had tae defeat the Beast one last time before my vengeance was satisfied,” he said. “Ye sold the man’s services tae the enemy I was sworn tae punish.”
Clegg looked amused while Axel appeared astounded. “The Beast?” Axel repeated, aghast. “You fought him again?”
“Fought and killed him.”
Axel’s eyes widened as he looked at Clegg, who was still looking quite amused by the entire situation. Stranger things had happened in his world, the great and mighty world of the Ludus Caledonia. In fact, when Lor mentioned that the Beast had been killed, Clegg started to laugh.
“It was destiny,” he said. “Do you not see, Lor? The Beast represented your vengeance. He represented everything you had to overcome, and in the end, you had to kill him to find peace. We all have our Beasts, Lor. You were fortunate enough to vanquish yours.”
Lor wasn’t so sure he saw it that way, but it sounded reasonable. As he thought about it, Clegg’s explanation actually made a good deal of sense.
“Aye,” he said. “I thought ye should know. I have now returned as I said I would and am ready tae resume my training. But I’ve brought my wife with me. The woman is stronger than all of the armies the world has tae offer and wise beyond measure. She will make a good addition tae the Cal, I promise ye.”
Clegg’s attention shifted to Isabail, who was standing tall and proud and visibly pregnant next to Lor.
“I know you, my lady,” he said. “You were here with your father those months ago.”
“I was, m’laird.”
“You were the family who made the offer for Lor.”
“We were, m’laird.”
Clegg’s eyebrows lifted as he understood that Lor had married his liege’s daughter, but he didn’t say anything further. It was a rather neat arrangement, in truth, and perhaps the marriage was even a reward for Lor, though Clegg didn’t ask about the particulars. It was clear that Lor thought a good deal of his wife. He could see it in the man’s expression.
“Your wife is welcome,” he said.
“Thank ye, m’laird.”
“And I also think you more than likely no longer need to train,” Clegg continued. “If you killed the Beast and satisfied your vengeance, then you are more than a tiro. You are a warrior, Scotsman, and at the Cal, warriors train.”
A smile flickered on Lor’s lips. “I hope so, m’laird.”
“You will shadow Luther for now. He will school you on your duties, which will also include finding new recruits just as we found you. We will make you a hunter of men, Scotsman. You will become very familiar with the Sticky Wick and other taverns we haunt.”
“I will not fail ye, m’laird.”
Clegg snorted as if that was a ridiculous statement. “Of course you won’t,” he said. “In fact, Luther is off to the Sticky Wick later this night because we have received word of a viable prospect. A lady who frequents the Cal has come to us with information on a man with fists of steel who haunts the Sticky Wick much as you did once. You will attend Luther and discover what you can of a man called Bane Morgan.”
“Bane?” Lor repeated. “I dunna remember a man by that name.”
Clegg shrugged. “That is not surprising, considering the number of drunkards who inhabit that place,” he said, flicking a wrist in a gesture of resignation. “But it is the nature of the establishment. I want you and Luther to see if this Bane is worthy of us. All indication is that he is even better than you were, Lor. If he is worthy, bring him back.”
“Aye, m’laird. And no one is better than I was.”
That brought a grin from Clegg, a rare occurrence indeed. With business now concluded, his gaze moved back and forth between Lor and Isabail. “Come inside,” he said, turning toward the keep. “Let us eat and drink and speak of our future together, which will apparently include a new infant Scot soon.”
Lor looked at Isabail, who had her hand on her swollen belly. “Aye, m’laird,” he said. “A son tae raise properly.”
“I will be his godfather, of course.”
Lor fought off a grin as he and Isabail exchanged amused glances. “Of course, m’laird. I would have no other.”
That was exactly what Clegg wanted to hear. On a cold December night three months later, a healthy lad was born in the keep of Caelian Hill because Clegg wouldn’t hear otherwise. He insisted that Isabail deliver his godson in a comfortable bed and tended by the best midwife in Edinburgh.
When the screaming infant was finally handed over to Lor, he wept tears of joy that Nikolaus Niall Clegg Careston had arrived safely and that his wife had come through the delivery without incident. It was a joyous time at the Ludus Caledonia as one of the
ir own was blessed with an heir.
But they weren’t the only ones overjoyed with the birth.
When Clova received a missive a month later from Isabail telling her that they’d named the baby after Lor’s grandfather, the old woman was suffering from a terrible lung infection with Nikolaus carefully tending her. The news was the only thing that seemed to lift her spirits, and Nikolaus gave her the missive to hold when he was finished reading it to her. When the old woman finally drifted off to sleep, it was with the missive clutched to her heart and Nikolaus’s arms around her.
Like Isabail and Lor, Clova and Nikolaus were another love story for the ages.
Thu fhèin…for eternity.
Lor Careston is the first to become a warrior at the Ludus Caledonia, but the action doesn’t stop there! Keep reading for an exclusive sneak peek at the next book in Kathryn Le Veque’s thrilling Scots and Swords series
Highland Defender
Coming January 2021 from Sourcebooks Casablanca
Edinburgh, Scotland
Year of Our Lord 1486
It sounded like a fight.
But, then again, everything in this seedy section of Edinburgh sounded like a fight.
Men fought, women fought, dogs fought. Sometimes even old people fought. There was a couple in a corner lodging at the end of the alley who regularly took to each other with clubs and shovels.
The problem was that they were so ridiculously old, and the weapons so heavy, that they could never really lift them. They ended up lugging them around and shouting at each other. Then, they would drag their weapons inside and share the cheap ale that made them so belligerent in the first place. And then it would start all over again.
But this wasn’t the quarrelsome old couple.
This was different.
A scream filled the air, but it was more a cry of rage. He’d been sleeping in a nook of this old alley for a few hours, ever since he stumbled his way out of The Sticky Wick. He wasn’t exactly drunk, but he’d had plenty to drink of that cheap ale with chaff in it. Depression and sorrow had brought him to the nook to sleep, too unmotivated to make it back to the loft he rented from a greedy livery owner.
He simply didn’t care anymore.
But the sounds of a fight had his attention.
Sitting up, he put a hand to his throbbing head, listening to sounds of a struggle and once again hearing that angry scream. The sounds were coming from a smaller alleyway that branched off from the one he was languishing in. One more scream and he was on the move.
Instinct took over.
It was early morning, so people were beginning to go about their daily business. The alleyway was slick with mud from both the rain the night before and the piss tossed out of the homes. He almost slipped as he made his way toward the sound of the struggle, taking a turn and gripping the corner of the house he was next to so he wouldn’t slide in the muck.
Then, he saw it.
A woman was being assailed by at least three men. She had something in her arms, something they were grabbing at and she was unwilling to relinquish. She was fighting them off as much as she was able, but it was one woman against three grubby old men. They weren’t really touching her as much as they were simply grabbing at whatever she was carrying, but when one man got in behind her and tripped her, the fight escalated.
Most people in this part of Edinburgh wouldn’t get involved in something like this. They were people who lived in poverty and filth, and without the wherewithal to involve themselves in someone else’s troubles. But he was different—he knew he couldn’t just stand there as a woman was assaulted. It wasn’t in his nature, though there were times when he questioned his nature. He wasn’t even sure what it was any longer. But what it wasn’t was passive when someone needed assistance.
Bane Morgan had never been passive in his life.
Reckless, aye.
But not passive.
Wiping a hand over his face to clear his vision, he charged headlong into the fracas.
The woman was on the ground now as the men grabbed at her. She was kicking and scratching, unwilling to let go of whatever she was holding in her arms. Bane came up behind one of the men grabbing at her, driving a punch into the back of his head that sent him crashing into the stone wall.
The woman was in panic mode. She was scrambling to get away and, in the process, dropped what she was carrying. Sausages, carefully wrapped, rolled out onto the dirty alley. That brought more people, those who had been observing the fight with disinterest until the food started to fly.
Now, they came running.
The brawl became a melee.
Unfortunately, Bane was right in the middle of it. He found himself surrounded by people grabbing at the sausages rolling in the dirt, fighting over them, punching and kicking one another for the privilege of rescuing a dirty meat roll. Hands, feet, and pieces of meat were flying as the hungry and desperate fought for their very existence. It wasn’t a matter of greed.
It was a matter of survival.
The fight was lost already, only the woman on the ground didn’t realize it yet. She still thought there was some hope of regaining what she’d lost. She was struggling to her feet, slapping hands and shoving people, trying desperately to regain her lost meat. But when Bane managed to confiscate a couple of sausages, she thought he was stealing them, and grabbed the nearest weapon, which happened to be a dented copper piss pot near a doorway. Swinging it with all her might, she brained him over the head with it.
Piss went flying in all directions.
“Bleeding Christ, woman,” he gasped as he crashed into the wall behind him. “What in the bloody hell was that for?”
She was still wielding the pot like a club. “Give me back my sausages!”
“I was going tae,” he said, shaking off the bells in his ears. “Give a man a chance before ye’re beating his brains in.”
“Give a man a chance?” she repeated, aghast. “A chance tae do what? Rob me blind? Look around ye; everything I have is lost because of ye and yer thieving friends!”
“I am many things, but a thief isna one of them.”
“I saw ye help those men who were attacking me!”
He shook his head again, wiping the piss from his eyes. “What ye saw was me coming tae yer aid. I heard the screaming and came tae help.” He opened his hand and let the two sausages in his grip fall to the ground. “But ye can fend for yerself now, wench. Best of luck tae ye.”
He was woozy from the hit, staggering off as the woman stood there, piss pot still in-hand, watching him go. As she stood there, confused and upset, the two sausages he’d dropped were picked up by children, who ran off with them.
And then there were none.
Almost as swiftly as it started, the fight was over, the crowd was gone, and she had nothing left. Standing there in the alley, with only the empty burlap the sausages had been wrapped in, the expression on her face was one of despair. Hanging her head in defeat, she turned to walk away, heading in another direction, when she heard a crash behind her.
The man she’d struck with the piss pot had tripped and fallen against a rain barrel. As the woman watched, he tried to hold on to right himself but he ended up pulling the barrel down over him. Water gushed all over him.
Clearly, her hit to the head had done some damage.
The woman watched him struggle and her despair turned to guilt. Considering the fact that he hadn’t run off with the sausages when he very well could have, perhaps he’d been telling the truth. Perhaps she’d been too hasty in her judgment and now he was suffering the consequences.
Retracing her steps, she reluctantly went to help him, but Bane saw her coming.
He braced himself.
“Are ye back tae brain me again?” he asked. “If ye are, I canna give ye much of a fight.”
From his position
on the muddy ground, he gazed up at her warily. She was standing a few feet away, looking at him as if debating whether or not to help him. Or kill him. It could have been either choice in her case. She’d already accused him of being a thief, so perhaps she’d come to finish what she started.
“I’ve not come tae brain ye again,” she said after a moment. “It looks as if I already knocked ye sufficiently.”
“Ye did.”
She cocked her head as she looked at him, studying him as he wallowed in the mud. “I was thinking that ye could have run off with the sausages, but ye dinna,” she said. “Given that everyone was grabbing for them, I hope ye can understand my reaction. I thought ye were stealing them too.”
His gaze lingered on her before leaning back against the wall. Exhaustion was setting in and his head was killing him.
“What were ye doing with those sausages, anyway?” he asked. “I’ve not seen ye around here before.”
She lifted the empty sack in a helpless gesture. “M’lady sent me tae the butcher’s shop,” she said. “This was the shortest route back home. She’s expecting them for her morning meal and I was trying tae hurry, so I cut through this part of town. That was my mistake.”
“Who is yer lady?”
“Lady Currie,” she said. “We live in Meadowbank, tae the east, north of Holyrood. Do ye know it?”
He blinked as he processed what she’d told him. “Ye’re a fair way off from Meadowbank,” he said. “What in the world did ye come tae this side of town for? Surely there are butchers closer tae Meadowbank.”
The woman shrugged weakly. “Lady Currie likes this butcher,” she said. “Usually, she sends the men servants, but no one was available at this hour, so I offered tae go.”
“And ye lost yer sausages for it.”
She turned in the direction she had come as if to see the butcher. “I dunna suppose he’d give me more,” she said wistfully. “It was foolish tae come this way. I dunna relish telling Lady Currie that I lost her meal.”
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