My Highland Rebel Page 2

  His enjoyment of the rescue had dissipated with the appearance of her kin. Even worse, the persistent monk must have heard voices and followed the sounds to him. It was not good, but still, not the worst day he had ever had. Cormac plotted a course through the treacherous moors and ran swiftly until his lungs burned with every painful breath. When he could run no farther, he paused a moment to catch his breath and listen carefully.

  The sun had made an appearance, turning the mist to orange. Soon it would fade away into a bright Highland spring day. Core heard no footsteps or anything else that might suggest he was still being followed. He took a good, deep breath. His escape had been a little more difficult than he had expected, but still, he had gotten away with it.

  Of course, he had nowhere to go except the last place he wished to be. With a sigh of resignation, Cormac turned his course back to the thieves’ camp. He snuck back into the camp with caution. The men were enjoying the recent plunder of a conquest. Like the cunning of a cat, their leader knew when to move on, and had led his band of thieves, thugs, and mercenaries quickly and quietly to their current location to the north, to enjoy their ill-gotten gains without the unpleasantness of Highland justice.

  Cormac climbed over a crumbled part of the stone wall surrounding the abandoned tower house that was the temporary home for the warlord and his followers. The muffled shouts and coarse talk of the men floated to him from inside the main keep of the tower. Core had no intention of joining the revelry. Instead, he sought out a relative measure of peace and quiet in one of the crofters’ huts, which were built against the berm around the tower. Alone with his scrolls, even if it was in the dirt of the abandoned hut, was much preferable to the company of the thieves’ den.

  With a wariness born of experience, Cormac scanned his surroundings. Assured he was alone, he entered the hut and pulled an old sack off a wooden box, examining the contents within to ensure everything was as he had left it. He checked his equipment, materials, and notes, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was all accounted for. He put Aristotle aside for some light bedtime reading and unrolled a scroll of Marcus Graecus. He was sure it contained the information he needed to succeed.

  Cormac had worked long on his experiments. He was close; he knew it. Scanning the text, he found a piece of new information. A quiver of excitement hummed through him as he began to read. This might be the missing piece he needed to make his experiment work. Then he could show everyone the true benefit of gaining an education. It would be a fine day when his unusual proclivities toward book learning would be respected rather than mocked.

  “Thought I would find ye here.”

  Core jumped at the unexpected intrusion. He tried to roll up the scroll before it was noticed by Bran, the surly brigand standing before him, but it was no use. Core had been caught red-handed with contraband. Bran towered over him with a scowl, his large brown mustache almost completely obscuring his mouth.

  “What’s that ye got there, Core? Good thing we didn’t find ye wi’ books; ye ken how he feels about reading books.”

  Dubh, a heavyset man with a slightly confused expression, entered the hut. He rubbed the top of his bald head with a meaty hand.

  Core didn’t bother trying to explain what a scroll was. “What do ye want?” He eyed a window for escape.

  “Red Rex wants ye.”

  Red Rex. Core’s heart sank. Nothing good could come from being called before the warlord. The mere mention of his name struck fear in the hearts of decent folk. Truth be told, it struck even greater fear in those who followed him. Those closest to him knew well why he should be feared.

  “Why?” asked Core, though he doubted he wanted to know.

  “Dinna ken. Dinna care. He said to bring ye, and so we will. Ye coming?” There was a hopeful glint in Bran’s eye, as if he wished Core would make a run for it just so he could chase him down.

  Core considered his options. He could run, but if Rex wanted him, there was no hope for success, especially with Bran and Dubh on his tail. Core had tried it before. It had ended badly for everyone.

  “Aye, I’ll come by an’ by.” He surreptitiously stuck the scrolls in his belt behind his back, hidden by the end of his plaid that draped over his shoulder. He grabbed another from a stash under a crate and shoved it in his belt to the side.

  “Ye’ll come now.” Dubh pounded his fist into the stone doorway. It was the stone that crumbled.

  “Aye,” muttered Core with a sigh. He had dealt with Red Rex before; he could do it again.

  He followed Dubh and Bran into the abandoned tower house Red Rex had chosen as his temporary base of operations. The stale, fetid air was the first warning of the dangers that lurked within. Core walked carefully over slick, molding rushes that smelled as bad as they looked. The hall reeked of human waste and neglect. There was no thought to cleaning it. The men were content to pass a bottle of whiskey to numb the pain rather than improve their lot. Within the hall, disreputable men slouched along the walls, drank at the tables, and generally added to the stench of desperation.

  “But I dinna care for him,” cried a young lady with fiery red hair, standing before the notorious warlord. “Ye canna make me—”

  “Ye’ll do as ye’re told. Ne’er defy me again, or I’ll cut out that sharp tongue o’ yers!” raged Red Rex. True to his name, the warlord had flaming red hair that stuck out at all angles and spiked down into a large, bright red beard. He wore a red-and-black great plaid and a leather arming doublet studded with iron spikes protruding from his chest in an ominous manner. About him, he wore a bearskin cloak, giving his already monstrous form even greater proportions. He was larger than any man had a right to be. Core suspected somewhere in his genealogy must have been the fabled giants of old.

  “What is this?” Core asked Bran in an undertone.

  “One o’ Rex’s daughters dinna care for the groom he picked,” replied Bran.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a ruddy bastard, that’s why.”

  The young lady opened her mouth to respond, thought better of it, and snapped her mouth shut, stalking out of the room with a fierce look and tears in her eyes. If this was the way the man treated his own daughter, there was no hope for Core.

  “Ah, Cormac, how good o’ ye to visit our happy gathering.” Red Rex sat down in a large chair draped with animal skins and motioned him forward.

  Core stepped closer with a hesitation he attempted to conceal. “Ye wanted me?” He maintained a benign, slightly bored demeanor before the warlord. The man had no patience for fear. He wished to avoid the warlord’s ire, but if Red Rex had set his sights on him, he had best make his peace with God, for he’d be seeing his Maker soon.

  The warlord slowly pronounced the crime. “I heard ye snuck into a monastery.”

  Core’s heart sank. How had Rex found out so fast? “Got hungry. Stole a loaf o’ bread,” said Core, hoping the unforgivable sin of visiting the monastery would be dismissed as petty theft.

  “But that’s not all,” Rex said with a decidedly evil smile. “Ye took some scrolls. Precious ones, according to our poor friend.” The warlord waved his hand, and two of his men marched out a monk in black robes. The prisoner’s hands were tied behind his back, and a noose hung from around his neck. The man’s short black hair was shaved on top in the symbol of piety of monks. Unlike most men who were brought before Red Rex, this man stood tall, and his jaw was set.

  Core’s shoulders slumped before he could remember not to react. This must be the monk who had chased after him. The man must have gotten caught by Rex’s men. Poor soul. The monk looked determined to end his life with a courage Core did not wish to share.

  Red Rex stood, his massive form dwarfing those around him. Even the brave monk took a step back. “I ken why ye went to the monastery.” The colossal warlord stalked toward Cormac, murder glinting in his eye. “Ye were there to read.” Core’s
indiscretion was stated with such ominous loathing that the entire hall quieted, shocked by the horrific turpitude.

  “Ye can learn things in books that may be helpful,” Cormac began to explain, holding his ground.

  “Silence! No good can come from squinting at little marks on paper like some bald-headed monk.” Rex gave the monk a shove, and the man fell to the floor. “Being raised by those alms collectors made ye scrawny.”

  “I doubt the ability to read made any difference on my stature,” Core returned. It was a foolish thing to argue with the warlord.

  “Insignificant worm! How dare ye challenge me?” Rex grabbed the scroll from Cormac’s belt and held it over the fire.

  “No!” cried the monk, struggling to stand again with his hands tied behind him. “No, kill me instead. Do not destroy the scroll.”

  Red Rex smirked at the man. “Ye’d give yer life for naught but ink on a page?”

  “Yes, I would,” said the monk, brave to the end.

  “Then ye’re a fool!” shouted Rex, making everyone flinch. “And I have no use for fools.” He dropped the scroll into the flames.

  “No!” shouted the monk, but it was too late.

  Cormac watched helplessly as the flames licked along the edge of the scroll until it suddenly burst into flame.

  “Kill the monk,” said Rex over his shoulder as he returned to his throne-like chair. “Better yet”—he turned back to Cormac—“have Core do it. Ye’ve been here too long, supping at my table, wi’out earning yer keep.”

  Someone pushed a sword into Core’s hand, and the men holding the monk pushed him down to his knees. The monk turned his sad blue eyes to him, then slowly bowed his head.

  Core’s heart pounded. Kill the monk? What was he going to do now? “I canna kill this monk,” said Cormac, his head scrambling for some explanation. He could not outfight Red Rex, so he must outthink him.

  “What did ye say?” Red Rex drew his mighty claymore, the ring of steel on steel as he drew it from the scabbard resounding ominously through the silent hall.

  Core took a breath, clinging to the facade of a cool demeanor. “I said I canna kill this man, for now that ye burned the scroll, he is the only one alive who knows the location o’ the treasure.”

  “What treasure?” Rex narrowed his eyes.

  “The treasure I went to the monastery to steal,” said Core, warming up to his story. “Ye ken that the Templar knights came here years ago. Some say they brought a treasure wi’ them.”

  Men in the hall nodded and moved closer to hear Cormac’s story. Rumors of the Templar treasure had been the stuff of many a fireside winter’s tale.

  “Dinna the McNab clan find a chest o’ Templar gold?” called out one man.

  “Aye, they did. Warrant there be more,” said another, rubbing two dirty hands together.

  “O’ course there be more,” said Core confidently. “And this monk knows where. Why do ye ken I stole the scroll? And why do ye ken he followed me all the way here to get it back? Because it was a treasure map, that’s why!”

  The hall exploded into eager chatter as the men shared the excitement over the prospect of finding treasure. Red Rex remained silent for a moment, pulling at his red beard.

  “Where be this treasure?” demanded Red Rex. “Be it in the monastery?”

  “No!” The monk struggled to his feet. “It is not there. It is…it is—”

  “It is somewhere near the Kinoch Abbey,” said Core, thinking fast. He had passed the abbey before and knew it was abandoned. The monks had lived there before moving to the larger St. Finan’s Monastery.

  Red Rex speared him with a fiery glare that seemed to melt through Cormac’s lies. Core braced himself for injury, but instead, Rex gave him an awful grin. “Fine, take yer monk and find me this treasure. But understand this, ’tis time for ye to live the life ye were born to. Ye will prove worthy to me, or I swear by all those Saints who winna help ye, that if ye disappoint me again, I will put to the flame every book, every scroll, and every damn brother in that worthless, damn monk-house. Ye ken me, boy?”

  “Aye…Father.”

  Three

  “Do ye think ye have enough stuff?” Lady Jyne smiled at her brother. “I always heard ’twas the lady who wished to take the entire contents o’ the castle wi’ her.”

  Rab scowled and trotted beside her on his magnificent warhorse, giving a tug on the reins of his pack animal that followed along behind. The packhorse was burdened with chests and all sorts of arms and armament, such that it rattled and clanked behind him. To be fair, one of the chests was hers, but most of the gear belonged to her younger brother. Rab would have cut an admirable figure, sitting tall on his impressive warhorse, his back straight, his chin up in typical Highlander defiance, but the clanking of the palfrey following him did diminish the overall presentation.

  “Canna leave it by the side o’ the road,” said Rab testily. He’d been thrilled when David had agreed to let him escort Jyne that morning, for he had planned to attend the spring tournament along the way. The emergence of Red Rex, however, caused David to ban the excursion to the tournament. No jousting, carousing, and charging in the melee for Rab.

  “Do ye intend to sulk the entire way to Kinoch Abbey?”

  “Aye, that I do.”

  “As long as ye have a plan.”

  Rab relaxed into an easy smile. He was too good-natured a lad to let Jyne’s teasing bother him for long. In form, he was similar to all the men of the Campbell clan, tall and broad. Unlike some of his more serious elder brothers, he had sandy brown hair, light brown eyes, and a pleasant nature.

  “Och! How lovely.” Jyne pulled up on her mount to stop at a particularly attractive viewpoint along the road, turning her face to the warming sun. The wind played with the heather, and it flowed like ocean waves across the rolling hills. After spending her life in a castle, everything was new and fresh to her eyes.

  “Do move along, Jyne.” Rab dug his heels into his charger and clanked on ahead of her down the road.

  “Ye must think this a lovely view.” She turned to Donnach, the Campbell guard, who rode silently behind them. Though they passed through Campbell lands, and David expected no trouble on this stretch of road, still he had sent Donnach with them.

  Donnach gazed over the swaying purple fields and gave her a grunt and a quick jerk of his head, which Jyne chose to interpret as something of a nod. He was a seasoned warrior, tall of stature and large of frame. His bushy black eyebrows and full black beard gave him the appearance of a permanent scowl. Though taciturn in speech, Donnach was one of Campbell’s most trusted warriors.

  “Do ye wish to see yer dower lands or no’?” called Rab ahead of her.

  Jyne gave her mount a quick kick and followed her brother. She was excited to see her dower lands for the first time. David had purchased the abandoned abbey and the land around it from the Church to be given to her upon her marriage. The land bordered the large Campbell holdings and was a good investment to increase his domain. David had hired men to repair and repurpose the old abbey, though for the past year, the work had ceased.

  Jyne took a deep breath, thinking on what might have been. She would have been married now and living in Kinoch. David had arranged a marriage for her with the fifth son of Laird Douglas. She had met her intended twice and had been content in the match, for he was young and lively…until he died of the plague.

  With his death, work on Kinoch Abbey had stopped. Jyne had mourned him, though she knew him but little. She had mourned the loss of her future dream. In recent months, David had felt it was time to find her a new groom. Nothing had been decided, but David had planned the journey to Kinoch Abbey to see what was left to be done, which Jyne felt was a good sign that he was thinking about her future once more. It was not that living with her numerous kin was onerous, but until she married and ran a household of her
own, she would always be treated like a child.

  By midafternoon, they entered a lush green valley, and she breathed in deeply the scent of heather and cherry blossoms. The fields were overrun with wildflowers, and on the far side of the valley rose a quaint abbey with one circular tower. Surrounding the abbey were cherry trees, pink and fluffy in bloom. Down the center of the valley ran a little brook, chattering at them as they rode by.

  “Och, ’tis a lovely sight. I’ve ne’er seen anything so bonnie.” Jyne grinned at Rab and Donnach, but it was not returned.

  Donnach rode forward. “Is that smoke rising?”

  Jyne frowned. A tiny spiral of smoke rose from the abbey. “I thought the place was deserted.”

  They rode forward cautiously, Rab and Donnach ahead of her, surveying the situation. Other than the wisp of smoke, there were no signs of life. The tall stone wall around the abbey and the wall walk above it appeared to be relatively new and in good repair. Jyne did not doubt that repairing the guard wall would be the first thing her protective brother would do.

  They dismounted at the abbey wall, walking the horses through the open gate into the outer ward, a large field around the abbey. “Hello there,” called Rab. “This be property o’ the Laird Campbell. Show yerself!”

  No one answered.

  “’Tis all right. We mean ye no harm,” urged Jyne.

  “We are here, or what is left of us.” An elderly man, hunched and spindly legged, emerged from the main keep of the abbey, leaning heavily on a staff. “Forgive us, for we dinna ken this was the property o’ the Campbell.”

  “No harm done,” said Jyne kindly. “But what mean ye by what is left o’ ye?”

  “I am Alasdair from the clan Ranald. The great plague came last fall. It struck hard. It struck fast. Right in the middle o’ the harvest. Those that were no’ needed to bring in the grain, the old and the verra young, they were sent here to this old abbey to try to avoid the coming sickness. It was months before we heard anything. When our kin finally returned, they told us the plague had claimed many victims.”