A Highlander’s Terror_A Medieval Scottish Romance Story Read online

  Amabel and Joanna shared a glance.

  No, Amabel thought, frightened. Please, don't let it be.

  “What is it, Colla?” Joanna asked gently.

  “Oh! Mistress! It be Glenna! She fell! Oh! Please, my lady! She's sorely wounded...”

  Amabel bit her lip. She wanted to cry. She looked up into her mother's eyes and they shared a long, slow look.

  She knows. She knows I knew. Amabel shivered.

  “Let us see what happened,” Joanna said gravely. She walked away, leaving Amabel, staring behind her.

  She doesn't care, Amabel thought sadly, feeling hot tears spring to her eyes. She dashed them away angrily, not wanting the servants to see her cry. She ran from the room and into the hallway.

  Mother thinks because she has this gift, it's only a good thing. She thinks I can learn to manage it as she has. She doesn't understand! I wish it would go away.

  She went down the hallway to join her mother at the foot of the stairs, to see what could be done. As she walked to the small group of servants, standing around huddled and distressed, she had another thought.

  I wonder if I can foretell my own future?

  She tried to make herself see something, but all she could see was the outline of a hunched shape on horseback, a man much too broad-shouldered and bulky for the small hunting horse he rode. He had something different about him, a hard, bright strength in his presence, like a groomed horse, conscious and confident of its power.

  She shook her head to clear it.

  It's just my imagination, she told herself impatiently.

  She went to join the others at the foot of the stairs, to see what she could do.

  CHAPTER ONE

  RETURN AND MAKING PLANS

  RETURN AND MAKING PLANS

  It is good to be back home again,” Joanna sighed.

  Amabel, crossing the threshold of the turret room, let out a matching sigh and nodded.

  “Yes, Mama, it is.”

  “Though I trust you had fun at the capital?” Joanna asked gently. “You did find some beautiful dresses, at least,” she added, smiling. “Enough to take along when we return in the spring.”

  “Yes, Mother, I did.”

  Amabel ran a hand down her dress, a long one with a train and a “V”-cut waist, the overdress of midnight velvet and the underskirt of blue brocade. It was a magnificent creation. She and her mother had gone to the markets near the cathedral and bought a lot of costly cloth, some of which they'd had made up into gowns while staying at the court. She'd need them when they returned.

  Joanna smiled. “You can wear it to the ball tonight too, my dear. I hope it wasn't too much to organize a returning party – but it is hunting season, and your father does have a name to keep up in the district...” she shook her head, a smile of fond exasperation on her face.

  Amabel nodded. Her father, since moving here the year before she was born, had thrown much of his energy into reviving the hunting here at Lochlann; restocking the woodlands with game, cutting pathways, employing around twenty verderers, woodsman and hunt-staff. Still, she knew it wasn't only for that reason that he had planned a ball here in January. It was for her.

  She was twenty years old and they wished her to wed.

  “We should go and supervise the dinner,” Joanna continued. “I think I'll order the ham taken down – if we don't use it now it'll spoil, and we expect twenty guests, and of course all the men-at-arms and woodsmen will also be here...”

  Amabel nodded. Her mother was a capable manager, but she seemed to like to include Amabel in her choices and plans – something she had done since Amabel was a small child.

  “Mother, you've only just arrived! Should you not rest a while?” she asked, concerned.

  Joanna chuckled. “You're sensible, dear. Come. Let us sit and take some small ale. Blaire?” she called a maid who was passing.

  “Yes, milady?”

  “Cakes and ale, please. And do tell Lord Dougal he's welcome to join us, if he's not already closeted with his accounts.”

  Joanna and Amabel rolled their eyes at each other, and Amabel smiled.

  “Oh, Mother,” she said as they took seats opposite each other on the carved wooden seats in the cozy turret room, “I am glad to see you alone – it seems like we hardly saw each other in the capital! I have so much to say to you now...” she trailed off as Amabel chuckled fondly.

  “I know! So many things to see and do, always surrounded by people...you know it wears on me, my daughter.” She sighed, leaning back on the seat and closing her eyes.

  Amabel nodded slowly. She knew how much the constant pressure of being in the public eye weighed on her mother. She herself was rather indifferent to it, if people wanted to stare at her, in admiration or censure, then she was happy to let them stare. However, for her mother, it was a drain on her resources. It was good to see her feeling at ease again in the comfort of their private turret room.

  She heard Blaire cross the threshold with a tray – the earthenware pitcher of ale jarred on the metal surface, goblets clattering lightly together with the woman's progress across the floor.

  “Ah,” Joanna looked up from where she'd been looking at the clan ring on her finger. “Thank you, Blaire.”

  She dimpled. “A pleasure, milady.”

  While she laid out the table – the scent of freshly cooked spicy cakes wafting up to Amabel's nose from the tray – Amabel let herself focus on her own worries about the ball.

  I don't want Father to pick out a husband for me.

  She knew it was customary for her parents to at least strongly suggest someone, though she also knew that her mother was not the sort of person who would force her choice. Her parents had chosen each other – though they were both perfectly suited to each other in status also – and Lady Joanna had promised to allow her daughter the same freedom.

  Provided I choose soon enough.

  She sighed, thinking of that. She was twenty years old. She knew it was old to be unmarried, or at least without any prospect in mind. Her own mother had been her age when she wed, and, though neither of her parents discussed it openly, she knew they were worried about her.

  I don't care, she thought hotly. If they think I am inadequate, let them think it. She knew in her heart that she did care, very deeply. It was just that being defiant was easier than letting their subtle disapproval hurt.

  “You know, my daughter,” Joanna said softly. She was still looking at her hands.

  “Do I know what, Mama?” Amabel asked.

  “You are a strong character. But you will have to be.”

  Amabel frowned. “Mama?”

  Joanna looked at her sightlessly and Amabel shivered. She knew her mother was not in the present, but seeing some distant possible future. She leaned back and kept quiet. Her mother's vision wavered and cleared. She blinked at her, and then sighed, settling back down.

  “Mama?” Amabel asked. She was anxious, for her mother often felt weak and shaky after such happenings. She was also curious. What had she seen?

  Joanna blinked. “Sorry, dear. You know how it is...”

  “I know,” Amabel said gently. “Mama? What did you see?”

  Joanna shook her head to clear it. “Mayhap nothing. A strong man. A man you'll need your will to challenge.”

  “A man?” Amabel frowned. “Is he a dangerous man?” She thought of her exiled uncle, a man who had almost assassinated her father for want of his inheritance. She shivered.

  Joanna paused. “I don't know,” she said after thinking. “I couldn't see. But you must be careful of him, my daughter. He brings danger with him.”

  “Oh.” Amabel looked down at her hands, thinking. She knew it was never wise to ask too much – visions were not clear and sometimes trying to read into them was more perilous than simply listening and remembering. She stared into the leaping flames of the fire.

  “You expect many visitors?” Amabel asked instead, changing the subject.

  “Around t
wenty, as I said,” Joanna commented. She also was staring at the hearth fire. “The Barries from the valley, and the McLemand and his sons...”

  Amabel closed her eyes. Arthur and Bruce were the bane of her life. Each was courteous, personable and polite; they were everything her mother wanted for her. This was, of course, the problem.

  “Yes?” she asked. “Who else?”

  Joanna closed her eyes, thinking. “Well, I think Blanchard Knox from Gowan Hill will be here, and the Whitlaws, but you should ask your father.”

  “I will,” Amabel nodded. She frowned. “Will Douglas come?” Douglas McIntosh was the only man she'd met whom she actually liked. He was quiet, sensitive and marginally interesting.

  “I do not know,” Joanna said. “I think so.”

  “Good,” she agreed softly. They sat quietly a while.

  “I'm glad to be back,” Joanna said softly, staring into the flames. “If just for a while. It's been a hard winter.”

  “Indeed,” Amabel agreed. She took a sip of the mulled ale, boiled to reduce the alcohol and flavored with spices. It was a warming drink for a wintry afternoon. It had been very cold this winter. The roads from Edinburgh would have been impassable had they delayed their journey back by a week. As it was, they arrived in good time. Now they were having a ball.

  “I should go and check on the hall,” she commented.

  “I'll come,” Joanna insisted, sitting up and putting her tankard down.

  “No, Mother,” Amabel said gently. “Don't fret yourself. I'll go down. I know what needs doing, too.”

  Joanna chuckled, evidently noticing the thin asperity in that voice. “I know you do, dear. You're very capable. Sometimes I worry that you're too capable. Too strong...”

  Amabel was shocked, brow lifting. “Mother?”

  Joanna sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Don't mind me, dear,” she said. “I'm sure it's likely nothing...”

  Amabel frowned. Her mother was looking fixedly into the fire and she guessed she had seen something. She sighed.

  All this talk of the future is bothering me. I want to forget about it. Can I not just enjoy the present moment?

  She walked lightly out of the door and down the hallway.

  In the colonnade, the brightness of the late afternoon light on snow caught her eye, dazzling it. From the gallery one could see out over the tall, pine tree forest, out across the roofs of the storehouses and the keep, and to the distant snow-peaked hills. It was a cold scene, a harsh scene. She drew her shawl around her shoulders and walked down the stairs, wanting to steer clear of the hard, cold landscape beyond the windows.

  In the hall, she was met with the customary bustle and fuss. The benches were being moved out, fresh rushes strewn over the cold gray flagstones, and there were maids sweeping the dais, while men hauled in a vast tree trunk to burn in the huge hearth on the left wall.

  “Ah, Glenna,” Amabel smiled at her maid. She had survived the fall, though she bore a long scar bisecting her top lip, and her one shoulder had been broken and healed stiff. “Is all to plan?”

  “It is, milady, it is,” Glenna nodded. She was gravely lovely and one barely noticed the scar.

  “We have the hangings airing outside?” Amabel asked, noting some spaces on the walls where tapestries were missing.

  “Indeed, milady. Warding off the moths.”

  Amabel nodded. “Very good. I see you're more than capable of organizing things here,” she added with a smile at her grave maid. “I'll head to the kitchen.”

  “Very good, milady.”

  Amabel turned in the doorway just as the housekeeper came up, looking worried.

  “Milady!” she said. “Oh, thank goodness. With your father busy and your mother closeted upstairs...I didn't know who to turn to! The guests are arriving!”

  “Oh,” Amabel felt her heart leap in her chest and fought for composure. She wasn't going to let some guests ruffle her. “Let me show them in, Mrs. Knott.”

  “Oh, thank you, milady.”

  Amabel headed out and into the hallway, heading for the main doors.

  She was there as Lord Alexander, father of Arthur, arrived, and Blanchard, her father's trusted vassal lord from the next valley.

  “Good evening, Lord Blanchard,” she greeted the compact man with the balding head earnestly. He grinned.

  “Lady Amabel! I declare! You grow lovelier every time I see you.” He looked at her with big eyes. She chuckled.

  “Thank you, Lord Blanchard,” she said, smiling fondly. Her father's bonnet lord was a good friend of the family, and always friendly to her. “Come up to the solar. We'll have refreshments laid. And Glenna will show you to your chamber,” she added, raising a brow as she caught sight of Glenna, who caught her indication and hurried up to help.

  Amabel went back to the door. “Ah! Lord Alexander. Arthur. Bruce.” She curtsied to the two youths who stood behind him. Tall and red-haired, elegant in thick fur cloaks, the two young men were smooth, regal replicas of their tall, debonair father.

  “My lady!” Alexander said, beaming. “You must please let your father know how we appreciate his invitation so.”

  Amabel nodded. “I shall.”

  “Yes,” Arthur added smoothly. “It will be a fine pleasure to shoot with him here on his estate. I look forward to it.”

  “Thank you,” Amabel nodded. She found herself looking at the flagstones, rather than Arthur's face, feeling shy. She knew her cheeks were red and she felt a flare of impatience with herself.

  He's just a person, Amabel.

  She made herself look at him.

  A tall young man with chin-length hair of red, he had a smooth, handsome face and heavy-lidded hazel eyes that gave him the look of a sleepy hawk, just waking on a perch somewhere.

  “My lord,” she said in a small, polite voice.

  “Lady Amabel,” he greeted her, bowing and kissing her hand. His lips were cold from the winter air and they pressed that coolness against her knuckles, the slight moisture of his breathing pressing on her skin. “An honor to see you again so soon here.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  He and his brother had come to the house in autumn, when her father held a similar party then. She felt awkward, almost as if her father was putting too much effort into introducing her around the neighboring lords. She shook her head, curling black hair tossing on her shoulder. She was not going to let herself fall into thinking like that.

  She saw Arthur's eyes widen and then fall back to sleepy smoothness and knew that he was impressed by her. She had lived with her own striking looks for long enough to be subtly aware of their effect. Sometimes it made her impatient too, though. I'm not just pretty hair and blue eyes.

  She sighed. Bruce, his brother, a blonde-haired version of his sleepy hawk-eyed brother, was bowing over her hand.

  “My lady,” he said courteously. “A pleasure to see you again.”

  Amabel smiled at Bruce. He had big green eyes, more earnest than his brother's, and was two years her junior. She liked Bruce somewhat more than Arthur, though she felt he was too obsessed with being as good as his brother in everything. It warped his otherwise easygoing character.

  “It's a pleasure to see you too, Bruce,” she said fondly. “Now, my lords. Please. Let Mrs. Knott show you to your chambers. I'll have refreshments sent to the solar when you're ready for them.”

  “Thank you,” Lord Alexander said smoothly. He walked in, stamping the snow off his outdoor shoes on the step before walking in. His sons followed.

  “My lady,” Arthur said, calling her as she turned, about to head back to the hall. “Come, walk with us. I feel the need to talk – I've not seen you in months.”

  She made herself walk up the stairs with them though, in her heart, she was chafing to be elsewhere. It wasn't the company – Arthur and Bruce were perfectly polite – it was the courtly courtesy and the impeccable etiquette. She felt as if they were acting in a mummer's play, not really speaking to each othe
r.

  “It was a long ride?” she asked lightly.

  “Mm, indeed,” Arthur nodded. “Snow as high as my boot-soles as we rode along the roads. I thank Heaven for whichever poor souls cut the ditches.”

  “Yes,” Amabel agreed.

  He sighed. “Though I shouldn't burden a lady with such unpleasant thoughts.”

  Amabel felt her brow rise. She had accompanied her mother to heal wounded woodsmen, seen probably more of suffering and hardship than Lord Arthur had! How dare he assume she was squeamish just because of her gender?

  “My heart is with any who have to work in this cold weather, my lord,” she said thinly.

  “You are too kind, milady,” Arthur said softly.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “You will accompany the hunt party?” he asked.

  Amabel shook her head. “Not this year,” she said.

  “Good,” he replied, giving her a soft smile. “It is no place for delicate ladies. I always was shocked that your father approved your riding with us.”

  Amabel closed her eyes, reaching for calm. “My father neither approved nor disapproved,” she said thinly. “Fergus, our tracker, said I have the skills.”

  Arthur's thin brows shot up. “Your father entrusted a lowly woodsman with your safety?”

  “Fergus is a skilled verderer,” Amabel observed. “He's not a simple woodsman of any sort,” she added. “And I'd be safer with him than with anyone else.”

  “Not safer than with me, milady,” he said. “I am a gentleman.”

  “Yes,” Amabel agreed, “you are.”

  They eventually reached the top of the steps and Amabel waved them to the left.

  “Please,” she said courteously, “let Mrs. Knott show you along to your chambers. I must attend to business in the courtyard.”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  As Arthur bowed to her and she dropped a courtly curtsy, Amabel found her heart racing with relief. She almost ran away across the lower hallway, heading out through the big double door and into the snowy courtyard, the flagstones brushed clear of snowfall, the wind harsh and plucking at the thin shawl and gown she wore.