Highland Slayer (Highland Legion #3)

The Meeting of Lares and Mabel

(excerpt from Highland Born)

Camerton Abbey

Pretty and perfect, with golden-red hair and eyes of green, Lady Mabel Coleby Douglas-de Waverton peered from the window of the fortified carriage she and her mother were riding in, spying the rambling, rather large abbey in the distance.

It was early morning on a fine day after weeks of rain, and the sky above the abbey was streaked with purplish, bruised clouds.

Against the backdrop of the sky and the bright sunlight, it made for dramatic scenery.

“Is that it, Mama?” she asked, pointing to the monastery on the rise. “Camerton?”

Mabel’s mother, Lady Irene, leaned over to see what her daughter was pointing at. “Aye,” she said after a moment. “That must be the one. Your brother is somewhere in that monastery, and we must bring him home.”

Mabel didn’t ask why. She didn’t ask questions.

She knew her wayward brother, George, had ended up at the monastery because he’d been traveling far from where he’d told his parents he would be and ended up breaking a leg when his horse spooked.

He’d been in a remote area of Cumbria, to the southwest of Carlisle, and he’d been taken in by the priests at Camerton Abbey.

A physic had been summoned, the same physic who had sent word to Lord and Lady de Waverton on George’s mishap.

George, in fact, hadn’t sent them word at all, and Mabel had heard her father raging about her vagabond brother with no sense of responsibility.

He was so angry that he sent his wife and daughter, one hundred soldiers, and two wagons to fetch George.

And that was why they were here.

Truly, Mabel was glad for the adventure.

Nothing much happened in her rather sheltered life, and her father wasn’t a social man, so friends and visitors were infrequent at their home of Wigton.

That was in great contrast to her brother, who loved to visit and loved to travel.

George the Elder, their father, didn’t even like to venture out of his home, so that was why he’d sent his wife and daughter.

It hadn’t been because he was too angry to come, but simply that he could not come.

But George the Elder’s refusal to travel was Mabel’s gain.

And it was probably better for her brother, whom she loved.

He was sweet and kind and thoughtful, but her father was correct—he had no sense of responsibility.

He was bright, but he didn’t want the stress and troubles of the lordship he would inherit someday.

That meant he traveled around, visited friends and family, and spent his father’s money wherever he went.

George the Elder paid his son’s debts begrudgingly and threatened not to pay anything more that his son incurred.

But he always did.

This was simply another one of George’s follies in a long line of them.

Mabel and her mother hadn’t spoken much on the journey from Wigton to Camerton.

It had been an overnight journey, and they’d spent the previous night in a tavern where everyone seemed to either be drunk or fighting.

Mabel thought it was all great fun, but her mother wasn’t under the same impression.

In fact, it had put the woman in a sour mood, so there hadn’t been much conversation in general.

As the carriage lurched over the muddy road that was more puddle than actual road, the rain began to fall again from those purple clouds.

It was brief, just enough to dampen the men, who peered at the sky with discontent.

The carriage hit a particularly deep rut and got stuck, but Lady de Waverton refused to get out of the carriage because it was so muddy, and she and Mabel remained in the carriage as the soldiers managed to free them from the hole.

After that, the dirty carriage lurched and bumped all the way to the abbey.

“Mama,” Mabel said, a little green because of all of the swaying and violent bumps. “May I please get out and walk the rest of the way? It doesn’t seem to be so muddy here at the top of the rise. All of the water seems to have run down the road.”

Irene caught a glimpse of the big abbey ahead. They had already entered what looked like a small village area, with small cottages and fields of cabbages and turnips. She could see it along the side of the road along with men working them, more than likely pledges or wards of the abbey.

“I do not think so,” she said, peering at the edge of the road. “It is still quite muddy.”

Thinking she might become sick, Mabel hiked up her skirt to show her mother the boots she was wearing. “I am properly attired,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I really must walk before I become ill.”

With that, she pushed her shoulder into the door of the cab, and it swung open.

She was out of the carriage before her mother could stop her.

She was in a heavy wool traveling dress, one that came with breeches underneath for protection and comfort, and they were tucked into her boots.

Mabel began walking, holding her skirt up to keep it out of the mud as she headed off across a field on a diagonal toward the abbey.

“Mabel!” her mother called after her. “Go straight to the abbey! Do not stray!”

There weren’t many places for her to stray to.

Mabel simply waved her mother off, trudging across the field, trying to shake off the motion sickness.

The soldiers didn’t follow her because they could see her clearly as she walked through the field of cabbages.

They simply followed the carriage as Mabel crossed the field toward the abbey.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too terribly muddy here because it was at the top of a rise.

Off to her left, a few men were working the cabbages, harvesting them because they were quite large.

The wind was starting to pick up a little, blustery after the rains, and Mabel fought with her skirts to keep them from blowing around.

She was paying attention to her dress, not where she was stepping, and she ended up slipping on a slick spot and going down on her arse, twisting her ankle.

“Damnation,” she said.

Hand to her aching ankle, she looked off toward the road only to see that it must have angled away from the abbey before coming around again to the entry.

The escort was moving away from her. Realizing there was going to be no help from her father’s men, she tried to get to her feet, but her ankle hurt a great deal.

Still, she managed to stand, putting most of her weight on her good ankle, as a deep voice spoke from behind.

“I saw ye fall, m’lady,” he said. “Did ye hurt yerself?”

Startled, Mabel turned to see a big man with shoulder-length dark hair and dark eyes.

He wasn’t much older than she was, and she realized with a twinge of interest that he was quite handsome.

But he was dressed in clothing better suited to a peasant and carrying a farming implement in one hand.

In fact, that twinge of interest turned into one of suspicion, because he’d come up behind her and she’d never heard a sound.

That made her leery.

“If you think to assault me, know that all I have to do is scream and you’ll have a hundred furious soldiers down upon you,” she said. “Put the shovel down.”

He did, immediately. “I dinna mean tae startle ye,” he said. “’Tis only that I saw ye fall. I thought ye might need help.”

She tried to take a step and almost went down again. “It would seem so,” she said. “I have evidently hurt my ankle.”

The man moved close to her, going to one knee as he lifted her skirt to get a look at her ankle. Before Mabel could protest, he put his big hands around her booted ankle and gave a gentle squeeze.

Mabel yelped.

“Ah,” he said, peering up at her. “I think ye have, indeed. Can ye put any weight on it?”

She shook her head. “I do not think so,” she said, trying to use the injured joint, but she ended up nearly tumbling onto him as she walked. “Damnation. Utter damnation!”

He grinned at her, a charming gesture. “I’ve never heard a lady use such language.”

She frowned at him. “And you probably never will,” she said. “Unfortunately, I have a mouth like my father, and he swears constantly.”

That made his grin broaden. “’Tis nothing tae be ashamed of, m’lady,” he said as he stood up. “It simply means ye’re passionate about the things that mean something tae ye.”

She eyed him, finally breaking down in a reluctant smile. “It means my mother is constantly admonishing me,” she said. “She does not share your view.”

His eyes were twinkling at her. “I know something about a parent not sharing a child’s view,” he said, his smile fading. “My father dinna share mine, either. And if it wouldna be too bold, I’ll introduce myself. My name is Lares.”

That was indeed a bold move, as he suggested. Introductions were made with mutual acquaintances or friends or family, but since there was no one of that position around, perhaps it wasn’t bold as it was necessary, so at least they would know whom they were speaking with.

“My name is Mabel de Waverton,” she said, looking him over. “You’re Scots?”

“Aye.”

“Are you a farmer?”

He shook his head. “Not by trade,” he said. “But by circumstances.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant. “What circumstances?”

He gestured toward the church. “I live there,” he said. “Everyone must have a task. This is mine.”

She thought she understood. “Then you are a priest,” she said. “Are you even allowed to speak with a woman?”

He was shaking his head before the words were out of her mouth. “I am not a priest,” he said. “I’m a ward, although the spineless bastards would be very happy tae see me take my vows.”

His eyes widened when he realized he had sworn in front of her, and she giggled. “You have a mouth like my father, too,” she said.

He put up his hands in apology. “Forgive me, m’lady,” he said. “But I suppose we have that in common—we speak passionately about things.”