Highlander's Sacrifice: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Alisa Adams

  Before either of the women could say anything, the man was gone.

  Merith looked across at Ilya.

  "My lady, I think that you should no—" Ilya began, but it was too late.

  Merith got up and reached for the door of the carriage.

  Despite all fears over the idea of a wayward fire, there were no flickering lights or burning heat on the road ahead—only the dull stench of ash and soot. The fire was long passed, as was the danger. Merith was not about to sit around and wait for when she could be told to move once more.

  If she possessed only thirty-six more hours of liberty under her own motivations, she would not see them wasted.

  Finn had smelled the fire before he had been able to see the ruins it had left behind.

  As he rode ahead of the carriage that carried the ladies, his gaze had narrowed, and his eyes sharpened against the cool breeze. According to calendars, it was still autumn, yet the winds from the north would see it becoming cooler with every bluster, and the chill in the air was enough to have him wince.

  The fire had been long since burnt out, perhaps dying even a whole day before. There was no smoke, no billowing smog from the remains of an old estate. Only with the breeze did light dust kick up into the air, like steam off roasting meat. The scent, however, was far from the pleasant warmth of a roast. Instead, it was acrid and dark. It clung to the insides of Finn's nose, refusing to be breathed back out. Like a warning, it pressed against his skin and told him to turn back.

  When they came upon the site of the fire, the blackened earth encroaching just a little onto the roadside, Finn looked out across what had once been a large household. Stone lay in the house’s pattern, walls still half-standing but charred to the color of ebony. Gaps at each corner and along the mainstays were the absence of wooden supports, burned to ash in the heat. The roof was entirely gone, likely made from straw or braced on oak joists that had collapsed in on themselves as they turned to dust. The entire site held a layer of soot.

  Finn coughed a little. The air was thick and still warm from the blaze. But it was the charred pattern on the ground that had him more concerned than the ease of breathing. The burned bracken on the ground, the way the grass had been lit up, suggested that the house had been the center of the blaze. There was no kindling or bracken to aid in a fire within a home, so either someone had been incredibly careless at the hearth or the building had been deliberately set ablaze.

  Frowning, Finn had raised a hand to still the carriage and entourage behind him, and dismounted. While it was likely poor judgment to keep the ladies in the vicinity of possible danger, Finn had not been willing to see them ride on without him. But nor did his conscience allow him to leave the scene of the fire without first checking for survivors.

  From his position on the road, Finn was unable to see beyond the large expanses of blackened stone that still stood in place. For all he knew, the roof had come down upon unsuspecting residents or servants and had shielded them from the fire, leaving them injured but alive.

  After telling the women to stay where they were, to remain in the safety of the carriage, away from the dank air and the horrendous smell, Finn strode from the roadside and out across what had once been a garden. Now, most of the plants had been burnt to dust, and anything that was still standing was seared brittle and brown. The hedgerows at the very edge of the grounds had managed to stay partially intact, but the soot that coated every leaf would soon see them dying. Finn knew little about plants, but he was knowledgeable enough to know that plants needed sunshine to thrive. They'd see little of that brightness suffering under ash an inch thick.

  Finn cupped his hands around his mouth.

  "Hello?!"

  He coughed. In taking a deep breath to call, he had breathed in the ash in the air. He already felt it seeping into his skin and clothes. But he tried again regardless.

  "Hello?!"

  Finn was careful as he stepped over half a door and ducked beneath what had once been its archway. He had to nudge a fallen candlestick and parts of a gilded frame to find a place for his feet. He felt tiled stone beneath the sole of his boot and surmised that he was standing in some kind of foyer or hall for the estate.

  "Is anyone in here?" he called again. Where his voice would have usually bounced off of walls and ceiling, now it sounded muted, choked by the open air that was smoggy and staid.

  "Is someone in there?"

  The words weren’t Finn’s, and they made him jump. The voice was soft and quiet and had him turn around so quickly that he almost tripped over the candlestick stand. His eyes shot to the pretty blonde that hovered just outside the doorway.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, completely forgetting his manners in his fear for the Lady Merith and her closeness to what had been engulfed in flames only a few hours before. This was not a scene she needed to witness nor a threat she needed to be near.

  However, he regretted his tone when she was startled and met his gaze with eyes rapidly filling with hurt. Finn shook his head and raised a hand.

  "I'm sorry. That was rude. I just...you shouldn't be here. Please, my lady, return to the carriage. I will only be a moment."

  It was just his luck that the girl decided to ignore his instruction. She hovered where she stood, her fingers twisting together and her skirts brushing against the ash at her feet. She didn't seem willing to go back to the carriage as requested but even less eager to step inside what had once been a manor similar to that of the Braith household.

  "What are you looking for?" she asked. Her gaze was skirting about the place as if wondering what could possibly be of value within a home that now stood only as skeletal ruins of its former self.

  "I want to check that there are no survivors here before we move on," Finn explained. He knew he was making a decision that went against his duties to see the young lady to her betrothed, but in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to apologize for it. It seemed only good and Christian to stop and check that there was no one who needed help, and against all lessons of faith to apologize for behavior taught in the holy book. Finn hadn't exactly read it, but he remembered Aggie telling him stories of kindness and compassion that had stayed with him long into adulthood. On occasion, he had tried to pass them on to his big brother but Lachlan had long since lost interest in what he called “children's stories.”

  Merith's gaze had turned fearful, and he could understand why. She was smart enough to recognize that anyone still alive within this chaos would have to be badly hurt or burned.

  But even then, Finn considered a life worth living, regardless of the difficulties that might be faced. He wasn't about to walk away from one that might be hanging by a thread.

  "I shall wait here," Merith determined. Finn opened his mouth to argue, but she spoke first. "If you run into difficulty, I can alert my other guards. I shall not enter the house, but I shall wait here for your return."

  Sensing some of the steely backbone that his old Aggie often liked to show off, Finn knew there was no chance of arguing his point, especially when Ilya came into view, hovering behind her mistress. If she hadn't managed to convince Merith to return to the coach, then he had little hope. Instead, he turned his attention forward and, with a sigh of resignation, gradually began to explore the house.

  It took Finn only an hour to establish three things. One, there was no one within the house, alive or otherwise, which meant that they had suspected an attack or accident and fled. Two, the fire had definitely begun from outside of the estate—likely a thatched section of roof—and was, therefore, no accident. And three, the family that had lived there were rich. There was a hint of wealth with every broken item: the paint upon the pots and plates, the golden gilding to the picture frames, the silver that had melted a little to the floor. Even the tiles underfoot were carefully made into a pattern of decor, and the sheer size of the rooms ensured that they did not belong to simple folk.

  Someone had launched a deliberate attack on the estate of a wea
lthy household. One that likely had guards and protection of its own. Only truly desperate or angry folk did something as foolhardy as that.

  With a sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, Finn braced himself on what was left of the walls on either side of the stairwell and headed back down to the ground floor. Instead of moving through what had once been doorways, he stepped right out through a dismantled section of wall and brushed himself down in the open air.

  "There's nothing here," Finn confirmed, feeling a little idiotic for delaying their journey for a venture that amounted to little more than his clothes now being riddled with ash and charred soot.

  His newly acquired mistress, however, said nothing on the subject, apparently supportive of his desire to stop and check. Yet, it did not stop her from glancing back at the house worriedly as she stepped up into the carriage.

  Finn could only join her in such concerns. They had entered Mackay lands just a half an hour back along the road and had already run into evidence of rioting. What dangers were they riding into?

  Such a question was answered when Finn was able to direct them onwards through the countryside, beyond a woodland area and between two rises in the landscape.

  For a while, the air was clearer, and even birdsong was tittering along half of the journey, but it did not ease the tension in Finn’s shoulders. And rightly so, for it wasn't long before the familiar smell of burnt-out flame reached his nose again, and his senses were heightened in the way they were before battle. He watched the horizon intently, waiting for black ruins and charred remains to break into sight. And, when they did, it was all the more concerning for it.

  The building that had suffered under flame this time was the estate of Harris, the second family with whom Lady Merith was supposed to stay.

  As the coach pulled up beside a driving lane that stretched out towards the household, Finn could easily see the inky blight in the middle of fields of meadow. It was as if the devil himself had reached out and stabbed a finger down on the building, charring a single spot with death and destruction.

  Finn heard a scuffling sound behind him before a head breached the window of the carriage. Blonde locks had long since lost their moorings on the back of Lady Merith's head, and they blew out upon the air.

  "That is the Harris estate?" she asked in a trembling voice that was part question, part exclamation. Finn felt his heart go out to her. The poor young woman had probably seen nothing of danger in all her minimal years. And now, in the last few days, she had seen more death and catastrophe than Finn typically saw in a month.

  "Yes," Finn replied. His response was almost automatic, and he forgot to address her with formality.

  The voice that came back to him was that of Ilya, taking the more reasoned and practical approach to this new development.

  "Where do you propose we stay the night, now?"

  While the older woman sounded calm, Finn could hear the brittleness in her tone. There was a panic and worry there that she did not want her young charge to hear. And, regardless of her apparent dislike for him, she was willing to turn to him now. She expected him, as leader of their little convoy, to find a solution.

  Given that the Harris family were rich but farming folk and lived within fields rather than a township, Finn was unsure how he would find such a thing. The nearest building was another hour's ride, and who was to stay that it would still be left standing? Night had already begun to fall, and the horses were tired.

  Finn looked around, turning from the open farming fields to his right, to the sparse forest a half mile to his left.

  His jaw set and his teeth on edge, Finn wondered just what the fine young lady would think of a little rough sleeping.

  7

  "You are very skilled."

  Merith had not meant for the words to leave her lips, but she would not take them back once they had. They hung in the air, mutters amongst the crackling flames, and the occasional pop for firewood. She watched as Finn's shoulders stilled. He stood with his back to her, bent within the doorway of the carriage. He had been tending to something inside of it, his head and arms hidden from the darkness, his legs braced for balance.

  The man had seen to everything.

  Directing the group towards the woods and locating the clearing as if the angels themselves had guided him, Finn had not hesitated in his determination to see them with a camp by nightfall. He had carted logs for something to sit on, dug a pit, set a fire, and ordered the men to keep watch. Now, he busied himself with the carriage, ceasing in his progress only at the sound of her compliment.

  After a moment's pause, he continued his efforts, not looking back at her.

  Merith swallowed.

  Perhaps the man was regretting being forced to journey with her. She would not have judged him if he did. In fact, she might have cast aspersions upon his intelligence if he had not. Guilt was swimming enough within the seat of her soul that she could not deny him his resentment.

  She had connived to see him assigned to her safety without his permission and had brought him now upon several disasters. While he had yet to be forced to draw his sword or enter into battle personally, it was clear from his face that he did not like the implied threat of what they had seen that day. With each house they had come across, every third or fourth had been ransacked, the largest of them burnt to the ground. At every site of destruction, Finn's features had tightened further until his jaw looked ready to snap and his eyes to grow stony and cold. He had developed a tick in the side of his cheek.

  The Harris household had been the last straw, and his need to find them a place to sleep that night had turned his long and limber body into a rod of steel.

  Trying to ignore the fact that she apparently knew his expressions so well and could sense his moods clearly after only a few days in his acquaintance, Merith looked back at the subject of her musings when he rose to his full height once more. He stepped away from the carriage, but all that she could see in his wake was the shimmer of a little silk on its floor. The rest was cast into shadow now that the moon had fully risen and the sun had passed away for the day.

  Finn jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

  "I've set up something of a bed in there for you and Ilya...my lady." The title was an afterthought. He clearly was not used to addressing those of high rank. He tucked his thumbs into the hem of his trousers, his shoulders turning in as if embarrassed for his efforts. "It is not what you will be used to, but it is better than the cold ground."

  Merith pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders; it was true that winter was surely coming. The log on which she sat had taken the last half hour to warm enough that she did not fear her rear freezing to its seat. She smiled brightly at Finn, hoping to assure him that his toils were appreciated. But the expression seemed to only send him more into himself, his gaze refusing to meet hers.

  "The men will be adequate protection for you, for now. I'll see to hunting us some dinner."

  Merith's eyes widened.

  "You'll hunt us food? Like a savage?" She wasn't sure what she had been expecting. The rations they had left Mackenzie Castle with had long since been consumed under the assumption that she would be dining with the Harrises that evening. They had little else to eat and nothing at all to take with them across the day tomorrow before they arrived at Mackay Castle.

  Merith watched as Finn's lips pulled up in amusement on one side.

  "I suppose it is slightly savage," he answered. For some reason, Merith felt herself blush, sensing her own ignorance on the matter. "But I do wonder where it is you think your fancy meals come from, my lady. Rabbit is rabbit regardless of the kitchen that prepares it. Someone had to be savage for it to be on your plate."

  Feeling the fool, Merith pulled the wool of her cloak still tighter, her arms twisting into a hidden knot in her lap.

  "Of course," she murmured, as Ilya came to sit beside her. The woman placed an arm about her shoulders and drew her close, sharing their warmth. The touch was a comf
ort and made her feel a little less the victim of her own sheltered world. So many of the people that Merith knew would declare Finn and men like him to be beneath her, to be of a lower value and worth than she or the members of her family. Yet, looking at the situation now, she was of no value. No use and no purpose. She was a pretty decoration that was forcing others to look after her. And Finn was the one with all of the answers on how to survive and protect others.

  Just who was of the greater worth, now?

  There was an awkward quiet. Only the sound of Finn's boots shuffling in the dirt broke the silence.

  "I'll be back in a bit."

  Before Merith could further understand the urges within her—the urge to tell him to wait, to stop, to talk to her, to be careful—he was already gone. And, within moments, even the sounds of his progress through the trees were lost in the darkness of the night.

  It was only when he was far enough from their makeshift camp for the nighttime hush to drift down around him that Finn's skin seemed to settle back into place. From the moment he had helped Merith down from the carriage into the clearing he had found, he had been struck by the lunacy of his recent thoughts.

  Finn had lost count of the number of nights he had slept under the stars. His life as a farmer's boy, then as Aggie's surrogate child, had been a harsh one, often requiring him to manufacture a place to sleep out of thin air. He had never noticed such a thing to be a hardship. The idea of sleeping beneath the night sky or climbing onto the roof of Aggie's house had been adventures of excitement, not trials to be borne. After that, his career in the military had seen outside camping become more or less the norm. His pack had become his pillow and a simple blanket his bed. In truth, even the thin mattress of the Braiths’ servants’ quarters the night before had set him ill at ease. He had rested little, constantly shifting in order to find a spot that was more firm. He had, at one point, been tempted to get out of bed and sleep on the floor but had not wanted to risk insult to Lady Merith's hosts. For his back, it seemed, Finn preferred the cold and hard earth.