Highland Spy: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 4 Read online

  “That was self-taught, too, I guess,” she responded. “I mean – I havena had a lot of practice.”

  “Why no’?” he asked, his arms still around her. “After all, ye’re a bonnie lass. I canna see why ye are no’ married by now.”

  “Ye are a handsome lad, so why are ye no’ married?”

  “I havena found the right girl yet.” He looked deeply into her eyes when he spoke. “But I think mayhap I’m gettin’ closer.”

  He was looking at her like he wanted to eat her. And although it excited her, it frightened her at the same time. Her body became heated and she stepped away. “I think I’d like to walk in the water and cool off my feet.”

  “Aye,” he said, nodding and clearing his throat. “I think coolin’ off is a guid idea.”

  They made their way to the water’s edge where Bridget sat down on a rock. Kicking off her shoes, she walked into the water without even removing her hose. Caleb, on the other hand, removed his weapon belt and then his leine, walking into the water waist deep, still wearing his plaid.

  “What are ye doin’?” she asked with a chuckle.

  “Goin’ for a swim,” he said.

  “Wearin’ yer plaid?”

  He walked deeper into the water and she heard him grumble.

  “Och, this is gettin’ too heavy and it’s in my way.”

  Before she knew it, he removed his plaid and tossed it back to shore. She suddenly wondered if he was naked, since she had no idea what he wore under his plaid.

  “Caleb, are ye . . . wearin’ braies?” she asked from the shore.

  “Come on in and find out.” He waggled his bushy brows, making her laugh.

  “I think I’ll stay right here, thank ye.”

  “Logan swims naked all the time,” he told her. “He only stopped walkin’ around in front of everyone that way because now he’s married and Rhoswen doesna like it.”

  “Then I’m glad ye’re no’ Logan,” she said, walking in the water at the river’s edge, holding her plaid up so it wouldn’t get wet.

  “I’m comin’ out, so close yer eyes unless ye want to see my bare arse,” he teased her, swimming back to the shore.

  “Ye’re really naked?” Her eyes opened wide as he started to stand.

  “Here I come.”

  “Nay! Wait.” She jerked around and held her hand up to her eyes, losing her balance and falling into the water. The current started to carry her away and she screamed. “I dinna ken how to swim.”

  “Hold on, I’ll save ye.” Caleb dove under the water and swam furiously to her while Bridget tried her best to keep her head above the water.

  “Caleb,” she cried out, panicked now. All she could think of was that her mother drowned and now she would die that way, too. Flaying her arms wildly, she ended up swallowing water and started to choke.

  “I’ve got ye, lass,” said Caleb, scooping her up in his arms.

  “I’m goin’ to drown,” she cried, having worked herself into a dither.

  “Haud yer wheesht. Ye’re no’ goin’ to drown.”

  “How do ye ken?”

  “Because,” he said, standing up in the water. It only came up to his chest. “My feet are on the bottom,” he told her. “Put yer feet down and ye can walk back to shore.”

  “Nay. Dinna let go of me, Caleb. Please,” she said, clinging to his neck.

  “Then I’ll carry ye.” Holding her in his arms, he brought her to the shore and gently put her down. Bridget finally let go of him.

  “Thank ye. Ye saved my life,” she told him, being extremely grateful.

  “All we did was go for a little swim, nothin’ more.” His smile relaxed her and made her body stop shaking. Then her eyes drifted downward and she saw that he wore braies.

  “Ye werena even naked!” she squealed.

  “Would ye rather I was?”

  “I almost drowned coverin’ my eyes and ye were just teasin’ me the whole time.” Emotions welled within her and before she knew it, tears ran down her face. She turned and picked up her soggy plaid and ran back to the horses.

  “Bridget, wait,” called Caleb, never seeming to be able to do the right thing around this lass. If he wasn’t making her angry, he was making her cry, and he didn’t even know what he had done wrong.

  She stopped, holding on to the side of the saddle, placing her forehead against it, whimpering softly.

  “I’m sorry, Bridget,” he said, his hand resting on her shoulder. “I was only playin’. I didna mean to make ye cry. I was tryin’ to make ye laugh, but I can see I failed.”

  “Nay,” she said with a sniff, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Slowly she turned to look at him. “It’s no’ yer fault, Caleb. I never should have gone in the water to begin with.”

  “But the river isna even that deep,” he told her. “Ye were never in any real danger.”

  “Can we talk?” she asked in a mere whisper. “I’d like to tell ye about somethin’ of my past.”

  “Aye, lass. Of course, we can. But let’s sit in the sun so our clothes will dry.”

  “All right, but please no’ by the water.”

  Caleb put on his leine and picked up his wet plaid. Slink was exploring the area around them, sticking its head in a log, looking for something to eat. “Dinna go far, Slink. We’re no’ stayin’ long,” he told his pet before taking Bridget’s hand and leading her to a clearing in the grass where the sun shone down brightly.

  “Here, we can sit on my plaid even though it is wet,” he told her, spreading it out on the ground. He gave her a second to collect herself, sitting next to her and gently rubbing his fingers over her back, trying to calm her.

  “I told ye how my mathair died by drownin’,” she finally spoke.

  “Aye. And I’m sorry, lass. It must have been horrible.”

  “It was. I was only a young child at the time, but I still have nightmares about it. My faither has always kept me away from the water after that.”

  “So that is why ye never learned to swim?”

  She bit her lip and nodded, looking up at him with sad, blue eyes. “I fear the water more than ye ken.”

  “I’ll teach ye to swim, Bridget. Ye shouldna be afraid of the water.”

  “Mayhap someday, but no’ anytime soon. I’d like to go back to the castle now and check on my faither.”

  “Lass, is there somethin’ else ye are no’ tellin’ me that has to do with yer da?”

  “Like what?” she asked, looking at the ground.

  “Like why my sister and Lady Wren were givin’ ye herbs? What was it for? Is he ill?”

  She didn’t respond, and Caleb didn’t want to push her. So he stood up, preparing to leave. “Slink, we’re goin’,” he called out, and his pine marten came running.

  “Wait, Caleb,” said Bridget, standing up next to him. “I want to say thank ye. For savin’ my life today.”

  “It was nothin’.” He chuckled and waved his hand through the air. Then he bent over and picked up his plaid to don it.

  “Ye were brave to risk yer life to do it.”

  “Bridget, stop it. No one was in danger and we were only goin’ for a swim. Dinna make it sound like I’m some kind of hero.”

  “But ye are, and I am thankful. I’m goin’ to put it in the Highland Chronicles.”

  “Och,” he spat, tying his plaid and picking up Slink. He held the animal up to his face and gave it a quick kiss. “If ye’re goin’ to put me in the Highland Chronicles, then make it about somethin’ more impressive than just bringin’ ye from the water.”

  “All right, I will,” she said with definition. “But please, Caleb, dinna tell my secret to anyone that I am writin’ in my faither’s stead.”

  “We had a deal, lass. I told ye I wouldna say a thing, and I willna. That is, as long as ye keep yer part of the deal as well.”

  “I promise ye, I will. I’ll write ye into the chronicles and I swear it will never be anythin’ bad about ye again.”

  Chapte
r 11

  The tower bell rang the next morning as King Robert’s procession arrived at Hermitage Castle bright and early. A sentry atop the battlements blew a straight trumpet announcing the king’s presence while everyone ran to take their places.

  “Hurry, Caleb,” called out Logan, waving his arm in the air from across the courtyard. Caleb overslept as usual, never liking to get up early. The sun had just started to rise, and daylight was lighting up the horizon.

  Two lines of Highlanders stood across from each other, holding their swords in the air. The tips were joined, making a passageway for the king to walk under. The six lairds who were the finalists in the competition stood at the front of the line. These warriors were all hardened men who would do anything to earn the title and be crowned the winner of the Leader of the Lairds Competition. It was a high honor.

  Caleb didn’t trust a single one of them, besides his own laird, Storm. And even Storm got a little crazy at times when it came to winning competitions. Highlanders were competitive, and didn’t like to lose. It wasn’t surprising that all Highlanders were in the finals and not a single Lowland laird made it through. Caleb also found it curious that so many of the competing lairds yesterday seemed to have bad luck or fall prey to accidents while competing. Mysteriously, they dropped their swords, or a weapon broke. Some seemed to stumble for no reason at all, and one man even fell and broke his arm. It wasn’t like these lairds to be careless or clumsy. But because of their mishaps, it took them out of consideration of even having a shot at the title.

  The herald announced the king while the musicians played a lively fanfare that split the air. With an entourage of guards in front and in back of him, the king came forward atop his horse, his long ermine cloak of purple hanging over the sides of his steed. Above his head was a square cloth canopy being held up by long wooden poles that was carried by four servants. They walked alongside the king as he and his procession of guards rode atop their horses that were adorned in fancy tack.

  “Your Majesty, welcome to Hermitage Castle,” said Storm proudly as he and his wife, Wren, approached the king. Storm, being last year’s winner, wore the brooch and crown that were part of his winnings. Wren curtsied and Storm bowed, showing their respect to their country’s leader. “We are honored that ye have decided to join us this year to observe the Leader of the Lairds Competition. It is a privilege to have ye inside the walls of Hermitage Castle. We are forever grateful,” said Storm, speaking loudly so all could hear. He seemed to be overdoing the praises of gratitude in Caleb’s opinion, but he realized Storm was just trying to get in the king’s good graces. Plus, Storm was very proud of having seized Hermitage Castle from the English years ago.

  “MacKeefe,” said the king with a slight nod. The rising sun seemed to illuminate his auburn hair. A golden crown adorned with colorful jewels sat atop his head shining brightly in the morning light. “My stay here will be brief, so I suggest we move forward with the festivities anon.”

  “Aye, of course, Yer Majesty,” said Storm. “May I escort ye into the great hall for a mornin’ meal?”

  “Just a fast one,” said the king, dismounting his horse. “I’m anxious to watch the competition. Have the finalists been chosen yet?”

  “They have, Sire.” Storm bowed again. “Let me introduce the lairds who are movin’ on to the final competition, startin’ with myself.”

  “That doesna surprise me that ye’re in the finals, MacKeefe. Ye have a reputation for winnin’ any challenge ye take on.” The king nodded toward the crown on Storm’s head, causing Storm to straighten up and beam with pride.

  “Thank ye, Sire,” said Storm, a large smile spreading across his face. He led the king to the entrance of the archway of swords held by the Scots. Then he introduced the competitors one by one, even though the king already knew them all. “This year’s finalists are: Ollie, chieftain of the Fraser Clan, and beside him is Laird Angus of the MacKenzies.”

  Ollie was a weathered, older man, but had the most experience with weapons and was still quick on his feet. Angus had a chest on him the size of a barrel and was built like a castle’s retaining wall. He’d be hard to knock down.

  “Then we have Lairds Owen of Clan Grant, and Henry of the MacDonalds. And last of all is Chieftain Clement MacLean,” finished Storm.

  Owen was the youngest of the competitors, being not much older than Caleb. If it came to quickness or lithe in a challenge, he’d beat the others. Henry, on the other hand, was strong and had the biggest muscles of any of the finalists. He would probably win if it came down to strength. Then there was Clement, a mysterious man who was quick in mind games or in cases when he had to use his intellect.

  While the preliminary round was planned, no one knew for sure what the finalists would be required to do. The king was the only one who knew since he would choose the events that led to crowning a winner.

  “Umph,” mumbled the king, not sounding at all impressed by the finalists. “Show me to the great hall, MacKeefe. And call for my chronicler. I want all these events recorded. Where is the chronicler?” He grumbled impatiently as he headed through the passageway of swords on his way to the great hall.

  * * *

  Bridget had just finished writing about Caleb in the Highland Chronicles and was blowing on the ink waiting for it to dry when there came a knock at the door. Her father was on the other side of the room, dressing, getting confused by which end to put his head through on his tunic.

  “Faither, someone is at the door,” said Bridget, jumping up. “Just a moment,” she called out, helping her father into his tunic and throwing his plaid around him. The pounding continued and she hurried across the floor and opened the door.

  “Bridget,” said Caleb, out of breath, as if he’d been running.

  “Caleb. What is it?”

  “The king has arrived and is callin’ for his chronicler and he doesna sound patient.”

  “Oh, my!” she exclaimed, looking back at her father. He wasn’t having a good start to his day. His mind was wandering more than ever this morning and simple tasks seemed to be monumental to him. She couldn’t let the king see him like this.

  “Didna ye hear the fanfare and the tower bell ringin’ announcin’ his presence?” asked Caleb.

  “I had the shutter closed. Nay, I didna hear it,” she said.

  “Didna hear it? It was so loud they probably heard it all the way to the Highlands.”

  “Well, I was busy writin’ in the chronicles all mornin’, so I didna pay much attention.”

  “No matter, we need to go. Now.” He grabbed her hand and dragged her to the door.

  “Nay. Wait, Caleb. I canna go without my faither.”

  “Brigham, hurry. The king awaits ye,” Caleb called out across the room. The man mumbled something and fumbled with his plaid. “Egads, man, what are ye doin’? Ye canna keep the king waitin’.”

  “I’ll get him,” said Bridget, hurrying across the room. “Caleb, can ye put the Highland Chronicles in my bag so I dinna forget it?”

  “Aye. Of course,” he said, heading to her writing table.

  When Caleb reached for the open book, something caught his eye. It was his name on the page. Hadn’t Bridget said she’d been writing in the chronicles all morning? It made him curious as to what she’d written about him. “Did ye scribe somethin’ about me on this page?” he asked, picking up the book to read it.

  “No’ only on that page, but on many pages,” she told him, heading back across the room with her father in tow. “And I promise ye, they are all guid things.”

  Caleb chuckled lowly, flipping back a few pages, seeing his name there as well. She wasn’t jesting. She’d written a lot about him and he couldn’t wait to read it. “Ye didna have to write so much about me, lass,” he told her, saying the words but secretly glad she did.

  “Well, I felt terrible for what I did and wanted to make it up to ye. Plus, I didna want ye to tell the king my secret.”

  “I understand,” he sai
d with a smile. He’d never intended on telling the king or anyone about her secret. But if she thought he might have, all the better for him getting his name in the book more times than even his friends.

  “Caleb, what the hell are ye doin’?” growled Logan, sticking his head in the open door. “The king is anxious to have his chronicler record everythin’ that happens regardin’ this competition.”

  “Just a moment,” said Caleb, flipping back to the first page with his name on it. He really needed to read this.

  Logan snatched the book out of his hands and slammed it shut, handing it to Brigham. “Everyone is waitin’ on the food because the king says he wants to see his chronicler first. Ye were sent here to get him and yet ye stand here readin’ a book. What is the matter with ye?”

  “Aye, let’s go,” said Bridget, hurrying out the door with her father.

  “I need to check on Slink first,” said Caleb. “Ye didna let him out of our room, did ye, Logan? I dinna want Jack to eat him.”

  “Nay, I didna, and Jack is in the barn,” said Logan. “Slink is fine, so check on him later. We need to get to the great hall. Oh, and by the way, I dinna think the finalists are goin’ to like yer nocturnal pet in the room when they’re tryin’ to sleep tonight.”

  “What are ye talkin’ about?” asked Caleb.

  “Didna ye hear? The lairds who are the finalists will be sharin’ a room with us now. Storm says they need special treatment so he is bringin’ them into the castle overnight.”

  “Nay!” whined Caleb. “I canna share a room with ye as well as five other lairds. It’ll be too tight to even move.”

  “It’s either that or stay out in the barn,” said Logan. “But Jack has made himself comfortable out there, and I’m no’ goin’ to make him move, if ye decide to sleep with Slink in the hay again.”

  “Fine, I’ll share a room,” said Caleb with a sigh. “But I’m no’ givin’ up my pallet,” he added, heading out the door.