Page 1 of Highland Guard

Prologue

Scotland, summer

“She found ye a fine place to rest, David.”

Harcourt Murray looked around the hill he stood on. The heather had begun to bloom, waves of soft purple broken here and there by jutting rocks. The rockiness of the hills had surprised him when he had first seen them up close five years ago for the large areas of green had hidden it. There was more than enough grazing land to satisfy a lot of livestock especially as the valley below was so verdant. Things he had paid little heed to when he had been here before.

“Aye, my friend, ye have a verra fine view from here,” he said, and looked down at the headstone he stood next to.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Sir David MacQueen had been only three and thirty, a man in his prime. The fact that he was staring at the gravestone of a man so close to his own age was discomforting. It did not help to remind himself that many people died in their prime every year. David might not have been big and braw, had even once suffered what most men would have considered a debilitating wound, but he had been in fine health when Harcourt had last seen him five years ago. The memory of a smiling, gentle, educated man striding through the halls of Glencullaich would not allow Harcourt to easily accept the grave marker with David’s name so precisely carved into it.

The man had saved his life, Harcourt thought and cursed. That should have been worth at least a few more years. The one thing the man had asked of him had been no sacrifice at all, which often only added to the guilt he had carried every moment of every day since he had walked away from the MacQueens.

Harcourt sighed and patted the top of the large stone. “Rest easy, dear friend. I will keep them safe.”

“Getting late, Harcourt. They will be shutting those big gates soon, I wager. Do we wait until morning or go now?”

Gazing at Callum MacMillan, Harcourt weighed his options before he answered the man. He looked over the five men riding with him. One Cameron, Callum, two MacFingals, and one Murray, his younger brother who had arrived but a sennight before Harcourt had received the call for aid from Glencullaich. All looked like the strong warriors they were. It was a small force, but one that could easily intimidate those at Glencullaich. Unless things had changed drastically since he had left, he knew that David’s people were not ones who would attack without provocation.

“We go in now, Callum,” he told the younger man. “It is still light enough for them to see us clearly as we approach. E’en if the mon I sent to watch over David, his wife, and child isnae there, there should be someone who will recognize me.”

He nudged his horse into an easy trot and headed toward the keep at the head of the valley, his companions quickly falling into formation around him. It was time to find out exactly what trouble had David’s widow calling for his help. It was also time for him to face his past.

Chapter One

Waiting was pure torture, Lady Annys MacQueen decided. She looked down at the small shirt she was mending, sighed, and began to pull out the appallingly crooked stitching. It was hard to believe Sir Harcourt would ignore her cry for help yet it had been a very long ten days since she had sent him the message. Ten days and not even the young man she had sent out with the message had returned. Annys prayed she had not sent young Ian to his death. She doubted Sir Harcourt would hurt Ian but the journey itself would not have been without its dangers.

“M’lady, mayhaps ye should have a wee rest,” said Joan as she sat down beside Annys on the padded bench.

Smiling at her maid, Annys shook her head. “’Tis much too early, Joan. Everyone would wonder if I was ill and that would only add to the unease they all suffer from even now. I must try to be strong, and most certainly must at least always appear to be.”

Annys wondered why her words made Joan frown. The woman was only ten years older than her but often acted in a very motherly way. Round of body and face, Joan did not even look her age yet she could lecture one like a grandmother. That frown often warned of a lecture being carefully thought out. Annys was not in a humor to endure one but also knew she loved Joan too much to hurt the woman’s feelings by revealing that displeasure with some sharp words. They had been friends and companions, as well as lady and maid, since the day Annys had first come to Glencullaich to meet her betrothed.

“Ye are a lass,” Joan began.

“I have come to realize that. I was slow to see it, but the breasts refused to be ignored.” Annys was not surprised to receive a scowl from Joan that clearly said her maid was not amused.

“No one expects constant strength from a wee lass who has but recently buried her husband,” Joan continued. “Ye are wearing yourself to the bone trying to be the laird and the lady of this keep. Ye dinnae need to be both. All here willingly heed the lady, have always done so, so trying to don Sir David’s boots is unnecessary.”

“And if I dinnae do it, who will?”

“Nicolas.”

Annys thought on that for a moment. The man had arrived almost five years ago. He had claimed that he had spent enough time selling his sword for a living and now wished to settle in one place. David had welcomed the man with open arms, readily training him to lead the other, less well-trained men at Glencullaich. Fortunately, no one had complained or taken offense at how the stranger had so quickly moved into place as David’s right-hand man. In truth, they had all welcomed his skills. She even had to admit that he had been immensely helpful since David’s death.

“Mayhaps he can,” she conceded. “He certainly has been most helpful thus far. Yet, I have always wondered why he ne’er just went home to Wales to settle.”

“A long journey for a mon who says there is no one left there for him.”

“True enough.” Annys shrugged and tossed the little shirt she had yet to finish back into her mending basket. “’Tis nay that I dinnae trust him, for I do. I but puzzle o’er it now and then. I will try to put more of the work into his hands, but nay so much that it hinders his ability to keep the men weel trained. Their training cannae be allowed to lag.”

“Nay, ye are right. It cannae.” Joan nodded. “It is badly needed, sad to say. E’en weel trained as they are now, ’tis a constant battle to keep that bastard from trying to destroy us. If he sniffed out a weakness he would be on us like carrion birds on a fish-ermon’s catch. Have ye heard anything from that Sir Murray yet?”

“Nay. I begin to fear that I have accomplished naught but to send poor young Ian to his death.”

“Och, nay, m’lady, dinnae allow that fear to prey on your mind. Ian kenned the risks and he is a clever lad, one who kens weel how to slip about quietly and hide weel when needed. There are many reasons one can see for why he hasnae returned yet. Many. And a sad fate is but one of them.”

“True.”