Medieval Highlands 01 - Highland Vengeance (49 page)

Righting herself, she replied, “Aye, but make haste, you’ll need to be back in time to break your fast with me.”

Throwing on his clothing and shoes, he rushed from the room. Jesslyn smiled at the clatter he was making in the other room. Hearing the roll of distant thunder, she turned and looked out the open-slatted shutters of the window, hoping the rain did not come until after her son returned from his adventure. Before she realized what was happening, a human tornado came tearing across the room and blasted into her, squeezing the breath right out of her.

“Thank you, Mama!” Alleck cried, and with a wet kiss on her cheek, he was gone again.

Jesslyn shook her head and smiled. “You’re quite welcome,” she said to the empty chamber.

*

Clyde stood over the lass, his long, jagged shadow falling over his victim like a murky river flowing over silt. Her neck had snapped with ease. Good. He’d needed the practice and the lass was of comparable height and build to that of his ultimate source of revenge. But he was a bit disappointed that he’d had to make such a quick job of it. He absently rubbed his hardened shaft. He’d not expected to find his work so arousing. An added benefit. And he’d have liked to enjoy her fear a bit more, mayhap even hear her beg for his mercy, before he killed her. But, alas, he was practical. There was simply not enough time or privacy for such indulgences. This had been a rehearsal only. Simply to make sure he could do the deed without leaving any incriminating marks that might raise suspicions.

He’d asked one of the other players about the lass this day past when he’d met her and had learned that she’d been found on the road a few days prior to their arrival here. Her family had been on a pilgrimage and she had been the only survivor when freebooters had ambushed their caravan. She’d been able to escape harm only because she’d not been at the campsite at the time of the attack; she’d been washing at a nearby burn. The players had allowed her to ride with them, promising her that they’d soon make the circuit again and get her back to her home. She was to cook and clean for them as repayment for food and shelter until that time.

Her likeness to Maryn Donald was the first thing Clyde had noticed about her. Blood of Christ, she even had red hair. The scheme had formed in his mind almost immediately. She was the perfect practice victim. She had no family, no friends. And the others in the troupe would not question too closely her disappearance; they were a vagabond group used to the fickleness of human nature. They would believe him when he told them that the lass had found a different way home.

He’d told the lass he’d take her to the loch early this morn so that she could wash their clothes. Once they’d traveled a bit off of the pathway, he’d stopped the wagon and fallen to the ground, pretending illness. When the lass leapt from her perch and came to his aid, it had been quick work to snap her neck. And he’d done it so rapidly that she had not had time to do more than gasp.

The sound of distant voices approaching jolted him from his thoughts. He jerked around, searching the area for intruders. ‘Twas the widow’s lad. He was with his young friend and a very tall, muscular black-haired warrior. For the first time, fear sliced through Clyde. The man looked as if he could snap a person in half with little effort. He’d best hide the body quickly, before the deed was discovered. ‘Twould not do for suspicions to be raised before his final goal had been accomplished.

Clyde’s breath rushed out of his lungs as he lifted her. Dead weight. He’d forgotten. Hurriedly stumbling around the wagon, he dumped her inside and then rolled her toward the front before covering her with a course blanket and piling other materials around the lump so it would not look peculiar.

Satisfied that the proof of his act was not evident, he climbed onto the seat and snapped the reins. The old mare shuffled into forward motion. He must bury the body in a well-hidden area, at least a day’s ride out. Some place where it would not be discovered for long months, if ever.

*

Daniel sat at the laird’s table in the great hall enjoying a bit of cheese as he listened to his wife and her father planning his sons’ lives.

“Aye, that’s a fine idea. You shall send your sons to my holding for their training and then one of them shall take the Donald lairdship when the time comes. I confess, I’ve worried over not having an heir, especially with my ripening age.”

“Oh, Papa, you are far from death’s door. Speak not of dying, for I cannot bear it.”

“Let us successfully produce our first son before we begin planning the future of others,” Daniel said.

Maryn gave him a questioning look. “Think you it not wise to have a plan in place for our sons’ training?”

“Nay, I do not. At least not until we know we shall have other sons…or daughters. We should get through this childing before we plan more.”

She patted his knee. “I’m hale, the babe’s hale, you must not worry so. We will have this son and other sons and daughters. ‘Twill be so, for I will see it so.” Turning her head a bit more so that only he could see her face, her eyes sparkled with lewd mischief. She stroked the tip of her tongue over her top lip, giving him an erotic suggestion of how she would begin the process.

Jolted by the sight, his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. Shifting in his seat on the bench and clearing his throat, he lifted his eyes to his father-in-law. “Now that I think on it a bit more, I believe your scheme is a sound one.”

His wife giggled. “I knew my words would change your mind.”

Daniel nudged her in the side with his elbow but could not help grinning himself. “Aye, for sure, ‘twas certainly that lyrical tongue of yours that made the difference.”

Steward Ranald came through the doorway of the great hall just then. “Beg pardon, Laird, but there is a man wishing to meet with you. He states that he has urgent business to discuss. Shall I allow him entrance?”

Daniel glanced at his wife and her father, a question in his eye. When they both shook their heads and shrugged, he turned back to the steward and said, “Aye, allow him entrance.”

*

Bao paced outside the doorway to the great hall, grimly sure of his goal. He’d parted from the lads outside the gate of the keep as the drawbridge was being lowered, telling them he’d meet them in the village square a few hours hence. Having decided that his best defense against the widow was to hasten her hatred of his character, he’d handed Alleck the bag of food she’d prepared and asked him to give it to Jesslyn, telling her that payment was not necessary. Alleck had questioned him about the message, but Bao had told him his mother would understand. They’d trotted off to their next adventure, talking over each other as they spoke. A sharp pang of envy shot through him now as he thought of the untainted glee of the pair. His own childhood had been so completely different.

“The laird will see you now.”

Bao glanced up and, with a brief nod, moved toward the doorway that was a visible portal between his past and his future, anticipation coursing through his veins. No matter the outcome, once he entered, there would be no turning back.

*

Daniel stood as he awaited his guest. Not knowing to what the business might pertain, he’d asked his wife and father-in-law to withdraw through the back doorway. If the news was bad, then he wished to filter it before telling his pregnant wife.

A tall and muscular dark-haired warrior came through the entry and Daniel’s heart shot into his throat. “
You!
I know you!” Sweeping around the table, he leapt off the dais and strode toward him. Confusing images flashed through his mind. Images of the flat end of a sword coming into view before it struck him. And as he’d slowly awakened from that blow, images of his father battling a lad with the same looks as the man before him now. “You were there that day. That day I killed my father.”

The man ceased his forward motion and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his legs braced in a wide stance. “Aye, I was there. But ‘twas not you who killed him; ‘twas I who did the deed. I had to, you see, else ‘twould have been him that killed you. For you were in no condition to fight after the blow you took.”

More images crowded into Daniel’s mind. “There was a fierce battle between you two,” he murmured, a faraway look in his eye. “I remember rising to my feet and attempting to take over the fight. I sliced through the mail covering my father’s arm.”

“And when he rounded on you and sliced your thigh, I thrust my sword deep into his side and through his heart. He died instantly.”

Numb with shock, Daniel nodded, stroking the place on his thigh where he still bore the scar, more of his memory returning as each moment passed. “Blood pooled under him and ran in a dark stream around my foot. The anger I felt that I had not had the satisfaction of exacting revenge for my family’s deaths made me attack my defender.” Daniel looked up then, directly into the other man’s eyes. “You.”

The warrior’s smile held sadness when he said, “Aye, you hurled yourself into me and threw me to the ground. I barely had time to restrain your arm before your fist made contact with my jaw. We struggled for quite a few moments until your head injury finally got the better of you.”

Daniel nodded and took up the tale. “I became dizzy and ill. I fell away from you and retched up my meal.”

“And while you retched, I spoke to you of my lineage. Do you remember?”

Daniel’s heart trebled in meter and a high-pitched ringing began in his ears. A chill went through him as his skin went slick with cold sweat. On liquid knees he turned and fell onto a bench, holding himself up with his elbow on the table and one leg outstretched. Looking back at his guest, he said, “Aye. I believe I
do
remember. You are my father’s bastard son. My half-brother, Bao Xiong.” The man was an inch or two taller than Daniel was himself, and his breadth was massive. He’d known instantly that only a trained warrior would have such a physique, and Daniel fleetingly wondered now with whom he’d been training in the intervening years.

Bao nodded. “Aye,” was all he gave him as reply. Continuing the tale of Jamison Maclean’s last battle, he said, “Once you’d rid yourself of your meal, your fighting spirit returned. You bounded to your feet and plowed your sword through our father’s neck, taking the head as proof of his death.”

Daniel leapt to his feet and strode to the buttery. “I need a draught of
uisge beatha
”—turning, he looked back at Bao—“you?”

Nodding, he said, “Aye, my thanks. Tho’ I’m not one to partake of strong liquor, this day is an exception.”

“My mind is still murky and reeling a bit from the memories that keep rushing at me. We have much to discuss.” Realizing his lack of hospitality, Daniel continued, “I beg you. Sit.”

*

Bao at last took a moment to look around. The great hall was much as he remembered it from all those years before. ‘Twas still a huge cavern of a chamber, with room for many tables during feasts. He was surprised, however, that Daniel’s wife had made so few changes since becoming mistress of the keep. Shrugging, he settled on a bench at the laird’s table.

*

A sense of exhilaration filled Daniel. He had a brother, half tho’ he may be. He had a brother! And that brother had proved his loyalty and saved Daniel’s life. Suddenly recalling there was another here who shared blood with Bao, he said, “I must tell my grandmother. She’ll be much pleased to learn she has another grandson.” Daniel walked back to the table and sat down across from Bao, placing a cup of the liquor in front of him.

“She knows. Or, at least, I suspect that she knows of my connection to her. Our father brought me here upon our return from Jerusalem.”

Daniel gave Bao a piercing look. “How long were you here?” Had his brother been part of the raid on the MacLaurin holding? Surely not, for Daniel had been assured that all the murderers, but one, had been killed within sennights of the massacre.

“We abided here a few sennights and then we left suddenly—our father did not connect well with his parents. We traveled to Perth and he left us there with a procuress he had met years before.”

A procuress? Daniel wondered at his brother’s unsavory upbringing, but would not intrude on his privacy by asking about it. That kind of information must be volunteered, not forced. He was relieved, however, that Bao had not been anywhere near the MacLaurin holding on the day of the murders. Relaxing, he took a sip of his liquor. “Why do you believe our grandmother suspects your blood connection to her?”

“From a remark she made as we were leaving. She said, ‘You have the look of the MacIntyre about you, lad.’ Then she went on to tell me about her father, David MacIntyre.”

“Now that I look more closely, I do see a resemblance around the nose and mouth to my grandmother. Her hair must have been as black as yours when she was younger, as well.”

Bao looked pensive for a moment. “I never considered before that my black hair might have come from that side of my family.” Returning his gaze to Daniel, he explained, “My mother was from Cathay. She told me many tales of her homeland before she died when I was but five summers. I remember her telling me that most all the people from that place have black hair.”

Daniel was suddenly struck by something that Bao had said previously. “You said our father ‘left
us
there.’ Do I have other siblings?” Daniel genuinely hoped ‘twas so.

*

Bao took in a deep breath. “Nay, but
I
have a sister. A fostered sister; she was the bairn of a woman my father desired as a mistress. He abducted the lady away from her people when we traveled through northern Cambria on our journey to the Highlands from Jerusalem.” Bao gazed at the amber liquid in the cup he was holding between his hands as they rested on top of the table. He frowned at the memory of Branwenn’s mother’s attempts to get free. She’d been beaten each time, until finally she’d given up hope and allowed his father every liberty he desired. Jamison Maclean had broken her spirit, and her will.