The Highlander’s Runaway (Blood of Duncliffe Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  “Board for two?”

  “Aye, good fellow!” the innkeeper called. “Take yerself round tae the stables. We've got scant room here...you're well-timed.”

  “Thanks,” Brogan called back. He glanced across at Claudine. She was pale.

  He waited until they were alone in the hallway before he asked her what it was. “What's wrong, lass?”

  She shook her head, biting her lip. “The soldiers...sorry...” She shivered. “I just...the way they looked at me. One of them said something...”

  “What, lass?” he whispered. He felt anger, hard and violent, rise in him. He had no other thought that moment except to ride after the soldiers and attack them. How dare they insult Claudine?

  “They said...a bad name,” she whispered.

  He looked at her, head bowed with shame. He clenched his fists, trying not to let his anger get the better of him. How could he have exposed her to such insult, even for a second?

  “They dinnae ken what they're saying,” he said gently. “Half drunk, so they are. They wouldnae ken their own aunties on a night like this. Pay no mind.”

  She bit her lip. She wasn't going to be jollied out of this. He shook his head.

  “Come lass. Pay them no heed. It'll be best to get warm.”

  “I know,” Claudine said softly.

  She stayed where she was for a long moment, but eventually she turned and walked away, following him down the corridor.

  In the taproom, he found them a table. There had been two farm sorts about to sit there, but he glared at them and they nodded, clearing off. He sat down, grimly satisfied. He wanted to keep her out of the crowd.

  “Sorry,” she said, shivering as she sat down. “I suppose I'm just tired.”

  “I know, lass,” he said softly. “You'll feel better when you're warm.”

  She nodded. He hailed the innkeeper as he came past, and made sure he would bring them a hot meal. Then he turned to her. “Lass,” he whispered.

  “I'm fine,” she said tightly.

  He guessed that she was still feeling raw. He leaned back against the chair, not wanting to cause her more harm.

  He knew that it couldn't be her then. He couldn't imagine anyone could act this well. She had no idea the soldiers were there, and the sight of them had distressed her so much that, even now, she didn't wish to talk.

  Aye, it seems strange to you to be so distressed, but she's a gently born woman. It would affect her in ways you can't guess.

  He sat and waited for her to start to talk.

  “That fellow,” she said softly. “He...it was what he said. The way he looked at me. It made me think of Dunstan South.”

  Brogan stared at her. Of all the things he would have expected, that was the last one he thought he would hear. He had almost believed her working for the enemy, in collusion with him. Now, he could not believe that of her.

  “Dunstan South?” He stared at her. “He...he would say something like that? Do that?”

  She bit her lip. “He never...I suppose he has never been less than courteous. But when he faced me like that, threatened me, I felt like I just felt now. Hounded.”

  Brogan nodded slowly. “Och, lass. He's a dreadful fellow.”

  He shook his head. He had no idea what sort of man – what sort of father – could introduce such a man to his daughter, never mind persist in the idea that she would connect her life to his in any way!

  And now what will happen?

  He swallowed hard, watching her as she sat, still shivering a little. He would take her to her brother – that would be the sensible thing to do, the right thing. Then he would leave her there and ride back to her cousins, as quick as possible, to take them news.

  They must be worried sick.

  Brogan remembered he had to eat something too, and reached for a slice of bread. The host had made an excellent fish stew, and he ate with relish, but kept a worried eye on the woman opposite. She ate slowly, listlessly. He felt his heart wring. He could barely believe he had suspected her of something so dreadful.

  “More stew?”

  Brogan nodded. “Yes, please,” he agreed. “And bring some warm ale.”

  “Very good, milord.”

  When the woman had gone, Claudine smiled at him. “You seem well known locally.”

  He shrugged, feeling a faint pride. “I reckon most people know me,” he said. “I have a large clan.”

  “And you are some sort of chief, I think?” she asked.

  He chuckled. “A chief! Now that's a fine word. More like the fellow they all come and bother when things go wrong. I swear, milady, I reckon I look ten years older for their goings-on.”

  Claudine smiled fondly. “I am sure you don't. I would not put you a day past eight and twenty.”

  He beamed. “Now, there's a thought. Milady, I am nine and twenty. And old for my years.” He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he had born the cares of his whole tribe for years.

  “Well, that may be so.”

  Brogan flushed, feeling awkward. He had no idea how to react to her. He was fairly sure that he had been suspecting her unfairly – in fact, any thought of that had fled from him. “Milady,” he said, realizing he was very weary. “We should likely retire.”

  “Aye,” she nodded, and then flushed. “Have you...”

  “I settled us with two rooms,” he nodded. “Mine's over the loft.”

  Claudine went red. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Brogan went red too, thinking about the possibility that they might end up in the same lodgings. He had made certain to spread the tale of her being his cousin, to ensure that nobody would put them in the same sleeping-quarters. Yet, a small part of him almost wished someone would make an honest oversight.

  His mind filled with the image of her, those sweet curves soft in firelight. He wished that he could touch her intimately. “We'd best go up,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “We should.”

  Their eyes met and he read a feeling there that echoed in himself. Her gaze was wide and soft, her eyes shining gently. He felt himself lean forward and remembered that time, so recent, when he had almost kissed her.

  The sound of the floor creaking behind made him jump suddenly. He looked around to where the innkeeper stood, waiting with a jar.

  “We should go,” he said and nodded to her. “Thanks,” he added to the innkeeper. “But we'll retire. We had a long day's ride.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Brogan stood and waited for Lady Claudine to follow and together they went upstairs to the upper hallway. “Goodnight,” he said. He looked at her searchingly. Suddenly he could help it no longer. He leaned forward and his lips pressed hers.

  She seemed to feel a similar prompting, because she leaned forward in the same moment and in the dark hallway there was no holding back. Her lips touched his and he kissed her, feeling his heart melt as he reached for her, holding her tight.

  Her body was soft and welcoming and he wrapped her in his arms, breathing in the smell of hay and flowers from her hair. He kissed her again and she sighed and tensed and, dazedly, he let her go.

  “We mustn't,” she whispered. “I can't.”

  Brogan gathered his senses and nodded. “Of course,” he nodded. “Well, goodnight, milady.”

  “Goodnight,” she whispered softly.

  He walked swiftly down the hallway to the loft. He found his chamber and went in, locked the door. Leaned against it, eyes closed.

  The moment played over in his mind, again and again. Her body pressed to his, her lips against his. He shut his eyes, but he couldn't shut it out. He couldn't stop thinking.

  “Stop it, Brogan,” he said to himself harshly.

  He made himself prepare for bed, tense and alert, as if every part of him strained toward her. He lay down, and tried to lose focus. Thoughts from the day kept on swimming into his mind. Her, turning on the horse to face him, a smile on her face, her sweet laughter.

  Gradually,
the tiredness won and he felt himself spiraling down into sleep.

  He slept long and dreamed confusing, cluttered dreams. When he awoke, the light of morning was shining firmly on his face. He shifted and sat up, quickly. It was time to leave.

  When he was in the main room, he found himself looking out of the window and caught sight of something.

  A sleeve of a uniform, in the colors of the Borderers. He stared.

  No. It couldn't be.

  When he looked again, he could not see the figure. He shrugged. He had likely imagined it. All the same, as he sat down to breakfast, he couldn't keep the thought out of his mind until she walked in and, at once, all he could think of was her.

  STRANGE HAPPENING

  Claudine had rolled over in bed that morning, a smile on her face. She knew it was silly – after all, if she had been thinking even vaguely sensibly, she would have been horrified. Every rule with which she had been raised would speak out against what she had done yesterday.

  After dressing and combing her hair – each moment recalling the sweetness of the kiss yesterday – she headed lightly downstairs.

  In the doorway of the dining room she stopped and stared.

  “Good morning,” McRae said. His rugged face was lit with a smile.

  She felt it touch every part of her and smiled back, elated. “Good morning, laird.”

  She drew out the seat. He grinned, shaking his head.

  “Ye ken, lass, we have to do something about that.”

  “What?” She frowned, straightening her skirts about her where she sat. She couldn't think clearly, her heart thudding in her chest, blood pulsing in her ears. She wondered why her skin seemed thinner, as if it could feel every movement he made.

  “The names. I would say, by now, that ye should call me Brogan.”

  Claudine swallowed hard. “Bro-gan.” She said it carefully, as if it was a dangerous word. A word with some power. He smiled.

  “That's grand.”

  Claudine blushed. His eyes held hers. He was smiling, too, his gaze so radiant that it seemed brighter than the lamp on the wall, still burning despite the daylight outside.

  “And...” She paused, throat drying. She had wanted to say, and you can call me Claudine. However, the words stuck there, not willing to pass her lips. She couldn't quite imagine saying something so intimate to anyone.

  “Oh, lass – will ye take porridge?” he asked as a servant at the inn came in bearing a tray. Claudine let out a weary sigh, not aware she'd been holding her breath.

  “I think that sounds pleasant,” she said somewhat nervously. The porridge at her cousins' home was something she had not yet become accustomed to. It was salty and buttery and she found it a trifle odd. Nevertheless, she was very hungry.

  “There's bread and cheese, if that'd suit ye?” he noted, already reaching for a bowl of warm oats with butter.

  “I'd like that,” she nodded. He chuckled.

  “Och, lass. We'll have ye eating oats porridge before the week is out.”

  Claudine smiled queasily. “Maybe you shall.”

  Brogan chuckled. He looked far happier than she had ever seen him, which surprised her. He seemed to have lit from within. “Well, I would wager.”

  She shook her head, and grinned.

  He said nothing, just reached for the salt where it stood on the table between them. “Ah,” he sighed contentedly as he sampled breakfast.

  Claudine smiled and crumbled a section off the bread to eat.

  “We should read that map of your’n,” he suggested. “See where it is we're heading next.”

  “Yes,” Claudine nodded.

  While he consulted the map, she drank tea and looked out of the window to the inn yard. She saw some men in uniform mount and ride away, and shivered, recalling the men she'd seen earlier. With the daylight, and the distance from the manor, her fear evaporated.

  She watched him as he bent to the map. His long auburn hair touched one strong jaw, his eyes, piercing, trained on the map. He laid a strong finger on the page. She felt her own heart jump with excitement as she studied him.

  He is so handsome.

  He hadn't seemed that way to her at first, she had to admit. With his strange way of dressing and his long hair, his rugged looks, she had thought him quite beastly when first she saw him. Now that she knew him better, she realized the word “beastly” did not apply to him at all.

  He is gentle.

  She studied him longer. He seemed to feel her gaze on him, for he looked up. She tensed, but had not time to look down. His eyes caught hers, brown and level. He grinned.

  Flustered, she grinned back. She couldn't help it. With those thin lips and those dazzling eyes and bright teeth, his smile was irresistible.

  “More tea?” the innkeeper's wife asked, appearing with a pot behind her.

  She looked at Brogan, who shrugged. “Thanks. Yes.”

  The woman looked at him oddly, but poured the tea and headed off again. Brogan smiled.

  “Well, at least we got some tea. This seems an odd place. But it's not too bad, as places go.”

  Claudine nodded, feeling content. She reached for her tea and sipped, looking out of the window as she did so. She couldn't recall feeling this peaceful before.

  “We'll have less of a ride today,” Brogan said. “My plan is to head into the hills, to Norkirk Abbey. Then, on the way, we'll stop in the town nearby. Hamsford, I think it's called.”

  Claudine shrugged. “You know more of reading maps than I do, milord. I mean, Brogan.”

  He smiled. “Thanks, lass,” he said.

  She blushed. She looked down at her plate, wondering if he knew for an instant the intense effect his smile and words had on her. She felt as if someone had lit her up. She reached for her tea, seeking a distraction.

  When they had finished breakfast, they headed down to the stables and set out on the road. The day was surprisingly sunny, though it was frosty and cold outside. Claudine was glad she had her cloak with her, and drew it about her tightly, hoping the long train of it afforded some warmth to her mount as well. She had changed horses at the last inn again, and now rode a new horse, which, she agreed with Brogan, had a slightly stiff foreleg.

  “Well, we'll not go far today,” he called back to her. “Just fifteen miles or so till the abbey.”

  “Good,” Claudine smiled.

  “And then we'll stop and rest, lass. It does a body good.”

  “It does, yes.”

  She smiled to herself. She had yet to tell him to call her “Claudine.” She just couldn't make herself do it. For the moment, lass worked just as well.

  The wind came up as they rode, scudding clouds across the sky. She shivered, but her horse was eager to run and Brogan set a swift pace. Soon she was feeling sweat prick between her shoulder blades, though it was still chilly.

  “Another eight miles!” Brogan called.

  “What?” she called back, the wind whipping away her words even as she uttered them.

  “Eight miles!” Brogan called back.

  “Good!” Claudine yelled. “I like a good ride.”

  She was feeling more alert than she had in a long time, and rode swiftly ahead, keeping up with Brogan. He rode a dark horse, his hair loose in the wind, cloak lifting on the breeze as he went.

  They sped off toward the hills.

  When they reached the abbey, the sun was just stretching the shadows eastward. It was perhaps four o' clock, she judged, and nearing early nightfall.

  “I'll see if the abbot will offer us any sort of lodgings,” Brogan said quickly, indicating the door of the abbey behind him. “Mayhap they'll let us stay in an outbuilding or something. They often will.”

  “Of course,” Claudine nodded, watching as he strode off into the abbey grounds. She stayed where she was, holding her horse's reins, waiting in the shadow of the wall. She leaned against the cool stone, looking out over the valley. She waited for Brogan's return. He had already explained that the monks m
ight not allow a woman to enter the precincts.

  “Best if you wait outside,” he'd said.

  She smiled, recalling his smile as he'd said it. His eyes had told her that he thought she was far too beautiful not to be a temptation. She had blushed, and flushed again, recalling it.

  “He's a big daftie,” she said fondly. The term was one she heard one of the maids use at the manor. She took it to mean a simpleton. She smiled, shaking her head.

  While she waited, she watched the dark woods beyond the boundaries of the abbey. There was nothing moving there, save some creature that rustled in the brush. The wind had died down.

  She heard a twig crack and turned quickly. Brogan was coming down the path. His face was tense.

  “Brogan?” she asked.

  “We have leave to stay,” he said curtly.

  Claudine frowned. What had happened? He had gone in so happy and relaxed, and now he was tense, and strained. And snappy? “Brogan?”

  He turned sharply and looked at her. His look held impatient distaste. She felt herself gasp.

  What happened? Why has he changed so suddenly?

  She opened her mouth, about to ask him what was the matter, but he turned away, leading her horse ahead of her, his horse beside.

  “Come on, lass,” he said gruffly. “Let's go and find this cottage.”

  Claudine nodded and followed him along the path beside the wall. It opened in a small gate, and there stood a stone dwelling, immaculately-tidy, a window-box with late-flowering chrysanthemum beside the window.

  “Are we to...?”

  “The stable's round the back,” he said, leading the horses past.

  “Brogan?” she called to him. “Please...I...”

  Brogan looked at her, and she saw his eyes were full of pain. She gasped, but had no idea what to do or say. He looked away again, looking at the ground.

  “Best to get inside.”

  Claudine nodded mutely. She went inside. The air smelled of some fragrant substance used for cleaning – wax, she guessed, mixed with herbs of some sort, to give a pleasant smell. She walked across stone floor and into a small parlor, then a kitchen. She guessed the beds were on the second floor – a stairwell with a wooden rail led up toward the next story.