Highlander’s Wrath by Adamina Young
Prologue
The servants and soldiers knew better than to interrupt Laird Edgar Barclay when he was in one of his black moods. They also knew to never get in his way when he was full of red raging anger, such as he was today. To do so would surely mean a backhanded buffet if the recipient was lucky or a furious kick to the backside for the less fortunate.
Like his father before him, Laird Edgar was quick to show his wrath and made no attempt to hide it from those around him. Instead, he wore it like a badge of honor, thinking it showed him to be a masterful man.
Laird Edgar refused to permit anyone to rebuke his son when the boy behaved badly, although this was fortunately not very often. The previous Laird Barclay had allowed his only son and heir, Edgar, to react any way he chose, simply ordering the kitchen staff to replace glassware and pottery with wood and metal when everything that could be broken or smashed had been systematically destroyed by his odious offspring.
As for Laird Edgar’s poor mother, after living with one bad-tempered husband and an even worse-tempered son, she was happy to go to her grave and had died with a smile on her lips. The cycle repeated, however, after Laird Edgar found a poor woman to marry him; but she did not die. Made of stronger stuff than her predecessor, the new Lady Barclay ran off with a neighboring clan’s eldest son, and neither of them was ever seen again in those parts. She left everything behind, even her small son, Hamish.
It was wee Hamish who cowered behind the closed doors now, his small fists crammed next to his ears to block out the noise.
“Who’s screaming, sir?” he whispered fretfully to the old tutor beside him. “Who is it this time?”
Ever since Lady Barclay’s elopement and his very public cuckolding, Laird Edgar had been determined to wreak his vengeance on those around him. Not content with making the lives of his servants and son unbearable, he had done the unthinkable and started a blood feud with the neighboring clan, the same family whose eldest son had absconded with his wife.
The tutor patted the young child comfortingly on the back, saying, “Dinnae fash, Hamish. ‘Tis only the neighboring laird. After this, the clan war will be over. There are now only women and children left over the way. All the men—the brothers, cousins, and uncles of the wicked man who ran away with yer mither—are finally dead or have made good their escape to safer grounds.”
The small boy cried, “But I dinnae want me mither to come back, sir. She’s better off where she is. At least, that’s what I heard her auld maid sayin’. Please run down to the guards’ room and tell Faither to let the poor man go.”
The tutor tutted and continued to pat the boy’s back. “Yer mither’s maid was very wrong to say that, Hamish. There’s only one place for a wife to be, and that’s beside her husband and bairn. I’m sure yer faither will let the man go once he tells him where Lady Barclay is.”
It did not sound to the young Hamish as though the neighboring laird was cooperating. From the shrieks and screams emanating from the guards’ room, it sounded as if the prisoner was being exceedingly uncooperative indeed.
“I swear to ye—ahhhhhhh!—I dinnae ken where they be! Aargh! I’m telling ye the truth!”
A voice shouted so loudly, Hamish and the tutor were able to hear every single word floating up through the window casements.
“Ye pox-faced liar! I dinnae believe ye! Tell me where they have fled before I gut ye like the lying scoundrel ye are!”
“Arrrgh! I swear my son never told me! Why would he? I would’ve had him clapped in irons before I allowed him to stir up trouble between the clans. Ye have to believe me!”
The sound of Laird Edgar snorting with derision filled the courtyard. “Pah! I would put no infamous act past the likes o’ ye, man! Curse the day yer ancestors chose to settle in these parts! Yer misbegotten family is a plague.”
There was an eerie silence after these cruel and unfair words were uttered. Then the prisoner spoke.
“I am innocent and ken nothing. Do with me what ye wilt, but I warn ye…’tis yer own clan that is cursed. Ye have sinned against the heavens with yer unbridled wrath, and I warn ye...until ye learn the error of yer ways, yer kith and kin will burn in hell!”
A sharp cry followed these ominous words, but it was not Laird Edgar Barclay who had screamed out. Hamish and the tutor ran to the window and looked down into the courtyard. From this vantage point, they saw Laird Edgar exit the guards’ room with his dirk bloody and dripping and his chest heaving and panting as though he had finished a long race. His face was a twisted mask of fury. The laird turned around to the soldier who followed behind him.
“That’s the last of them. Curse it! I’m still none the wiser as to where that harlot of a wife and her love-addled swain have fled. Keep up the search. Travel down to England if ye must. I’ll have that cur’s head on a platter if it’s the last thing I do!”
Mister Abercromby drew the window shutters firmly, blotting out the sunshine.
“Come now, young Master Hamish, let’s return to our lessons, shall we?”
Hamish’s hand was shaking when he picked up his slate.
“Sir? D’ye think the other man is all right? He’s nae hurt too much, is he?”
Mister Abercromby, the tutor, sighed and patted his leg, indicating that Hamish could hop up on top of it, which the youngster was very happy to do after being starved of human contact ever since Laird Edgar had insisted Hamish’s nanny leave the castle. She had been a good friend of Lady Barclay’s, coming to the castle in her ladyship’s train. Since his nanny’s departure, Hamish had been left to be brought up by a series of servants and tutors. The tutors never stayed in Laird Edgar’s employment for long; Barclay Castle was in a remote and inhospitable part of the Highlands. The castle was surrounded by looming black-stoned mountains and craggy hills shrouded in swathes of sweeping heaths and nocuous green bogs that crept down to the cold, dark sea. The land offered good hunting for deer and boar, and the rugged coastline was fecund with sea life. However, the hard soil brought forth nothing but the hardiest of herbs and turnip crops. And as for cheerful companionship, the land yielded nothing.
The steady trickle of servants leaving the castle increased after Lady Barclay’s elopement. But dear old Mister Abercromby had taken pity on the tiny child and stayed on after his arrival. Hamish had seen nearly eight summers come and go now, and his tutor had proven very influential in forming his outlook on life. Reliant on Laird Edgar for his livelihood and aware that an obedient Hamish was less likely to be beaten by his father, Mister Abercromby was apt to say “aye” and “amen” to everything Laird Edgar ordered.
“Yer faither’s right to show his wrath to those lesser men, Hamish. No one would respect him if he was an amiable fellow, of that ye can be sure. To be a laird means ye have to be quick to anger and slow to forgive; remember that. Nay woman, man, nor child is above being punished, rebuked, or told to leave whenever they displease ye. It behooves the Barclay legacy for you to do the same. Now”—the old man lifted Hamish off his lap and placed him gently on the ground—“what say ye to us learning some French?”