The Highlander's Reward (2 page)

Little did he realize at the time
, Lorna and Montgomery had fallen in love, at least that was Lorna’s claim—he believed it was more like lust. She cried, raged, refused to eat. Montgomery sent missives begging for her hand. Magnus burned the letters. Then she’d provided him with the very reason he was escorting her to the Lowlands now. She was carrying a babe.

Magnus
demanded marriage and Montgomery was more than pleased to accommodate. They were to meet at Glasgow castle, a stronghold of the Scottish Independence, occupied with William Wallace’s men. Evidently, Montgomery was a key player in Wallace’s war on the English. His war for freedom. Magnus admired Wallace for fighting for their freedom. He hadn’t seen such an impact as far north in the Highlands as Sutherland lands, but he knew the time was coming. When he returned home, they would have to put preparations in place.

Besides disliking the situation his sister was in, he
especially didn’t like the idea of leaving her in the midst of a war zone. He stalled his horse. Mayhap it would be best to turn back. She could bear the babe and he would not cast her out. He would make sure she and the child were provided for. Even arrange for her to marry one of their clansmen.

At least
his youngest sibling Heather was safely ensconced at Dunrobin, their family stronghold. At just fifteen summers, she was not even contemplating the rougher male sex. Or so he wanted to believe. He’d left his brother Ronan to protect her while Blane, the second oldest Sutherland brother was off selling a hoard of sheep’s wool.

“We shall see.” His sister’s sing-song voice cut through his thoughts as she wrenched around in her saddle to see what kept him. “Magnus…” Her tone held a warning note. One he knew meant she was about to completely explode.

He nudged his warhorse forward. It was too late to turn back. And he did not want to deal with her tantrums. They were nearly upon Glasgow Castle. No doubt a scout had already returned word to Montgomery of their approach. With a dozen retainers in tow, they were hard to miss out in the open. If need be they could make themselves disappear. And with the English always afoot, that might be necessary.

An hour or so later, t
heir horses’ footsteps echoed ominously over the wooden bridge covering the moat at the castle. Each clop shutting the possibility of taking his sister home further from his realm of power. It was just after noon and the sun blazed in the sky, glinting off the shields of the men standing atop the main gate tower.

Magnus raised his hand.
“Laird Sutherland to see Montgomery.”

The gate doors opened allowing the
m entrance.

“I didna think y
e’d keep your word,” Montgomery said as they entered the bailey. He was a large man, nearly as tall as Magnus but not as strong—he’d proven that once already. The man had long auburn hair he wore in a braid and a short beard on his square chin. Montgomery had the gall to give Magnus a wide grin before he turned to wink at Lorna.

His sister squealed
, jumping down from her horse and running into her lover’s arms.

Magnus growled and turned away from their over-eager reunion. He would never allow himself to behave as though the world would crumble if a woman were not in it. Women were good for a few things: providing pleasure for a man, birthing babies and keeping house.
Nothing more. His companionship was received from his men, his clan—he was their leader after all. He couldn’t be distracted by this disgusting display of affection. When he was in need of a woman to pleasure him, there were many willing to do so. Truth be told, he rarely took them up on their offers. He didn’t need the added issue of a bastard. There were enough bastards in Scotland.

“We’ll be on our way now,” he said gruffly, not bothering to dismount.

Lorna turned around, a scowl on her face. “Ye would not stay to see me married?”

“Come,
Sutherland. The priest is ready and a feast prepared. I would have ye here to give us your blessing, then ye can be on your way. But I warn ye, word is that the English are marching on Stirling. Wallace and his men have already deployed.”

“Och, I dinna care a fig about the English.” But he would take Montgomery’s words to heart.
He had to cross Stirling bridge in order to leave the dreaded Lowlands. “We will stay for the wedding, but not the feast. We must return to the Highlands.” The Lowlands made his skin crawl. Nothing felt right here.

“I’ll have my cook pack your men a feast
to go then.”

Magnus
grunted his approval.

A few grooms appeared at their sides. Magnus and his dozen retainers
dismounted allowing the grooms to take the horses to the stables to be brushed down, fed and watered.

“Y
e can divest yourselves of your weapons before entering the chapel,” Montgomery said, eyeing Magnus with suspicion. It wasn’t a suggestion.

Magnus slowly grinned. “Y
e think we came prepared to battle ye?”

“The thought did cross my mind. After all, I did—”

Magnus held up his hand. “Dinna say it. I already know what ye did to my sister. I was there if ye recall, and I gave ye more than a bloody lip too. All that matters is ye intend to marry her and honor her. That ye’ll take care of the babe ye created.” He fingered the dirk at his side and his small targe shield. “We are always prepared for an ambush, especially with the Sassenachs crawling all over the land.”

The damned English were everywhere.
Magnus and his entourage had to travel mostly through the night to avoid them after an attack west of Stirling. They’d just descended from the Mounths, it was around this same time of day and a chill rain fell from the intimidating sky. Stopping to rest the horses and dine on oatcakes and apples, he’d heard the sounds of horses and the clinking of metal. Three dozen English knights entered their camp. The knights took one look at the fully armed Highlanders and decided they wanted blood. It hadn’t been difficult for the Sutherland warriors to take out the English knights—one Highlander for every three Sassenachs. He ordered his men to hide the bodies in the bushes. He’d taken the good English horses and let the rest go free. After that, Magnus had made sure they’d found a spot to lay low for the rest of the day. They’d traveled through the night, rested during the day, and then traveled through the next night and morning before reaching Glasgow. The English hadn’t caught up with him yet. But he was sure they would eventually. A dozen knights didn’t go missing without someone noticing.

Magnus signaled his men and they slowly unhooked
their leather scabbards which held their claymores on their backs. He untied the leather straps on each arm which secreted away their
sghian dubhs
—killing knives—dark in name and dark in purpose. He’d snuck in many a kill with his
sghian dubh
without his enemy being the wiser.

They tossed their weapons in a pile on the courtyard ground.
Swords, axes, maces, dirks, and battered targes.

“Impressive,” Montgomery quipped.

“We are always thorough,” Magnus said with an arrogant chuckle.

“Indeed. I will keep that in mind.” Montgomery stepped forward and offered Magnus his arm.

Magnus stared at the extended appendage for the span of several breaths. He didn’t want to give the man his blessing. He wanted to bludgeon him for taking the innocence of his baby sister but she stood beside her intended, a smile of enchantment on her face. She was happy. Wasn’t that all he really wanted? He wanted her to be happy—and safe. He glanced briefly at the high fortified walls, the men who stood on top, fully armed and alert. The large man in front of him, strong and intelligent. He reached out and grasped Montgomery’s forearm, shaking it in a show of respect and allegiance.

Lorna beamed at him, and Magnus’s heart tugged. He would be leaving her in good care.
He knew he would.

“Let us go to the chapel,” he said gruffly.

As he watched his sister joined in holy matrimony to a man he would never have chosen, Magnus vowed to never let a trivial emotion like love intervene with his life. Marriage should be for alliances between clans. Nothing more.

Chapter Two

Magnus, fully armed once more, swung onto his warhorse’s back, eager to be on his way. Having his claymore strapped to his back, his
sghian dubhs
up his sleeves, dirk and axe strapped to the belt of his sporran and settled at his hips, small knives in his boots, targe on his forearm, somehow felt natural. He was prepared for battle should it come his way—big or small.

Not staying for the feast, t
hey’d be able to make it to Stirling Bridge before sunset, and he wanted to be as far away from the Lowlands as possible. That meant crossing the bridge and at least making it into the forest beyond. His men and horses would need to rest then as they’d been up nearing on twenty-four hours straight.

“Travel well, brother,” Lorna said, coming to stand below him.

He hated goodbyes. He could recall her as a little girl wishing him well whenever he’d gone off with their father to settle a dispute or patrol their lands. She always held a bunch of gathered wildflowers in her little hands, thrusting them toward him, promising her flowers would bring him good luck. Magnus touched her cheek. “I always do.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes,
and she held up a sprig of heather. Magnus could not bear to see her cry. He grasped the sprig and tucked it into his boot. With a nod toward Montgomery, he said, “Keep her safe or I’ll have your arse.”

Montgomery nodded solemnly, taking his pledge to protect Lorna seriously.
He stepped forward, grasping a whopping sack with scrumptious scents emanating from it and strapped it to Magnus’ saddle.

“Your feast from C
ook,” Lorna said.

“My thanks.”
Magnus gripped the reins and turned his horse toward the gate. “Be well.”

Once over the wooden drawbridge he and his men
pressed the horses into a gallop. He did not look back. As the eldest Sutherland brother—and their parents long dead—all four of his siblings were his responsibility. He just hoped he was doing right by Lorna. He had to believe he was. She was happy. Montgomery was a strong man, he’d care for her and their unborn child.

“We ride to Stirling. I want to cross the bridge and camp in the woods beyond
before nightfall,” he shouted to his men. If they rode hard, they could make it there within four or five hours.

The only show of their agreement was their horses thundering alongside him.

An hour into their retreat, and about halfway to Stirling, the air around them changed. Magnus couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. He held his hand in the air, signaling for his men to stop. They formed a half circle on either side of him, each pulling their claymores, ready for an ambush. Examining the wooded area and the road ahead, each of them sought signs of danger.

Then it hit him.
There were no birds chirping, odd since the road they travelled was covered on the left by a full-fledged forest, one he’d noted on the way to Glasgow was particularly loud with feathered creatures. He did not recognize the sounds of the English he’d heard when they were last attacked. No clinking of metal, not stamp of horses’ hooves.

He sniffed the air. It smelled different th
an when they’d traveled through early in the morning. More earthy. He smelled smoke.

“There’s a fire somewhere,” he said.
A big one from the scent.

Looking above the trees he didn’t see any signs of
smoke.

“Over there,” Donald said.

Magnus turned toward where his retainer pointed. To the right of the road was a long hill, and beyond that a small village where black smoke rose into the air. They’d missed the village coming around a bend in the road.

“Should we go see if they need our help, my laird?”
Gavin asked, his red brows narrowed. Gavin was always the first to respond to any village fires in Sutherland. Tall and thin, his strength belied his physical size. As a young lad he’d lost his parents to a fire, and it seemed that with each ensuing flame, he relived that horrid moment.

“Aye,
” Magnus agreed, but he didn’t like it. Traveling to the village not only put them in danger from whoever set the blaze—and it was evident the fire was set purposefully, it was too big—but it also did not move them closer to their destination.

But he could not dismiss the black smoke coming from the village. People could be hurt, dying. He and his men were capable of putting out fires
, having put out many in their own village. They were needed, even if these people didn’t realize it. Every Scottish life counted. Be damned to King Edward and his creed to weed them out.

Resigned
to his fate, he pulled out his claymore, turned his horse in the direction of the village and descended the hill. If any attackers remained, he and his men would beat them down.

The heat of the
burning village hit the warriors the moment they graced the bottom of the hill. They galloped across the burnt fields toward the thatch-roofed huts. People ran everywhere in mass confusion. The smoke was thick, burning his lungs. Bodies littered the ground—but not just from burning, some were run through by a sword from the looks of the wounds. But he did not see anyone who looked like an enemy.

“Damn Sassenachs must have been here,” Magnus snarled.

He burst into what used to be the middle of the village, now only burned masses of wood and thatch. Pulling back on the reins, he stopped Beast and dismounted. His men followed suit.

Magnus grabbed a frantic older man who ran past shouting, “Mary! Mary!”

“Your woman? Where was she?”

The older man shook his head. “I know not. She was in our hut, but I looked, she is not there.”

“Where is your hut?” Magnus tried to remain calm in the face of the man’s pain.

The man pointed to a hut that had been completely burned to the ground, now only a pile of wood and ash.
No one could live through that destruction. There was no telling if the man’s Mary was inside or not. If she was, the only thing remaining of her would be charred bones.

The man’s shoulders trembled beneath Magnus’ hands. He hoped his strength would steady
him. “Who did this?”

The man only shook his head
, bewildered, his eyes wildly searching around him.

Magnus shook him slightly, forcing the man to look him in the eyes.
“Who?”

“
Demons.”

Magnus refused to believe that the Devil and his minions had escaped Hell to ravage the village—unless King Edward w
as the devil. “What did they look like?”

“
Sassenachs.” The man shivered beneath his hands.

“The English?”
Rage burned a path from his stomach to his throat. He could kill every damn one of them. The entire village was scorched to rubbish and it looked like the majority of its inhabitants were dead or dying.

“Aye.”

Magnus let the man go. The man stumbled away, continuing to shout for his Mary.

“Let us help how
ever we can,” Magnus said to his men.

For the next several hours, Magnus and his men tossed water from a well onto any flames they could find. They sm
othered burning embers with the plaid cloaks off their backs. They did what they could to cleanse and wrap wounds. They dug graves and buried the dead saying a prayer that each one might reach Heaven. By the time they were done, the sun had started to set and they were exhausted. There would be no traveling to Stirling today.

A couple dozen crofters looked to them with sorrow and dread in their eyes.

“What will we do now?” a mother asked, clutching her babe to her breast. “My husband was killed.”

“My baby was in our hut! He’s dead!”

“We have no food, no livestock, they destroyed everything!”

“Mary!” The old man shouted,
then collapsed to the ground.

The murmurings were similar and each one left a pang of sadness in Magnus’ heart. There was nothing more he could do for these people. He would offer them a home at Dunrobin, but most of them would not last the journey
to the Highlands. Affixing his plaid in place, he noted the scent of charred wood was strong within the fabric, and a few spots were singed through.

“My sister is Lady Montgomery at Glasgow Castle. Go there. Tell her I sent
ye. She will see ye fed, clothed, your wounds cleaned, provide ye shelter until your village can be rebuilt.”

“Bless y
e and the Lady Montgomery,” several said, kneeling in the ashen grass.

“Y
e have no need to kneel to me. My men and I shall remain here for the night to see that ye are protected, but on the morrow, ye must travel to Glasgow.”

Magnus signaled
for his men to join him several yards away. “Donald, ye and Artair ride back to Glasgow. Bring a few men back here. In the morning we depart, and I dinna want these people harmed on their journey to the castle.”

Donald and Artair nodded, and moved to mount their horses.

“Keep your eye out for any English. The roads, the forests, the whole of Scotland is bound to be filled with them.”

With his men off to retrieve reinforcements, Magnus went about setting up camp and helping the villagers to gather what goods they could salvage. A couple of his ret
ainers were able to hunt down several squirrels and rabbits. They fed the villagers with the caught game and food Montgomery’s cook had packed. The men took meager portions, then divided up into shifts for sleeping and keeping guard.

Magnus guessed it was just past midnight when Donald and Artair returned with a half-dozen Montgomery men.
He paced the makeshift camp, dirk in his hand.

“Where is Montgomery?” he asked, surprised not to see him there. These were his villagers.
Did the man have no care for his people?

One of the Montgomery men cleared his throat and glanced from side to side, his discomfort evident.
“’Tis his wedding night, my laird.”

Magnus tried to keep his emotions in check. He’d forgotten and damn if he wanted the reminder
of what that heathen was doing to his sister.

“Verra well then.
Organize your men. We’ve been taking shifts. ’Tis your turn.”

The following morning
Magnus woke invigorated. There’d been no threats during the night, and none of the injured had died.

He was
eager to return home.

He rolled over to see some of the villagers packing their makeshift beds.
He stretched, feeling the burn in his lungs from inhaling too much smoke.

The sky was still pink and orange. He stood and surveyed the destroyed village.
’Twas a shame, and made him all the more keen to return to the Highlands to ensure the safety of his own clan. At the same time, a chord of panic was struck in his gut. Lorna was here, in the midst of it all.

“Y
e there,” he said to one of Montgomery’s men. “Did ye see any English on your way here last night?”

“No, my laird, but we’ve word they are traveling toward Stirling.”

That news he’d already learned. All he could pray was that the men who’d pillaged the town had drunk themselves into a stupor and would not be up so early. They would have a good two hours head start. Enough time to bypass the English altogether.