Highland Legend

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He was a man who hadn’t much time for his wife.

  Usually, her only companion at supper was her cup of wine.

  But tonight, she had her husband to herself and she wanted to be amusing, or at least pleasing. There had been a time when he had appreciated her conversation. As he slurped his meal, she tried to think of things to discuss with him, things he might respond to. She thought back on her day, remembering her brief encounter with Magnus. That would be of interest to him. It would also be of interest to him to know that Diantha de Mora, the future Lady Ayr, had gone off looking for lost ribbons from the fabric shop and had not returned. Soldiers were currently out searching for her.

  No, she wouldn’t mention that.

  “You will never guess who I saw today,” she said brightly.

  He was more interested in his meal. “I couldna imagine,” he said. “Tell me.”

  Lady Ayr heard the apathy in his tone, watching as he shoveled bread into his mouth. Still, she missed those days when he had been more interested in her than his food.

  “I saw our dear Magnus,” she said.

  He chewed a few times before finally looking at her, puzzled. “Magnus?”

  “Hugh’s lad,” she said. “Our Magnus, Ambrose. Surely you remember the lad who spent all of those years with us.”

  Surprised, he stopped chewing. Before he could reply, however, the door to the hall shoved open and a young man appeared.

  The cozy supper, just the two of them, was over.

  At the table, both Agnes and her husband turned to watch the new addition to the hall. He was well-dressed, with heavy and expensive boots thumping loudly against scrubbed wooden floors.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  He sounded as if he were marching.

  Conan Stewart had made an appearance.

  “Conan,” she said evenly. “Where have you been? We waited supper as long as we could, darling.”

  Conan didn’t look at his mother, nor did he pay any attention to her. He ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken to him at all, but that was usual. He had never had much respect for his mother, a woman he considered useless and stupid.

  He looked straight at his father.

  “Sorry I’m late, Da,” he said. “I had tae go down tae the horse dealer near Chalmers. Ye know the one—the man missing fingers because horses have bitten them off over the years? That dealer. Do ye know the bastard tried to cheat me? I specifically told him I wanted a young jennet from Andalusia, but he tried tae give me an Arabian instead. They are beautiful horses, but that wasna what I wanted. So I had tae take the horse back.”

  Ambrose lifted his eyebrows. “Is that so?” he said. “Ye should have let me take a look at it. I might have wanted it.”

  But Conan shook his head as he sat down at his father’s right hand. “Not this horse,” he said. “It was older than I am. I felt sorry for the beast, but I have no place for it here in our stables.”

  “I hope ye forced him tae give ye excellent concessions on the jennet.”

  “Of course I did. I am my father’s son.”

  The two of them grinned at each other as if they shared the same despicable secret. As Ambrose returned to his meal, the servants were already emerging from the shadows, bringing Conan copious amounts of food and drink. He was the young lord, the future duke, and they treated him carefully because Conan had a dark streak in him that no one wished to tempt.

  Not servants, not lying horse dealers.

  He dug in to his food with gusto, slurping the succulent beef and washing it down with the same fine wine his mother was drinking. Like his father, he was a glutton. As he continued to wolf down his food, Ambrose spoke.

  “Yer mother was telling me that she saw Magnus today,” he said. “I havena heard of Magnus since he left us.”

  Conan had much the same reaction to Magnus’s name as his father had. He stopped chewing and looked at his mother in surprise.

  “Ye saw him?” he asked. “Where?”

  Agnes considered it a distinct privilege that her son was actually speaking to her, so she answered him eagerly.

  “My ladies and I visited the Seed today,” she said. “You know the shop—the apothecary brothers. Magnus was just leaving as I was entering. I have not seen him in so long that I hardly recognized him. He has…grown.”

  There was something in her tone that her son and husband missed, an inflection suggesting that she liked what she had seen in the strong, young stud. Oblivious to his mother’s lusty thoughts, Conan snorted as he turned back to his food.

  “Of course he has grown,” he said, spearing a piece of stringy beef with his fine knife. “He has tae be nearing thirty years in age now. I would assume that he is living in the streets like the bastard that he is. Amuse us with a humorous tale of what Magnus is now doing with his life, Agnes. I want tae laugh.”

  He had never been able to bring himself to call her “mother.” It was yet another indignity he heaped upon Agnes in a long line of indignities. She could hear the condescending tone in his voice, a tone he so often used when speaking to her or about her. The only respect Conan had for anyone in the family was for his father, and that was because the man would give him his inheritance upon his death. Conan was smart enough to know not to anger him.

  But he held no such caution for his mother.

  Agnes had long resigned herself to her son’s hurtful manner. But Conan did as he pleased, and there was no stopping his arrogance or his ambition, much like his father. Therefore, she took some satisfaction in delivering the news about Magnus. She wanted her son to know that the boy Conan had been so intensely jealous of had made something of himself.

  “He has thrived since his departure from Culroy,” she said, drinking more wine and feeling the fortification flooding her veins. “He told me that he is a professional fighter at the greatest fight guild in all of Scotland. He told me to ask if you knew of it.”

  Both Ambrose and Conan stopped chewing. Shocked, they looked at each other, processing what Agnes had just told them.

  Or perhaps they had misunderstood.

  Ambrose swallowed the bite in his mouth.

  “There is only one fight guild in Edinburgh,” he said, incredulous. “It is called the Ludus Caledonia. Is that the one he meant?”

  Agnes paused, pouring herself more wine. “He would not say the name of the place. He would only say that it was the greatest fight guild in all of Scotland,” she said. “Do you know of it?”

  Ambrose stared at her a moment before setting his spoon and knife down. Sitting back in his chair, he continued to stare at his wife as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I do,” he said. “He truly told ye that?”

  “Is it someplace terrible?”

  Ambrose shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “Or mayhap it is tae some. I suppose it depends on yer point of view. I visited the place once, though that was several years ago. I’ve not been back since. A professional fighter, ye say?”

  Agnes took a long drink of her wine, smacking her lips. “He looked like one, too,” she said. “He is built like a warrior now, muscular and broad. If he says he is a professional fighter, I believe him because he has the outward appearance of one. I suspect Conan would not be able to best him again now.”

  Conan’s expression tensed. “I can still thrash him like I always have,” he said. “I will always be able tae defeat him.”

  Agnes was feeling her wine. She looked at her son, a man she tried hard not to hate at times. “You always hated him,” she said. “He is the son of the king’s brother while you are only the son of a duke.”

  “He’s a bastard.”

  “His bloodlines are better than yours.”

  Furious, Conan smashed his fists on the table. “Shut yer yap, woman,” he hissed. “I wouldna speak of bloodlines if I were ye, con
sidering ye’re a Sassenach wench.”

  “And you are half-Sassenach. It is a shame you will always have to bear.”

  It genuinely infuriated Conan when she said things like that. Before he could throw a fork at her, as he’d done before, Ambrose turned to his wife.

  “Leave us,” he said in a low voice. “I will speak with my son alone.”

  With a smile playing on her lips at the victory over her snobbish son, Agnes graciously dipped her head and rose from the table, quitting the hall in silence. Only when she was gone did Ambrose turn to his son.

  “I’ve told ye not tae speak tae yer mother like that,” he said quietly. “Ye may not like it, but she’s the only mother ye have, sorry tae say.”

  It was as close to a rebuke as he could get, but Conan received the message. The young man had pushed his food away and was now well into his wine, much as his mother had been.

  “She shouldna speak tae me so,” he grumbled. “When I am the duke, I’ll—”

  Ambrose cut him off. “When ye’re the duke, ye’ll tolerate her just as I’ve tolerated her all these years,” he said pointedly. “But forget about her for now. We have other things tae discuss.”

  “What?”

  Ambrose scratched his cheek, trying to determine where to begin. “It’s so strange that she has seen Magnus,” he muttered. “Do ye remember what we were speaking of only yesterday? About Magnus’s father?”

  Conan was still angry, but he forced himself off the subject of Agnes and onto a subject that was common between him and his father—Hugh Stewart, the youngest brother of the king. He was a man who hadn’t been far from Ambrose’s thoughts for many years, mostly because there had always been contention between them. Hugh resisted his brother, the king, and Ambrose was supplicant to the king.

  It made for interesting dynamics.

  “Aye,” he said after a moment. “I remember.”

  “Do ye remember the whole conversation, Connie?”

  His father only called him Connie when he wanted something, or was trying to be manipulative or affectionate, or both. Conan took a swallow of wine before answering.

  “I remember,” he said. “One conversation about Hugh as the latest of several we’ve had about the man. It seems we’ve been speaking of him quite a bit recently. Seems very coincidental that Agnes would see Magnus today.”

  Ambrose shook his head as he collected his own cup of wine. “Mayhap not so coincidental, after all,” he said. “Mayhap it is a sign.”

  “What sign?”

  Ambrose settled back in his chair. “We’ve discussed the rumors that Hugh Stewart is allying himself with the Earl of Ross, the Laird of the Isles,” he said. “Do ye remember men from Clan MacKay telling us that Hugh had allied himself with the Laird of the Isles, who has himself allied with the exiled English king? ’Tis a dangerous thing tae do, allying with an exiled Sassenach king.”

  Conan had calmed down sufficiently from his run-in with his mother as he focused on what his father was saying.

  “Hugh has run afoul of our king before,” he said. “’Tis why we held Magnus for so long, tae ensure the man’s good behavior. Seems as if we should never have let him go.”

  Ambrose’s gaze glittered on his son. “There was no reason tae hold the lad any longer than we had tae,” he said. “Besides…Hugh behaved himself for a time, but he’s gone back tae his old ways, siding against his brother in all things. Now he sides with the Laird of the Isles and they have as much power in Scotland as the king has. Ye know what this means, dunna ye?”

  Conan shook his head. “What?”

  Ambrose leaned forward in his chair. “Think, lad,” he said quietly. “There’s been no armies raised as of yet, but that will come. We know it will and we will be expected tae take up arms for the king.”

  “And?”

  Ambrose snorted. “Ye have sawdust for brains,” he said. “Magnus, Hugh’s son, is now a professional fighter, so he says.”

  Conan tried not to look shocked. “Do ye plan tae take him hostage against his father again?” he said. “How would we do it, Da? If he truly fights at the Ludus Caledonia, then…”

  Ambrose waved him off. “Not take him hostage,” he said. “Have ye been tae the Cal, lad?”

  Conan shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But I’ve heard tales of it. Betting on men fighting isna something that interests me. I’d rather wager on horses.”

  Ambrose held up a finger to beg patience while he explained his idea. “At the Ludus Caledonia, a man can buy himself an excellent warrior,” he said. “’Tis why they train men there. They train them tae become the greatest warriors in the world. The last time I was there, I saw a man from Vilnius purchase a warrior who had won several bloody bouts. Everyone knows that the greatest warriors in the world come from the Ludus Caledonia, and if Magnus fights there now as yer mother says he does, then he has a price.”

  He said it as if it were a great revelation, but Conan still wasn’t following his father’s train of thought. He’d never been particularly bright, at least not when it came to scheming.

  “What will ye do, then?” he asked.

  Ambrose was disappointed that Conan didn’t understand his enthusiasm. “We go tae the Cal and we buy him,” he said. “We buy him and we make him fight against Hugh when we raise our armies.”

  Now, Conan finally caught on and his eyes widened. “Do ye think he’ll do it?”

  Ambrose was quite titillated with the possibilities. “If he doesna, then we throw him in the vault and tell Hugh that we’ll kill him if he continues his alliance with the Laird of the Isles. Either way, we must go tae the Cal and purchase Magnus. Yer mother sighting him today is the answer we’ve been looking for, dunna ye see? When I said it was a sign, that’s what I meant.”

  Conan wasn’t sure it was a sign, but it was certainly a welcome coincidence. “I hear the warriors there cost a good deal of money,” he said. “Will ye pay it?”

  “I’ll pay whatever the cost,” Ambrose said firmly. “Magnus could very well be crucial tae his father’s submission. God is showing us the way…tae the Ludus Caledonia.”

  Conan digested his father’s plan, which wasn’t an unreasonable one, but he saw one problem with it.

  “When ye released Magnus, we told him that his father wanted nothing tae do with him,” he said. “Ye seem tae be neglecting the fact that we’ve driven a wedge between the pair. How do ye expect Hugh’s submission when we told him that his son hated him?”

  That thought had crossed Ambrose’s mind, too. Since Magnus had been a young lad, Ambrose had convinced both Magnus and Hugh that neither wanted anything to do with the other. It was a ploy to keep them apart, to control the situation, because deep down, that’s what Ambrose wanted to do—control Hugh. There was no better way of doing that than by turning father against son. But deep down, the true reason was something more than control.

  It was jealousy.

  The brother of a king had more power than Ambrose could ever hope to have, and Ambrose hated him for it.

  But he couldn’t think on that now. He was too focused on the possibility of reuniting with Magnus Stewart and using him against his father.

  “No father could refuse tae save his son if given the chance,” he said. “But think on it—what vengeance Magnus must have in his heart for his father because he believes his father hates him. Hatred I put there. We’ll give Magnus the opportunity tae seek revenge for Hugh’s wrongs.”

  That made perfect sense to Conan. Vengeance and other primitive emotions were something he completely understood. He smiled at his father and lifted his cup.

  “Tae the wounded heart of a bastard son,” he said. “May it play in our favor.”

  Ambrose lifted his cup as well. Already, he could taste victory.

  As father and son toasted the future, Agnes had been listening. She o
ften lurked in the shadows when the two were speaking simply because she wanted to know what fresh new hell she could be expecting from them. With Ambrose, something was always afoot, and with Conan… Her son was always trying to ruin someone.

  She’d failed as a mother when it came to him.

  But tonight, the plans they were making were for Magnus, someone they’d not spoken of since the moment he’d left Culroy. But now…

  Once again, Magnus Stewart would be a pawn.

  That didn’t sit well with Agnes. She never interfered in her husband’s affairs because she usually had no emotional investment in them. But with Magnus, it was different. She felt guilty because of what she knew—that hatred and jealousy had driven her husband to manipulate the relationship between Magnus and his father. It had been selfishness on their parts, something that had condemned a young boy, now a young man, to a lonely and detached life.

  Now that they were going to use him again, she wondered what would happen if Hugh Stewart knew all about their plans for Magnus, and the fact that Magnus never hated his father after all.

  Perhaps she couldn’t do anything to help Magnus, but perhaps his father could.

  It would certainly be a way to ruin Ambrose and Conan’s plans.

  For the first time since the situation with Magnus and Hugh started, Agnes pushed her guilt aside. She was finally going to do something about it.

  What mistreated wife wouldn’t be agreeable to a little revenge…

  Part Two

  VITA NOVUM

  (A NEW LIFE)

  Chapter Six

  The Ludus Caledonia

  Was it all a dream?

  That was the first thought on Diantha’s mind when she opened her eyes. For a moment, she simply stared at the ceiling, a pitched roof covered in sod in a chamber that she didn’t recognize.

  It took her a moment to remember where she was.

  Rays of golden light were streaming in between the closed shutters on the windows and from underneath the door. Slowly sitting up, Diantha looked around the room, orienting herself. This was the first day of the freedom she sought.