Highland Honor Read online

  The Highland Honor

  Scottish Strife Series - Book 3

  Dana D’Angelo

  Copyright Information

  Copyright © 2016

  http://www.dana–dangelo.com

  All rights reserved. This book, in its entirety or in parts, may not be reproduced in any format without expressed permission. Scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book through the Internet or through any other type of distribution or retrieval channel without the permission of the author is illegal and is punishable by law. Please obtain only legitimate electronic versions of this book and do not engage in or encourage piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  The characters, places and events portrayed in this collection of fictional works are a result of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real events, locales, or people, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Thank You Gift

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Glossary

  More Titles By Dana D’Angelo

  Chapter 1

  Scotland, 1560

  “’Tis guid of ye tae take Adrina MacGill home,” Mairead said.

  “Duncan didnae want tae take her, and I felt sorry for the lass.” Griogair MacGregon shrugged at his sister. “Darra was right in saying that Adrina shouldnae be wandering alone in the wilderness. Who kens what might have happened tae her. She’s fortunate that nay harm has befallen her.”

  He picked up the half completed wood carving, and began to work at it with his dagger, losing interest in the topic.

  “Should ye nae be packing for your journey?” she asked.

  “I should,” he said, carefully curving the sharp knife over the wood. He stopped, inspected the cuts and angled the blade back onto the piece of wood.

  “Sae how long do ye think ye will be away?” Mairead picked up the plaid that rested on the bed and began to roll it up.

  Griogair paused and glanced at his sister. She was an inquisitive lass, and he recognized that if he didn’t answer her questions, she would find some other way to get the details from him. He shook his head and fought from smiling. Instead, he frowned. “Ye ask too many questions, Mairead.”

  She had the grace to blush. “I need tae be informed of what’s happening at Tancraig Castle. Otherwise, how am I supposed tae run this place? Besides, if I was a man, I would already ken the plan.”

  He shrugged again and went back to his woodworking. “I’m nae certain how long ‘twould take,” he said. “But I wouldnae wish for ye tae be other than who ye are. If ye were a man, Rory wouldnae hesitate tae send ye off tae war.”

  “Well, at least I would go places.” She pushed the plaid in the small sack with a little more force than necessary.

  Mairead did have a point though. Ever since their mother died, the running of the castle had fallen on her shoulders. Neither she nor their younger sister Kila were allowed outside of the castle without an escort. It was too perilous, especially with the countless threats that had come to the forefront. There were always the unscrupulous Broken Men to contend with. But now there was also the impending English invasion that they needed to consider. At the moment Mairead looked sullen, as if she desired to venture far away from the mundane happenings of the castle. If only she realized that she wasn’t missing out on much. But even if he told her this, she wouldn’t believe him.

  When she glanced at him again, a challenging glint reflected in her eyes. “Are ye going tae tell me about your mission or nae?”

  He sighed. “Rory’s sending me tae gather intelligence on the MacGill. After that I go tae Bracken Ridge.” He wasn’t keen on going there, but they needed to assemble as many men as possible.

  Her eyes went round with curiosity. “Sae ye intend tae join the men at the Ridge?”

  Griogair fought back another sigh. He really didn’t know what she did with all the information that she acquired. He supposed that letting her in on the plan was harmless enough. As she kept pointing out, she would learn about the tactical strategies in one way or another. But the truth was that they had no scheme other than to set up a surprise attack at Bracken Ridge. At the recent war council, the lairds feared that the enemy would breach the Scottish borders, but Griogair knew that this wasn’t a simple feat. It would be near impossible for the invaders to traverse through the Scottish terrain. This was especially true if they were unfamiliar with the land, and if they traveled in large numbers. As far as he knew, no alarm had sounded to alert them of the coming invasion. In the meantime all they could do was to go to the Ridge, set up camp, and be ready to fight when the English arrived.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Who can that be?” Mairead murmured.

  “I’m nay expecting anyone,” Griogair said, blowing the wood shavings off the block of wood.

  “Are ye going tae answer that?”

  “Aye.” He twisted the object in his hand, examining his handiwork. It was finally starting to resemble the lazy hound that slept in the great hall.

  Seeing that he wasn’t about to get up, his sister went to the door. A second knock started to sound when she began to open it. Griogair inhaled deeply, and set aside his knife. Getting up, he walked toward the entrance.

  When the door opened, a servant stood with his fist raised in mid-air. His confused gaze went to Mairead before it shot past her to land on Griogair. Upon seeing him, the servant took a step back as if he feared that he would be struck to the other side of the chamber.

  Griogair frowned. He had returned to Tancraig Castle a little over a year ago, however some of the servants were still frightened of him.

  “There’s someone here tae see ye,” the servant cleared his throat, and composed himself. He slanted his eyes over at the large man who stood next to him. “He says that he has a message.”

  Shifting his scrutiny, his brows furrowed slightly when he took in the Highlander standing at the threshold. He was a swarthy warrior, his dark beard obscuring most of his features. As Griogair studied the patterns on the other man’s great kilt, a seed of recognition flashed through his brain.

  “Is that ye Thom?” he asked.

  “Aye,” the messenger said, tiredness lacing his voice. Reaching into the folds of his kilt, he pulled out a piece of parchment. “I’m tae give ye this.”

  Griogair took the sheepskin from the man’s hand. Something happened to clan MacRell, and he felt a deep sense of foreboding.

  “Take Thom tae the kitchen, and give him some food and drink,” Griogair said to the servant. He turned away from the door as he untied the string that wrapped around the letter. What was so important that Alasdar MacRell would send someone to relay a message to him? The door closed behind him, but the thud barely registered.

  “What does it say?” Mairead asked.

  He stared at the words, the meaning making no sense to him. He read it a second time before the words finally sunk in. Pivoting on his heels, he walked rapidly to the oak door. Opening it, he stepped out into the hallway and shouted after the servant. “Where’s Rory?”

/>   Startled, the servant stopped and glanced back at him like a scared rabbit. “Rory is in the great hall.”

  ***

  Griogair strode into the great hall. It was dark and gloomy outside, and with the lack of light coming through, the dim chamber reflected his current mood. He spotted Rory at the dais, which was located at the far end of the hall. A scowl marred his brother’s face while he spoke in low tones with the caretaker. This wasn’t an opportune time to speak to him, however this couldn’t wait.

  At his approach, Rory looked up, noting the grim intensity on his visage. “Griogair,” he said, quirking one brow in question. Dismissing the caretaker, he turned to his brother. “Look, I ken that ye dinnae want tae involve yourself in matters that dinnae concern ye. But ye volunteered tae take the lass —”

  “Robart MacRell is dead,” Griogair said, interrupting him.

  Rory stared at him. “Dead?”

  “I just received word.” He raised his sights to the small window near the ceiling while he struggled to keep his emotions under control. “The MacRell asked me tae see him at Eddlemont Castle, but I need your leave tae go meet him.”

  “Granted.” Rory got up and came down from the high table. “I ken how close ye were tae your foster brother.”

  “Aye, he was like another brother tae me.” He cleared his throat, and when he brought his gaze back to Rory, he regained his composure. “I willnae be able tae escort Adrina MacGill, and will need tae get out of the assignment...”

  “Dinnae worry about her. Duncan will take your place.”

  A sense of relief filled his body. Looking back, Griogair shouldn’t have volunteered to escort the lass home in the first place. When Duncan refused to take her, she was crestfallen, so Griogair took pity on her. But after he put out his offer, he began to regret it. He liked to be alone, and disliked being responsible for others. Of course Duncan wouldn’t be happy about the change in plans, but Rory would make it right for everyone involved. People went to Rory to have their issues resolved. He was the head of the clan, and took their problem onto his capable shoulders. It didn’t matter whether the problem was big or small. He dealt with them all. Griogair couldn’t fully grasp what his brother did, nor did he care to understand it.

  Gathering his gear, he left Tancraig Castle in a daze. But as the hours of travel went by, he became mired in the past. Years ago he had left to live with the MacRell clan. He fostered at Eddlemont Castle, and found a second family. While it was true that he had four blood brothers, Robart MacRell had become a brother, friend and mentor all combined. And now he was dead...

  The horse made a wheezing snort, jerking him out of his recollection, and reminding him of the animal’s poor condition. He blew out a frustrated breath. He was so distracted when he left Tancraig Castle that he failed to notice his horse’s illness. Unfortunately by the time he realized the seriousness of the ailment it was too late to turn back and obtain a new mount.

  “I’ll need tae get ye some medicine, auld friend,” he said, giving the beast a firm pat on the neck. It wasn’t his plan to stop into the town along the way, but it appeared that he had no choice. This detour was an inconvenience, and would delay his arrival at Eddlemont Castle. Alasdar MacRell had sent an urgent summons requesting his audience. A summons from the clan chieftain wasn’t something that could be taken lightly. His only hope now was to find a suitable horse remedy in the market town, and get to his foster father as soon as possible.

  Chapter 2

  Sileas Ellison leaned her bow against the well, and dropped the three dead hares onto the ground. At least she and her brother found something today. She wiped at the perspiration that beaded on her forehead. The weather was cool, yet the exertion from hunting caused her to sweat as if it was a hot summer day.

  “I dinnae think we caught enough food,” Symon said.

  There was a dullness in his blue eyes, as if he had already witnessed too many things in his fourteen years. Even though he was mature for his age, their father refused to let him join them in their frequent forays. However this refusal only made him want to prove his worth. He became preoccupied in other matters, matters that were too weighty for his thin shoulders. He contemplated the scrawny catch, a slight frown on his young face. The expression on his narrow visage reflected her own mood. With the crisp weather upon them, they were at least fortunate enough to hunt brown hares, rabbits, and partridges. However this took patience since they needed to hide in the hawthorn bushes just to get a clear shot of the beasties. There were more desirable game like moorbirds, ducks and geese, except neither she nor her brother were skilled enough to hunt those fowls.

  “We tried our best,” she said. “There isnae much else we can do.”

  Spotting the tower cat that crept over to investigate their catch, she shooed it away. When she was certain that the feline was gone, she moved to lower the bucket into the well. Hunting was a dirty affair, and she needed to wash away the grime. What she really wanted was to take a dip in the nearby stream, but she was tired, and didn’t feel like being jolted by the icy water.

  Pulling on the cord, she dragged the heavy bucket up. Gesturing Symon closer, she said, “Put out your hands.” And when he complied, she poured the water over his palms.

  “I had that roe deer within my sights. I could have —”

  Pausing, she placed a hand on his sleeve and said, “Dinnae blame yourself, Symon.” She shrugged when he squirmed away from her touch. “The hares we caught are enough for the cook tae make stew, and feed us for another day or sae. With winter coming soon, ‘tis harder tae find adequate game. Even down by the burn, ‘tis nearly impossible tae catch trout. That’s just the reality of it.” She gestured to her brother and he obeyed by tipping the bucket over her hands. She scrubbed the dirt from her palms. Then scooping the liquid, she brought it to her face. As the frigid water hit her skin, she let out a hissing sound. After she finished wiping away the droplets with her sleeve, she looked at her brother. “Ye ken that when the snow arrives, we’ll have tae toil harder tae find meat.”

  “Da would do a better job at hunting game than us,” her brother said.

  “True enough, however ‘twould be a few more days before he and his men return.” But she recognized that even if he was present, her father would steal from the neighbors rather than hunt for food in the wilderness. Reiving was much easier. Everyone in the Lowlands knew that autumn was the optimal time for cattle rustling, especially since the livestock had spent the entire summer fattening up. Taking the stolen cattle to the markets now would ensure that they would have enough money to buy food and other necessities during the winter months. Unfortunately reiving worked both ways. In the end everyone on either side of the border risked having their farm animals poached by other riding families.

  Still, it wasn’t entirely the fault of the reivers. Even before she was born, the Scottish and English governments encouraged settlement along the borders. The allure of low rent and land in exchange for military service were too tempting for people to ignore. Soon the countryside became overpopulated, and land distribution became a thorny problem. Under normal circumstances when a land owner died, his small holding was divided equally among his sons. Difficulty arose when he had more than one son. In that case, each male inherited a meager strip of property. Sadly the heirs couldn’t raise a family, or make a living from the puny provisions. With such poor conditions, they had no other recourse except to turn to a life of crime. It was a matter of survival after all. All this Sileas understood, but she still didn’t like dwelling in a place where violence, thievery and lawlessness flourished like prickly weeds.

  “I wish Da would hurry home,” Symon said, interrupting her gloomy reflections.

  “Well, I wish Da would place a greater focus on providing for us.”

  “He is providing for us, Sileas,” he said, frowning. “Ye ken that he has tae mount a pursuit tae obtain our stolen guids. ‘Tis within our rights according tae the March law.”

  �
��I’m verra aware about the March law. ‘Tis the entire manner of stealing that I dinnae care for,” she said, shaking her head. “’Tis silly that we need tae engage in a counter-raid. Is it really necessary that they proceed with hound, horn, hue and cry, and make as much racket as possible sae they can announce their counter-raid? Every time they go on a foray, we are left tae keep the clan safe until they return.”

  “But our clansmen arenae on a foray,” he said, his brows drawn together. “They’re on a Cold Trod.”

  “What does it matter?” she asked impatiently. “They’re riding, and they risk getting maimed or killed in the counter-attack. I long for the Days of Truce where we can have peace and harmony with our neighbors.”

  “Peace and harmony?” Symon snorted. “Violence occurs even on truce days.”

  “Ye ken what I mean,” she said tiredly. “All this violence would cease if clans stopped reiving.”

  “That’s impossible,” Symon said dismissively. “The things we get from forays can be sold and help buy food supplies. Do ye think that ‘tis better that our stomachs rumble, and that we let the bairns die of starvation?” He stared at her. And when she didn’t respond, he nodded his head. “I thought sae.”

  “There are other ways tae survive,” she said, her voice turning sullen. “We can capture wild horses and sell them.”

  “We’ve only caught one wild horse.” He frowned and looked older than his fourteen years.

  Sileas snapped her mouth shut, knowing that having this discussion with Symon was a losing battle. Even at a young age, her younger brother was indoctrinated into believing that reiving was the only way to persevere. It was true that he was still a youth, however he was also the future chief of clan Ellison. Perhaps in a year or so, he would join their father in the nocturnal expeditions. And then with the night sky turning grey and the moonlight guiding them, they would rustle livestock and other goods from neighboring clans. When they returned home with a bounty, everyone would be merry and feast, temporarily forgetting their harsh living conditions. She on the other hand could never forget. In fact she was acutely aware that each time her father reived, they risked either retaliation from other clans, or criminal persecution by the queen’s representatives.