Highland Legend

by Kathryn Le Veque

  So what was the problem?

  He wasn’t sure, but it had something to do with the fact that even now, as he stood before her, his heart was racing a mile a minute. Looking at her made him feel…giddy. He wanted her to go, but he wanted her to stay. He wanted to talk to her, but he didn’t want to talk to her. He didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was his carefully held control, the wall that he always had up around himself, was beginning to show signs of stress when she was around.

  Weakening.

  And he couldn’t explain it.

  “Ye dinna do wrong by washing my things,” he said after a moment. “But ye…ye’re the daughter of a conde. Ye’re from Spanish nobility and ye shouldna be working like a common wench. Ye’re a fine and beautiful woman and ye should be living a life of leisure, and…where in the world did ye get that ugly dress?”

  The subject shifted to the brown broadcloth she was wearing, and Diantha looked down at herself.

  “Lucia loaned it to me,” she said. “Lady Ayr’s fine silk was coming apart at the seams, so she gave me this to work in.”

  “Ye’re too beautiful tae wear such things.”

  “But I have nothing else.”

  That stopped him, at least momentarily. “Then I’ll buy ye what ye need, but ye’re not tae wear things like that,” he said. “I dunna like tae see ye in them.”

  It was clear by the expression on Diantha’s face that she thought she had offended him somehow. She had no idea what to make of his statement, but she knew that he was displeased. That was the last thing she wanted.

  She stood up from her chair and nodded quickly, moving to the door.

  “I…I must retrieve my dress from Lucia,” she said tightly. “She was going to clean the dirt from it, but I will take it back right away.”

  Magnus could see that she was close to tears. That hadn’t been his intention, and he stopped her before she could get to the door.

  “Wait,” he said, watching her pause with her hand on the latch. “I meant that ye’re not meant tae be wearing a peasant’s dress.”

  Diantha was losing the battle against her tears. “But it is all that I have.”

  Magnus could see that he wasn’t communicating well with her. This was an entirely new situation for him. Usually when he was alone with a woman, she was doing all the speaking. And all of the work. He just lay there and let her do it.

  But this was different. It wasn’t that he had to communicate with her; it was that he wanted to.

  He didn’t want to make her cry.

  “Come back here,” he said quietly. “Sit down. I dinna mean tae upset ye.”

  Diantha turned away from the door slowly, but that wasn’t fast enough for him. Magnus reached out and took her by the arm, directing her back into the chair where she’d been sitting. She plopped down, keeping her gaze lowered as she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

  He just stood there and watched her, feeling a good deal of remorse.

  “I dinna do a very good job of telling ye that I think ye’re too beautiful tae wear such plain clothing,” he said. “That’s what I meant.”

  She nodded, sniffling. “I did not mean to displease you,” she said. “I do not want you to regret agreeing to help me, so I was trying to make myself useful.”

  “I realize that.”

  She didn’t reply, but simply sat there and continued to wipe at her eyes as the silent tears fell. With a sigh, Magnus sought out the nearest chair and sat down heavily, weary from his morning of training and wandering thoughts.

  The object of those thoughts was sitting a few feet away, and he took a moment to stare at her, unimpeded. He could see her long, dark lashes when she blinked, and he noticed that her eyes were beautiful and expressive. He liked that. She was the most enchanting creature he’d ever seen but he literally couldn’t figure out why.

  What was it about her that had his attention?

  Any regrets or second thoughts he had about helping her evaporated. He was sorry he had even suggested giving her the money to return to Navarre.

  He didn’t want to see her go.

  “So…ye willna take my money.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Diantha lifted her gaze, looking at him as she shook her head.

  “I will not take anything that I do not earn,” she said quietly.

  “Not even a gift?”

  She sighed heavily. “If you do not want to help me any longer, then please say so,” she said. “I am free of Lady Ayr now. I can go south and find an English castle and find work there as a maid or a nurse. All you need to do is tell me and I shall be on my way.”

  He shook his head. “I told ye that I would help ye and I will,” he said. “I’ve just never met a lass like ye, Diantha. I’m trying tae understand ye.”

  She stiffened. “That is because I am not like the women in Scotland,” she said with a hint of rage. “No soy débil y sin sentido como esas morenas tontas.”

  She was off speaking her language again, angrily. “What does that mean?” he asked calmly.

  There was fire in her eyes. “It means that I am not weak and mindless like those foolish wenches.”

  He grinned. “Even Isabail and Lucia? They are Scottish.”

  She backed down a little. “Not them,” she said. “They were very kind to me.”

  “Ye had a chance tae know them a little?”

  She nodded. “They were very helpful.”

  “Good,” he said, his eyes glimmering at her. “But I suspect ye’ve not known many kind Scotswomen.”

  Diantha cast him a long look. “My only experience with them has been at Culroy Castle,” she said. “They are a self-centered lot with little time for a woman who is not of Scottish blood. In fact, they are why I need to earn money.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  She was starting to calm down a little, the fire in her eyes fading. “Because they stole my money,” she said. “When I came to Culroy, I had a purse with a good deal of coinage that my father gave me. I kept close watch on it, always making sure it was safe. One of Lady Ayr’s wards was friendly to me and I trusted her, but she only wanted my money. She stole it from me and then denied it.”

  “How do ye know it was her?”

  “Because she was the only one who knew where I hid it,” she said, pain in her voice. “A week after it disappeared, Lady Ayr moved her household to Trinity House and this lass showed up one day with a new emerald brooch. She said it was a gift, but I heard her tell the other ladies that she bought it. When I told Lady Ayr, she made the lass give me the brooch, but it turned up missing a couple of days later. No one seemed to know anything about it.”

  Magnus wasn’t surprised to hear any of that, especially not from Culroy Castle. “Let me guess… Lady Ayr did nothing.”

  Diantha shook her head. “She refused to get involved,” she said. “She told me that she’d done as much as she intended to do about it. And that is why I must earn money for my passage, my lord.”

  He snorted in disapproval. “I’m sorry for ye,” he said. “But not surprised. It seems that villainy and wickedness runs rampant through the ranks of the Duke and Duchess of Ayr.”

  She was watching him closely. “You have experienced it, too?”

  He almost told her some of his experiences but thought better of it. He just wasn’t the kind of man to open up about himself. He wasn’t comfortable doing it. But something told him it wouldn’t be long before he was opening himself up to Diantha. She was easy to talk to, open and honest.

  It was just a feeling he had.

  “Aye,” he said, rising out of his chair. “Now, promise me ye willna run off while I sleep.”

  He was changing the subject and Diantha went with it. He didn’t want to talk about himself and she respected that.

  “I promis
e,” she said. “Are you feeling poorly?”

  He shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “But I intend to sleep for a few hours before the bouts tonight. Unless the cottage is burning down or the barbarians are at the door, dunna disturb me.”

  She nodded seriously. “I will not,” she said. “But…but may I continue my chores?”

  He was in the process of turning for his bedchamber door when she asked. He paused to look at her.

  “Do ye really want tae work?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I do. May I?”

  “I’ve not even told ye if I’ll pay ye for it.”

  She shrugged. “It does not matter if you do,” she said. “I will do it because you are allowing me to stay in your cottage. I will do it to earn my keep.”

  It seemed as if she had an answer for everything, and he was coming to see that for her, working to earn her keep was a way of maintaining her honor. The woman wouldn’t take anything she hadn’t worked for.

  He’d fussed at her enough for it.

  “I’ll pay ye two shillings a day, then,” he said, moving for the bedchamber door again. “But only if ye dunna disturb me.”

  It was a very generous daily wage. “I promise that I shall not disturb you.”

  “If ye do, I’ll throw ye out on yer arse.”

  “Then I shall make doubly sure not to disturb you.”

  Magnus didn’t say anything further. He entered the bedchamber, shutting the door and realizing he had a silly smile on his lips. His bed was stripped, his clothing missing, and a woman was determined to take over his house and hold.

  But he didn’t care.

  The thought of it made him smile.

  What he didn’t know was that on the other side of the door, Diantha was smiling, too.

  Chapter Eight

  The Bear was pacing again.

  It was another warm night in the Highlands as Magnus stood at one end of the arena and the Bear stood at the other. It was the ultimus bout, the last one of the night, and the crowd had been prepared for it.

  They were on their feet now because Magnus had entered the arena after the Bear, a privilege reserved for the Ludus Caledonia’s elite warriors. There wasn’t a man or woman in the stands who wasn’t somewhat drunk because they had been drinking all evening, betting on fights, and waiting with great anticipation for the very last one.

  It had finally arrived.

  Magnus soaked up the adoration of the crowd like he always did. It was something that fed him, nurtured him, and gave him the very foundation of the arrogance for which he was known. The spectators knew he was great, he knew he was great, and everyone was in agreement. Magnus looked up to the crowd, acknowledging them with a mere glance, and it drove them mad.

  Already, coins were raining down on the arena floor and the two servants that Magnus employed to collect that money were running out onto the field, grabbing at the money. At the edge of the arena where it joined up with the staging area, Magnus could see his friends and supporters standing there—Lor, Bane, Galan, Axel, Wendell, and another doctores named Milo Linton. Even Tay was with them, watching the crowd, watching the Bear, and feeling some trepidation just like the rest of them.

  This was the bout that everyone, including those who ran the Ludus Caledonia, had been waiting for.

  The Bear was pacing in circles now, beating his chest and roaring, going through some kind of ritual meant to work himself into a frenzy. Magnus was busy pulling on what amounted to fingerless leather gloves, meant to protect his hands yet leave his fingers free to work. He bent down and scooped up some of the dirt of the arena floor, sprinkling it onto the gloves to give them better traction. He was pretending to be busy when what he was really doing was watching the Bear in his periphery.

  He was watching every move the man made.

  As he busied himself, he caught sight of Axel as the man made his way out onto the arena floor. As the manager of the Ludus Caledonia, he was permitted everywhere at any time, even in the arena before a bout started. Axel von Rossau was an enormous man, Saxon by birth, with skin as dark as tanned leather and bright-blue eyes. He was a ferocious fighter, as Magnus had seen on occasion, and he was greatly respected by all as a fair and just man, if not quite hard. As he came near, Magnus continued busying himself.

  “Eagle,” Axel said in his heavy Germanic accent, “I came to give you some advice.”

  Magnus didn’t look up from his gloves. “I am listening.”

  Axel’s gaze drifted to the opponent across the arena. “He is going to try to kill you,” he said. “I have not been told this, it is simply a feeling I have. I have seen enough men to know what is in his heart and on his mind. He will kill you if he can.”

  Magnus nodded his head as he finished with the gloves. “I trust ye,” he said. “It is my intention tae take him out immediately. I willna toy with this one. He smells my blood.”

  “He does indeed,” Axel said. “If you do not disable him at the first, it will go badly for you. A wounded bear is a dangerous thing.”

  “I know.”

  Axel paused. “You should also know something else,” he said. “Your friends have decided that if the Bear harms you in any way, they will swarm the field and destroy him.”

  Magnus’s head snapped up. “Tell them that if they do, I’ll never speak tae them again,” he said. “This is my fight. I’m not a weakling who needs others tae fight my battles.”

  Axel smiled faintly. “You need to learn the difference between men believing you to be weak and men wanting to protect their friend,” he said. “They know you are not weak.”

  “Then tell them to stay away.”

  Axel cocked his head. “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “If it was Lor or Bane lying on the ground, about to be murdered by a man three times his size, would you stand by and let it happen?”

  Magnus knew what he meant. He backed down a little, looking back to his gloves. “Of course not,” he said. “I would kill any man who threatened my friends. But tell those nervous women tae stay out of my fight.”

  Axel chuckled. “As you wish.”

  He started to walk away, but Magnus stopped him. “And…and tell them that I love them for their concern, but I’ll break the neck of the first man who sets foot in the arena while I’m fighting.”

  Axel paused, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “Glück, Eagle.”

  Magnus had heard that word from him before. It meant good luck or good fortune. As Axel walked away, Magnus stole a glance at the Bear. The man had worked himself up into a froth, and the field marshals were looking to Magnus to see if he was ready. Once he signaled that he was, the bout would begin.

  Magnus turned fully to look at the Bear, observing the man as he formulated a plan. Axel was right. He would have to strike first and make it count. If he didn’t, his life would be in danger.

  He knew that as surely as he breathed.

  He’d faced big men before. Since he wasn’t particularly tall, that happened all of the time. Tall men weren’t much of a challenge because they usually couldn’t move very quickly, certainly not as quickly as Magnus could. That was one of his greatest strengths—his ability to move swiftly.

  His ability to go airborne and kick a man in the head.

  But that wasn’t going to work this time.

  This time, he was going to have to be smarter, and more deadly, than the Bear.

  Fortunately, he had an idea that he was certain would work. He just had to be fast enough to execute it. In the arena, men were limited to clubs as weapons, but Magnus never used one. He used his legs and feet as a club. However, this was an exception. If the Bear was expecting his feet to come up, then he would have to do something different.

  An array of clubs was stacked on the sidelines of the arena, and he kept his gaze on the Bear as he made his way over to the big iron racks
that held all shapes and sizes of clubs. When the Bear saw him moving for a weapon, he too moved quickly to claim a club. Even from across the arena, Magnus could hear the Bear laughing, thinking he would have it easy in hand-to-hand combat with clubs.

  That only served to infuriate Magnus.

  This time, he was going to skin the Bear for good.

  The roar of the crowd was growing louder as the spectators became restless. The Bear and the Eagle were delaying the inevitable, and the crowd began to get rowdy. Magnus glanced up into the stands, and that was his mistake. On the left side where the wives of the gladiators usually sat, he caught a glimpse of Isabail, Lucia, and…Diantha.

  Great bleeding Christ!

  It had been a grave error. Now he knew Diantha was watching him, his entire balance was thrown off. Why it should be, he had no idea, but it was. He felt…edgy. Uncertain. It was performance anxiety, something he never experienced because he’d never performed in front of someone whose thoughts actually mattered to him. He knew that he could no longer delay. Suddenly, he was running for the Bear, club raised, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

  His unexpected charge caught the crowd, the Bear, and the field marshals off guard. The crowd screamed to earsplitting proportions as the Bear, startled by the Eagle’s move, simply lifted his club. Magnus was nearly to him by the time he raised it, unable to react any faster. Magnus drew near and the Bear roared, preparing to bring his club down with ferocious strength, but an odd thing happened.

  Magnus abruptly fell to his knees, although it wasn’t an accident. It was by design. He went down, sliding across the dirt as the Bear swung his club and missed, but he’d swung so hard that it threw him off-balance. It was enough of a stumble that Magnus, on his knees as he slid into the Bear’s feet, was able to bring up his club and smash it into the man’s groin as hard as he could.

  The crowd gasped.

  The Bear, immediately disabled, toppled onto the dust as Magnus leapt to his feet. Lifting his club once more, he hit the Bear in the head so hard that he split the man’s skull. He hit him again, full of battle lust, and ended up crushing the Bear’s head. Blood and brain matter stuck to the club, but he tossed it aside as the Bear bled out into the dust of the Fields of Mars.