Authors: Carmella Jones
The flames had died down by the time the gray light of dawn crept over the horizon. The clouds obscured the sun and the wind stirred the ashes of the fire. Aidan had almost drifted off when he saw Rhona approaching. He stood to greet her.
“Won’t ye come in from the cold?” she asked, looking up at him.
He felt the tension inside of him dissipate like fog before the morning sun. Something in her eyes told him that they were going to be ok.
They made their way back to the cottage hand in hand. Aidan paused when they reached the door.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t come in just yet,” he said, looking down at himself. He was covered in soot and ash and Graeme’s blood.
“Aye,” Rhona said with a grimace. “Perhaps not.”
“I’ll return before nightfall,” he told her. He made his way back to where Strider was still tethered, mounted up, and headed toward Killburne Creek. When he had reached the tree line he found Graeme’s horse still tethered there. He untied it and set it on its way with a sharp slap to the rump. It would find its way back to camp on its own. Aidan himself had no intention of returning there.
He made his way to the creek upstream from the camp and waded into its waters. He washed the blood off his hands, watching as it swirled and dissipated in the water of the creek. Once his hands were clean he splashed some water onto his face, partly to clean it and partly to clear his head.
When he was done he rode back through the woods to Rhona’s cottage. He found that he was more at peace than he would have thought about leaving his old life behind. He paused at the edge of the clearing and looked down at the cottage where smoked curled gently up from the chimney. This was his home now and this was where he intended to stay. He rode across the clearing and tethered Strider. He paused again when he reached the door, but this time he did so with a smile. On the other side of the door he knew was the woman who held his heart.
*****
Rhona and Aidan were married in the spring. Neither of them went near the great oak again, nor spoke of what had happened that day. Aidan’s sword still remained where he had dropped it.
They had three children—two sons and a daughter—and Rhona’s father lived long enough to meet his grandchildren. He died peacefully in his sleep seven years after Aidan and Rhona were wed.
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Chapter One
Sometimes Agnes couldn't believe her terrible luck. Her father had just moved them to England for a position he had gotten at the royal court. Scarcely had they unpacked their trunks than the first war for Scottish independence ring out across the land.
Agnes' mother Hariot was overjoyed to see how prescient her husband was to avert an absolute catastrophe for the family by using his political prowess to buy them safety in England. Agnes' sympathies lay at the opposite end of the spectrum, and she was disgusted with her father for betraying their homeland and becoming a shill for King Edward.
What was even more infuriating was the fact that, while she sat on her derriere, just eating the plentiful food and looking out the window of her room, somewhere in the distance her countrymen were starving because of the war interrupting the growing season. Though this was the first time she ever really got to experience this sort of frustration and longing as the daughter of an aristocrat, the fact that she had never before had to experience this made it that much worse.
The idle occupations that at one point she might have found agreeable, or even enjoyable at times, were now inane at best, and infuriating at worst. Her temper was a volatile thing that she could not always control. Her parents and the servants both suffered from these outbursts of temper, but neither could explain them. For as privileged as she was to have a fine house, a waiting staff and plenty of food, she acted as though she were seriously deprived.
Of course, in Agnes' mind, she was deprived of something more important than delicate foods or fine clothing could ever be. She was deprived of the feeling of self-worth, and nothing was more important to her at this point in time.
Agnes was a Scottish woman, her father's defecting be damned. She didn't want to be living under the same roof as a man who would throw away his country at the drop of a pen. She wanted to help Scotland while it was struggling to maintain its autonomy.
It was unbearable to think that she was living in a safe manor with all the comforts that were afforded to aristocrats while her people suffered. So, she chose to take flight during the night, when no one would be able to stop her.
Therefore, on the sixth day after moving into the manor, Agnes packed up a trunk of only the essentials for her journey, and then left in the quiet of the night, mounting her fine Clydesdale, Angus, and heading north.
Agnes soon learned that the reason for not traveling at night was more than just for comfort. Her horse, though usually a surefooted and steady mount, found it hard to do so much as trot without losing his footing, and Agnes wasn't sure how she could maintain the course to Scotland without being on a road, and without being able to see.
Her route had been carefully chosen after an afternoon spent poring over the regional maps and finding the course that would be most likely to be uninhabited and untraveled. She was going to travel through the woods to the north of her father's manor, going in a generally easterly direction gradually, until she eventually reached Nottingham. From there, as long as she wore a cloak and didn't make a spectacle of herself, she would be far enough away from her father's influence to travel on the roads without fear of detection.
What she didn't account for, being the aristocratic woman that she was, were the logistical difficulties. Not half a mile into the woods did she learn she had to set up a camp and resume her journey come morning.
When she did wake, it was due to the biting cold of the autumn morning, yet another thing she hadn't taken into account. Her ability to take in all the factors and consider them, and then plan for them, was woefully inept. Growing up in an aristocratic class and suffering very little hardship from the real world precipitated that.
Regardless of the hardship, she mounted her Clydesdale again and set off. Maintaining her course was only possible thanks to the river Trent, which she was able to run into, more or less by coincidence. From there, she piloted herself to Nottingham, and then managed to follow the roads further north.
She entered Scotland without any trouble from anyone her father may have sent to recover her. The journey was so easy that Agnes wondered if possibly her father didn't send anyone at all, or if her route was just so quickly traveled that no courier sent after her could catch up.
Regardless of the reason, she did enter Scotland and went to the first border town that she could, that being Canonbie.
The whole sum of money that she took from her father's coffers was just enough to pay her traveling expenses for the seven day journey by horseback, and provide for her for another three days. By then, her money would be gone, but she felt confident that Providence would look after her because of her brave sacrifices to make the journey all the way back to her homeland.
Once she had made her way to the Canonbie Inn, she tied up Angus outside and went into the innkeeper's reception. There was an old woman with her wispy white hair tied up carefully in a bun. Her face was a network of mistrustful wrinkles, and once she saw the fine attire on Anges' pleasantly plump body, her expression was even more suspicious still.
"What business do you have?" the woman asked. Her tone was just short of accusatory, and it took Agnes by surprise. Certainly she was met with some questioning looks before because of her figure and clothing denoting her wealthy background, but she never was met with hostility. A sort of fearful respect was more common.
"I would like a room," Agnes replied very matter-of-factly, trying to seem as though she was totally unperturbed by the woman's reaction to her.
The woman didn't stop eyeing her suspiciously, but she gave a reasonable quote for a room for the night, including dinner. Though her behavior was odd, Agnes wasn't in the mood to search all over town for a more accommodating place--especially not when considering the fact that such behavior would be deemed strange by the locals. So, Agnes paid the fee and had her supper, then went to bed…
Highlander’s Promise:
Chapter Two
When Agnes woke up, it was because she was being lifted out of her bed by a pair of strong arms that could carry her weight like she was nothing but a small rucksack. At first, she didn't know what to do, or how to react. It took a moment for what was happening to process in her mind, because she had never experienced what it was to be fearful, or to be in danger. Her instincts kicked in within moments, though, and she began screaming for help.
Her screaming couldn't be allowed to continue, however. A hand soon covered her mouth and nose, making it nearly impossible to breathe, let alone scream. The strong man who was carrying her didn't even break stride, and before he reached the door of the hotel, Agnes felt her consciousness slowly ebb away again.
When she did awake, it was to the dingy lighting of some unfinished dirt basement with only one oil lamp on a table in front of her. She hadn't even adjusted her sight to the dingy and inadequate lighting before a deep and gravelly voice addressed her.
"Did you think you could spy on us? Try and obtain information for the English scum?" the manly voice demanded. Agnes felt a cold sweat break out all over her body, and she was rendered speechless. "Well, Levin?" he asked, the volume of his voice steadily rising in anger.
"N-no, no. I am not here to meet the ends of the English--" Agnes quickly said, trying to assuage the man of those fears.
"Don't lie to me, Levin scum," he said, growling slightly.
"How do you know my family name?" Agnes asked. It troubled her that this man seemed to know who she was. Could her father actually have men looking for her to take her back home all the way in Scotland? No, that was inconceivable. He was a traitor to the Scottish people. No self-respecting Scotsman would dare to sell his labor to a man who so brazenly and unabashedly betrayed him.
What was more concerning, now that Agnes was able to think a bit more clearly, was the fact that she held the same name as her defecting father. Perhaps that's why she was detained and why this man was questioning her.
The man was eerily silent for a few moments, then he stood up, slamming his fist down on the table. "You don't think that I would let a Levin through my town, do you? You must have thought you were going to pull the wool over my eyes, but you're wearing an English fashioned dress. My mom was able to catch that, and from there it was simple enough to discern who you were," the man growled.
"No, I didn't come here to fool anyone--"
"Liar!" he said, his tone rising yet again, but Agnes wasn't daunted. She believed firmly that she was in the right, and she was determined to show it.
"I'm no liar! I am here to fight for Scotland! Unlike my father, I'm no turncoat!" Agnes replied, her voice alive with the passion of her convictions. This did not convince her interrogator, however.
"Oh yeah? And I'm the bloody queen in that case! Don't lie to me!" he said, though despite his yelling, Agnes was not afraid. She tried to stand to continue to engage him on the matter, but she realized then that she was tied to the chair. This was quite serious, then. She was earnestly considered a threat by this man.
"Besides my last name, what makes you believe I'm a liar?" Agnes asked, glaring at the shadowy figure who was insulting and interrogating her.
This question seemed to give the man pause, and he didn't attempt to reply right away. "I don't need another reason to think you're a traitor, Levin. The sins of the father are visited upon his children. Your father abandoned us because of a coming storm, yet you expect me to embrace you? Don't make me laugh!" he said, spitting on the ground.
"Perhaps my father did betray you," Agnes began, but then corrected herself. "No, my father definitely did betray you. I don't blame you for being angry with him. The reason I'm even here is because I'm angry with him, too. But just because my father betrayed you doesn't mean that I will! Why would I have come to the front lines of a war if all I meant to do was betray the Scottish people? I could have stayed at home in a large manor with servants, but I left that all because I knew I belonged in Scotland!" Agnes said.
"Perhaps you did leave Britain, but just because you did doesn't mean you're on the side of the Scots. After all, if you did want to help Scotland, wouldn't you do better for us by trying to sabotage England from within? What's one little woman going to do for a war?" the man demanded.
"Sabotage? I left my father's house to avoid disgracing and embarrassing myself, sir," Agnes replied, indignant. "And I'm not just one little woman!"
"Oh, and what are you?" the man asked curiously.
"I'm a woman with important documents about British stratagems," Agnes replied. "And the willingness to help my country in whatever way possible. What else could a person offer?"
The man hesitated for a moment, not sure that he wanted to trust this strange woman. Still, the earnestness with which she spoke did make him willing to at least give her a chance.
"Fine. Start by giving over those documents, and maybe we can work something out together," the man said.
"To do that, I have to be untied first," Agnes pointed out.
"Just tell me where they are. I'll grab them," he replied. She had the papers safely tucked away in her corset, and so she was not willing to let this strange man rustle around in there.
"Excuse me, sir, but you will not," Agnes replied, scooting away from him and glaring. The man just eyed her, but his expression was covered in darkness so much that she couldn't tell much about how he felt about her reaction.
"And why is that?" he asked.
"Because you owe me a show of trust, sir. Especially after tying me up like this," Agnes said, using "sir" in a somewhat sarcastic tone. She showed her total lack of fear, if nothing else, in speaking to her interrogator. That characteristic went some way towards proving that she wasn't actually the terrible spy that the Scots feared that she was, but it still made her seem mysterious.
"The reason I tied you up is because I don't trust you. Now you expect me to do a trust exercise for you? How dim are you?" the man asked, his voice lowering. Agnes just frowned and studied the shadowy face for any hint of an expression on his face.
"Fine," Agnes finally said with a heavy sigh. "The documents are in my corset, but after you read them, you have to untie me," she said. If he wouldn't just untie her upon request, she hoped that she could bargain for her confines to be lifted.
"Ah, that's why you didn't want me to get them myself," the man said. At least he understood that now, but he didn't hesitate to untie the corset and pull out the documents that were indeed where Agnes said that they would be. From there, he sat down at the table, and Agnes could finally see the rudiments of his face. He had dark brown hair with a strong jawline and defined features. His brow was somewhat on the low side, his eyes deep and intense. In short, he looked just how she would picture a man running the revolution.