Highlander’s Honorable Oath (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Read online

  “Whoa! Such beautiful news! Gratitude tae ye! I must see my lord husband at once!” Gretchen said happily and turned toward the keep. She would change to a lovely dress and go to the village to welcome her lover and catch glimpses of Callum, too.

  The men in the gathering watched her as she scampered away and shook their heads pitiably. “I heard the Laird didn’t make it out of the war alive, and Sir Callum was badly injured,” one of the gossipers whispered.

  “Such I heard too! She is nae aware yet. She doesn’t look so,” another said and moved away.

  Gretchen hurriedly clad herself in an exquisite gown which showed off her slender waist and the generous curves of her breasts. She couldn’t control the excitement that was rushing through her veins and had overcome her when she heard the news of her husband’s coming. All she needed now was just to see Fraser and Callum. Then, Ava would stop bothering her about her Father’s return. Satisfied with how she looked, she scampered out of the room she shared with her husband and down the stairs into the great hall and the courtyard beyond.

  The shortest route to the village was the game trail that crossed the meadow between the town and the keep. As Gretchen approached the butcher’s market on the edge of town, she could almost sense the change in the atmosphere. As happy that she was that her husband was returning, she couldn’t help the fact that her heartbeat picked up speed at the thought of seeing Callum again. Ruthlessly squelching down her unseemly thoughts, she continued to the village square, where she expected lively talk and much merriment as the soldiers were greeted by their families.

  When she arrived, she was surprised to see that the center of the town was empty and quiet. No wailing, no voices, no people welcoming the warriors, and most surprising of all, no warriors. Something about that filled her with dread. Something wasn’t right. She stood with her arms on her hips and surveyed her surroundings. What could have happened? Why are there no warriors, no flag bearers, and no lovers to welcome their loved ones? She began walking toward the small inn, intent on asking the innkeeper what he knew just as two men emerged from within.

  “Greetings to ye, lady?” both men chorused as they walked past Gretchen.

  “Greetings to ye too!” she replied, and after some considerable thought, she cleared her throat and began to talk. “Have ye heard of the coming of the warriors? I’m so confused tae have seen no one here tae welcome their loved ones” she said, swiftly brushing her hair back from her forehead.

  “Oh, the warriors have returned since hours ago! The Council sent carriages tae gather th’ wounded ones. I heard the Laird fought bravely!” one of the men said and shook his head. Gretchen smiled. Of course, she knew her husband would always fight valiantly, but the following words of the man shattered her into pieces. “A pity he couldn’t make it out alive! Curse the MacLaren, curse their lands! The Laird was so kind and lovely. May he rest in peace.”

  No! She hadn’t heard that right! Maybe he meant another person. Not Fraser, her loving husband, the Laird of Clan Glenbogle. Not the one who had promised to return home to her and Ava. Just how would they survive without him? It had better be a joke. A cruel joke. She fell into deep thought as she picked her skirts and ran back to the keep

  At the keep, she saw multitudes gathered around the entrance. Then, it dawned on her that the words those men spoke might be true. Within the courtyard, she saw women chattering excitedly, reuniting with their husbands in happy, tight embraces while at the other end of the courtyard, other women were screaming and wailing. Her lips pursed into a tight seam as she glanced about, looking for signs of Fraser or Callum.

  “Pardon me, my lady,” said a servant woman as she approached, her head bowed. “The Council desires yer audience immediately, my lady. The elders await you in the Council Chamber.” She stretched her hand to indicate great doors that lead into the keep and the rooms within.

  “Of course,” said Gretchen, her heart a heavy weight in her chest. It must be true, then. Her husband was dead. Casting one last look around the courtyard, hoping for a glimpse of Callum, at least, she sighed and headed for the stairs.

  Arriving at the Council Chamber, she knocked discreetly and waited. A guard appeared promptly, opening the door with a grim look on his face. “Morning, my lady,” he said, his serious expression turning sheepish. She nodded at him and walked past, entering the sepulchral space. Wiping tears from her eyes, she schooled her expression and turned to face the elders.

  Gretchen hurried out of the keep with her hands covering her face. Her dream, nay, nightmare, had come true! Mindlessly, she ran into the gardens behind the keep. The afternoon breeze had stiffened, and her skirts billowed around her as she jogged. Insects buzzed, and birdsong filled the air; the scents of honeysuckle and roses teased her nostrils. Life seemed to go on, despite her world collapsing around her.

  “Here, we had our first kiss!” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she approached an arbor twined with tiny red roses. Fingering a blossom, Gretchen wondered what she would tell her daughter. She collapsed on a bench and buried her face in her hands, letting her grief overtake her.

  After what seemed like a long time, she rose to her feet and headed again for the village. She would go visit Callum at the inn where she’d learned that he was being treated now and hear from him all that had happened. Arriving at the inn, she entered and requested to see Callum. Soon enough, she traced her way to the room where he was being cared for. As soon as she saw his condition, she burst into tears once more.

  A pair of healers ran back and forth, fetching towels and water and cutting linen into large strips. Callum’s limp body lay on the bed, his boots tugged off. She also noticed they were about to remove the bloodstained clothes he wore under his armor. One of the healers dipped a clean rag into the warm water and washed the bloodstains from Callum’s body, the smears turning rust-colored where they had dried amid the blond fleece of his chest. Gretchen blushed. How powerful, yet defenseless and subtle he looked, the elegant lines of his body trimmed to a new leanness, his muscles honed by constant physical training and his recent battles.

  As she made a move toward Callum to examine his wound, the arrival of the physician prevented her. She flashed the physician a quick glance. She knew him, of course, she did — the whole clan knew him. The physician was Allan, a skillful medical man of sterling reputation, who had attended to her father in the past. She tossed words of greetings at him and left the room so he could see to his patient.

  Physician Allan examined Callum, cleaned the wound, and covered it with a light dressing. “The vein wasn’t touched, and I see no internal bleeding; it’s just a large wound. He should recover soon,” he told Gretchen, his beardless face wearing a grave expression. “It’s nae a significant injury. The recovery heavily depends on the strength of the man, the quality of his care, and constant intake of the herbs I will recommend. It’s almost certain there would be a bit of fever but do keep him clean and rested. Feed him water and buttermilk and administer this bottle of opiate syrup for his discomfort. And I’m so sorry about yer husband. He was a good man. The Clan Glenbogle shall live to remember him. His demise is a great loss to us all,” the physician said and handed a bottle to her. She murmured a thank you to him with a sniff and wandered toward Callum. His pallor alarmed her.

  * * *

  Some days later, after constant care had been administered to Callum, he awoke to the cheerful glow of a tiny flame. A candle sat on the bedside table. He noticed someone sitting on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he sat up with a fluffy pillow stuffed to his back for support.

  “My lady!” he croaked. He could see the curves of her breasts under their thin covering and smell the fragrance of her hair. He blushed as he responded to her nearness. He was aware of nothing else in this room beyond the beautiful face of Gretchen. He suddenly remembered Fraser and how he had saved him. Instantly, he was ashamed and buried his head in his hands. “Fraser died saving me! I should have died in his stead! Forgive me
, my lady. I couldnae protect my friend,” he managed to say as a trickle of tears made their way down his chin.

  Gretchen placed her soft hands on his back. “It will be all right,” came her subtle voice, crawling into his ears. Callum saw the anguish in her eyes although she tried her best to hide it, and he made a vow. If he be graced to recover from the injury, he shall take good care of Gretchen and her daughter.

  She’s my best friend widow, but I will make sure to always protect her.

  Chapter Two

  Before a week passed, it was evident that Callum would make a full recovery. He was healing at a remarkable rate, though not fast enough for the satisfaction of the Council of Elders. Although they mourned the Laird’s death, still there was a need to appoint a new one as soon as possible. The Council had put forth the names of a few experienced warriors, but there was always a countermotion, and the decision had to be tabled. Everyone had then put their minds together, their thoughts as one: Callum was the right man; he met all the requirements in age, body, warfare art, weapon-handling, and, most importantly, he commanded respect. But he wasn’t healing fast enough, so the Council continued to deliberate and dither.

  Meanwhile, Callum had gathered strength enough to wear his regular clothes, to have real food, and even though he had been weak still, he had insisted on leaving his bed and hobbling around the inn, stubbornly ignoring Gretchen’s incessant rebukes. Like the late Fraser, he was the sort of man who found relying on someone and owing his life to others the most challenging thing on Earth. He seemed to be always swamped with the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude and shame anytime he saw Gretchen.

  He could look neither Gretchen nor her daughter in the eyes. The worst of all moments was when he was alone with Gretchen. Every time she sat by the edge of his bed, he experienced a frightening connection, a swell of familiar emotion, and he fought it as he’d always done. He felt an awkward yearning for Gretchen’s closeness. Perhaps he thought she was the one who could give him the best care, or maybe he felt the healing in her soft hands when she’d tend to his wounds. Whatever would happen in the future, he needed to get better first and figure out the best way to avoid unnecessary addictions.

  * * *

  The evening was unusually dark. The bright moon had refused to show and had been replaced by the cold light of a pale moon, weakly illuminating the night. Gretchen wandered toward her window and stood beside the brightly burning candles. She looked at the moon from her window, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “I wish he was here! The night wouldnae be silent, the tears would have been joyous, and I shall have nae worry! Come to me, my laird! Wake up fer us,” she managed to mutter amid her sniffs and quavering.

  “Mama! Why do ye cry?” Ava’s voice called out from behind her as she stood at the far end of the room, gazing with tears welling in her eyes.

  “My wee lass do nae be sad; this time shall pass us. Come here,” Gretchen said softly, stretching her hands toward Ava. She snuggled Ava to her and cuddled her. “This time shall pass us by.” If there had ever been a time she was not sure of something, it was now. Fraser gone, Callum injured, winter coming, and Ava’s growth became her objects of worry. She remembered the words again and patted Ava’s back.

  Another week had gone, and Callum had recovered fully. The day had come to bury Fraser. The clan’s people gathered at the keep for the wake. During this time, it was customary for others to visit the family’s home to offer sympathy and assistance, and to view the body. Owing to his status, Fraser’s corpse was laid out in the great hall.

  As Callum entered the keep, Gretchen’s heart thudded almost audibly. She had never felt so sad before, and now on the day of the burial, the truth of her loss finally hit her. She’d lost someone who had loved her, the father of her child. Throwing a feeble glance at the door, she found Callum’s tall body standing there, his face creased with grief, and she realized she must have truly needed him to be there, after all. As he stared at her with his pale face, something in his eyes calmed her. Compassion?

  A soft hiss crawled out of another man’s lips. He was tall and broad and wore a fierce expression on his face. Gregory was his name, and he was also an experienced warrior who had fought many times alongside Fraser. Like Callum, he might have been killed in battle if not for the quick intervention of the Laird.

  “He was a kindly man! His loss is a big shock tae us all! I will surely avenge his death. We shall wipe out the MacLaren.” Gregory said, his voice tight with grief.

  Realizing it was finally over, Gretchen pressed her hands to her face and closed her brimming eyes. “Farewell, my love,” she whispered, tears slipping down her pale cheeks. After a moment, Gretchen felt Gregory’s hands lifting her away from the casket.

  “My lady,” Gregory murmured softly, his face thrown into shattering wrinkles, “I would have tae move the body for the funeral. Go with Ava to the other room.”

  Gretchen nodded and tried to move, but her legs had been glued to the floor. She felt one of the women who had come to sympathize with her smooth her hair back, and then the dry move of her mouth over her forehead in a soft, subtle kiss. Blindly, she moved away and stumbled toward Callum. Callum came to her and pressed a handkerchief into her palm. Too distraught to look into his face, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose while Callum led her and Ava from the room.

  * * *

  As they walked away, it dawned on Callum to think about Fraser’s death again.

  “Ah! Say m-me w-well tae m-my wife…” Fraser’s stuttering voice called out from his head.

  He remembered the blood spluttering from his mouth when the sword thrust into his stomach, and the startled expression on his face as he looked to him for help. Sadly, he couldn’t help, and the realization of his inability to do so haunted him. At least, Fraser had died trying to save him from the MacLaren soldiers that had surrounded him and doubtless would have killed him.

  Callum recalled yet again the times they had spent together brawling, training, fishing, and hunting. The adventures and the dos they had organized jointly. Amid the tears on his face, a smile touched the corners of his lips. He would miss Fraser. He held Gretchen’s hands tightly and regarded Ava with a mild, affectionate gaze while his lips tilted in a promising smile. Again, he silently vowed to take good care of her and her child. They were his responsibility now. Even if no one had told him so, he was obliged.

  The funeral had been observed, and life returned to normal at Clan Glenbogle. The keep swarmed with elders, which led to more guards watching over each and every door of the keep. Within the Council Chamber, the large sconces scattered light over the intricately marbled floor, like glittering dew. The head of the Council, High Elder Gilbert, was seated in his chair, clad in silver regalia. His neck was swathed with gold and gems, his fingers and wrists adorned with rings. Before him sat the other twenty-four members of the Council of Elders, and seventeen veteran warriors stood nearby also, all wearing grim looks. Most were dressed in beautiful white robes and matching creaseless footwear. The clothes were tailored with a touch of majestic elegance, making natural movement much more comfortable than they would have been in the constricting garments of the recent past.

  The meeting for the appointment of a new laird was taking place. It was necessary to resolve all issues so that a new laird may be seated as soon and possible to lead the clan’s warriors and reduce their exposure to any impending threats, particularly from the MacLaren.

  “Tis our third seating, and I greatly look to see it be the last. All suggestions shall be welcome, all nominations shall be noted. The Clan Glenbogle needs a new laird. The village is crying for protection, and we shall give tae it.” Elder Gilbert’s voice called out to the assemblage. “Proceed! The floor is opened for suggestions.” The Elder eased back in his chair, brushing his mustache with his index finger.

  “Yer lordship, I am Elder Alistair, the eldest of us,” spoke an aged man, his face wreathed with wrinkles and nary a hair on his bald head
. “We know how sad the situation in the village is, yet protocols cannae be neglected, we have tae proceed with our traditions. The land should be protected from threats, tis facts-backed; I nominate Sir Dunkin, a wonderful fighter who’s right tae the lairdship cannae be discarded. He is cousin tae Laird Fraser. He could lead with wit and knowledge. He would ensure that the village and farms are well-protected from invaders and hoodlums and ensure the provision of cattle and crops for trade.”

  The Head Elder gazed around the room, searching for a consensus from the other elders about the nomination, but found none. He knew it was sure to be a controversial decision if he granted the appointment. The nominated man was a good warrior but had been known to be a bit light-fingered and deceptive. It could be a detriment to the financial and political status of the Glenbogle clan to have such a one ascend to the lairdship.

  Although his claim to the lairdship was valid, being a fourth cousin to the previous laird, his attitude made him an inadequate consideration for the title. The Council of Elders, in the absence of the Laird, was the highest decision-making authority in the clan, and they knew the power of the position was such that no one, not even Gilbert, the High Elder, could question his judgment in formal affairs. So, he would rather not have that kind of man in the ruling seat. However, he would not be biased, and such was why he first sought the acquiescence of the Council before taking the nomination or overruling it. With no one supporting the motion, Elder Gilbert nullified it.