Highlander's Hope: Called by a Highlander Book Two Read online

  Every word Konnor spoke was the truth. He could never hurt a woman, especially not the most beautiful and intriguing woman he’d ever met.

  Chapter 4

  Marjorie walked out of the tower towards the northern wall. Aye, there was damage all right. The rampart was missing several merlons that had crumbled and fallen over the last several years. Rocks from the wall had been chipped away one by one with time.

  Scotland had been torn apart in the war with England, and Scottish clans were split between those who supported their king and those who were allied with England. Clan Cambel was a loyal supporter of the Bruce, while the MacDougalls had pledged their allegiance to Edward II, King of England. Recently, the Bruce had made great progress. He’d won back a lot of territory in the Highlands and was now fighting in the east in Badenoch, where the Comyn clan, contenders to the Scottish throne, had the majority of their lands. After all the battles her clan had fought for the Bruce, there wasn’t coin or manpower to repair Glenkeld.

  She had to do something. She just didn’t know what.

  Marjorie cursed under her breath and looked down at the field below the castle where sheep grazed peacefully. The loch spread like a long and broad dagger from south-west to north-east.

  To the south of the castle, on the border with a grove of trees, was the clan cemetery. Ian was buried there—or rather, an empty linen burial cloth. She remembered watching the funeral from the window of her chamber, the whole clan surrounding the grave like mournful statues. Ian’s father, Duncan, had stood bent over like a hook. The MagDougalls had not even given back Ian’s body.

  The loch’s shoreline bordered the fields, woods, and hills that grew higher and higher the more east she looked. To the east was the ravine where she’d found the strange and handsome Konnor. There was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on. His manner of speaking—although foreign and strange—was comfortable and pleasant.

  He was agreeable to look at, she admitted. He had broad shoulders and massive biceps under his strange tunic. The feel of his weight on her hadn’t bothered her, which was strange, because ever since Dunollie, she didn’t like men being too close to her. But she wasn’t threated by him. She couldn’t explain why.

  “Mother!” the sweetest voice in the world cried, and Colin emerged from the entrance into the tower.

  His dark, chin-length hair shone in the sun as he hurried towards her. He wore a tunic that reached almost to his knees and a wooden sword belted around his middle. He’d been growing so fast recently his breeches were getting too small. He was tall, like all Cambels.

  Every time she looked at him, she noticed his Cambel features: green eyes, dark hair, high cheekbones, and a broad mouth, and thick, straight eyebrows. He had long eyelashes and a straight nose that she used to love to kiss before he’d started avoiding her signs of affection. He was just growing up, she told herself. He already started training with wooden swords, could ride a pony, shoot arrows, and lay snares.

  He was growing up to be a warrior.

  Someday, he’d need to protect himself. People would call him a bastart, and there wouldn’t be many good matches for him. But that would be many, many years in the future.

  Now, she was the one who needed to protect him, sooner than she’d have liked. Marjorie brought him to her and hugged him, pressing his thin body to her own. He wriggled out of her embrace, and she kissed the top of his head before he could separate from her completely. He smelled of sunshine, summer dust, and baked bread. Her sweet, adventurous boy must have spent the morning in the kitchen, eating bread as soon as it was ready. The baker couldn’t resist him.

  “Did ye have a good hunt?” he said. “I wish ye’d taken me.”

  “Sweet, ye ken ye’re nae allowed to leave the castle in the absence of yer grandfather and uncles. Aye?”

  “Aye, I ken.” He hung his head and looked longingly across the field. “But what could happen to me, Mother?”

  What could happen? Apparently, now that the MacDougalls knew of his existence—many things could happen to him. They wanted him, no doubt, because he was Alasdair’s only child. John MacDougall had other grandchildren, so Marjorie could only assume Colin was important to him because he was Alasdair’s. How had he found out, she wondered? She’d realized it was only a matter of time, but she was still despondent. Servants talked. It was very possible that he’d been aware for years but had decided to act now because he knew their defenses were weak and most of the Cambel men were away.

  But there was no way in hell she’d give her son to the cruel clan. Colin was a Cambel. He was hers, and hers alone.

  “Anything can happen, son.” She sank to her knees and looked into his green eyes. He’d tried to sneak out of Glenkeld once after being bored to death from being kept inside the castle walls for months. Mayhap she should conceal the information about the impending siege from him, but she couldn’t. He should know everything, that way he’d be more responsible and stop trying to sneak out. “I’ll be honest with ye, sweet.”

  He frowned. “Aye.”

  “Our enemy clan, the MacDougalls, are going to attack us soon.”

  His frown deepened, and he looked beyond the castle walls. The loch was bright blue against the green hills on both sides, and white clouds reflected against its surface. The look of stern ferociousness on his face reminded her of Alasdair, and the thought was like a hundred knives stabbing her in the gut.

  But even though his very existence was a reminder of the most horrific time in Marjorie’s life, she loved her boy. Enduring it all had brought her boy into her life, so she couldn’t wish it all away.

  “So ye mustn’t go outside, Colin. ‘Tis very dangerous.”

  “But ye went outside, Mother,” he said. “Ye didna wait for grandfather and my uncles.”

  She inhaled. “I can protect myself. Ye’re a lad.”

  “But ye’re a woman, Mother. I can protect ye.”

  She hugged him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek, and he giggled. He was still her lad, even if he desperately tried to be a grown man.

  “‘Tis me who’ll protect ye, son,” she whispered. “Dinna fash. Just wait a wee bit longer, aye? Yer grandfather and yer uncles will be back soon, and then ye can go hunting with them, shoot yer arrows in the field, and see yer friends in the village. Promise ye’ll be good and wilna run away?”

  He sighed and smiled, but devils played in his eyes. “I promise.”

  “And what is a Cambel’s word worth?”

  “Everything.”

  “Good lad.” She tousled his hair. “We’ll train with swords later today, aye?”

  Two figures walked from behind the small gathering of trees at the bottom of the cliff. Marjorie strained her eyes to look closer.

  Tamhas and Muir.

  “Go play, Colin. I need to talk to Tamhas and Muir.”

  She hurried to the courtyard. She’d paced the length of the wall three times when the gates were finally opened. The men walked forward, their faces full of worry and their eyebrows knit together.

  “Where have ye been, mistress?” Tamhas said.

  “I saw a deer trail and followed it.”

  “Why didna ye wait for us?”

  Marjorie crossed her arms over her chest. “You were already far ahead, and I didna want to spook the deer.”

  “’Twas reckless, mistress,” Muir said, scratching his graying beard. “Forgive me for saying so, but ye ken ye’re nae supposed to go around alone.”

  Marjorie chewed on her lower lip. He was right, of course, and she knew he worried about her like he would about his own daughter. But if she was in charge of the castle, she had to be braver.

  “Did ye see two men?” she asked. “The MacDougalls?”

  “Nae, mistress,” Tamhas said. “But Muir’s right. What if they’d seen ye? Yer father and brothers would cut my head off and throw it to the pigs if we lost ye."

  Marjorie cocked her head. “Just because we grew up together doesna give
ye the right to berate me, Tamhas. I’m the mistress now. Besides, nothing happened to me. And now we ken they plan to attack, so we can prepare. Send a messenger to my father and brothers.”

  “That may be just what they want,” Malcolm said.

  Marjorie turned her head as Malcolm stepped closer to their circle, his arms folded over the heavily quilted leine croich stretched across his chest. She knew she could always rely on him. He was like a second father to her, like another uncle she wasn’t related to by blood. Malcolm had served her da, Dougal Cambel, ever since she could remember. They shared some sort of oath, though she wasn’t sure of the details. All she knew was that Malcolm would rather die than let any harm come to any of Dougal’s children.

  “John MacDougall may want yer clan to leave the Bruce to protect ye and Colin,” he said. “That will weaken the Bruce and may change the course of the war.”

  King Robert the Bruce had been winning ever since he’d taken Inverlochy last November, and the English were no doubt looking for ways to take back the advantage. The MacDougalls were among the Scottish clans that had sided with the English. Clan Cambel was an important part of the Bruce’s army, so keeping Glenkeld intact mattered not only for the clan, but also for the whole war. If Marjorie’s father and brothers heard about their home being taken—especially if she was taken into enemy hands again—they’d come to fight to get her back. That would mean about three hundred men leaving the main army, a third of the Bruce’s forces.

  The men exchanged heavy glances.

  “Let me take over. I wouldna want to put you under that kind of pressure, my lady,” Malcolm said. “Having to coordinate the castle’s defenses isna a task—”

  He didn’t need to say it. Marjorie’s hands shook at the thought of being responsible for the worst outcome for her clan, her son, and the war. She had years of training from her father and brothers and was technically the most knowledgeable one left in the castle. But she had absolutely no war or battle experience. She hadn’t even been able to shoot the bloody MacDougall spies, for God’s sake. She was a coward. How could she ever protect the approximately fifty people inside these walls, including her son?

  “I wilna let them take Glenkeld,” she said with more firmness than she felt inside. “The castle must stand.”

  The look the men exchanged varied from dubious to respectful. Tamhas and Muir nodded.

  She clenched her jaw. “We will train more. We ken the castle’s weaknesses. We canna repair all the damage in time, but I will think of something.”

  Chapter 5

  Konnor stared at the woman who stood in the doorway next to Marjorie with a basket in her hands, She looked at least a hundred years old. She wore a brown dress, her head was covered in a white kerchief, and her face was leathery and wrinkled, but her eyes seemed bright.

  Was this the “healer” who was supposed to help him with his leg? Konnor had hoped that even though it seemed the whole colony was playing some sort of medieval game, they’d at least practice some modern medicine. They might not vaccinate and all that, but general healthcare was no joke. Unfortunately, it looked like they relied on herbal remedies and witchcraft.

  He locked his gaze on Marjorie. She stood there, determined and sublime, like a queen in disguise. With her dark, shiny hair falling in cascades over her period clothing, and those cat eyes, she was like a badass queen from some sort of movie remake of a classic fairy tale. The more Konnor looked at her, the more dazzled he was. He remembered the feel of her body against his and how she’d smelled when she’d helped him walk here. He wanted her that close again.

  “Is that him?” the old woman asked Marjorie. “Is he supposed to be Moire’s cousin?”

  “Aye,” Marjorie said.

  “Are ye English, lad?” the woman said.

  “No,” Konnor said.

  “Good. The Sassenachs are nae welcome here.”

  She limped towards Konnor and sat on the edge of the bed he lay on. Marjorie followed her and stood nearby with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “What ails ye, lad?” the old woman asked.

  “Look, ma’am, you don’t need to bother. Can someone perhaps take me to the hospital?”

  From there, he could call the farm. The woman narrowed her eyes and looked him over with a different sort of curiosity.

  “Havna heard anyone speak like ye in my life. Where do ye come from, lad?”

  “From the States. L.A. specifically.”

  “Dinna ken what any of that means. Do ye, Marjorie?”

  Marjorie shook her head, her gaze boring into him. He felt like he were under an X-ray machine.

  Why would she still not admit to knowing something about the modern world? Was isolation so important to them? Wasn’t this taking the roleplaying a little too far? In either case, he would be better off laying low until he got help and could get out of here.

  “Right,” Konnor said. “It’s far away.”

  “But ye’re Moire’s cousin, I hear?”

  Konnor sighed. “Look, ma’am—”

  “My name is Isbeil. Nae ma’am.”

  “Yes. Of course. Look, I’m not Moire’s cousin. Marjorie, you mistook me for him—” Marjorie’s face went blank, and her arms fell to her sides. “I guess I didn’t correct you because you were the only one who could help me get out of the ravine. Just help me get to the Keir farm or to Dalmally, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Marjorie was livid, her eyebrows two furious arches. She took a step towards Konnor. Telling them the truth had been a mistake, but he just couldn’t take any more of this circus.

  “You lied to me?” Marjorie thundered. “Who are you then, if nae Moire’s cousin?”

  Christ, she was beautiful when she was angry. “Just a guy.”

  Isbeil shook her head. “He speaks strange things I dinna understand. But he’s convinced they’re true.”

  “That makes him a madman,” Marjorie said.

  “Or someone who’s here by chance,” Isbeil said. “I dinna see any signs of madness.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Konnor said.

  “Aye. Ye’re nae crazy.” Isbeil clasped her hands and removed the linen that covered the basket. An aromatic mixture of herbs tickled Konnor’s nostrils.

  “Let me see yer ankle,” Isbeil said.

  Konnor moved his leg to give her better access. His ankle was swollen, and red and blue bruises shone through the skin. He also had a cut that was still bleeding a little.

  “The cut is nae deep,” she said, “but there’s dirt in it, and it needs to be washed. I’ll put honey on it to keep rot-wound away. As for yer ankle…”

  Isbeil took his foot and rolled it in a circle. Sharp pain shot through his leg, and he clenched his teeth.

  “I can feel yer joint is unstable,” she said. “’Tis a sprain, stranger, but ‘tisna serious. Ye shouldna walk on it for a day or two. I can give ye willow bark for yer pain. And I’ll put splints and bandage them. After two days, ye can start walking on it, but carefully. Mostly, what ye need is rest. Aye?”

  The pain wasn’t unbearable. He’d had worse.

  “Okay, a sprain. Don’t worry then. Just give me a crutch or something and send me on my way.”

  She shrugged. “I wouldna advise ye to try to leave, lad. Rest is what ye need.”

  “I’ll rest in a hotel or something.”

  “It wilna take long. Marjorie, will ye give me that large bowl with water?”

  Marjorie brought it over to the bed.

  “Can ye wash his wound while I prepare the splint?”

  “Aye,” Marjorie said and sat on the bed.

  She glanced at him, and there was curiosity and anger in her eyes, but also compassion. Isbeil walked to the chest, placed some jars and pouches with powder on the lid and started mixing things. Marjorie wet a clean linen cloth and looked him in the eye. Their gazes locked, and instantly, his mouth went dry.

  Christ, she’s pretty.

  “This will hurt, Konnor,
” she said softly.

  “It’s fine. I’m not a stranger to pain.”

  Her eyes widened, and long, dark eyelashes trembled. He’d been wounded twice before while in service, but he’d been beaten countless times by his stepfather while he was a child. Pain was not foreign to him.

  “Neither am I,” she said as she put the cloth against the cut.

  He wanted to ask her what she meant by that, and ask what had happened to her, but she put the cloth against his wound and pressed out the water, letting it wash dirt out. There was something soothing about her touch, and despite the pain, he lay back on the pillows and watched her face as she worked.

  “‘Tis clean, Isbeil,” she said way too early and stood with the bowl in her hands. Isbeil came to inspect the wound and gave a satisfied grunt. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him.

  “I’m going to put a healing poultice on it and dress it. Then I’ll put on the splint.”

  Konnor gave a curt nod. “I appreciate ye treating me.”

  She didn’t respond and spread the aromatic mixture on his cut and then bandaged it. Surprisingly, the mixture was cool and soothing, and his leg felt better. Then she took out two small planks from the basket and a linen bandage that looked clean. While Isbeil was setting the splints, Konnor looked at Marjorie’s pretty face. Their eyes were locked across the room, and he didn’t want to look away.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, Isbeil said she was done.

  He nodded and shifted to get up from the bed. “Thanks. Now I’m out of here.”

  As he looked at Marjorie, he wished he had swallowed his words. Her hands were propped on her sides, and she glared at him.

  “Ye’re out of here?” she asked, “Why are ye in such a hurry? Who are ye, Konnor? Is that even yer real name? Are ye a MacDougall?”

  Her slanted cat eyes flashed, and there was a pink tinge to her cheeks. Her hair was in slight disarray. She was beautiful. Konnor was torn between smiling and being concerned for his safety. She wouldn’t order Malcolm to behead him like an angry queen, would she?