Keepers of the Highland Crown (Scotlanders: Mythic Clans – MacCade Brothers #2)

Chapter 1

“Lord MacMardan, your care in all these matters has been a most welcome find!” Lady Fawnella smiled at her late husband’s eldest son. Did it ever feel odd her stepson was well over a score older than her? Yep. Every. Single. Moment.

“I felt it necessary to make certain your widow’s dowry was bequeathed into your care, properly.

If you also recall, ’twas to be ‘Keithen’ as opposed to ‘Lord MacMardan’ when we last spoke in private.

” The copper hair brushed across his brow when inclined his skull towards her.

“I am simply relieved my efforts to seek you have been fruitful. The manner in which you vanished from my sire was rather unexpected.”

She lowered her gaze while they turned the corner from the passageway which led them into the open-skyed cloister.

Greenery lining the garden appeared in the full moon’s bright beams. Had the sight ever failed to calm her?

Nope, not once; it was visual chamomile to her frayed frigging nerves.

Her erratic breathing slowed. Why had it grown erratic in the first place?

Oh, right, the mention of your sire, Keithen, aka devil in the flesh.

This was the reason for running fast as possible.

“Keithen, please forgive my hasty leave—”

“Lady Fawnella” – Keithen halted her words – “I do understand my late sire was most wanting in certain aspects in his care toward you. This gave the fire for me to see the deed done about the dowry in your name.” Good, he’d changed the subject.

“The lands have been tended, and the coin shall be in your hand, forthwith. Shall you remain here?” He raised his palm, holding the parchments he’d brought regarding the widow’s dowry, toward the pillared covered archway which traveled around the gardens.

A score and four years old. Could she remain here?

Always. “Aye,” Nella replied hastily. “How do you fare? I was so terribly sorry to hear of your late wife and stillborn bairn.” Keithen’s flesh above the full beard matched its crimson color a moment.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to cause you more pain.”

Keithen smoothed his hand down his embroidered tunic as if he were smoothing his emotions. “Aye, ’tis a moment I would seek left silent.” He raised a bushy brow at her. “One who has not remained silent is my wee brother, Sir Sean.”

Her breath caught as her fingers tightened on the lantern in her grasp. “Has he been told I reside here?” Please, no, please say no.

“Nae, my lady, I thought to inquire first if you would wish for him to know of your whereabouts here.”

She breathed once more the scents by herbs flooding her senses. “I would wish this to remain between us.”

Keithen nodded. “Granted.” His eyes turned toward the garden. “’Tis truly a bounty in herbs.”

Footsteps with a familiar drag by the left foot sounded behind her before a voice from Abbess leapt in the exchange. “Aye! Our Lady Fawnella has been a true find for the gardens. They grow under her fingers as if her touch were sunshine and rain itself.” They just needed some extra TLC.

Keithen grinned. “I have never seen such a bounty in feverfew. She was a wonder at my late sire’s clan as well with the gardens.”

“A lord who knows his herbs,” Abbess said with awe.

“Aye,” Nella added, “Lord MacMardan carries a love for plants as well.”

“A rare find for a wealthy lord.” Abbess smiled. “Also, a most enduring trait I must say.” Abbess turned her weathered gaze toward Nella. “I have a chamber prepared for his lordship since the hour grows late. If you would care, I may show him.”

“Please.”

Keithen lifted the parchment in his grasp slightly at Nella. “Forthwith, all is settled. I shall return perhaps after the harvests are seen to?”

“For certain, I shall enjoy hearing how the bounty has fared.” Nella nodded then glanced at Abbess. Concern weighed her inquiry. “Abbot was not present at supper, nor have I seen him once this eve. Is he well?”

“Aye, he retired early in preparation for his leave upon the morrow. I also believe he still seeks a wee bit more rest from only just settlin’ back into this abbey after the negotiations with the Kingdom of Norway.

Our bones grow weary as yours grow stronger, my lady; you have labored here greatly.

” The silver eyebrows rose while she glanced at the gardens.

“The need was grand for your patients to have the herbs,” Nella replied. “’Twas nothing.”

Abbess looked at Keithen. “As we seek the path toward your chambers, you must tell me if the lady has always been so stubborn about her humbleness.”

Keithen chuckled, falling in stride beside Abbess. A shuffle noise sounded by Abbess’s habit with a drag by her limp from ill knees while she strode away under the covered arcade with Keithen before they vanished around the corner near the night stairs.

Was it the unexpected appearance by Keithen which drove the dire need at tending the garden on the cusp of darkness?

Aye. Peace. She craved it, same as flowers yearned for sunlight!

Her feet eagerly sought the basket she had tucked away near the garden’s fountain’s base.

What if Keithen told Sir Sean she was here?

No. He said he wouldn’t. Did she trust Keithen so very much?

Her years in his cruel sire’s grasp Keithen had always been kind. Aye, Keithen would not betray her.

Pluck. Pluck. As she tended the rosemary plantings, a sprig of a wayward plant heralding more to a flower than weed caught Nella’s eye. The fullest moon turned highest overhead, illuminating the find near her metal lantern. Wait, was that a rare primrose? How had it gotten here!

Pulling the tiny bloom, she swallowed hard.

Callum MacCade. It was the same flower Callum had given her the first time she had met her one true love.

Nella, the golden shade is the same as found within your bonny eyes.

Ha! That lying, nasty, mean, cruel, heartbreaking, bad-kissing…

well, not bad-kissing, excellent really, no more sublime in the most delicious sense of the word…

Wait. Just wait a damn moment! Liar? Aye.

Broke your heart? Aye. The flower landed in her basket while she gave a snort.

Wretched Scotsman, how dare you invade my thoughts.

When was the last time? Um, two days and ten; no, eleven hours, but who was bothering to keep track?

A door shuttered at the night stairs’ top. Her gaze looked toward the empty archway at ground level. There were more important things than considering a Scottish braggart, like making certain all those here were safe before taking a rest. Focus!

She glanced about, like a wee lass sneaking a forbidden treat.

No one present; time for a full chronicle.

As she tilted her head slightly, the instinct in sense she had sharpened after years by pain and practice on her innate immense ability to hear sharply rose at once.

All is well? Abbess closing the door on her chamber; a friar grousing about in the buttery under the structure.

Only one friar was still present there? Shuffle, shuffle, a single set of footsteps.

Aye, a lone friar. The sound signature was a long, slow stride; it must be the eldest friar newly arrived from Inverness.

Loud snore echoing the far chamber up the night stairs, a tiny grin stole her lips.

Abbot was getting his rest. Good, all is well in the abbey.

Beyond? Her brow furrowed as her head tilted a wee bit more, and her wimple grazed her temple.

Rustle off the far east side beyond the wall; tiny stride with a bit of a hop – hare.

Rustle along the wall like whiskers rubbing wood – cat? Squeak. No, it was a rat.

Wind whistling the pine needles, she closed her eyes then stretched her arms outward as the breeze took her skirts for a swirl about her ankles when it reached in the abbey’s open center.

Lovely. Was there ever a grander sound than the wind delicately playing nature’s song though the leaves and bramble and pine tree branches like it was whispering nature’s secrets?

No, there wasn’t. The night hunters joined the melody in a hoot. Huh, maybe an owl would catch the rat.

Pounding. Pounding by hooves. That was odd; at the far offside belonging to the massive meadow.

Deer herd? At this hour? No. Also the sound signature was too heavy, a steady three beats; it had to be a gallop by steeds.

How many? One, two… She gasped, five riders.

The beat from her heart raced quick as the beasts who approached.

“I seek nae one present to bear witness, burn them all in the flames,” a heavy Scottish brogue ordered. The voice’s sound signature was also lined with an odd hiss. “The abbot shall not see the light of day, only the blaze in fire hailing him toward death.”

Her eyes popped open as the basket dropped by her feet as she took off at a sprint toward the archway.

“Everyone awake!” she screamed up the dark night stairs.

What word would make them move quickest?

“FIRE!” Had they heard her? Stomping footsteps echoed the passageway above her, followed by panicked grunts. Aye, they had!

If the intruders were coming from the east, they could go west. There was a cavern she had found last fortnight when out foraging for wild herbs.

“Abbess,” she cried, racing the passage toward the Scotswoman’s chamber, “hurry at once, we must leave!”

Dazed looks appeared in the cloister moments later when no flames were yet present as Nella explained while she approached Abbot.

“There are those who mean you all harm.” She gushed the words so briskly they almost slurred.

“I cannot explain how I know this to be, but I ask for your trust and all those present here at this abbey. If we do not take our leave this very moment, we shall all perish.”

Abbot, whose face normally held a twinge by mirth, was solemn as a gravestone. “Aye, Lady Fawnella, I entrust us unto your care.”

“Please.” She looked at the worried expressions by those still clad in their nightclothes.

“Everyone, we travel west, there is a cavern where safety shall be our bedfellow this eve. Brisk, quiet, and together we shall live to breathe upon the morrow.” Her voice shook as much as her hands. “Where is Lord MacMardan?”

“Present,” the lord shouted, joining the back of the group.

Abbess’s fingers touched her in silent assurance before they all stole away out through the nave’s entry, the massive walls murmuring the sounds by their departure in footsteps and mumbled concerns.

Raising her hand, she halted the line of them while she tilted her head.

Would they make it to the forest’s sanctuary without being seen?

Thump, thump, thump. The steed’s strides.

Oh no, they were almost through the meadow!

Her eyes glanced up at the thick trunks with dense canopy now dark except for the bit in glow emanating from the moon hitting the tree line beyond.

Those with torches would travel behind them on the abbey’s other side.

Aye, they would make it – possibly. A flock of peaceful Scots versus armed warriors, they had to try!

Tugging Abbess’s damp fingers briefly, she released the friend, whispering fiercely toward the group, “Make haste, stay as one.”

The cluster of them moved like a cloud across the sky caught in a gust. Panting with snapping twigs by bare feet traveling the wild terrain floor echoed around her.

“Light the arrows,” the leader ordered his warriors she could not see in the vista behind the abbey. “Both of you take the torches toward the far side, toss them in the nave’s door.”

Brazen brimstone! This was their side! They still had a breath to go before reaching the natural shadows. “Haste,” she whispered frantically. “Please, everyone make haste!”

“Aye,” Abbot concurred in a panicked murmur, “their arrows sail the air behind us toward the rooftops!”

She paused at the first tree’s edges, her eyes frantically looking behind. Had everyone made it? No! Abbess was dragging her knee. Bolting blindly back into the open, she charged for the Scotswoman whose face looked like a weathered leaf from lines unleashed by pain.

“Leave me, my lady,” Abbess sobbed.

“Never!” Nella denounced the request, taking hold of Abbess by the waist then throwing the elder’s arm over her shoulders.

Keithen charged back for the other lass’s wounded side.

Together they pulled her toward the trees.

Riders? Thump, thump. Five more strides they would be seen by the warriors who would come around the corner if they didn’t reach the forest in time!

Already night turned into day by the flames swallowing the abbey casting an amber glow over the terrains and stench by smoke filled the air.

“Haste,” Nella cried frightfully. “Mere moments…” Two more steps to go! Reaching the fringes in shadows, more friars ran out with sapling trees in their grasp. The clergy ran behind them then held up the trees hiding their final stretch into safety.

Crack! There goes the roof on the nave, but Nella panted a sigh by the momentary victory. They had made it. Fingers tightened on her shoulder; she met Abbess’s eyes swollen from tears.

“You are fiercely stubborn, my lady,” she murmured. “My kindest regards the lord blessed you with such a trait.” Nella kissed the weathered cheek. Who would have thought being married to a monster would turn useful one day at toughening her tender hide?

She gathered the group, and they vanished into the forest. With one last look at the abbey engulfed by flames like a dragon had flown past, she tilted her head slightly. Crack, sizzle, pop, the wood groaned by destruction then a voice rang over the mayhem. The same as before.

“Set the axe onto the place then we take our leave toward Thistleland’s Tavern. Our benefactor shall reward us handsomely.” Her eyes narrowed as a fist formed at her side. The executioner’s block will be the frigging reward, traitors! But how?