Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris

Chapter Three

Ian’s gaze darted around the camp. He was not sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. Certainly not a camp. When he had left, this castle had been whole, majestic even, with the town nearby along the river bustling with people. Now it was reduced to this. With people living in makeshift tents and platforms strung up in trees. Had it been any other clan, he would have been impressed at the ingenuity of the camp and what they had done with so few materials, but not his clan.

His father, Fionntan, the last laird of these people, had made the clan not only successful and a force to be reckoned with but also respected. Ian had to press his lips together to avoid cursing at what it had become now.

“This is your clan?” Kenny whispered at his side as people began to gather round them. “It’s not what I was expecting.”

“Me neither,” Ian had to admit it. People moved nearer and nearer until there were two lines of people on either side of them; up ahead, there was a face he remembered well. A face from the past he would have been happy to never have seen again.

Me Uncle Grier.

“Arrest him,” Grier ordered in Gaelic. At his side, Ian knew that Kenny couldn’t understand the words. The people on either side of them responded. Some cheered the idea; others exclaimed in shock, hands pressed to cheeks and mouths open.

“On what charge am I to be arrested?” Ian responded in English. He hadn’t wanted a friend in Kenny, but he was quickly realizing now that the one true friend he may have here was the thief. He would make sure that Kenny understood what was happening.

“For bein’ a traitor to yer own clan,” Grier spat the words and stepped forward. He looked much older than Ian could remember, the lines around his eyes more pronounced now that he was aging.

Ian looked from side to side, noticing that no one was approaching him.

“Well, Laird Grier,” he couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice as he said the words, “it seems yer people daenae agree with ye. Nay one has stepped forward to arrest me yet.” Ian held out his arms in a challenge. After what he had just escaped, he would not be cowed by the idle threats of his uncle. Knowing what had passed between them in the past, he didn’t doubt that his uncle would try anything, even falsely accuse him of something, just to see him arrested.

Grier looked around at these words, his head darting to the line of guards that stood a short distance away.

“What are ye doin’? I said, arrest him!” he barked the words. Two guards stepped forward, yet another two pulled them back, hands going to elbows so sharply that they nearly fell over. “What are ye two doin’? Ye dare to defy me orders?”

“Laird Grier,” one of the guards stepped forward. His face was one Ian found familiar. They had played together as children and were close in age. Bhaltair was his name. “As far as I’m concerned, the rightful Laird has just arrived home. I willnae be the one to arrest him.”

Ian’s lips flickered into the smallest of smiles as his eyes met Bhaltair’s. So many years had passed since they had seen each other. Ian often felt as though he had betrayed his clan and his people when he left. Seeing Bhaltair’s loyalty, now—after all this time, stunned him.

“He isnae Laird! I am Laird.” Grier faced Bhaltair and pulled a sword from his belt. He walked straight toward the guard and placed the tip of the sword at his chest. Others backed away, all except one other guard. He had been Bhaltair’s friend since they were children, and, clearly, he still was as he was now refusing to leave his side. “Step away, Gilroy,” Grier ordered.

“Nay chance,” Gilroy shook his head. “I’m with Bhaltair.”

“Aye,” Bhaltair said. “Arrest us if ye like, throw us in one of yer makeshift cages,” he nodded his head to a cage near the trees, “but we willnae arrest the rightful Laird.” Ian’s eyes went in the direction Bhaltair had nodded toward. The view was masked mostly by people, but he could just make out the top of a wooden cage. It all seemed so primitive.

“I’ll arrest him,” another familiar face stepped forward. Ian had to stifle a laugh, for this was Grier’s son, Jockie. When Ian had last seen him, he was nothing but a pimply adolescent; it seemed not much had changed. Although he was significantly older now, his arms were just as weedy and his face covered in just as many red sore spots as Ian could remember.

“Ye willnae,” Gilroy stepped out in front of Jockie, stopping him from making any progress.

“Ye willnae block me son and yer future Laird,” Grier was growing increasingly angry, his face blotched scarlet in color with the heat of his fury.

“Me future Laird is standin’ over there,” Gilroy pointed behind Grier, toward Ian.

Ian flinched at the statement. He didn’t want to be Laird. That was not why he had come back.

“Grier, let me speak to ye,” he began, knowing he needed to resolve this quickly. He had come here, as it was the closest place to find food and shelter after escaping the prison and for no other reason than that. He had no desire to challenge Grier for the lairdship.

“Nay! I am done speakin’,” Laird Grier’s voice boomed around the trees. “I said, arrest him!” With these words, uproar ensued.

Ian had to back away a few steps. Not only did the guards begun to tussle with each other, supporters of Ian driving back supporters of Grier, but the people got involved, too. Soon, Ian found himself being pushed away, blocked by people who were trying to save him.

I cannae let this happen.

“Grier!” Ian called to his uncle through the crowd, catching sight of the man’s furious face and the narrowed eyes.

“I am Laird Grier to ye!” his uncle roared back.

“What is happening?” Kenny had been pushed back with him and now pulled at his arm. “I thought you said we could find shelter here.”

“I thought we could,” Ian said simply, his eyes never leaving Grier’s face through the crowd.

“Why does that man dislike you so much?”

“Because when me faither died, he took the lairdship before I could,” Ian said, aware that at his side Kenny seemed to ripple with this news, his head darting back and forth. He then let out a slow chuckle. “Somethin’ amusin’ to ye?”

“I just didn’t realize I was rubbing shoulders with a laird is all.”

“I am nae a laird,” Ian snapped, keeping his voice low.

“Laird Grier, what is all this?” At the familiar voice, Ian flicked his head back around. It was a voice he hadn’t heard since before his arrest, one he thought he would never hear again.

Beyond the tussling guards and the anxious form of Grier, men appeared from a couple of tents. Laird Alexandar, of the MacPherson Clan, approached them.

“Nothin’, go back to yer tent,” Grier ordered. “We are just seein’ to clan business.”

“What clan business?”

“Alex!” Ian called loudly, struggling to be heard over the ruckus. His booming voice quieted things for a minute. The crowd of people that had pushed him back hesitated, and even the guards paused their tussle, with Bhaltair and Gilroy amongst them, freezing in position.

Alexander turned toward the voice calling his name, his eyes widening as he found Ian.

“It isnae possible,” he said and pushed past Grier, heading toward him. “Ian, I thought ye were dead.” The crowd parted, creating a path through them. Ian walked toward his old friend, just as Alexander did. “I saw yer body. I could have sworn it was ye. This isnae possible. Ye are alive!” He was gushing with excitement, the shock raising his voice to a shout. “Where on earth have ye been?” he asked as they reached one another.

His old friend opened his arms, and Ian gladly walked into them. An embrace was not something he had had much time for in the past, but after the years of torture and staring at nothing other than the stone of prison walls, he was too overjoyed to see Alexander again to think much about it.

“Speak to me, man,” Alexander ordered as they released one another, and he placed his hands on Ian’s shoulders. “Ye look as though ye have been in a dungeon.” At these words, Ian raised his eyebrows. “Ah…ye have.”

“Aye, an English prison,” Ian nodded, switching to Gaelic, to ensure that Kenny couldn’t understand the next bit. “After the mission to the MacDonels ye sent me on, they handed me to the English. They kenned I was the legitimate heir to the Buchanan Clan, and they hoped I would be of value to them.”

“Bloody hell,” Alex shook his head. “I received a dead boy, ye ken. They said it was ye. I buried ye and everythin’.” Ian was doubly surprised by not only the emotion constricting his own throat, but the unshed tears in his friend’s eyes he was clearly not going to allow to fall. “We had a funeral.”

“I hope it was at least a good funeral?” Ian teased, needing some light relief, making Alex laugh.

“Ah, I gave ye the best funeral,” he was still chuckling. “Nay man has been mourned more. I cannae believe ye are alive.” He lowered his hands and offered one to Ian, who took it only too gladly.

“Enough of this jabberin’,” Grier’s voice was suddenly approaching them. Alex stepped to the side just as Ian lost all trace of a smile and turned his eyes on Grier. “Arrest the traitor. Now!”

Guards jumped forward, and Ian had to step away, his hands outstretched.

“For what do ye accuse me of bein’ a traitor? What did I do to ye, Grier?” Ian couldn’t hold the anger in his voice anymore. He considered himself a man who had abandoned his people. Fearing for his life when Grier had taken control, he had fled to Alexander’s clan. That he was truly guilty of but a traitor? No, that he would never have done.

“Someone told the English of our land, our fortifications, and our military maneuvers,” Grier stepped forward and prodded a finger at Ian’s chest. “Who else would have given them such information? And ye just said ye were taken to an English prison.”

“Aye, I was in an English prison,” Ian agreed, “but I didnae tell them a thing.”

“How do we ken that? Only ye could have told them! Who else could be responsible for bringin’ us to this state…” he gestured around the camp “ other than ye.”

“I daenae ken, but I wouldnae betray me faither’s people in such a way.”

“They are me people,” Grier lowered his voice, with clear danger in his tone.

“They were me faither’s first,” Ian matched it, refusing to be outdone. He switched to English and turned his head away, searching for Kenny again. “Ye want proof that I am innocent of bein’ a traitor, then I have a witness. Kenny, come here,” he beckoned him forward. Kenny came running to his side, his eyes darting around nervously. “Ye heard me tortured, did ye nae?”

“Yes, saw it too on occasion,” Kenny nodded, his face showing he was haunted by the same memories Ian was.

“Tell us, what did I say under torture?”

“Nothing,” Kenny shook his head and looked to Laird Grier. “We called him ‘the man that feels no pain’. Never broke under pressure.” Grier’s face slackened slightly at this news.

“Ye expect me to believe the word of an Englishman?” Grier’s voice was a seething whisper.

“Why would ye nae?” Ian asked, shaking his head. “He was in prison when ye were attacked. He was hardly to blame.”

“This is absurd,” Grier stepped away. “I said arrest him, now damn well get on with it and get it done!” he ordered, pushing one of the guards forward.

“I am innocent of what ye accuse me of,” Ian called back. “Ye cannae arrest me for somethin’ I didnae do.”

“We’ll see about that. Now!” At Grier’s words, guards jumped forward. Before Ian could even think of defending himself with his bare hands, Alex had stepped in front of him. With Bhaltair and Gilroy blocking him, and Alex’s own guards gathering around, Ian and Kenny were truly cordoned off, safe for a brief minute.

“I say Ian should be Laird,” Bhaltair lifted his voice and called above the people.

“Seconded!” Gilroy agreed.

“I’ll support Laird Ian, too,” Alex said.

“Alex, be quiet,” Ian pleaded with his friend, but his voice was barely heard.

I daenae want to be Laird!

“Who’s with us?” Bhaltair asked the crowd. Roughly half the men and women cheered.

Ian was darting looks back and forth around the camp so quickly that he cricked his neck. He was looking around at the faces that were fighting for his cause, gauging their numbers and worrying about how this might end—and all for a cause that he did not even want. It was during those minutes that some of the people moved, and in their movement, the whole of the wooden cage that Bhaltair had referred to earlier was revealed. Inside was a woman.

The words Ian was dying to say to his clan faded for a minute as he analyzed the woman. She was young and extremely delicate in build. She was wearing an incredibly fine, pastel blue, silk dress, cinched at the waist with some kind of corset and with narrow sleeves that flared around her elbows. The neckline was deep, emphasizing the slender curves of her body. Her pale hands were clutching the bars of the wooden cage, but it was her face that truly captured his attention.

Almost angelic, like some of the old paintings he had seen in Alexander’s castle, she had extremely pretty eyes, a gently sloping nose and thin lips with high cheeks. Her eyes were fixed on him.

She had to be of high class judging by the dress she was wearing, and her hair had clearly once been in a fine updo. Half of it was still sort of pinned up on one side, though on the other it was falling out, with long blonde curls that fell in soft waves all the way down to her waist.

He was mesmerized. It was like finding a fay amongst all this darkness and danger. She did not belong.

“Any man who supports Ian’s claim to the lairdship will also be arrested!” Grier’s threat brought Ian back to his senses. He turned away from the woman and fixed his gaze on his uncle. He had to stop this, now, before it escalated any further.

“That is enough!” He bellowed the words and elongated the sound, ensuring everyone fell still. As those supporting his cause quieted, he pushed past them, reaching the front, clearly startling Alex, Bhaltair, and Gilroy by this movement. “Grier, listen to me. In fact, everyone, listen to me. I daenae wish to be Laird.” He paused, waiting for this to sink in. He could see Bhaltair’s stance slacken, as though the wind had gone from his body. Other townspeople beyond his shoulder were shaking their heads.

“Ye expect me to believe that?” Grier asked.

“Aye, for it is the truth,” Ian looked back to him. “I have just left an English prison. Right now, I want nothin’ more than fresh clothes on me back, somethin’ to eat and drink, and a seat by a fire. Ye can have the clan, Grier. I do not want it, nor do I deserve it.” He could see the trace of a smile beginning to appear on Grier’s features. “All I want is to be a part of me faither’s people again. That is all.”

He was already planning a return to Alex’s clan when the Laird left to return to his own clan. For now, he just had to survive Grier’s wish to see him dead.

“I daenae ken whether to believe ye or nae, nephew,” Grier said, his gaze somewhat calculating.

“What of a trial, me Laird?” one of the guards called out. Grier didn’t seem to like this, his face contorted at the very idea.

“Aye, a trial,” another called from the crowd. When there were other murmurs of assent, Grier seemed backed into a corner.

“Aye, very well. As a last resort, I will give ye a trial instead.”

“A trial?” Ian repeated in surprise.

“Aye,” Grier nodded. “Guards, stand down. Give me nephew some clothes and somethin’ to eat, but watch him. If he does anythin’ suspicious, if he meets with the English, if he talks of makin’ a move for the lairdship, ye tell me. Then, Ian, we will arrest ye.” With the order given, Grier walked away.

Ian began to breathe heavily. He hadn’t realized that he had been holding his breath, but the relief throughout his body was palpable.

I willnae die at me uncle’s hand today.

“Thank God, ye are alive, Ian. Yer people felt the same, but they are saddened now. Look at them, me friend,” Alex whispered in his ear. Ian could see that his friend was right. Around him, the people who had stepped forward for his cause were now skulking away, shoulders slumped and heads hung low. “Ye have put an end to their hope.”

“Hope?” Ian was not sure what was happening in his clan, but he had no wish to find out more now. He was parched; a drink was the most prominent thing in his mind. “It doesnae matter. This situation isnae settled yet, Alex.”

“Hmm, I think ye are right. Come on, let’s get ye cleaned up a little.”

As Ian followed Alex, he beckoned Kenny to do so too. As they crossed the camp, his eyes slipped to the woman in the cage, more than once.

She was still watching him, too.