Medieval Highlands 01 - Highland Vengeance (6 page)

“Her mother died giving birth to her. My laird has raised her on his own,” Jacob explained.

“Most men would have given their babe to one of their female kin to raise,” Daniel replied as he studied her more closely.

Jacob nodded. “Aye, the Laird’s sister and her husband had wanted to take Maryn to raise, but the laird would not allow it. He said that, as he’d already lost his wife, he could not bear to lose their only bairn as well.”

“Ahh,” Daniel said, nodding.

In silent accord, the two young men turned and resumed their walk toward the keep, each lost in his own thoughts.

Daniel’s were centered on the coming meeting with Laird Donald. He would follow his mentor’s advice and be honest in his dealings with the man—and pray that his words would be enough to convince the older laird to give him aid.

Just as they approached the steps of the keep, the red-haired lass and a rather round man of medium height with a rusty beard and thinning tawny hair came barreling out the door toward them. This would be Laird Donald, Daniel decided. The bairn had the laird by the hand and, dragging him behind her as she zoomed past, shoved Jacob aside in her haste. She was talking fast, her words tumbling over each other. There was a serpent involved…and—had she just said it would eat
piddle
? Nay, surely he’d misheard her.

“Laird Donald—this be…Laird Donald!” Jacob said, setting out behind the pair.

Daniel chuckled as he jogged to catch up to the man.

Maryn led her father over to the far end of the stable where a feed bucket and a large mound of straw were located. She pointed to a dim corner. “See you, Papa, there be the serpent. Just like in the Garden of Eden tap’stry my mama sewed for you! I told you I saw one. Please take him outside so he will not eat Piddle.” Maryn skipped over to the bucket and picked up her friend. “Worry not, Piddle. Papa is going to take that old serpent away from your home.”

Daniel’s mind eased when he saw the lumpy creature in the wee lass’s grubby hands. For he’d begun to believe the lass—and mayhap the father as well—were as daft as two loons. Suddenly struck by the whimsical rightness of the toad’s name, a broad grin split his countenance. “The bairn has a blithe wit,” he whispered to Jacob.

Jacob grinned back. “Aye, that she does.”

“Maryn, my wee one, this is only a harmless slow worm,” Laird Donald explained as he picked up the reptile. With long strides, he carried the legless lizard over to the gatehouse and asked the guard to place it outside the walls of the keep.

Jacob and Daniel met up with Laird Donald as he strolled back toward them, then Jacob left to return to his duties. “Come,” Laird Donald said, motioning for his young guest to walk with him as he moved in the direction of the keep, “‘Tis eager I am to learn the reasons behind your request to meet with me. But first, I shall see your thirst quenched and your belly filled.”

“My thanks, Laird Donald,” Daniel replied gratefully.

Maryn sped to catch up. She must protect her papa from the dread giant. If the fearsome monster-man decided to hurt him, she knew just what to do. Placing her hand inside her father’s rough one, she craned her neck and looked up, giving the giant the meanest squint-eyed expression she could make—just to let him know she was not fooled by his handsome smile and warm green eyes.

Laird Donald looked down at his bairn and smiled. “Laird MacLaurin, allow me to introduce to you my lovely daughter, Maryn.”

Cocking a brow at the strange look he was receiving from the grime-covered lass, Daniel explained to his host, “We met earlier, just after I arrived.” Clearly, a parent’s love must make them blind, he thought wryly. The bairn might be
somewhat
agreeable to gaze upon when she was freshly washed, but at this moment she looked a fright—like something his hounds might drag in after a hunt. And that godawful stench rolling off of her! God’s truth, she seemed to enjoy the filth. “Good day to you, lass,” he said to her. “‘Tis pleased I am that your friend will not become a meal.”

All at once, Maryn was overcome by shyness as she looked upon the giant’s comely visage—and the pleasant smile she was receiving from him. Scrunching up her shoulders, she hid her face inside the folds of her papa’s tunic.

Laird Donald leaned down and planted a kiss on the crown of her head. “Be a good lass and greet our guest,” he murmured to her.

Daniel fought to keep his lip from curling in disgust. Did the man have
no
ability to smell? At a loss for further words, yet comprehending he’d not said enough, he resorted to the query he’d gotten most when he was a bairn. “How many summers are you?”

Maryn pushed further into her papa’s side.

“Maryn,” Laird Donald gently prodded, “give Laird MacLaurin your answer.” He’d never known his daughter to be so reluctant to speak—she usually spoke to anyone who would listen.

Keeping her face half-hidden in her papa’s tunic, Maryn peeked out at the handsome giant and shyly held up the correct number of fingers. “I’m this many,” she said softly.

Laird Donald patted her back. “That’s a good lass.”

Maryn smiled brightly at her papa’s show of approval. But when her eyes fell upon the massive dirk that was sheathed in the giant’s belt, they widened in horror.
‘Twas the biggest, fiercest dirk she had ever seen.
And the monster-man might use it on her papa! Roughly pushing away from her father, she propelled herself into a mad, wild dash away from the two men. Into the keep she flew, up the stairs and down the passage to her bedchamber, in avid pursuit of the magical weapon she knew could slay any giant.

*

“My daughter is a bit fey, but she has a good heart,” Laird Donald explained to his bemused guest as they entered the great hall. “I pray you, do not judge her too harshly.” He turned toward his steward, saying, “We are ready for our light repast, now. And we shall require some ale while we wait.”

After sharing the food and drink and hearing the details of Daniel’s journey, the older man motioned for the trenchers to be cleared and said “‘Tis time for us to get down to the business that has brought you here, lad.”

Daniel’s heart pounded. Clearing his throat, he began haltingly to tell the laird the story that defined his life.

When Daniel paused to take a long pull from his tankard of ale, Laird Donald asked, “You are the son of Jamison Maclean? How have I not known of you before now?”

Daniel shrugged. “My existence was kept secret for my own safety. I only learned of this concealment upon the murder of my family.”

Laird Donald placed his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, leaning toward his young guest slightly. “Please, continue with your tale.”

Daniel did as requested. Long minutes later, shaken and drained, he came to the final scene with his father. “It took several sennights to hunt him down. He had been living on the outer margins of society, using his influence with friends to gain access to shelter and food. He’d also continued freebooting; robbing and stealing his way through the Highlands.

Daniel stood and began to pace. “I found my murdering sire’s trail with little effort, but he proved elusive, I always being just days behind him.

“Then one morn, I bought a draught of ale from an ale wife in a small village not far from the MacGhille holding and learned that the devil had been there until only a few hours before. I rushed to my steed and took off in the direction the wife had indicated. And within only an hour, I stumbled upon fresh hoof prints, as well as the still-glowing embers of a small, abandoned campfire by a burn.

“I remember falling to my knees as the realization that all I’d been striving for was just minutes from my grasp.” He turned to his host. “I confess, in those moments, I was filled with dread as well as anticipation.”

Laird Donald nodded. “‘Tis natural to feel such, I trow.”

Daniel began to pace again. “And, tho’ there was still within me some deep disillusionment that the father I’d always believed to be heroic, was, in fact, devil not saint, it was the horrific images of the man’s vicious rampage that filled my mind, fed the hatred in my heart, and strengthened my desire for vengeance in those moments.”

Daniel absently thrust his fingers through his hair and felt the raised scar on his scalp. “I…I was sweating…my face drenched with it”—he halted, a look of chagrin on his countenance—“God! I was such a fool! I took my helm off—only for a moment—just to cool my skin. My sword was resting on the ground at my side.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he continued, “I heard a rustling sound. I took hold of my helm and my sword, and twisted around, rising to my feet at the same time. My sire stood behind me, his sword raised as if to strike.
‘This is the day you die, Maclean!’
I yelled.” With a quick glance at Laird Donald, Daniel explained, “‘Twas an oath, an incantation, I’d used while I trained all those moons earlier.”

“Godamercy,” Laird Donald intoned. “How ever is it that ‘twas you who survived and not your sire?”

His eyes cast downwards, unseeing, as they studied the floor, Daniel shook his head. “I know not.” After a short pause, he picked up the thread of his tale once more. “But this I do recall, very clearly. My father smiled”—he looked at his host—“and it was venomous. And then he said to me,
‘I wonder: Should I kill you now, or amuse myself a bit—just for a good day’s sport—before I send you to meet your Maker?’

“Good God! The man was more evil than I’d ever imagined.”

As if he’d not heard the words of his host, Daniel continued, “I swung my own sword then as I propelled myself toward him, repeating my oath again.” There was a slight pause before he continued, “And then: a flash of steel, a sharp pain in my skull, and total darkness.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face and eyes, his mind numb and his body wearier than ever before. Dropping his hands to his sides, he took a deep breath and slowly released it before saying, “I have no idea of what occurred after being struck by the broadside of my sire’s sword.” When Daniel ran his hands through his hair and felt the raised scar again, he growled deep in his throat. A feeling of utter frustration at his loss of memory enveloped him once more. “I have been told by my clansmen that I came home within what must have been only days of that incident.” Turning, he looked directly into Laird Donald’s eyes. “I had my father’s head strapped to my saddle, just as I had boasted I would.”

Laird Donald was silent for long seconds as he studied the pain-ravaged visage of his young guest. He cleared his throat. “You killed your father, then? I had heard the rumors, of course, but I thought them false.” Feeling the need to quench his suddenly parched throat, he signaled for more ale.

Daniel shrugged. “In truth, I know not if ‘twas I that killed my father. I had a fever upon arriving home, from a festering wound on the back of my head. And I had marks on my body—indicating a sword battle.” Crossing his arms over his chest once more, he continued, “Angus has told me that I was confused for a time after my return, most likely due to the fever. I do know that I intended to kill my father if the opportunity arose. I just cannot say for sure that ‘twas I who did the deed. The evidence suggests that I must have accomplished my aim, but I may never know for sure what actually took place that day unless my memory returns.”

After taking a long draught of ale, Laird Donald said, “Aye, lad, that may be, for I’ve heard of such before. Sometimes the memory returns, but it may take many years. Other times, the memory is lost for evermore.”

Sighing, Daniel settled back on his bench. “I tell you this because I have a request to make of you. Laird Maclean, my grandfather, has decided that he wants to claim me as his heir and has directed his clansmen to accept me as their laird upon his death. I do not seek to have, nor do I want to have, that title. Yet, he will not take my refusal, and his continued missives cause great unrest in my clan.”

Laird Donald sat forward, resting his forearms on the table. “But the Macleans are a strong and powerful clan—more powerful even than the MacLaurins. And the holding is a large one, and quite profitable. I cannot ken why you scoff at such an offer.”

“My loyalty lies with my mother’s clan,” Daniel explained, “and tho’ they are not currently as powerful as the Macleans, that will not always be the case. They are the only family I have known and their needs come before anyone else’s in my heart. Besides, I have seen naught honorable, nor generous, in the Maclean line and do not want to be allied with it in any way.”

Laird Donald nodded. Tho’ he did not agree with the young laird’s opinion of the Macleans he could certainly understand why he believed such. “What has this to do with your visit here? With the request you would make of me?”

“I have heard that you are good friends with my grandfather and that you are a reasonable and just man. I ask that you speak to my grandfather on my behalf. Persuade him that I shall not change my mind and that I renounce my kinship to his clan. Then, help him find an alternate successor.”

Laird Donald scratched his bearded cheek. “Aye, Laird Maclean is a friend of mine, but you should meet with him yourself to convince him of your resolve. ‘Tis the best way to have him understand your position.”

Daniel shook his head. “Nay. Neither I, nor my clansmen, want any association with Clan Maclean, and I cannot allow my grandfather to continue sending messengers requesting my presence.” He clasped Laird Donald’s forearm. “Tho’ I no longer harbor a need to lay waste to Clan Maclean, ‘tis not so for the others in Clan MacLaurin—they hold a very strong hatred toward them. If I do not bring back with me a written contract, signed by Laird Maclean, promising that he will not name me as his heir, then the MacLaurins will be forced to declare war.”