Highlander Mine (2 page)

“That will have to do,” I said, attempting to tame my hair into place. My braid was still coiled, but some of the shorter strands at the front had come loose

“No one will expect you to be perfectly groomed,” Hamish commented, turning to watch me. “We’ve been attacked by bandits, remember, and forced to walk for miles after our driver was killed and our carriage stolen.”

“Killed? Now we’ve witnessed a murder
and
been robbed?”

“If he was still alive they’d look for him.”

This was becoming increasingly macabre by the minute. Either way, he was right. I’d be more convincing if my hair was in some state of disarray. I left the escaped tendrils loose to frame my face. My hair was long, wavy and a light shade of red that was almost blond. Strawberry-blond, my sister called it. My sister Cecelia’s hair was the exact same shade as her son’s: light brown with streaks of honey and gold.

Hamish was looking at me and there were glistening tears in his eyes. My nephew, despite his tender age, rarely cried. The sight of his tears now sent an awful stab of woe through my chest. I knew I was reminding him of his mother, and it saddened me that she might be lost to him for quite some time, leaving him with only me for companionship and protection.

“Tell me again why they couldn’t come with us,” he said.

“You know why,” I said. “They have business to attend to. When we find a safe place to stay, I’ll send word to them, and they’ll join us.” I wiped his tears, knowing only too well that it would be too dangerous to send word; interception was too risky. “In the meantime, I’ll take good care of you.”

“And I’ll take good care of you,” he countered, recovering a shred of his earlier enthusiasm for this adventure.

“Now,” I said, “let’s go get that meal. Meat with potatoes and gravy. Stew and fresh bread. As much as you can eat.”

This cheered him further and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Holster your weapon, soldier,” I told him. “We don’t want to frighten anyone.”

He slung the wooden blade so it hung from his belt.

So it was, and we headed for the tavern door.

It was a
lively scene. Clearly a popular local gathering place. There was a large contingent of farmers and tradesmen who appeared to know each other and were already well into their evening’s allotment of ale. They sat at long, central tables that had been laid with platters of food. Several of them watched as we entered, but their conversation remained on more important matters: the planting of crops and the shearing of sheep. In the quieter corners sat smaller groups of travelers. Several sat alone. I spied an empty table near the back of the tavern and led Hamish to it.

A serving woman came to us. “Is it a meal you’re after?” She was perhaps thirty-five years of age, or maybe younger, with tired brown eyes and lank hair she’d tied back. Her clothing was plain and well worn, but neat. In her voice were inflections of boredom, resignedness, a clear note of I’d-rather-be-anywhere-but-here. Maybe she needed another server to help her, to ease her workload. I could earn money, to pay for food and accommodation.
It would take a long time to earn enough not only to survive on but also to save for the return journey and the stay in Edinburgh. Gambling would be quicker, and easier.
I refused the direction of my thoughts.
But I couldn’t help picturing myself, a year from now, wearing a similar coarse brown dress, taking yet another order, still hiding and waiting. I couldn’t afford to be overly choosy, I reminded myself. I would make do as best I could and accept the lot I was given gracefully.

Or would I?

“A meal, for two, please,” I said. “A large one. And a pot of strong tea. With sugar.” I almost asked her right then if there was work available. Something stopped me. I could at least enjoy a meal first—the last I would be able to afford—before I resigned myself to my fate.
A fate. There were always choices.
I warred with myself as the serving woman walked off. Serving was gainful, honest employment.
But so dull.
There would be plenty to eat, a warm place to sleep. Hamish might get hired by a local farmer, out of sight of passersby, as I cooked and cleaned.
So isolated and monotonous.

I thought of my mother, who had worried constantly about my impetuous nature.
You’ve a little devil that sits on your left shoulder, Amelia, who whispers willful ideas into your ear. Listen to the angel on your right shoulder. Let that be the voice that guides you.
But the devil’s advice had always seemed so much more intriguing. To ease my mother’s concerns I’d tried my best—and mostly succeeded—to do as she said, to tune that little devil out, to learn discipline and control. Tragedy, however, had all but silenced the voice of reason. My parents died when I was eleven years old. And once my sister, who was seven years older than me, had been forced to marry a struggling gaming club owner to keep us off the streets after the death of our parents, I’d had much more to worry about than conscience and etiquette.

Our meal was served. The food was plain but hearty. I hadn’t felt so hungry for a very long time. Ever, in fact.

Before we could finish eating, there was a commotion at the door.

I reached for Hamish in an instinctive movement.
Could it be that Fawkes and his men had tracked us? So soon?
I grabbed Hamish’s sleeve as terror flooded me, and I could taste my fear as a metallic, bitter tang.

Before we could make a move to flee, an imposing man walked into the tavern, followed by several more. These weren’t city people: that was glaringly obvious at the very first glimpse of their brawny, unfamiliar-looking silhouettes as they entered the dining room, which seemed to shrink in their presence.

They wore tartan clan kilts and weapons belts equipped with plentiful supplies of swords and knives. They were enormous, not only tall but big and wide-shouldered, muscular and lethal-looking. I heard Hamish’s quick intake of breath. These were the clan warriors we’d read stories of, with their weaponry and their battle scars. They looked every bit as savage as one might have expected. Their hair was worn long, to the shoulders, with small braids at their temples. Each one of them looked as though he could kill a man with his bare hands, if so inclined. They gave off an aura of confidence and contained ferocity. Yet I couldn’t help noticing they were exceptionally good-looking men, for all their subdued aggression, with strong features and glowing vitality.

The farmers and tradesmen did not appear to be frightened by these men, but rather respectful. It occurred to me that warriors such as these would be not only the protectors of any given district, but also the lawmakers.

I noticed then that the men were followed by three women.

These women looked somewhat out of place, their fashionable clothing and petite, refined countenance offering a sharp contrast to the men’s size and overt ruggedness. Groomed and glamorous, the women were well dressed in gowns and capes of unusual design. My sister and I had always had an interest in fashion, even if we’d only occasionally had the opportunity to indulge it, and it was easy to see that these women had access to quality seamstresses. It seemed clear enough, too, that these were Highlands clan women, and I was surprised at their elegance. I was reminded that the clans’ ruling families were not heathens or barbarians, as I might have imagined, but were instead composed of nobility. This was something I’d had little cause to give much thought to, but now there was something highly fascinating about these very-masculine men and the trio of petite, stylish women they were clearly assigned to accompany on their travels, to guard with their swords and their lives.

Hamish had recovered from his initial fear and now, his mute fascination. “Do you think those swords are as long as the scabbards that hold them?” Hamish whispered.

I eyed one of the leather sheaths in question. “It seems impossible that anyone could lift one, if they are,” I said in hushed tones, “but then, look at the size of those men’s
arms.
And the scabbards look well made. I would expect that they would fit the swords like a glove.”

“Aye,” Hamish agreed, agog and wide-eyed. These men before us embodied everything his childhood fantasies had promised, and more. He’d modeled himself on the stories of the Highlander warriors I’d read him as a small boy, on their strength and their bravery, having never seen anyone like that on the backstreets of Edinburgh. And here they were: real and fierce. Hamish had been carrying his toy swords around since he was barely old enough to walk, but he’d never seen anything like
this.
I couldn’t help thinking he’d found his element here in these Highlands, and we’d barely just arrived. I wasn’t sure why this realization, though hardly surprising, caused a ripple of unease in me. I realized in that moment that I was entering new territory that would very likely change not only my outlook but the entire course of my future.

Then again, that’s exactly what I’d intended all along, by fleeing the city. A new life, for him, at least. And here, in this very place, I could feel that new life beginning to unfold, reaching and affecting us both.

The women took a seat at the table next to ours and the men sat at a large round table near them. The server attended to them immediately.

One of the women noticed our interest and she caught my eye. She appeared to be the youngest of the three, and she was, even from this small distance, quite strikingly beautiful. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of cerulean blue that matched her dress, and her hair was a shiny, rich dark brown. She appeared equally interested in my own appearance, taking in the snug fit of my dress and my slightly windblown dishevelment. She smiled, and behind a thin veil of shyness, I could detect genuine interest, and a light note of concern. Clearly I was unaccompanied by any escort aside from a small boy whose eyes were glued to her guards even as he continued to wolf down his food as though he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

My position, as a woman traveling without protection, was clearly not only inappropriate, but dangerous. Especially from the vantage point of such privilege. I guessed that these women were returning to their Highlands clan after a short trip to Edinburgh on business of one sort or another—which had more than likely involved copious amounts of shopping. They were practically sparkling with fresh grooming and the newness of their garments.

I felt a million miles removed from such splendor. My dress was fine enough, aye, if somewhat constricting, but I had in fact been on the run for upward of five days, had eaten little, slept on hay wagons or in open fields and, now for the first time, felt the accumulating effects of all the tumult of recent weeks to my very bones.

In fact, I should have been counting my blessings. I was alive, and so was Hamish. And I held on to hope that Cecelia, too, was holed up in some safe haven, being fed a meal as fortifying as ours. For her sake, and her son’s, I resolved to somehow beat Sebastian Fawkes at his own game, to get my revenge by saving her, and saving myself.

I noticed then that Hamish had left the table. Curiosity had overcome him. He was circling the soldiers, keeping a not-so-subtle distance from them, and arousing the interest of the young woman in blue, as well as the other two.

They watched my nephew for a moment, taking in his outfit, and his beauty; it was true he had been exceptionally blessed in this way.

“Would you like to touch one of the swords?” the young woman in blue asked him.

Hamish, alas, lacked any hint of bashfulness. He was a straightforward boy who was quite aware of his angelic face, his sun-touched hair and his long, graceful limbs. He had used his looks to his own advantage upon many occasions, a practice I had not only encouraged but taught him. “Aye, milady. I’m the son of a doctor, not a warrior. I’ve seen plenty of scalpels but never a sword.”

Ah. I felt an equal amount of pride and dismay at his quick response. He was already spinning our tale.

“Lachlan, would you mind terribly?” the young woman addressed one of the guards. “The lad is so sweet.”

The guard named Lachlan eyed Hamish for a moment, and I detected his mild annoyance, as though he was lamenting the fact that he wasn’t out-of-doors spearing things, instead finding himself relegated to guard duty and the unappealing assignment of entertaining a vagrant boy. Even so, it was clear enough that Lachlan would not refuse whatever request the young woman made of him. He obliged, unsheathing his colossal weapon in one easy swipe, holding it up in front of Hamish’s rounded eyes.

I’d never seen Hamish so awestruck. He reached up tentatively to touch his fingers to the flat side of the blade.

“Don’t touch the blade, lad, or you’ll be picking your neatly sliced fingers up off the floor,” Lachlan said with persuasive eloquence.

“I wasn’t going to touch the blade,” Hamish replied, miffed that the soldier would think him so dim-witted. “I know it’s sharp. It wouldn’t be much use if it wasn’t.”

Several of the other soldiers chuckled at this and I felt a ripple of shame that Hamish would respond with such impertinence. Lachlan, however, appeared more impressed by Hamish’s answer than angered. Strength and bravery were their currency, I supposed. Hamish understood this and had just bought himself a hint of this soldier’s respect. Clearly, despite his small size in the face of these enormous, armed men, my nephew was not intimidated. And there was a shiny-eyed eagerness to him that Lachlan could not help but respond to.

“I’d offer to let you hold it,” Lachlan said, “but the sword outweighs you.”

More laughter from the men.

“Here,” Lachlan continued, retrieving a large knife from its holster at his belt. “You can hold this one.”

Now that Hamish was well and truly engaged, the young woman in blue took the opportunity to make light conversation. She was clearly somewhat overcome with curiosity about my obvious predicament. Her blue eyes gleamed with bright interest, and her shiny brown hair waved prettily around a pale face that was highlighted by the subtle paint of pink on her cheeks.