Kept by the Highlander

Gilded Cage

Kept
By The Highlander

By

Joanna
Davis

Copyright
© 2014 by Joanna Davis

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

First
Printing, 2014

Pincushion
Press

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For Mona

Chapters

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Epilogue

One

             
"Get up."

             
Someone was shoving him roughly. He ignored them, trying vainly to sink deeper into the blackness. Away from the pain and foul odors.

             
"Come on man, get up! If they think yer dead, they won't give us yer share of the rations."

             
Malcolm squinted, taking in his surroundings with a groan. He was in a dungeon. That made sense considering the last memory he had was of a heathen warrior bearing down on him with a broadsword and a cheeky grin. He'd felt someone behind him right before he took a hard knock to the head.

             
"Sneaky bastards."

             
"What's that?"

             
"They came at me from behind. That's the last thing I remember."

             
In the dim light Malcolm saw his cell mate stare at him in surprise.

             
"What the hell is a Scottish man doing with the King's army?"

             
"Half."

             
"What?"

             
"I'm half Scottish, half English."

             
"Aye, the better half."

             
"My mother and Grandfather would agree with you. My father, not so much."

             
"Well seeing that we are both stuck in here, I will refrain from trying to cut your head off."

             
"I appreciate that. Although…"

             
He rubbed his head again, feeling the large lump surfacing there.

             
"Bad eh? Well don't worry. It won't be for long."

             
Malcolm raised an eyebrow and his cell mate nodded at the unspoken question.

             
"From my paltry understanding of Arabic, it looks as though we will be executed tomorrow."

             
"Excellent."

             
The man laughed and held out his hand.

             
"I'm Keller. And you're awfully civilized for a Scot."

             
"Malcolm McRae. And I'm not a Scot. I'm a Highlander."

*********

             
True to his word, Keller shared the meager rations with Malcolm, breaking the mealy bread in half and lifting the bucket of foul tasting water to his lips. After forcing themselves to eat the less than palatable fare, both men fell to their own thoughts, contemplating their lives and the decisions that had led them to this point.

             
Malcolm was disappointed in what the fates had decided for him. He had always planned to die with a sword in his hand, or very old in a warm bed with a buxom beauty beside him. Then again, he hadn't given up hope yet. He was weak but not maimed, and there was still time to escape, or at least take one of the heathens with him to the other side.

             
He lay back, resting his head on his hands. He had no one to blame but himself. It was his bullheaded decision to follow his Grandfather, Duke of St. Albans on this grand adventure. So far he had yet to see one exotic beauty, nor lay under one palm tree. Instead he'd had his share of stomach bugs and now it appeared- lice as well.

             
What did it matter anyway? He was mostly likely going to lose his head on the morrow. At least that's what he hoped for. He'd heard the Arabs had various ways to torture and kill their enemies. He did not want to find out what they were the hard way.

             
He closed his eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Two

              Princess Kalila's hands were clasped together tightly as she sat beside her father, the King. He was presiding over yet another ceremony, welcoming emissaries and traders to their city by the sea. If she held her hands just so, she could manage to look dignified. Plus, she was known for her fidgeting. As a child she'd been made to sit on her hands for hours, until they went numb.

             
It hadn't done much to help her restlessness.

             
Sweet Heaven she was bored.

             
So she held her hands tightly, a picture of regal poise. It was a good thing no one could see under the hem of her skirt though. In the past hour she'd tapped out the rhythm to her favorite songs, removed one slipper, then the other, shook hands with her bare feet, scratched an itch on her ankle and put her slippers back on.

             
Thank goodness for the voluminous skirts she had chosen to wear instead of pantaloons.

             
Another merchant came forward to offer flowery words of praise and she sighed, earning a look of reprimand from the King's advisor, Al Hakam. The man's eyes seemed to slither over her face and body. Kalila cringed, trying to make herself invisible. Under his loathsome glance her restlessness was quickly forgotten.

             
She did her best to avoid the man. Her father trusted Al Hakam implicitly, but Kalila did not. In fact, she had the distinct impression that he wanted to do her harm. She could not quite put her finger on what he was after but she knew it made her afraid.

             
Kalila tossed her head. She was Princess and sole heir to the throne. She was born royalty. Al Hakam was not. She would remind him if need be, just as soon as she was finished reminding herself.

             
Aluda stood behind her and leaned forward to pour a glass of cool rose tea. Kalila took it gratefully, sending her faithful servant a grateful look. Aluda had a way of sensing her moods as always. The girl was more than a paid servant, she was a friend.

             
"It's nearly over. Then we will be out and you can see the city on the procession home."

             
Aluda's soft whisper danced against Kalila's ear. She nodded imperceptibly. Her friend knew of the Princess's boredom and loneliness. The women's wing of the palace was a beautiful place but it was also a cage, more so in her case than usual. As the sole heir to the Kingdom, Al Hakam had advised that greater and greater restrictions be placed on the Princess. Even though these things were supposedly done to protect her, she knew that it was subterfuge. Al Hakam had another purpose in keeping her apart from her father and the rest of the upper class. All the people she had known growing up had been lost to her, and were now strangers. As a result, the Princess grew more and more isolated and melancholy each year.

             
Worse yet, she could tell he enjoyed it.

             
A perverse smile danced over his face with each new pronouncement.

             
'The Princess shall be guarded at all times.'

             
'The Princess will only be attended by women and eunuchs.'

             
'The Princess will no longer work with the charities in the city.'

             
The last pronouncement was the worst of all. As a child, she had been appalled the first time she saw the starving, bedraggled children who lived on the streets. So many were sick, crippled, or blind. They had little chance for survival without assistance from those who had been blessed with material goods.

             
Al Hakam new that Kalila had made it her life's mission to wipe out such suffering in their city. So by proclaiming it unsafe, he had found a way to truly hurt her. He'd taken away the one thing that defined her, that drove her. The thing that gave her purpose.

             
But Kalila had found a way around his restriction.

             
If she could not go to them, she would bring the orphans to her.

**********

              Malcolm jerked forward into the prisoner in front of him. The guard yanked on the chains again, sneering. He was in a long row of men, hunched over, shells of former human beings. Only he and his cell mate were in relatively good shape, which wasn't saying much.

             
The guard yanked the chain again, shouting something in the arabic tongue he was starting to despise. It sounded cruel and harsh coming from the enemy's mouth. They were being paraded through the streets to the front of the castle where the executions were to take place. That's what his best guest was at the moment. Unfortunately, the guards had ignored his questions, even though he knew most understood basic French and a smattering of English.

             
Now they were being herded out of the way as a slow moving procession came through the narrow street. It was an ornately carved litter carried by twelve men. A small army of guards preceded it, and there appeared to be another contingent following closely behind. He stared backwards and saw a young woman's face peeking out. She was entirely covered, except for a pair of exceptional, kohl rimmed eyes. Even from a distance he could see that they sparkled with excitement. As she drew closer, he could see that her eyes were even more unusual. They were a dark blue, almost purple in color. In the creamy dark skin of her face, the effect was startling.

             
He glanced down, hoping to get an idea of her figure. She was covered up, as all women in this part of the world were, but as she leaned precariously out of her conveyance, her dress molded to her body. She was slender, with a narrow waist and firm high breasts. He drew his breath in sharply, feeling the blood rush to his groin.

             
A rare beauty indeed.

             
Keller let out of soft sigh.

             
"If I'm to die, I'd like to spend my last night in her bed. I think it would be worth it."

             
Malcolm laughed wryly in agreement and found those violet eyes staring directly at him with a razor sharp glare. A shock went through his body at the contact. Surely she hadn't understood them?

             
"Halt!"

             
Sweet Jesus, the Goddess spoke English.

             
The man who led the procession trotted back along the line on a fine stallion. He bowed gracefully, the horse bending his knee as well. He said something unintelligible to her and she hissed back at him.

             
"Speak English!"

             
Malcolm knew without a doubt, she was insisting for his benefit. So he could understand what she was about to say. He had a terrible feeling in his gut suddenly.

             
"Yes Princess?"

             
"These men. Where are you taking them?"

             
"They are invaders. They are being taken to be executed."

             
"This one spoke to me. His words touched my heart."

             
Malcolm raised his eyebrows at her and almost fainted from shock at the tiny smile she gave him. The woman- no-
the Princess
was deliberately toying with him. He hoped he would enjoy her joke as much as she clearly was.

             
"What did he say your Highness?"

             
She lifted her chin and spoke loudly so all could hear.

             
"He said, if he had to die, he wished he could spend his last night in the arms of his mother."

             
The soldiers and guards all laughed uproariously, casting disdainful looks his way. She'd twisted their words to make him sound a coward. A fine jest indeed.
If
it hadn't been at his expense.

             
Keller hissed in his ear.

             
"Hey now, that's not what I said."

             
"Be quiet. This could go badly."

             
"How could things be any worse?"

             
"They very well could, believe me."

             
He hadn't moved his eyes from the girl standing there, about to decide his fate. She had a smug look in her beautiful, cruel, fiercely intelligent eyes as she bade the soldiers to uncuff him and bring him closer.

             
He flexed his wrists and stood up straight as the men thrust him toward her litter. Proudly he lifted his chin and stared up at her.

             
And immediately stopped breathing.

             
Up close, he could see her face faintly through her sheer veils. Up close, he could see the true color of her eyes.

             
She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Lord knows, he'd seen his share. He would have given anything to see under her veils at that moment. Even better, under her skirt.

             
He grinned at her with unrepentant lust, his sorry state temporarily forgotten. Her eyes flared in annoyance and he cocked an eyebrow at her. They were having a silent battle of wills. He gave a small prayer of thanks. At least his last day on earth was not going to be boring.

             
"Who are you?"

             
"Lord Malcom McRae, son of the Cheiftan of the Clan McRae and Grandson of the Duke of St. Albans."

             
"You are a Scotsman?"

             
His grin widened and he bowed.

             
"A Highlander. At your service your Highness."

             
She clapped her hands delightedly. Lovely, slender hands covered in jewels.

             
"I knew you were high born! You speak Gaelic? And French?"

             
"I do. Also Spanish and some Dutch."

             
"Excellent! Ghali, we will take this man with us. He is to be my new tutor!"

             
"Your highness- I do not think this is a good idea. This man is a dangerous infidel and cannot be trusted around our most precious crown jewel-"

             
She waved the man off impatiently.

             
"Nonsense. Look at him, he's as weak as a kitten. Besides, you can chain him if you like."

             
"But-"

             
"No more discussion. Am I Princess or not?"

             
"You are."

             
"So, you will obey me in this Ghali. I will not speak of it again."

             
"Very well, your highness. But Al Hakam will not like it."

             
"Al Hakam is the one who wants to wed me to a Prince of Europe. Surely he would not want me to be unprepared. Perhaps I can even gift my future husband with the return of a favored nobleman. Oh and Ghali- do not remove anything from this man. You may trim his hair but that is all."

             
"But your Highness-"

             
"I insist on this Ghali. Leave him intact."

             
"Yes, your Highness."

             
She smiled at Malcolm's shocked expression. He realized she'd just saved his manhood. They would have- the could have- he shuddered at the thought.

             
Ghali nudged him with his boot.

             
"Go on slave. You will walk in the back."

             
He was once again yanked backwards, still staring at the Princess as her conveyance once again moved forward. He spared a last glance over his shoulder at Keller as he was pulled along in her wake.

             
His cellmate was laughing. The man was on his way to his demise and still had the gumption to make fun of Malcolm's predicament.

             
"Hold on to your ballocks Highlander!"

             
Malcolm grinned at the cocky bastard as he was dragged away.

             
"You as well Englishman!"