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

  Your uncle,

  Elder Steins.

  Callum read the message slowly, and after he was done, he folded the scroll and flashed a considering glance at Gregory. “How dae we help when we haven’t received a help request from their laird?” he said. He rolled the scroll open, read through again, finished, and looked up. “It’s a serious issue, but I dae nae think the MacLaren would want tae attack any clan close tae us again. If ye could persuade yer uncle tae have a talk with the Laird and send an official letter. Then, I’d table it tae the Council and gather the men for train fer warfare. If that could be done, there would nae be much problem, but if it’s the other way, I’m afraid I might nae be able tae help.” Callum rolled the scroll closed and passed it back to Gregory. There was a long silence before Gregory sighed and made to speak.

  “Gratitude, my laird! I shall write back tae my uncle and discuss how best we could help them with the war,” Gregory said, wiping sweat from his face. He looked through the window, glanced up at the clouds, and rose. “I shall take my leave now, my laird.” He hesitated, looking for a moment as if he might say something more, then clutched his hand on his golden sword and turned for the door.

  “Thank ye, too, fer yer time, Sir Gregory. Dae nae forget tae go to the northern crofts and confirm the rumor, and dae feed me back on yer letter to yer uncle. Dae have a nice day” Callum said, flashing him a smile.

  “Yes, my laird!” Gregory said, took a bow, and left the room.

  Callum took time to reflect on had just happened. He wondered if the MacLaren would still dare to send a scroll for war to a nearby clan after what had happened. He felt awkward. The last time he had heard any development from the MacLaren was a rumor about initiating a truce. Although nothing like that had happened, there were spies in the MacLaren clan, and none had ever written to him about warfare training by the MacLaren, which could indicate the intent to wage war rather than just posturing.

  His brain split into different thought patterns, thinking about where the scroll could have come from. “Why would the MacLaren call for war anyway?” he growled softly, searching for answers within the confines of the room. “If they had called fer war, we shall fight it and defeat them again. Bloody MacLaren men!” He scowled and emptied his cup of ale down his throat.

  The day was seeping into wintry noon as the sun glared softly against the earth’s surface. A white horse galloped at full speed on the road running parallel to the River Ness. So fast did the horse fly that it seemed to hover above the dirt path and its rider clung to its back like a tick.

  As the horse ran past a copse of withered trees, the rider made the horse turn left into a nearby bush and jumped the pile of stones marking the bounds of land ownership. The rider, who was dressed in light armor, with a silver helmet covering his head, pulled back fiercely on the reins as the horse flew past some fallen branches. The horse neighed loudly in protest and screeched to a halt.

  He jumped down from the horse and quickly slipped into the dark, silent bush. He walked for some moments and noticed a cliff covered by grass. As got closer, he saw the entrance to the cave was opened.

  “Why is the cave opened?” he said softly and looked around. He brought his hand to the sword resting at his waist, swung it out from its scabbard, and crept softly toward the entrance of the cave. As he crept, his eyes searched around for horses or wagons nearby. There were only five others who knew the path to the cave, and the other four had been away in England. Who could have left the cave entrance open? Perhaps they were back from the journey and had decided to surprise him, but they should have known that he hated surprises.

  As he wandered further into the cave, a big rock was suddenly rolled across the entrance, covering the rays of the sun and any escape out of the cave.

  The man tilted his head in the direction of the entrance and made a mental note of the approaching danger. He thought of running to the entrance to see for himself who could have rolled the big stone across the mouth of the cave, but the only thing he could see was blinding darkness. He was now afraid and was wondering what could have happened. He heard footsteps approaching in his direction, and from his experience of fights and warfare, he knew they were coming from different directions. He whisked his second sword out and turned around, waiting for the right time to charge.

  The footsteps stopped, and the man was turning around, too. “Show yerselves, cowards, and fight me!” the man shrieked, making a clanging sound with his swords. The only thing he could hear was the bouncing reflection of his echoes. “Show yerselves, ye piece of shites. If ye have the nerves,” he shrieked again turning in a circle. Quick footsteps hurried toward him, and before he could turn and do anything, a hefty punch landed on his face. Git! The blow caught his face and made him stumble to the ground.

  “Ahaha! Look at the good-fer-nothing warrior we entrust the cave with?” a thick voice called out.

  “A warrior that couldnae defend the cave from invaders?” another voice called out in a scoffing tone.

  “Leave him be. We scared him too badly. He was a just man tae be afraid.”

  “Show yerselves cowards! Haha!” another voice mocked, mimicking the man who was on the ground. Suddenly, there was the sound of two stones being scratched against each other, and a torch flared to life.

  The man who had stumbled to the floor lifted his head in the direction of the standing men. Although his vision had yet to recover from the massive punch, he still could count the numbers. There were four of them. Four gallant men standing in armored clothes, and all had swords resting on their hips.

  “Rise tae yer feet, Frederick. We are back from the trip!” George, a huge man with a white beard and dressed in leather armor, spoke in a deep voice. He offered a hand to Frederick, and he took it and rose to his feet. “How yeng ye still look and inexperienced!” George said, glaring at Frederick’s thin body and small hands. “Ye need tae master the act of fighting in darkness if ye will ever gaetae war!” George paused and glanced at the other men who had wild grins on their faces. “Ye will get back tae the training soon. Ye’ll have tae convince me tae entrust ye with anything ever again.”

  “It wouldn’t be a severe war since Sir Dunkin will soon become the laird of the clan, then we can take our seats on the Council and Frederick could train the men on how tae shout ‘show yerselves, ye cowards.’ Sadly, we won’t be training them in the act of cowardice, but the art of warfare,” said Scoffield, a hefty man with a bald head, black beard, and a huge sword. He guffawed, and the other three men joined him, pointing at Frederick, who had a frown on his face.

  Judging from Frederick’s look, one wouldn’t doubt he was obviously nursing thought to run his sword through their guts, but that was like a suicide mission. George was the second-in-command of the group for his vast experience in warfare. Scoffield’s expertise was in quick counterattacks and pulling his enemy down quickly. The two others, Justine and Orwell, were masters of the sword. It dawned on him that although he was the youngest member of the group, at least he should be acknowledged for being smart enough to write scrolls in anyone’s voice and deliver them to the right person.

  “Sir Dunkin has sent for us all. I guess it’s the time to act! I heard ye did a good job delivering the scroll to Sir Gregory. And Owen wrote to us about seeing Sir Gregory riding to the Laird’s court last morning. He must have seen the letter, too, and will act upon it.” George said, patting Frederick on his back. A faint smile crossed his lips as he felt the pat on his back. At least he was getting back his accolades now. “Thanks tae ye, Sir George!” he said as he picked his swords and slid them into their scabbards.

  “Sir Dunkin will soon be here, and he’ll be glad tae see how far we have come. I doubt he would want us tae execute Sir Gregory. He seemed tae be quite fond of his expert fighting skills. Help me with this boulder, Orwell!” Justine, a young man of about twenty-five years with a muscular body and a pretty face said.

  “We can only be hopeful! I cannae wait to have my
place as a commander of the fifty. Have my white horse, wagons, guards, maids and lots of crops in my enclave.” Orwell, who shared the same features with Justine, said and walked toward the stone. They winced as they rolled the boulder off the entrance of the cave. Sunlight washed into the cave, providing enough light to see themselves clearly.

  “Justine and Orwell, we will need ye tae hunt for some animals. I am getting hungry, and we have to wait for Sir Dunkin here. He should be here before nightfall.” George said and glanced toward Frederick.

  “I will need ye to lead the horses tae the stable. Feed and water them, if the meeting with Sir Dunkin goes well, tomorrow will be a day for a long ride.” He paused and glanced at Scoffield, who was sharpening his swords with a file. “Scoffield! Ye will ride with me to the border to welcome Sir Dunkin tonight after the meal.”

  “Yes, sir!” Scoffield replied and slid his sword into its scabbard.

  The day had finally slipped into night. The glaring afternoon sun had been replaced by a moon, peeking through the clouds. It was cold and slightly damp. George and Scoffield sat on their horses, spying at the empty road, squinting their eyes to be sure of any approaching figures. After some hours of waiting, they caught the slight glow of torchlight burning faintly from the far end of a small bridge across which lay the MacKenzie’s village.

  “There are only a wagon and four horses,” Scoffield said.

  “Yes! I can see it, too. It’s Sir Dunkin’s wagon. Come on! Let’s go welcome him.” George said and pulled his horse’s reins, turned left, and rode off to the approaching wagon.

  “We shall have tae send another scroll tae Sir Gregory using the Laird’s diction. I heard the witless Laird Callum discarded the scroll sent, claiming it was nae from the Laird. If we send another scroll, we shall write tae them to come for an urgent meeting. They will surely take this route, and I can trust Justine tae take them out with his archery skills.” Sir Dunkin said as he climbed down from the wagon and walked into the cave.

  “Where dae we get an envoy to deliver the scroll and the flags?” George asked, walking behind Sir Dunkin.

  “That has been taken care of. I have someone paid tae sew for us the MacKenzie clan’s envoy robe and flag. We shall have nae problem,” Sir Dunkin said and smiled.

  “Then we should get the other members of the group ready. We will need more archers tae take down the Laird’s guards, for he will never walk alone.” Scoffield said as he left his horse at the nearby stable.

  “Yes! Send word to Owen to gather the men from the northern crofts and ride to this forest as early as possible. I am hungry! What dae ye have for me tae eat?” Sir Dunkin said, pulling off his armor and resting his swords on the wooden table which stood at the heart of the cave. He glanced around and nodded his head.

  “My laird, we have a roasted guinea fowl and some walnuts cooked. I have some fresh ale delivered some moments ago, too. I am sure ye would be glad tae have a taste,” Justine said and hurried toward another room in the cave where they have the foods prepared.

  Some hours crept by, and all the six men were gathered at a table that had diagrams and maps laid upon it. Justine and Orwell stood behind George, Scoffield and Sir Dunkin, who was sitting comfortably around the table.

  “I have vowed never to return to Glenbogle until I would have the lairdship conferred on me. Dae nae let this opportunity pass us by. We need tae be ready for the task. This is our only chance. Remember ye have benefits from me becoming the Laird, too,” he paused and glanced around the faces of the men. “He will surely march with few men and Sir Gregory from the river road to the MacKenzie bridge. Justine and the other archers will be at the cliff near the river where they should have a clear headshot. Then we will ride back after a month to the village,” Sir Dunkin said, drawing lines on the map with an evil smile touching the corners of his lips.

  He secretly thought about the life he would lead when he became the Laird, the place where he would live, the maids and servants he would have, the treasures he would control and enough young, beautiful village maidens that would be willing to marry him. He would become the head of them all. Determination steeled his spine. “I shall become the Laird!” he declared happily and smirked.

  Chapter Seven

  It was another bright day in Glenbogle Keep. The maids and guards moved to and fro around the keep, working at their jobs.

  Gretchen was wandering around the kitchen, reaching for the ingredients to make a special meal for the family, especially Callum and Merriam, especially Callum. She had gathered the ingredients to make the special meal some days ago from the village market. She would be making a tart for Callum. She had been making the tart since she was a toddler. She had learned the procedures of making the tart from her mother when she was little and tender, and she had been good at it. The aroma started to fill the kitchen even before she was done.

  “Mama! What are ye making?” Ava said, bouncing into the kitchen.

  “Oh, dear! Tis a special tart for the Laird and the family. Ye will like it sae much,” Gretchen said, turning the tart with a long spoon.

  “Thanks tae ye, Mama! I love tarts!” Ava said before she raced out of the kitchen.

  A couple of minutes after Ava left the kitchen, Callum walked in. He glanced around the kitchen and smiled when he saw Gretchen, who was dressed in a cooking outfit and was busy stirring the pot. His footsteps made Gretchen turn to him, smiling.

  “My laird, what brings ye tae the kitchen?” Gretchen asked shyly, trying her best to avoid looking at Callum.

  “I have come tae see the one who makes my nose fill with such beautiful aromas and my mouth long fer food instantly,” Callum said. He paused as he took a glance at the pot bubbling over the glowing fire. “What dae ye have there? I can’t remember perceiving this aroma before,” he said, looking a bit flustered.

  “Yes, my laird. This is a special tart made fer the family. Although it was specially made fer ye fer granting me a day’s break and allowing me tae meet th’other widaews,” Gretchen said, carving a smile on her face.

  “Ah! My lady! Ye duly deserve the break, and shouldn’t ye have rested yer head and eased yerself from stress?” Callum said and moved closer to her. “I really dae appreciate everything, my lady! I shall be glad tae taste from the tart.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and flashed her a big smile.

  The table was now set with Merriam, Ava, Gretchen, and Callum sitting around the table. The table had plates and cups resting on it. They were all grinning as Callum made a request for a third helping.

  “My lady, where dae ye learn how tae make this food?” Callum asked as he threw a piece of the tart into his mouth.

  “I learned from my mama while I was so yeng and tender,” Gretchen said slowly.

  “Tis a nice meal! If the process fer cooking it ain’t so long, I’d be glad tae have it as my meal every day” Merriam said and laughed.

  “Yes, Mama! Dae make it every day!” Ava said as she scooped the last piece on her plate into her mouth.

  “I implore ye tae teach Cook how tae make this. I will be glad tae have this tart served tae the people fer the gathering,” Callum said

  “I shall dae as ye say, my laird. I am glad that ye like the tart,” Gretchen said. She was happy seeing everyone praise her for the food. She liked the way Callum threw the pieces into his mouth and chewed nonchalantly. He reminded her of her late father. Such was the way she had watched him throw pieces of the tart into his mouth. If the war with the Welsh had not occurred, perhaps her father would have still been alive.

  After some minutes of chewing and drinking, the plates and cups were all empty. Gretchen and Ava packed the dishes into the kitchen, and after washing, they came back to the great room and sat down. Callum was also seated in the great room with his hands clutched to his belly. He had had enough food and was much satisfied.

  “Thanks tae ye fer the wonderful meal, again. I shall send fer Cook tae come for lessons. She should make this for the harvest gat
hering and put smiles on people’s faces,” he paused and took a moment to glance at Gretchen. He noticed she buried her head, and she had a big smile touching the corners of her lips. He seemed to grow fonder of her each day. He glanced at her curly hair that fell over her shoulders, and her green eyes were beaming with the glow of the burning candles. He silently wished he could touch her hands, feel their tenderness and softness. If there was anything he so much hoped for, it was being close to her again and again. “Such a graceful lady. Sae lovely, kindly, and tender,” he whispered to himself and moved his gaze away from her when he noticed she might catch him staring.

  “Eerm!” Callum cleared his throat. “Will I be asking for too much if I request of ye tae walk with me while we celebrate the harvest gathering?” Callum said, his gaze moving all around the room.