Highlander's Heart Read online

  After spending most of the day on a horse with her aromatic companion, the little band of robbers trotted into the gate of a tower house. The tower was square, about three stories high, and unadorned. Around her was evidence of poverty and disrepair. Even the wooden gate looked like it had been broken at some point and poorly patched back together. The people in the courtyard wore clothes that had seen better days, some no better than rags.

  Even the poorest of her brother’s men dressed better than these. The people stopped their work and stared at Cait and her maid with suspicion. Cait was uncomfortably conscious of the difference in attire.

  The leader of the ragtag band led them into the tower house and up a circular staircase to a solar. It was sparsely appointed and had a small peat fire smoldering in a large fireplace, giving the room an earthy, smoky smell. Perhaps these bandits were squatters in this tower whose original owner had fallen on desperate times.

  Another thief entered the room after them, a thin, lanky fellow who ignored Cait and Alys and slumped into a wooden chair by the fire, putting his feet up against the fireplace stone. The thieves had long since removed their masks, revealing dirty, hard, resigned faces.

  “Please, make yourself at home, my lady, I wish ye to be at ease,” said the leader. He addressed himself to Alys, her lady-in-waiting. Since Alys had been in the litter, he now believed Alys to be Cait. It was a confusing day all around.

  The leader’s clothes marked him as a Lowlander, but his speech was that of a Highlander, and far beyond the class his clothes would suggest. He was a tall man with black, cropped hair. He removed his black cloak, revealing dark breeches tucked into black leather boots and a thick, woolen tunic.

  “Ye’ve had an arduous journey. Here, please sit down.” He looked at his reclining friend and said, “Morrigan, get up, give yer seat to the lady.”

  Morrigan glared in return and made no effort to move.

  “Well, here now,” said the tall leader, dragging a bench by the fire and motioning Alys to sit. “I hope ye are feeling comfortable, my lady.”

  Alys sat cautiously and looked at Cait, questioning. Cait knew she was waiting to know what to do, not sure if this thief’s mistake was in their favor or not. Cait was not sure either.

  “What is all this, then?” A young man entered the room. He looked at Alys and Cait and stopped short. “’Tis true. Ye’ve abducted a lady?” The lad went pale.

  “Aye, let me introduce you,” said the leader of the bandits. “Ladies, may I have the honor of presenting my brother, Andrew McNab. I am Archibald McNab, laird o’ the McNab clan. I hope you both will have a pleasant stay.”

  “Archie, nay, ye must no’ do this,” said Andrew.

  “Dinna worrit yerself, I’ll handle everything,” said Archie.

  “That’s what he is afeared of,” snorted the man in the chair.

  Cait did a double take at the lounging figure. The voice, it wasn’t right. Looking again at the face, she realized the lad was really a woman.

  The woman glared at Cait. “Quit yer staring,” she snapped. “I dinna take disrespect from anyone, especially no’ servants.”

  Cait gasped at her harsh language. How dare she speak to her like that? Even if she mistook her for Alys, her maid was a lady-in-waiting from a respectable family, not a servant. She opened her mouth to tell her so, but was distracted by McNab’s younger brother.

  “Nay, we must give them back,” said Andrew to his older brother.

  “Too late for that now, they know who we are.”

  Cait’s eyes snapped back to McNab. That statement sounded ominous. He was regarding Alys, tapping his fingers together, looking eager to please… and desperate. Desperate enough to do what, she did not know.

  “Ye mean to ransom us, then?” Cait asked the leader.

  “Aye.”

  “Well then, I suggest ye provide my lady with suitable accommodations.”

  “Lady Cait will have every possible comfort.”

  “Which does not appear to be much,” said Cait, rising to the role as her own handmaiden. “Lady Cait requires a chamber now so she can rest. She is not accustomed to this type of treatment and has a weak constitution, ye ken how ladies are. I’m sure her humors have been put out of alignment.” Cait sighed dramatically, embracing her performance. “I only hope it will no’ be too late.”

  Andrew McNab turned from pale to green. Even Morrigan eyed her with caution. Cait felt she was on to something.

  “She may have my bedchamber immediately,” said McNab.

  “Nay,” said Cait, looking at each McNab with a critical eye. “Give us Andrew’s. He’s the cleanest o’ the lot o’ ye. I’ll need wine for m’lady and a pallet of fresh straw for myself.”

  “Ye can take what ye get,” said Morrigan with contempt.

  “Moldy straw will cause an inflammation o’ the lungs in m’lady,” said Cait, doing her best to sound imperious and succeeding dramatically. “Unless ye dinna care whether m’lady is still alive when Laird Campbell comes to claim her.”

  Cait had the satisfaction of seeing her three captors look ill at ease.

  ***

  Archie McNab leaned against the mantel in the dimly lit solar. After tearing his house apart to find suitable furnishings for his lady captive, he had finally gotten them fed and settled into Andrew’s chamber. The maid was right about one thing, it was the cleanest room in the tower.

  It was late, the light from a single tallow candle cast flickering shadows into the dark room. McNab took the folded parchment from his tunic. He was finally alone with the missive that had been the start of this tumultuous day. On the parchment was the telltale red seal of two knights riding a single horse, their shields emblazoned with a single cross. Around the edge of the circular seal were the words Sigillum Militum Xpisti followed by another cross. The Seal of the Soldiers of Christ.

  How he had ever gotten himself into so much trouble? He could only hope the Campbell captain had not had time to note the seal and realize it was the symbol of the Templar Knights.

  The man who sent him this message was ruthless without end. McNab held the parchment for a moment longer, almost afraid to open it. There must be another way to provide for his clan other than to work for this man. He closed his eyes and sat down in the chair beside the hearth. But his people… McNab sighed and broke the seal. If there was another way to feed his people, he was too dense to figure it out.

  McNab opened the parchment and held it up to the light of the single candle. On it was a single command written in the bold hand of the abbot.

  Kill the Bishop of Glasgow.

  McNab jerked forward in his chair and held the missive closer to the candle. The parchment glowed orange in the flickering light, but the message remained the same.

  “Hell and damnation,” McNab muttered, his pulse rising. He leaned back in his chair and put his hand over his eyes.

  “What are our orders now?” asked Morrigan, entering the room.

  McNab bolted forward and held the corner of the parchment to the candle. The missive burst into flame and disappeared into ash.

  “There be no orders,” said McNab, speaking too quickly. “He says he’s pleased wi’ our work, ’tis all.”

  “Dinna speak me false, Brother. ’Tis insulting beyond words.”

  “How do our guests?” McNab changed the subject. He had done little to protect his sister, but he knew she would be safer if she did not know from whom their orders came.

  Morrigan snorted. “What a bonnie lot o’ spoiled brats they are. I canna stand to look at them. Why do we no’ just let them loose in the marshes and pretend we ne’er saw them?”

  “Nay!” McNab stood and rubbed the back of his neck. “They must be made comfortable. If Lady Cait could be persuaded to marry, her dowry could save the clan.”

  “’Tis ne’er going to happen
as ye well ken.”

  “It must.” McNab’s voice was ragged. “It must work this time. How does a lady like to be wooed?” He looked over at Morrigan, then shook his head. “Why am I asking ye? I need to find a lass.” He quit the room, his eyes glazed, his shoulders hunched forward.

  His sister stared after him. “Aye, ye go do that now.”

  Sixteen

  It was entirely possible that sneaking out of Innis Chonnel in an old pickle barrel was not among her wisest decisions. Isabelle’s previous attempts to escape had proven unsuccessful, and she was running out of time and options. She had attempted to swim across, reasoning that if fish, not known for their overall intellectual capacity, could swim, then surely she could too. Her logic had failed her in a most wet and embarrassing way.

  So she had resorted to a more desperate plan, which unfortunately involved pickles. Campbell had proved to be an able jailer, but this morning he had left on a hunt, so she was free of his watchful eye to enact her escape.

  She had spent the past few days sneaking up to Cait’s tower and watching the comings and goings of the castle and noted how goods were transported back and forth in large barrels. The barrel in which she now sat in had once housed pickles, but was now empty and being sent back for another shipment.

  Not that the lack of pickles lessened the smell. She had half a mind to struggle out of the barrel for a breath of fresh air, but the recollection of the danger her people faced, should she fail, kept her still. She shifted around a bit, trying to reestablish circulation to her right leg and was determined to be patient. All she needed was to get across the loch.

  After some time her patience was rewarded. Her barrel was jolted sharply, and then swayed gently as it was ferried across the water on the raft. Excitement mounted as she was moved again, spun off the barge and presumably onto the dock. It was evening, and she had watched how barrels would be stacked and left overnight to be transported in the morning. All she needed to do now was to wait until dark. Faint light spilled through a small hole she had carved with her table knife in the top of the barrel for light and air. Suddenly, the light went out.

  Someone must have stacked a barrel on top of her. She took a slow breath, trying not to panic. She pushed gently on the lid of her prison, nothing happened. She pushed harder, but still, nothing moved. She was stuck in the barrel. Her heart pounded in her chest and the air started to get thin. She shoved hard at the lid with her shoulder. Again, the barrel lid was stuck tight. She took several rapid breaths. The briny stench was not enough to fill her lungs. She was going to suffocate in this barrel. She gasped for air, and wriggled around so she could push with her legs on the lid of the pickle barrel.

  Bracing herself, she shoved with all her might. The lid lifted but an inch. She took a stifled breath and screamed, straining against the lid with her last ounce of strength. With a crash she broke free. The barrel above her smashed on the ground, and her own barrel tipped over and rolled until it hit something solid and she spilled out. Men shouted, a horse neighed, and more goods crashed to the ground as her actions caused several other barrels and caskets to go flying.

  Isabelle slowly sat up, her head still spinning. She was sitting in the middle of the road, covered in mud. She groaned, how could it get any worse? A black horse walked up and stopped in front of her. Sitting tall in the saddle was none other than David Campbell.

  “Lady Tynsdale!” Campbell stared at her like an apparition. Behind him, Dain, Gill, and Finn had equal expressions of disbelief.

  Isabelle struggled to extricate herself from the mud and the muck. She regained her feet, but not before she was covered in slimy black filth. Despite being caught, she was relieved to have air once more, but a deep breath made her reconsider.

  Something around her reeked. She looked around at the faces of the dockworkers and of Campbell’s brothers and clansmen sitting high in their saddles. They all were staring at her with faces of surprise, shock, and repulsion. What was that smell? Confirming suspicion, she took a whiff of herself only to fight her own gag reflex. She stank worse than a month-old mackerel lying in a cesspool.

  “Ye certainly have a way wi’ the ladies. See how she canna wait to welcome ye home,” said Finn, breaking into a mischievous grin.

  “Ride on,” said Campbell with a scowl.

  “If ye require any advice on how to keep a lady at yer side—” said Gill with a sly smile.

  “Ride on, I say!” commanded Campbell. The twins laughed but complied, Gill giving her a wink as they passed, of all the cheek.

  Isabelle straightened her back, fought the urge to cover her own nose, and said, “Good day Laird Campbell. It seems my plans have gone a bit awry.”

  Campbell’s eyes shone with the twinkle of amusement she had grown to loathe, especially since it set his countenance at its most pleasing. He dismounted and started to come to her, but stopped and blinked his eyes. “Saints above, lass, what have ye done?”

  Isabelle’s lip trembled, but only for a moment before she regained control of her emotions. It was fortunate she was not prone to large, emotional displays, because this situation called for one, if any did. She was wise enough to realize the only thing more pathetic than a briny lass covered in dung was a sobbing briny lass covered in dung. She was determined to persevere.

  “Will you teach me some curses?” Isabelle asked, her words dripping with false sweetness. She had the small satisfaction of seeing his smile fade and confusion fill his eyes.

  “I beg yer pardon?”

  “I haven’t the good fortune to know any curses and this seems an ideal time to express one.”

  Campbell’s mouth twitched and he broke into a genuine smile. He pressed his lips together, but then laughed loud and hard. Isabelle was mesmerized. His joyous laughter radiated warmth and good humor. For a moment, the worries that seemed to press on him vanished and he looked young and carefree. Isabelle had thought him handsome before, but when he laughed, David Campbell was gorgeous.

  Campbell stepped toward her and covered his mouth and nose with his hand, though whether to smother a smile or defend his nostrils she could not be sure. He motioned her to march forward and she walked back onto the dock, the workers giving her a wide berth. They stepped onto the ferry barge and found they had the raft all to themselves as none of the Campbell brothers chose to ride with them. Finn and Gill waved to her, laughing hysterically.

  When they reached the other side, Campbell took her elbow and steered her toward the castle as his clansmen jumped out of their way. Campbell took her down to a room on the first floor near the kitchens. Buckets of steaming water were being carried in by servants and Mairi approached them from the other end of the corridor.

  “Sorry, Mairi,” said Campbell, “I fear this be an emergency and we must insist on taking yer bath.”

  “Nay, Brother,” said Mairi with a frown. “I’ve waited all afternoon for my…” Whatever Mairi was going to say was lost as she froze quite suddenly in an unnatural position, her mouth open. One foot still in the air.

  “As I said, a most urgent situation, Sister.”

  Mairi put both hands over her mouth and nose and scurried back down the hall. “Please take the water with my blessing. And have it dumped in the loch when yer through,” she called from a safer distance.

  Servants finished their work, or dropped it undone, and hustled out of their way, leaving them in a dimly lit room with the large, wooden, barrel-like tub. It looked suspiciously to Isabelle like a giant pickle barrel, but she could not wait to scrub herself free of all the grime.

  “Thank ye, I can take it from here,” said Isabelle and watched in dismay as Campbell shut the door with himself still inside.

  “Sir, I… you have no need…” Isabelle backed farther into the small room. “This is hardly proper, I can see to myself.”

  Campbell arched one brow. “Ye smell worse than the time my hun
ters crossed a skunk. Ye need washing.”

  “I am perfectly capable—”

  “Ye are hardly capable or ye’d ne’er be in this… pickle.” Campbell pressed his lips together in a weak effort to avoid smiling at his own pun.

  “Ye mock me!”

  “Aye. Now let’s see ye remove yer gown.”

  “I’ll do naught of the sort.” Isabelle was indignant. This day was bad enough without his insensitive puns and barely concealed mirth at her expense.

  “Ye need to get that gown off; ’tis ruined. I’ll no’ leave till I see ye can manage.”

  Isabelle opened her mouth to protest, but then remembered that while her surcoat was tied in the front, her gown was tied tightly in the back.

  “Send a maid to assist.”

  Campbell shook his head and stepped forward. “They’ll no’ come and I canna blame them. Let me do this and bathe ye, for yer stench is bringing tears to my eyes.”

  “Fine then. But I’ll only undress to my chemise, then you must leave!”

  “With pleasure, I assure ye.”

  Isabelle struggled with the slick ties of her surcoat and, after close inspection and a bit of a fight, she managed to remove it. Her gown, tied in the back, proved difficult. No matter how she twisted her arms, she was not able to untie the slick knot.

  “Come, let me help.” Campbell reached out but she backed away from him. In a flash he was upon her. She attempted unsuccessfully to bat him away, but he got his hands around her waist and struggled with the slick ties of her gown. Isabelle tried to wrestle from his grasp, but to little avail. The only thing she managed to accomplish with her struggle was to transfer a large amount of muck from her to him.

  When he finally pulled off the gown, leaving her gasping in her chemise, they were both rather filthy. In one easy movement he picked her up into his arms and dumped her into the tub. The warm water engulfed her, feeling achingly good. Her chemise clung to her, wet and protective. Campbell regarded her with deep lines of disapproval etched on his forehead, then pushed her head underwater. For an instant Isabelle thought he meant to drown her, but he let her come up for air soon enough.