Highland Legend

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He didn’t know that the very root of his presence had been built on lies.

  Lies perpetrated by Agnes’s husband, meant to keep Magnus apart from his father. Ambrose had fed Magnus lies from a young age, insisting that his father wanted nothing to do with him. It kept Magnus confused and defeated, unwilling to escape because he had no one to escape to. It had been a control measure that Agnes had known about but had done nothing to prevent.

  The truth was that Hugh Stewart was very concerned for his son.

  A son he was told hated the very mention of his name.

  And all of it had been orchestrated by Ambrose. Father and son had been told that they hated one another, that there was no love lost between them. Hugh never tried to see the son he was told hated him, and Magnus never tried to see the father who didn’t want him.

  Ambrose’s scheme had worked beautifully.

  But Agnes knew it had all been a lie. There had been times when she had wanted to tell Magnus the truth, but she was afraid to go against her husband. He was a man who always had to dominate those around him, finding the manipulations of others as pleasurable as some men found joy in happy pursuits. Being in control was Ambrose’s happy pursuit and he did it with anyone he could, especially a cousin he hated and the man’s bastard son.

  Magnus had never questioned his father’s apathy toward him. Being illegitimate, he never demanded that he be recognized. He accepted that he was unwanted. Even today, when Agnes saw Magnus for the first time in years, she could see that old acceptance in his eyes. That child hostage was still in there somewhere.

  The boy who just wanted to be loved, no matter how successful he became.

  As the carriage bumped over the uneven street, heading to the fabric broker, Agnes tried to put the sight of that sad little boy from her mind. There was nothing she could do about it. Nothing she could say. It had been going on for so long that she would not interfere. She knew what would happen if she did.

  Therefore, Magnus would have to go on thinking his father hated him.

  And Hugh would have to go on believing his son wanted nothing to do with him.

  It was a sad lot in life for them both.

  And Agnes had to live with the guilt.

  ***

  She remembered him.

  Even after he departed from the dingy little apothecary shop, Diantha’s thoughts lingered on Magnus Stewart. Like the other women in Lady Ayr’s adoring throng, she recognized him vaguely. But the young man she had known those years ago was not the same man she had just witnessed.

  The man she had just witnessed was magnificent in every sense of the word.

  From her youth, she remembered Magnus to be a short, dark, and sullen young creature. She remembered him as keeping to himself. Someone had told her that he was a hostage, the son of an enemy of Lord Ayr, but she didn’t know anything more about him. During her first years at Culroy Castle, she had only seen him on occasion, and she had never exchanged more than a couple of words with him.

  Magnus Stewart had been a loner.

  Diantha had been little more than a child when she had come to Culroy. Those had been dark and turbulent days, and she had lived in fear with people who spoke a language she did not understand. But she was sharp and learned English quickly, and as the weeks and months passed, she had come to know the people in her environment, and that included the young men who were squires and wards of the Duke of Ayr.

  Magnus had been among a group of younger men who squired for some of the older warriors. She remembered seeing him with the duke’s son, Conan, a man everyone at the castle despised to varying degrees. Conan Stewart was brash, rude, spoiled, and intolerable at times, but he was the duke’s one and only son, and he was treated as if he were the Christ child reborn.

  Now, he was a man she was expected to marry.

  But she had no intention of doing it.

  In the appearance of Magnus, she saw her way out. If he had been released from the hellish fortress that was her prison, then perhaps he could help her find a way out as well.

  She had to find a way.

  This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. She’d been planning to flee Culroy as long as she’d been a captive. That big, dirty, salty castle sat by the sea, where the heavy fog rolled in from the ocean and smothered everything it touched. It was hell.

  It always had been.

  For as long as she could recall, her intention had been to flee, but it wasn’t so easy. Both Culroy and the Edinburgh town home of Trinity House were heavily guarded. Several times, Diantha thought she might be able to slip out, but she’d lost her nerve because there was no one to help her. If she was caught, she would always be watched, so she didn’t try.

  She bided her time.

  The time had finally come.

  God, is it possible I’ve finally found a way to escape?

  It all started when Lady Ayr and her women stopped at a merchant that supplied beautiful fabric after they’d left the apothecary’s stall. Lady Ayr made several purchases of lovely fabric, and when they departed the shop for home, Diantha pretended to have left something behind.

  She made a show of being greatly concerned by her forgetfulness, and the carriage she was riding in came to a halt. She assured the annoyed driver that she could find her way back to Trinity House and that he need not wait for her, but the man balked. The streets of Edinburgh were not safe for ladies to travel alone. But there were several impatient women in the carriage, and eventually he had no choice but to continue on, leaving Diantha on the street.

  It was exactly what she had wanted.

  She rushed back to the apothecary shop. It was empty now and she could see both brothers in a corner, counting something in one of those glass phials.

  Quickly, she made her way toward them.

  “My lords?” she said, politely catching their attention. When the old men turned to look at her, she smiled hesitantly. “I was wondering… The man who was here, called Magnus… Do you know where he lives?”

  The apothecary who had been assisting Magnus cocked his head curiously. “Yer lady knew him,” he said. “Why not ask her?”

  Diantha scrambled for an answer. “She does not know,” she said. “She asked me to… She wanted me to find out where he lives. He would not tell her, but she…she has something to give him. Will you tell me?”

  She was stumbling over her words because they were spur-of-the-moment lies. She had never been very good at lying. The old apothecary scratched his head.

  “He comes in with Sir Clegg at times,” he said.

  “Who is Sir Clegg?”

  “He owns the Ludus Caledonia.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A great place,” the old man said. “It is where men fight. Sometimes they come here afterward tae find something tae cure an aching head or an aching belly so their wives willna know they have been eating and drinking like gluttons.”

  Diantha was trying not to look bewildered. “They…they eat and drink at the Ludus Caledonia?”

  The old man nodded and so did his brother. “It is a place where men fight while still other men wager on them,” he said. “I’ve never been, but I hear they provide their guests with the finest food and drink. It is a place of great entertainment and great debauchery. But if ye are thinking of going there, it is no fitting place for a woman.”

  She cocked her head curiously. “Women do not go there?”

  “Decent women dunna. Tell yer mistress that, if she’s thinking on going.”

  Diantha’s next question was going to be for directions but she suspected they might not tell her after warning her away from it. Therefore, she tried to be clever.

  “She did not say that she wanted to go, only that she wanted to send him something,” she said. “She will probably send a soldier. Where is this place?”

 
The brothers looked at each other, since neither one really knew. “South,” the old apothecary said. “In the hills south of Edinburgh, I think.”

  His brother, ever silent, simply nodded and turned back to his ingredients and glass vessels as Diantha sought more definite directions.

  “South,” she repeated. “The lands are wild and there are many hills to the south.”

  The old man nodded. “I heard someone say once that it was south of the church in Morningside,” he said. “St. Eustace’s Church is down there. So are the Bonaly hills. But if ye want tae know for certain, they’ll tell ye at the Sticky Wick. Those from the Ludus Caledonia haunt the tavern, but it’s no place for a lady. Send a man there tae do the asking.”

  He turned back to his task, and Diantha could see that the conversation was over. But she had what she wanted.

  She could make it south of Morningside.

  Over the course of the past several years, Diantha had been to Edinburgh many times and she had traveled the streets with Lady Ayr, a mistress who liked to experience taverns and shops and entertainment. Diantha knew the city fairly well, so surely a place like this fight guild would not be difficult to find. Strange how she’d never heard of it in all that time. But no matter. She would find Magnus and beg him to help her.

  Finally, that time had come.

  Tonight was the night.

  Chapter Four

  The Ludus Caledonia

  “What did ye put in my drink?”

  The question came from Lor.

  It was evening, a hush having fallen over the land as the night birds chattered and brooks through the glens sang their gentle song. In the complex of the Ludus Caledonia, it was time for the evening meal and although each competitor had his own stone cottage where he ate and slept, there was a small communal hall where men could gather and socialize.

  Friendly gatherings weren’t widely encouraged because friends tended not to want to fight, and defeat, other friends. Isolation when not in the arena was urged, but sometimes on the nights when the Ludus Caledonia had no fights, the doctores and the senior warriors would gather and share a meal.

  Tonight was one of those times.

  It had been a perfect opportunity for Magnus to slip his friends the wine that had been steeped all afternoon with the silver pellet, but Lor was already on to him. Therefore, he replied confidently to the man’s question.

  “What makes ye think I put anything in it?” he asked.

  Lor pointed to one of the doctores, an Englishman named Wendell Stanhope. Wendell was bent over near the exit of the hall, vomiting onto the dirt floor. Magnus looked at him, unconcerned.

  “What is wrong with him?” he asked.

  Lor lifted a blond eyebrow. “He took my wine by mistake. What did ye put in it?”

  Across the table, Bane was about to take a drink of his wine, but when he saw Wendell doubled over, his eyes widened and he quickly set the cup down.

  “Idiot,” he hissed at Magnus. “Ye almost caught me with whatever ye’ve poisoned Wendell with.”

  Sitting next to Bane, Galan looked at his half-empty cup of wine, realizing he’d been made a victim in Magnus’s nasty game. “Great bleeding Christ,” he hissed. “Did you just poison me, Chicken?”

  The Chicken nickname was a running joke among them. It was actually an affectionate term, with Magnus’s moniker being the Eagle, and his friends would tease him by calling him the Chicken.

  But this was no teasing matter.

  Magnus smiled smugly.

  “Do ye not have more faith in me than that?” he said. “Ye may be English, but I wouldna poison ye. Not much, anyway.”

  Galan could already feel something going to work in his belly. “Damn you,” he muttered. “What did you do, you Scottish bastard?”

  “Ye’ll soon find out.”

  Galan was beginning to sweat. “I’ll get you for this, Chicken. You’ll be very sorry.”

  Magnus snorted. “Not as sorry as ye’ll be in a little while,” he said. “But have no fear. Ye’ll be fine on the morrow. But it’s going tae be a long night.”

  As Galan grunted and grasped his belly, horrified, Bane and Lor were looking at him as if waiting for him to explode in all directions. Realizing Magnus may have gotten the upper hand on them wasn’t acceptable to Bane. Wanting to create trouble for his smug friend, he lifted his cup and called out to one of the newer warriors at the Cal.

  “Tay,” he shouted across the hall. “Tay MacNaughton! Attend me!”

  At the far end of the hall, a mountain of a man stood up and headed in their direction. Tay MacNaughton was not new to the Ludus Caledonia, but he hadn’t fought there in quite some time. Like Magnus, he was a professional fighter, having been in the fight guild system for several years. He and Magnus were old friends. They’d fought with, and against, each other.

  Tay was one of the most formidable men at the fight guild, purely from his size. His father was Scots but his mother was from Constantinople, and Tay had the dark eyes and hair from the land of the Turks and a fluid, almost poetic manner about him, but his temper and size were purely Scots. When Magnus saw the man heading over, the smirk vanished from his face.

  “Dunna give it tae him, Bane,” he said seriously. “A joke is a joke, but Tay will rip yer arms from their sockets if he’s angry enough.”

  Bane wasn’t intimidated. “I’ll tell him the wine is from ye.”

  “But ye’re the one giving it tae him. Do ye want tae take that chance?”

  He had a point. Bane had a wife and a child he would very much like to see grow up. With a sigh of resignation, he set the wine down and purposely tipped it over.

  “Och,” he said as Tay drew near. “I was going tae offer ye a drink, but it looks like I’ve been clumsy. Sit with us, man. I’ll send for more food and drink.”

  Galan picked that moment to bolt up from the bench and make his way from the hall, hunched over as he walked. Everyone, including Tay, watched him go.

  “What is wrong with him?” Tay asked in his deep baritone.

  Magnus started chuckling. “Wine with a purge in it,” he said. Then he pointed to the spilled wine. “Bane has been giving it tae everyone. Now he wanted tae give it tae ye.”

  Tay looked accusingly at Bane, whose eyes widened at the fact that he had been implicated as the culprit in Magnus’s vile scheme. He sighed heavily.

  “Magnus,” he said deliberately. “Tell the man ye’re only jesting. I want tae see my child live tae be a man, and if Tay thinks I’m going around poisoning people, that mayna happen.”

  Magnus was still laughing, but he waved Tay off. “’Tis true,” he said. “I lied. ’Tis what we do around here—play very bad jokes on one another. But I can tell ye that I would die for every man at this table because they are honorable and worthy. Playing tricks on each other is how we show our love and devotion.”

  A smile tugged at Tay’s lips. “Ye always were a twisted lad, Magnus.”

  “Some things never change.”

  Tay’s grin bloomed as he sat down, and Bane sat down next to him, convinced Tay wouldn’t try to throttle him. They made Magnus give up the wine he’d been giving everyone, however, as he’d kept it tucked under his legs beneath the table. It was Axel, the Ludus Caledonia’s manager, who finally took the pitcher from him and tossed the contents out the door.

  Once the wine was disposed of, it was forgotten, and they were back to laughing and jesting with one another, wondering how Galan and Wendell were faring. Both men had run into the privy and had yet to come out.

  The apothecary had been true to his word about the purge.

  The meal that night was a stew with beef and lamb in it, rich with root vegetables. Men who fought as viciously as these men did required good food, and the offerings at the Ludus Caledonia were the best. In addition to the stew, there were copious am
ounts of bread and butter, stewed fruit, and a baked egg dish called a daryol. It was full of cheese and herbs, and was quite delicious.

  Magnus was deep into his daryol when a sentry came through the entry. The sentries at the Ludus Caledonia were all highly trained men, mostly mercenaries, and they were extremely well paid. This man was the commander of the night watch. When he spied Magnus, he headed in his direction.

  “M’lord,” he said. “We’ve captured a trespasser. She has asked for ye.”

  Magnus’s mouth was full as he looked at the man. “She?” he repeated. He chewed a couple of times before swallowing what was in his mouth. “Who is it?”

  The sentry shook his head. “She refuses tae give us her name.”

  The other men at the table were listening. “It is probably one of yer past conquests,” Bane muttered. “She’s come back for more.”

  Magnus cocked a dark eyebrow. “And why shouldna she?” he said. “Once a woman has a taste of me, I ruin all other men for her.”

  The men snorted as Magnus returned his attention to the sentry. “No name?” he said. “Then I’m not interested.”

  The sentry grinned. “Ye should be,” he said. “She’s beautiful. She fought like a banshee when we captured her and screamed at us in a language not English or Gaelic. One of my men said it was Spanish.”

  A Spanish banshee…

  Somewhere in the back of Magnus’s mind, the flame of recognition sparked. The first and only Spaniard who screamed like a banshee that he knew of was the very one he’d seen earlier in the day. Literally, the only one. He’d not seen the woman in over seven years and he never expected to see her again.

  Did he?

  His curiosity had the better of him. Puzzled, he set his spoon down and stood up.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  The sentry jerked his head in the direction of the entry to the Ludus Caledonia. “The gatehouse,” he said.

  Magnus followed him out into the night, ignoring the inquisitive stares of his friends. It was a warm evening as far as evenings in Scotland went, a symptom of a summer that had been unusually warm and dry.