A Pledge of Passion to the Highlander Read online

  It was occurring to her now, as she watched the pinched, anxious faces of her parents.

  “How bad is it, Father?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  Lord Croilton sighed. “You should not concern yourself with it, Roseann,” he said quietly. “It is not a burden I want to place on my only daughter’s shoulders.”

  She leaned across the great expanse of table between them. “Father, you may burden me with it.” She paused. “I am old enough. A young woman now, past her teen years. You have educated me well. I can take whatever truth that you tell me.”

  His eyes softened as he gazed at her. “A beautiful, accomplished young woman. I am so very proud to call you daughter, my dear Roseann.” A shadow passed over his face. “It is not good, my daughter. I have tried; the Lord only knows how hard I have tried. But it seems that if our fortunes do not change, we shall be forced to sell Loughton Hall and all the land attached to it.”

  Roseann gasped. “Surely, it has not come to that, dear Father?”

  Her mother, Lady Croilton, looked pained. “Indeed, it has, Roseann,” she said quietly. “Selling off the land in allotments is not enough to cover our debts…”

  “Debts?” Roseann whispered. “What debts are these?”

  A shadow passed over her father’s face. “It was your uncle,” he replied. “My own brother. He gambled, in large amounts, in London, using the deeds to Loughton Hall as collateral on more than one occasion. I had no knowledge of what he was doing; he took them secretly.” He sighed deeply. “And now, the chickens have come home to roost. With Henry’s death, they are all demanding their money… and it is my responsibility to come up with it.”

  Roseann blanched. She had only seen her feckless Uncle Henry a handful of times in her life. He had been handsome and charming, but degenerate. He had died two years ago, under suspicious circumstances in a hovel in a bad area of London.

  She took a deep breath. “What of Nicholas’s army salary?” Nicholas was her older brother and heir to Loughton Hall. He was currently a soldier in the English army stationed in the borderlands somewhere. They had not seen or heard from him in months.

  “Nicholas is a loyal and dutiful son,” said her father. “He sends most of his salary to us. But it is still not enough…”

  Roseann sighed. This was indeed troubling, more troubling than she ever imagined. She just didn’t know what to do.

  At that moment, Graves, their loyal manservant, entered the room. “My lord. Some traveling bards have come and wish to entertain. What would you like me to tell them?”

  “Send them away, of course,” said Lord Croilton bitterly, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I have no coin to pay them.”

  “Father,” Roseann said quietly. “They do not demand much, and I have a little, from what Aunt Margery gave me on my recent birthday.” She took a deep breath. “Perhaps we should let the bards entertain us for the evening. It will distract us, at least.”

  Her mother brightened. “Oh, William, please say yes! For I know I am in need of distraction.” She gazed at her daughter. “That is very kind of you, Roseann.”

  Lord Croilton sighed heavily, turning back to the manservant. “Well, you have heard my daughter, Graves. Send the bards into the parlor, and we shall make merry tonight.”

  They had settled down in the parlor, awaiting the bards. The candles had flared haphazardly in their sticks, hissing as the wax burned lower. Roseann noticed, not for the first time, that the room was chillier than normal. She glanced at the fire. It was burning low, hardly emitting any heat at all. She knew that it was because her mother was trying to economize. Heating all the rooms in such a large house was hard.

  She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, trying not to shake. She didn’t want her parents to notice and feel bad. All of this was hard enough on them.

  The door suddenly opened, and a man and a woman walked slowly into the room. The woman had long auburn hair and was carrying a harp. The man was large and bulky, with sandy hair that reached his shoulders. Neither glanced at the occupants until they were standing in front of them.

  “My lord,” boomed the man, bowing low with a flourish. “My ladies! It is our pleasure to entertain ye tonight.” He rose, gazing at them.

  Roseann smiled. The man had a soft Scottish burr to his voice. She heard it from time to time, living in the borderlands, but she had only entered the country that was so close to her own on a handful of occasions in her life. Father was always mindful of her safety, and with all the skirmishes along the border in recent years, she knew that he was not being overly protective.

  “You have traveled far?” asked Lady Croilton.

  “Aye, my lady,” replied the woman. “We have just come from the highlands. But we were lucky to spend some time at our home, just over the Scottish border, before we crossed yesterday.”

  “And where is that?” asked Lord Croilton.

  “The lands of the Laird of Greum Dubh,” replied the man. “Ye ken the town of Keelieock? Our Laird lives close to there, at his grand castle called Coirecrag.”

  Lord Croilton nodded. “I have heard of the Laird of Greum Dubh,” he said slowly. “An elderly man who rules his land wisely…”

  “Nay, my lord, that is my Laird’s father ye think of,” replied the man. “He died over a year ago, God rest his soul. The current Laird is his oldest son, Domhnall MacBeathag.”

  Lord Croilton sighed. “I am sad to hear of the late Laird’s passing. Is your new Laird as fair and wise as the last?”

  “Ach, aye, he is, lord,” said the woman, beaming. “He was always a bonnie lad! His people all love him, and he always does what is best for us, ye ken.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” said Lord Croilton. “So, the lands are yielding well? The tenants are all happy?”

  Roseann smiled. Her father always grilled travelers who passed through Loughton Hall about their lords or lairds. He liked to hear how different people managed their lands and estates. Roseann suddenly realized that part of it was probably looking for new ways to manage his own.

  “Aye, very happy,” said the man. “The lands of Greum Dubh are bountiful. The people havenae been blighted with famine or bad crops for many a good year…”

  “And our Laird is fair,” cut in the woman, nodding eagerly. “Like his own faither. The Laird travels all his villages and officiates at most. He is so busy, the servants at Coirecrag laugh that they rarely see him.”

  “He is an only child?” asked Lady Croilton in her soft voice.

  “He has one younger brother,” replied the man. “Only twelve years. The lad’s name is Cormac.” He paused. “He is running a bit wild, ye ken. The Laird is so busy, he doesnae have time to see to him…”

  “The Laird knows, Iain,” cut in the woman. “He has sent out word, far and wide, to find a tutor for the wee laddie.”

  The man nodded. “Aye, he has, Ailis. But there’s nae been any takers. It seems that there are not many learned folk out there in need of a job, despite the generous salary the Laird is offering.”

  Lord Croilton smiled. “How much is your Laird offering for the tutor?”

  “Ten pounds a month,” breathed the woman. “Pund Scottis, ye ken. If I was learned, I would be scrambling for the position! I havenae ever set eyes on such an amount…”

  “Your Laird obviously does not have money worries,” said Lord Croilton, a touch sourly.

  They talked on, but Roseann was no longer listening. She was thinking about the wealthy Laird of Greum Dubh, who was offering a salary above and beyond what any tutor could normally expect. A salary that was so high the tutor might only have to do it for a small amount of time to make some serious coin.

  He must love his brother. And he must value education. What would it be like, living in such a wealthy and generous household, even if it was in Scotland?

  Her mind turned over furiously, as the bards performed, the man singing traditional songs while the woman accompanied him on the harp. She kept t
hinking as they recited poems and told stories. By the time they had finished, and the fire had almost burned out, she had made up her mind.

  The man named Iain, the bard, looked shocked when she took him aside afterward, talking in a low voice so that her parents couldn’t hear.

  “Your Laird,” she whispered. “Is he really offering such a salary for a tutor?”

  He nodded warily. “He is, my lady.”

  “And he cannot find a tutor, even though he has searched far and wide?”

  The man shook his head. “He has been searching for over a month now.” He paused. “I daenae think many Scots have the learnin’ he requires. He wants the lad to learn Latin, among other things, which is why he has now widened the search to England…”

  Roseann glanced over her shoulder. Her parents were busy chatting to Ailis, the woman, and weren’t even looking at her.

  “Can you send word to your Laird, that I am willing to take the position?” she asked quickly. “I have the learning required. I am well versed in Latin and music. I even know astrology and philosophy.”

  Iain, the bard, looked amazed. “How is that so, lady? I havenae heard of any lass, either Scots or English, to have such learning.”

  Roseann smiled quickly. “You may thank my father. He is a most enlightened man in those areas. He wanted his daughter to have an equal education to his son.” She paused, staring at him intently. “You will inform your Laird?”

  He nodded slowly. “If you wish, my lady, I can tell him myself. Ailis and I are headin’ back home within a fortnight.” He frowned. “But, what of your good faither and mother? Do you not have to consult with them before you make such a decision?”

  Roseann breathed out, slowly. “I will take care of all of that. Just inform your Laird to expect me within three weeks. It is Coirecrag, on the lands of Greum Dubh, is it not?”

  He nodded. “Aye, it is. My Laird will be overjoyed! And he is a fair and noble man, lady. He will treat ye well. Ye will want for nothing at Coirecrag.”

  Roseann’s heart started to beat a little faster. She would tell Father and Mother about it—at the right moment. She was sure they would understand once they realized just how much coin she could earn. All of that coin would go into saving Loughton Hall, after all. The only reason she was even contemplating it was that she could not bear the thought of losing her beloved home.

  Scotland… and a Laird…named Domhnall MacBeathag.

  It was like staring into the mists of a crystal ball and seeing her future entire.

  Roseann sniffed now, staring stonily ahead. There was no point in crying over spilled milk. It had all started to go wrong as soon as they had crossed the border.

  First, they had been waylaid by a group of renegade English soldiers. The Scots that they were currently with had seemed like their rescuers, to start with. That was until they had slaughtered the soldiers and raised their weapons at them, demanding to know who they were, and where they were traveling.

  Her parents had not wanted her to go. They had begged her and pleaded with her, but she was adamant. This was the only way that they could get the coin they needed to save Loughton Hall. Eventually, they had agreed, reluctantly. The only guard that they could afford to accompany her was the woodcutter’s son, Nigel.

  What else could I have done, she thought desperately. It’s not as if anyone would marry me now. My prospects on that front are gone. No man wants an impoverished lady for a wife, no matter how accomplished.

  A slow mist started to gather over the land. Roseann glanced around nervously. It was starting to get dark; already, shadows were spreading across the ground. Dusk was here. She shivered in fear.

  And that was when she saw it, hovering in the distance. It appeared to be floating on the mist, as if it was drawing her nearer, second by second.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, for she had simply no idea if the imposing dark castle she saw in the distance held friend or foe.

  2

  Domhnall MacBeathag slowly swirled the ale in the bottom of his mug, staring into the liquid. He was bone-tired, so tired his whole body ached with it. It had been a long, boring day, traveling to various outlying villages of his lands.

  He drained the mug then stood up, staring out the castle window. He had officiated between two farmers, who each claimed that the bleating calf tethered two feet away was his. That had taken a while. The only way he had resolved it, in the end, was after he had questioned their wives. One of the women had cried under questioning, blurting out that her husband was a liar, and had stolen the calf under cover of darkness.

  Perhaps I should have ruled like King Solomon, he thought darkly, scratching his chin. Perhaps I should have threatened to cut the calf in two to see who truly valued it, as that great king did with the baby that two women claimed was their child.

  He poured another ale and drained the mug quickly. It never ceased to amaze him, how painstakingly boring adjudicating in villages and the castle was. He had watched his own father do it, skilfully, year after year. Alaisdair MacBeathag was always calm, and fair, and never showed impatience or frustration. He had been a model of what a great Laird was.

  He sighed deeply. He wanted to reach for the ale jug again, but he knew it wasn’t a good idea. He had to be up at first light again, and he knew that if his mind was fogged by the ale, it would be a slow, agonizing day. He was so tired he could almost climb the stairs to his chambers now. He knew he would crash hard, but it wasn’t even dark yet. He should wait until the moon had risen in the sky, at least.

  There was a soft knock on the door. He turned around, sighing again.

  “Come in,” he commanded.

  A middle-aged woman entered. “Laird,” she breathed. “Yer wee laddie wanted to see ye before he retires for the night. He has said his prayers.”

  Domhnall smiled. “Aye, of course. Send Cormac in.”

  The woman nodded, calling from the door. The next moment, a boy of twelve years ran into the room, almost tripping over his long, lanky legs in the process.

  Domhnall’s smile widened. Cormac had grown at least three inches in the last year; he was like a fast-growing sapling. He stared at the lad’s spiky red hair that refused to be tamed, no matter how much spit Mairead his nursemaid, applied to it. Cormac’s face was milky pale, with a smattering of light brown freckles across the bridge of his nose.

  Cormac grinned, now rushing to his brother, almost knocking him over.

  “Steady there, laddie!” said Domhnall affectionately. “Ye have more energy than a highland wildcat! Ye have to go to bed and sleep soon.”

  Cormac’s blue eyes dimmed a bit. “Must I, Domhnall? It is so boring! Why cannae I sit up with ye?”

  Domhnall rumpled the boy’s hair. “Ye cannae and ye ken it! Besides, I am tuckered out myself, and wouldnae be good company, laddie.”

  Cormac gazed at him steadily. “Can I come with ye tomorrow?” His face was sober. “It is so boring, staying around the castle with Mairead! I am not a child anymore, ye ken!”

  Domhnall shook his head. “Nay, I am sorry laddie, but ye cannae. I must travel to a house on the coast.” He paused. “I have heard there is an old learned man there, who I might be able to persuade to become yer tutor…”

  Cormac’s blue eyes flashed. “Nae that again! I am too old for that, as well…”

  “Nay, yer not,” said Domhnall, a set look on his face. “I promised Faither that I would see to yer education…”

  “Why do I need one?” persisted the boy stubbornly. “Why can’t I be a warrior, like ye?”

  Domhnall sighed heavily. How could he explain to his little brother that his dearest wish was that he could have had an education? That the reason that he was pursuing this was not because of their late father, but rather a determination that his brother would be a better Laird one day than he could ever be?

  He sighed again. The lad wouldn’t understand, of course. All that Cormac valued was physical activities. He was already skil
led at swordplay and wrestled well. He went hunting and hawking on the vast lands around Coirecrag. And he was a quick archer, almost better than he was.

  But to be a Laird, you couldn’t just be strong and skilled in those things. You needed wisdom, too. You needed to be able to use your mind in ways that you never expected to. You had to be King Solomon and William Wallace all rolled into one.

  And that was where education came into the picture.

  Domhnall stared at his little brother. The lad was growing wild. They had lost their father just the year before, and Cormac couldn’t even remember their mother, who had died when he was just two years old. They were both orphans now. Although he had to admit he was a bit old to be considered an orphan anymore, he would never see his twenties again.