Fraser 01 - Highland Legacy (4 page)

Cailin could not believe her ears. Had her father actually offered her to this horrible Englishman? Death would be a more welcomed fate. She wanted to burst from the stable and protest, but she had to hold her tongue. Going off in a fit of rage would serve no purpose other than to reveal her identity and get her arrested.

“Are you suggesting I marry your daughter? That I dishonor the memory of my brother and betray my king?” Borden asked with a hint of distain in his voice.

“Aye—I mean no. I am suggesting you consider your options and what you stand to gain. Her dowry would rival that of a princess, and her body will more than satisfy your carnal needs. If you dinna wish to wed the lass, take her as your leman, and use her as long as you see fit.”

Borden threw back his head and laughed. “I am well aware of your daughter’s beauty. But, tell me, why I should barter for something I can take for free? She may be a fetching wench, but no woman is worth risking my wealth, my title, and the favor of my king. I will not return to England without the person responsible for Harold’s murder.” The arrogance in Borden’s voice was unmistakable. “Your daughter stands accused of murder and treason, crimes punishable by execution. Edward will not tolerate any excuses, and you can mark my words, he will see her reprimanded to the fullest extent of the law.”

“Have I not shown my loyalty these many years? I signed the Ragman Roll after the Battle of Berwick upon Tweed, and I have not raised arms against England.”

“King Edward merely tolerates your kind. To exterminate each and every bootlicking Scot would be too much trouble. But try his patience, and I am sure he will make an exception and see you executed for treason as well. Best you remember that. Hopefully, your daughter’s death will serve as a stark reminder to all. Disobeying King Edward’s decrees will not be tolerated.”

“She deserves a fair trial!” Duncan blurted out.

“Edward I of Plantagenet, the King of England and Scotland, and his chief justicair, Sir William Ormsby, will see she stands trial, and I can assure you the punishment will fit the crimes.” Borden moved toward the stable. “Now if you are done wasting my time, I’ll be on my way. Where is that simple-minded boy with my horse?”

Cailin lead the destrier from the stable. In an attempt to remain out of her father’s line of vision, she stayed close to the stallion’s side, her eyes trailing the ground. “Here he is m’lord. I trust you will find him well fed and cared for.” She held out the reins.

“It’s about time. In another minute, I’d have come looking for you and tanned your arse. Maybe I still will.” He pulled the leather-bound crop from behind his saddle and waved it above her head.

She raised her eyes and prepared to accept her punishment. Despite her gut-wrenching fear, she refused to cower before him.

“I dinna think it will be necessary to beat the lad.”

Duncan stepped between her and Borden, a move that had Cailin wondering if he had seen through her disguise. Normally, he’d have agreed with Borden and encouraged a thorough thrashing. Her father had no patience for servants that dawdled or did not attend to his needs promptly.

The two men stared down at her, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. If the look on Duncan’s face and the quick intake of breath were any indicator, he’d recognized her. If so, why didn’t he say something?

“I dinna believe in sparing the rod, but the lad is new to the stable, and I am sure he has learned a valuable lesson this day.” Duncan grabbed her by the ear, twisting it until she yelped. “Have you learned to mind?”

She nodded, but did not reply. Lest she cry out again, or worse, give them both a piece of her mind. She hated the way her father treated the servants, and being forced to grovel before him made her blood boil. Too proud to take orders from Borden, Duncan would wait for him to leave the castle. Once the blackguard left the keep, her father would likely reconsider his leniency, and deliver the punishment tenfold. He paid little attention to the servants, and would be hard-pressed to know one from the other. She prayed Liam would not bear the brunt of his retaliation in her stead.

“I think if your laird took a strip of flesh off your hide, he could be certain you’d move much faster in the future. You Scots are too soft.” Borden snatched the reins from her hand, mounted his horse with ease, and turned to one of his officers. “I will be at the camp. Do not stop searching. Once the girl is found, bring her to me at once.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man snapped to attention and saluted.

“If you are finished with me, m’lord, I have chores to attend to,” Cailin said to her father.

Duncan hesitated before he answered. “Be off with you, and see I dinna regret my decision to spare your backside.”

“Yes, m’lord. Thank you, m’lord.” She bowed and backed away, the words of submission leaving a nasty taste in her mouth. As she ran toward the stable, she swore an oath beneath her breath. “I will never grovel to my father or any man again.”

She raced through the stable, knocking over several buckets of water in her haste, and exited through the rear door. The postern gate was only a few feet away, and there were no English soldiers in sight. Thinking it best to wait until Borden had left the castle grounds before making her move, she watched from behind a rain barrel as the guards raised the portcullis.

“Arrogant, self-aggrandizing bastard,” she mumbled under her breath. “I wish I could have told you exactly what I think of you. Better yet, I should have thrust my dagger into your heart.” Instead, she held her tongue, and her breath, as Borden and two of his soldiers rode through the raised iron gate.

She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging, and she rested her head against the rim of the barrel. While her disguise had fooled Borden, and mayhap her father, she wasn’t sure she could outrun or outsmart them for long. If only she’d asked Connor to take her with him.

“Connor.” She closed her eyes, and touched her lips. For a moment, she forgot about the argument with her father, the attack on the riverbank, the pain of the soldier’s fist, the pompous English Lord. Instead, she remembered the sweet press of Connor’s mouth against her own, the rapid flutter of her heart, and the wondrous sensations that tugged at her belly and beyond. Despite the dire circumstances under which they’d met, he left a lasting impression. If she survived this ordeal and lived to be one hundred, she’d never forget the earth-shattering taste of his lips.

Already, she missed his smile, the rich timber of his voice and gentleness of his touch. The thought of never seeing him again left her feeling empty, and alone. Like a whirlwind, he’d come into her life, rescued her from danger, swept her off her feet, and was gone again before she had a chance to catch her breath. He’d awakened the woman in her, opening a Pandora’s Box of emotion and sensuality she had no desire to close.

Cailin gave her head a shake. She didn’t need a man to protect her. Besides, men like Connor had no room in their lives for love, and she would not settle for less. On a mission for the cause, he’d have said no if she had asked to accompany him. But it didn’t change the fact that she had to flee Dunkeld and was a woman traveling alone. If she ran into trouble, having an ally close by would be an advantage.

Connor told me he had to meet someone at the Inn before leaving town. Mayhap, he will still be there. If I follow him and stay out of sight until it is too late for him to turn me away, he’ll have no choice but to take me with him to the Bruce’s camp. I can then ask the Scottish King for sanctuary.

A horse would make the journey to the inn much quicker, and she knew where to find one. The crofter at the edge of the village had several fine animals and seldom had anyone keeping watch. Intent on putting as much distance between her and the castle as possible, she took off running, only pausing long enough to take a bay mare from Robbie Kerr’s field.

Chapter 4

Accused of murdering John Comyn, Robert the Bruce found himself faced with an important decision—lay claim to the Scottish throne, or spend the rest of his life a fugitive. After meeting with his friend, William Lambert, several noblemen, and the Bishop of Glasgow, he traveled to Scone Abbey. On March 25, 1306, before these witnesses, he declared himself King Robert I of Scotland.

However, not everyone was pleased with this development or acknowledged his claim to the throne. Bent on revenge, and with the support of the English King, Comyn’s brother-in-law, Aymer de Valence secured the area around Perth. The future Earl of Pembroke planned to challenge Robert the Bruce and put an end to the Scottish rebellion.

When he reached the Dunkeld Inn, Connor reined in his horse and slid from the saddle. The sooner he met with Travis MacLean and exchanged information concerning English activities in Perth, the sooner he could head north and rejoin the Bruce. After the events of the day, the more distance he put between him and Cailin, the better. The mere thought of the feisty lass ignited a fire in his groin. He cursed beneath his breath. She was the type of woman a man wanted to bear his children and to cherish for life, not the kind you bedded and left behind.

“Can I tend to your horse, m’lord?” A lanky boy, about ten and two, bolted from the stable and stumbled to a halt.

“Aye. We have a long journey ahead of us, so give him a good rubdown and an extra helping of oats.” He tousled the boy’s scruffy blond hair, then handed over the reins and a piece of silver.

The boy clenched his fist around the coin. “I’ll take good care of him, m’lord.”

Connor climbed the steps of the inn two at a time, pushed opened the large oak door, and stepped inside—his senses assaulted by the scent of peat smoke, stale ale, and sweat. With narrowed eyes, he scanned the dimly lit room, but saw no sign of Travis. Instead, he recognized two men sitting at a table beside the hearth. The last people he’d ever expected to see in Dunkeld.

The younger of the two men stared in his direction. He tilted back his chair, balancing it on only two legs and spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Would you look at the slimy thing that just crawled in?”

“Aye, have you ever seen anything so revolting?” The other man added his comments and laughed.

Connor’s hand closed over the hilt of his sword, and he strode with purpose toward their table. Before the two men knew his intentions, he kicked the leg of the tilted chair, and sent it crashing to the floor, along with its occupant. The man shouted a curse when his head struck the hearth with a loud thud.

When the larger man doubled over in a belly laugh, mocking his friend’s misfortunate tumble, Connor closed in from behind. His fingers fisted in thick red hair, he snapped the man’s head back and pressed the blade of his sword to the man’s throat. “Not so cock-sure now, are you?”

“I’ll have no bloodshed in my inn!” A portly man stepped out from behind a long wooden bar. He wiped his hands on a rag, and then tossed the scrap of cloth into the corner. “You can finish this ruckus outside.” He pointed toward the door.

Ignoring the innkeeper’s demands, Connor’s attention returned to his opponent. “What have you to say now, you sairy heap of cow dung? Will we take this outside or finish here?” He released the man’s hair, lowered his sword, and stepped aside—giving him time to respond to the challenge.

The large man lumbered to his feet and slowly turned around. He dragged his hand across his unkempt beard, spat on the floor, and then drew his sword. “I say we finish this here, and may the better man win.”

A six-foot-six solid wall of muscle towered over Connor, but he refused to back down. Prepared to do battle, he took a fighting stance and raised his sword, but the sight of the younger man climbing to his feet distracted him.

“You need to keep both eyes on your enemy.” The large man lunged forward with surprising agility. But instead of using his sword to answer the challenge, he wrapped his massive arms around Connor’s waist, trapped his arms against his sides, and then lifted him from the ground as if he weighed no more than a feather.

“Put me down, you big ox,” Connor hissed through clenched teeth. “You’ll give these men the wrong impression. They’ll be thinking you want to tup me, not fight me.”

They had captured the attention of every man in the room. Some eyed them with concern, a few called out bawdy comments, while others snickered behind their hand. The innkeeper moved to the center of the room, and two buxom serving wenches watched the events unfold from behind the bar.

A boisterous laugh echoed in the room as the large man let Connor drop to the floor, grasped his forearm, and slapped him on the back. “About time you arrived. We’ve been waiting since early this morn and were beginning to wonder what happened.” He turned toward the innkeeper. “Bring my brother a tankard of ale to quench his thirst, and another for Bryce and me. When you get a minute, have one of those pretty lassies fetch us some roasted lamb and potatoes. I’m starving.”

“The man is always thinking about his stomach.” Bryce gingerly rubbed his hand across the back of his head and moved toward his brothers. “I dinna know if I should hug you or punch you in the mouth, Connor. I’ve a lump the size of an egg.”

“You always had a hard head,” Connor said in jest.

Bryce fisted his hands at his sides, but instead of striking, he threw his arms around his brother’s shoulders, and pulled him into a tight embrace. “I am pleased to see you well. However, if you pull a daft stunt like that again, I may not be as amiable.”

“You’ll have to gain a few stones if you hope to best me. Besides, if the rumors I’ve heard bandied about the countryside are true, you’re a lover, not a fighter.” Connor laughed.

At six-foot-two, Bryce, the youngest of the three Fraser brothers, equaled Connor’s height, but had a slimmer build. Shoulder length chestnut braids framed his rugged features. From the time they were young, people commented on how much they resembled each other, and their mother’s side of the family. On the other hand, Alasdair, the oldest, with his sky-blue eyes, locks of fire, and burly stature, took after their father. While all three were fierce warriors, Bryce’s reputation as a lady’s man and charmer had fathers clamoring to lock up their daughters.

After returning his disgruntled little brother’s embrace, Connor scanned the room. “What are you and Alasdair doing here? Have you seen Travis MacLean?”

“Robert received word that Travis was wounded in a skirmish with the English three days ago. He had no way to contact you, so sent us to meet you in his stead.” Alasdair stepped forward and lowered his voice. “The area around Perth has been a hotbed of late, and he wanted to make sure you got through without any trouble from those Saxon buggers. I think Simon had a hand in this as well.”

Connor nodded. “You may be right. I know how our cousin worries like a mother hen if we are out of sight for too long.”

He held a great deal of respect for Sir Simon Fraser and for his contribution to the cause. Like William Wallace and Andrew Moray, he fought valiantly for Scotland’s independence, refusing to bow to Longshanks’s tyranny.

The innkeeper crossed the room, balancing three tankards of ale on a narrow wooden tray. “Here you go, lads. My daughter will bring out your food in a few minutes.” He placed the drinks on the table. “I would never have taken the lot of you for brothers.”

“I’m the smart one, and they’re the pretty ones.” Alasdair laughed and slapped Bryce on the back.

Bryce sneered at his oldest brother. “That is a matter of opinion.”

Connor offered the innkeeper his thanks and tossed some coins on his tray. Facing his brothers, he raised a tankard in the air and offered a toast before taking a sip. “
Slainte
!”

Alasdair lifted his mug in response. “
Slainte mhath
.” After downing his ale in one gulp, he gave a loud belch, and then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic.

Connor shook his head. “I can see his manners have not improved since last I saw him.”

“Nay, he’s brazen, ill-tempered, and as slovenly as ever.”

“I’ll show you manners—” Alasdair began, but his rebuttal ended abruptly when a young woman placed three trenchers, a loaf of bread, and a steaming platter of food on the table in front of him. He closed his eyes and inhaled the aroma.

“Some things never change. All an enemy need do is to dangle a leg of mutton in front of him and he’d offer no resistance.” Bryce reached for a tankard of ale.

Alasdair snorted, filled his trencher, and began shoveling food into his mouth. “Help yourselves, lads, this is the best food I’ve tasted in months.”

The fragrant aroma of spices and roasted meat caused Connor’s stomach to growl. He handed a trencher to Bryce, and then grabbed one for himself. “Best you get some before Alasdair eats everything.”

“Have you heard?” A boy shouted as he burst through the door. Winded from running, he bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees, and gasped for air.

Connor stood, his eyes fixed on the lad.

“Catch your breath, Brian, and then tell us what all the
palver
is about.” The innkeeper placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“T—they’re here. The English are here.” The boy accepted a mug of water offered by one of the serving wenches and drank greedily.

“In Dunkeld?” the innkeeper asked. “Mayhap they are just passing through the area.”

The boy lowered the mug and spoke. “Nay, they’ve set up camp along the river.” He took another gulp of water before he continued. “They arrived at the castle just prior the noonday meal. The commander said his brother was murdered on the riverbank this morn and demanded the laird turn over the person responsible. He said he’d see the castle and village turned upside-down until he found the murderer.”

A tall, burly man in his late twenties sprang to his feet, grabbed the boy by his shoulders, and spun him around. “How many English, and did they say who they were looking for?”

Another man sitting at the same table stood, grasping the arm of the first man. “Calm down, Hagan. Once he catches his breath, he’ll tell us. Won’t you, laddie?” He glanced at the boy.

Brian nodded. “I dinna know who they seek. I slipped out of the castle and raced to the village to spread the word that they were here.”

Angus patted the boy on the back. “You’ve done the right thing, Brian. Tell me, how many men did you see?”

“I counted at least twenty-five soldiers with heavy horses, mayhap more.”

“Damnation!” Hagan shouted. “I’ll not sit here and let those English bastards trudge into our village and push their weight around without a fight. It is time we teach them a lesson they’ll not soon forget and send them crawling home on their bellies with their tails between their legs. We have more than enough men to run them off.”

The other man nodded. “I agree. The Macmillan forces are feared by most. I’m surprised the laird dinna laugh in their faces and send the English on their way.”

“Mayhap, he doesn’t want to anger Longshanks and risk the full weight of his wrath,” another man at the table commented. “If they get what they’ve come for, mayhap they’ll leave peaceably.”

“They dinna know the meaning of the word. I say we stand up to the buggers, show them we’ll not bow to English tyranny. Who’s with me?” Hagan raised his fist in the air and shouted the clan war cry. “A Macmillan!” The room erupted with the sound of men pledging their support.

Connor cursed and took a step forward, but Alasdair clamped his hand around his wrist. “What are you doing? This doesn’t concern you.” He slammed his tankard down on the table, sloshing ale everywhere. “Once we have finished our meal, we need to be on our way.”

“I must try and stop them.” Connor twisted his arm and broke free of his brother’s grasp.

“You cannot be serious.” Alasdair lowered his voice so only his brothers could hear. “The Scottish army depends on the missives you carry. Let the Macmillan’s handle their affairs.” He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and reached for his tankard of ale.

“You’ll not be giving me orders. In case you have forgotten, when we returned to Beauly to assume responsibility for Clan Fraser and our father’s castle, you declined the elders’ request to assume your rightful position as laird. A duty I found myself forced to accept in your stead.” Connor glared down at his older brother.

“Keith was the oldest son, not me.” Alasdair lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I never wanted to be laird.”

“That may be so, but Keith is dead, and you were next in line. I have no issue with your decision to pass the responsibility to me, but you cannot have it both ways. I am laird, and I make the decisions.”

“I am aware of that, but what goes on here is none of your concern,” Alasdair reiterated sharply. “Laird or not, you are still my younger brother, and if you dinna sit down now, I’ll tie you up, toss you over my horse’s arse, and carry you back to Robert in fine fashion.”

“These men have no idea what they would be getting themselves into. If they push the English, they will push back. Longshanks will leap at the chance to use their defiance as just cause to enforce his laws and invade Scotland. He will not hesitate to send an army into Dunkeld and trample anyone who gets in his way.” Connor faced Bryce. “What have you to say?”

“The Macmillan has one of the largest army’s in Scotland. Alasdair is right. Let them handle their own affairs.” Bryce picked up his tankard and finished his ale.

“They might be strong enough to squash a small garrison, but not the entire English army. I must try to talk some sense into them. They need to bide their time and wait until Robert is ready to take a stand against Aymer de Valence.”

“We cannot tell them about the Bruce’s plans, nor can we get involved in every disagreement along the way. Not when there is a major battle brewing in Perth, one that could mean the turning point in the war,” Bryce said, offering just cause to refrain from getting involved.

“Why are you ready to risk your neck and shirk your duty?” Alasdair clenched his teeth and raked his hand through his hair. “The English are determined to take over Scotland again, and we must pick our battles wisely. We cannot get involved every time they show their ugly faces. We will be of more use if we get the news to Robert and let these people take care of this matter themselves. Once they’ve found the person responsible for the murder, they’ll most likely be on their way.”

For once, what his brothers said made sense. Connor paused to consider the ramifications of his interference. To react without thinking, without a solid plan of action, would solve nothing. Did the threat to the people of Dunkeld cause his recklessness, or did his concern for Cailin get the better of him? If the English had been to the castle and had questioned the Macmillan and were still looking for the person responsible for killing the soldier, she was safe. While he wanted to stay and help the villagers, if he or his brothers were captured, they’d be letting Robert down and putting all of Scotland in jeopardy.

Rather than intervene, Connor watched as the Macmillan clan members left the inn.

“I am glad you came to your senses. Now, sit down and finish your meal.” Alasdair tugged on Connor’s wrist with one hand and pulled out his chair with the other. “This is Macmillan business, and none of your affair.”

“You’re wrong.” In a hushed voice, Connor explained to his brothers what had happened on the riverbank.

Spewing a string of ribald curses, Alasdair climbed to his feet so fast, his chair toppled over and hit the floor with a crash. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Best we leave now. It won’t be long before the English come poking their noses around the village. Someone might recognize you.” He looked longingly at the remainder of their meal. With a sigh, he grabbed a piece of lamb, popped the morsel into his mouth, then licked the juices from his fingers before heading for the door.

Cailin crouched behind a bail of straw as several of her clansmen rushed past. Led by Hagan and Angus, they raised their swords, shouting the Macmillan war cry. She fought the urge to stop her cousins and ask what caused their anger. But after getting this far and going to such extremes to mask her identity, to reveal herself now would be foolish.

Her cousins would never betray her to her father or the English. But if they discovered her plan, they would do their best to persuade her to stay, or worse, they might try to intervene on her behalf. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to either of them.