Sacrificing his Highland Heart by Kenna Kendrick

Chapter One

Lyttletyne, Northern England, April 1551

“Miss, you have been gone again for quite a long while. You worry Mrs. Drummond, now that you’re here on your own.”

Rose Sayer’s young maid, Mary, stood on the doorstep of the manor, clutching her hands tightly with concern. Rose laughed as the groom helped her down from her horse. Brushing a lock of her dark hair away, she smiled and patted the brown mare’s soft velvet coat before the groom took her away.

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry for that.” Rose looked up at the bright sunny day and shielded her green eyes. “She has been good to me since Father and Henry left.” Mrs. Drummond was the housekeeper and had looked after Rose like a mother, ever since her own mother had died a few years before.

Mary smiled as Rose turned back to the house. Rose had never thought she’d have to care for the household on her own for so many months, but it came to her easily, she found. Even if her riding about the estate worried the housekeeper. Her father had never been away for so long in the last nine years of the war, but the last time he’d left, he’d been gone almost six months.

“I shall do my best to make up for it. She knows that I do what is right for the estate.”

“Yes, Miss, but I think she wishes you would take a groom with you. For safety’s sake.”

“And propriety’s sake.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Mary took Rose’s cloak as she entered the house. “Mary, will you send tea to the study?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you. Tell Mrs. Drummond she may come and see me as well.”

Mary curtsied and left to follow her orders, and Rose sighed, happy to have dispatched at least one duty. She would apologize to Mrs. Drummond, and then all would be well again. She brushed her hands together as she walked down the corridor to her father’s study, which had become hers since the care of the estate had been left entirely to her.

Her father had left strict instructions, and she wanted to show him that all was well and cared for while he was away. It had been a monumental task when he’d first explained things to her, and she remembered taking furious notes as he spoke. Her hand had cramped for days afterward. But with each passing day, she had grown more and more accustomed to it. Even though she told no one about it, she rather enjoyed the freedom and independence when there were no men around.

“There is no one to say nay to anything,” she said cheerily to herself as she sat down, her gown billowing behind her father’s large wooden desk.

The freedom and independence were almost intoxicating, like having had too many cups of wine at dinner. In the deepest part of her heart, she wished for this time to last a little longer, not wishing for her brother or father to come to any harm, of course.

She began to hurriedly scrawl in a small notebook about matters of the estate. War was upon them and had been for many years. However, due to her father’s high status as a landed knight and his age, he had not been called until recently to fight. So, the estate was covered in women, and Rose had wanted to do her best by them, making sure they were safe enough and protected and fed while their men were off doing their duty. To her surprise, and she was convinced that her father would also be surprised, the women had done well on their own, working just as effectively if not more so.

“It is because they do not have a man to hound them day and night.” She kept scrawling until there was a scratch at the door, and Mary entered with a tray of tea.

“Here you are, Miss. And Mrs. Drumm—” The older woman appeared suddenly in the doorway, looking, as usual, slightly frayed and frazzled. Mary curtsied and left the room without another word. Mrs. Drummond closed the door behind her to stand in front of Rose with her hands together.

Rose noticed how white her knuckles were turning. “Mrs. Drummond, I do apologize for having upset you, but this is usual behavior from me. You know this.”

“Yes, Miss Rose. But…” She bit her lip, and Rose frowned, never having seen her so agitated before. She laid down her quill and folded her hands over the desk.

“What is it?”

“It is just that I have heard the men will soon be returning. There have been rumblings, and I should hate to have you out and about, wandering the countryside on your own, if your father and brother were to return. After I promised your father that I would look after you. He would not be pleased.”

Rose lifted a brow. “You promised my father?”

“He asked me to, Miss Rose, and I happily accepted. You know how much I care for you.”

Rose smiled and dipped her head. “Yes, I do. It does not go unnoticed. I heard tell that the men would be back soon, but we have had such false news in these uncertain times that I was loath to believe it.” She looked down, suddenly fascinated by the vine design of her green gown. Even though the independence of running the estate had made her feel freer than she ever had, she still worried each day what news might come of death and loss. Of someone telling her that she was now alone in the world, for her mother had died many years before.

“I do not like to hope, you know,” she said softly, hating the choking feeling of tears in her throat.

“Yes, I know.” Mrs. Drummond came to her side and put an arm about her shoulders. “But I think we can hold a little bit of hope. Just a little. To sustain us. And I hate to think about you, about something happening to you out there.”

“I have to keep up the spirits of the women on the estate, Mrs. Drummond. You know that. They’ve been alone for so long, and I have only been alone for just a few months.”

“Not alone, dear. Never alone.” Mrs. Drummond winked at her, and Rose felt something unfurl in her chest.

“Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. I promise next time I go riding, I’ll take a groom with me.”

“Good.”

After she made a promise, she wasn’t sure she wanted to keep, the house erupted into sudden chaos. Footsteps pounded in the hall, and a man’s voice rang across the stone walls.

“Henry,” Rose breathed, and she squeezed Mrs. Drummond’s hand before gathering her skirts and rushing out to the hallway to meet him. Her pace was so quick that her coif nearly fell from its pins, and she grasped it, hurrying to find the voice.

“Rose!” Henry called, and she finally saw him at the end of the entryway, looking breathless and dirty. She had never seen him thus, even after years of playing in the woods and in the river. He had never looked so tarnished and weary, broken almost by the new weight of the world.

“Henry,” she said again and rushed into the warm comfort of his arms. She closed her eyes at the feel of him again. He smelled of horses and sweat and earth. He was her near-twin, even though he was her older brother. He, too, had the Sayer black hair and bright green eyes. When he pulled away, she noticed that his dark beard had grown, and there were new dark circles under his eyes. He was only 24, but the war had aged him.

“My dear Rose. You are well and fresh.” He lifted his hands to her cheeks, and she felt the fresh roughness of them, broken by wielding a sword.

“You, Henry, you survived. Brought back to me.” She smiled, and tears were in her eyes. Independence was very well and good, but nothing could replace the warm feeling of a loving family. He stroked a thumb across her cheek and nodded, but as she stared into his eyes, she knew the truth. There was some secret, something he held back.

Her stomach clenched as she bent her head to look around him down the hallway. “Where is Father? Has he not come with you?”

She could hear the rush of servants moving to their duties now that the son of the manor had returned. When she moved her eyes back to her brother, she saw a new sadness in them and the grim line of his mouth.

“Father, Rose, he….” He trailed off, and Rose stood tall and bit back her tears. After all, her time in charge of the manor meant she could now be taken seriously. She was not simply the daughter of a knight, living only in luxury and left to frivolous activities. She could be trusted with more complicated things.

“You can tell me, Henry,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, patting his strong shoulders.

“He lives. Do not worry on that score. But he was taken.”

“Taken.” Rose moved a hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly ill like the floor had been taken out from under her. But she set her jaw. She would remain strong. No matter what happened. “Taken by whom?”

“By a Scottish laird at the northern border. He is a brute.” Henry spat as he spoke, and Rose chided him for it.

He looked shamefaced. “Forgive me, Rose. I have broken myself on the front, forgetting the manors of polite society.” There was a strange attempt at a grin, and Rose shook her head.

“Tell me more.”

“May we sit?” He asked, looking suddenly years older and just as weary.

“Oh, of course. Forgive me, Henry. Come,” she waved to Mrs. Drummond, who was never very far away. “We will sit in the drawing-room, here, Mrs. Drummond. The fire is high enough. Please have the maids prepare a bath in my brother’s chamber, as hot as it can be, and bring food and drink, both tea and wine.”

“Yes, Miss Rose. It is being done as we speak.”

Rose nodded, knowing that Mrs. Drummond would take care of everything, but wanted to make sure. Henry was watching her with a sort of confusion, surprise, and she hoped respect.

She led him to a seat by the fire, and she moved to poke at the wood, hoping it would increase in heat and flame and keep her brother from looking like death’s door. Henry was still watching her. “You have grown, Rose.”

Rose turned around and instantly blushed. Henry was never one for compliments, but she could hear from his tone that he meant it nicely. “Grown?” she said with a smile. “Aged, you mean?”

She sat down in the other chair and leaned back against the wood, feeling comfort in its strength. The news of her father could be even direr than what her heart felt, and she needed the physical feel of support in her hands.

“Not at all. Although there is something new in you. A calmness of sorts. Or a strength.” He breathed out slowly and tiredly. “I shall tell you all.”

She nodded and leaned forward to listen to him. His eyes were nearly fluttering closed. She knew that he had ridden far to return to her, to return home and to share his news. “France, as we feared, came to Scotland’s aid, and England has now had to remove her troops from Scotland’s land. We have ceded the capture of Scotland’s territories, and it is like blood draining from a wound, soldiers, and men returning to our homeland, weak and broken. Those who survived that is.”

Rose nodded, even though she felt it was a good thing for war to be over and that the women on her land would be reunited with their husbands once more. Some would enjoy it, but she knew of some whose bruises had faded at their husbands’ departures, that they might not be as happy to see them darken their doorways again.

Henry continued, folding his hands across his stomach. “Father and I fought side by side. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was a dream of mine for so long.” She could hear the sound of pain in his voice, and tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of her father in battle. She knew he would look glorious, fighting and commanding his men. The memory of a time long ago when he’d showed her how to hold a sword flickered in her mind.

“Hold it like this, Rose,” he’d said, grinning down at her. Rose was eight, and she felt like the luckiest girl in the world to have such a father who would teach her things and bring her into his life. “Hold it out, towards your enemy.” He leaned down and pushed her tiny feet into the right place and then crouched beside her, his strong arm touching her young one. “This is to threaten them. Then, you pull back, ready to fight off their first blow. It is good to allow them the first blow, and then you are ready to fight back once you deflect it.”

He stood up with another sword and slowly showed her what he meant. But they were interrupted by two things. The first was the sound of her mother’s voice calling from the doorway to the house. “Rose! You have forgotten your lessons!”

The second was Henry appearing from the other side of the barn, looking pale and angry. “Father, why should you teach Rose when you should be teaching me? I am the boy.”

Her father, never upset by anything, had merely chuckled. “I shall teach both my children,” he replied, pulling Henry close to him with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Women too should know how to defend themselves, right?”

Henry crossed his arms, and her mother called again. Reluctantly, Rose had left, hurrying back to her mother’s safe embrace, a heavy disappointment weighing on her. After her mother died a few years later, her father had given up his lessons, broken by the weight of his own grief. He had wanted to keep Rose safe and locked away ever since, afraid that he too should lose her.

“Rose?” Henry’s voice prodded into her subconscious, and she looked up at him, the wetness of tears still on her cheeks. Her father was so kind and gentle. The thought of being taken by a brute and subjected to God knows what made her feel cold and clammy.

“Sorry, Henry. I know that it was a dream of yours. A cherished dream. Please continue.”

“Well,” he said more slowly and leaned forward, grasping at her hand. “I fear that it is just you and I, dear sister.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, although she knew what his words meant. What those horrible words foretold.

“This Scottish laird has a very great reputation for being brutish and desiring to kill as many English as possible.” Henry swallowed, and Rose wished for a second that some way, somehow, she could halt the words in her brother’s throat, and it would make their truth not real. She could reverse time. “I fear that it is very likely that Father is dead, and now it will be just you and me.”

Rose faintly heard the clatter of tea things as someone entered the room before a loud sob escaped her throat.