Highland Barbarian Part 1

Highland Barbarian.

By: Ruth Langan.

Chapter One

Scotland 15611 he line of mourners stretched as far as the eye could see. The men, women and children of the MacAlpin clan waited patiently to pay their respects to their fallen laird, Alastair MacAlpin. Dressed in simple peasant garments of rough wool, their hands callused from lifetimes of hard labor, they had left their fields and herds and trudged for miles to the manor house of their chief.

Seventeen-year-old Meredith, his eldest daughter, sat beside his body to greet her people. Her thick dark hair, the color of mahogany, had been brushed into silken waves that fell to her waist. Her green eyes occasionally misted with tears that were quickly blinked away.

Beside her sat the younger ones, sixteen-year-old Brenna, with hair the color of a raven's wing and eyes that rivaled the heather that bloomed on the hill, and fourteen-year-old Megan, whose copper hair and gold-flecked eyes gave her a glowing radiance that shamed even the sun.

Though it was Brenna's nature to be serene in the eye of the storm, it was the first time Meredith had ever known her youngest sister, Megan, to be so subdued.

One by one the people paused to offer their condolences and to pledge their loyalty to Meredith, the new clan chieftain.

"You had a fine teacher, la.s.s." The gnarled old man, Duncan MacAlpin, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and placed a bony hand on the girl's shoulder.

"You've learned your lessons well. You'll do the MacAlpin proud."

"Thank you, Duncan." Meredith steeled herself against the pain. There would be no public display of weakness. What her people, and especially her younger sisters, needed to see now was strength, dignity, hope. Later, when she was alone with her grief, she would give in to the overwhelming need to weep.

The clatter of horses' hooves sent the chickens squawking and clucking in the courtyard. The door to the manor house was opened to admit Gareth MacKenzie and a dozen of his men. The MacKenzie land adjoined the MacAlpin land to the north, then stretched for miles until it met the river Tweed.

"My condolences. Lady Meredith." Gareth MacKenzie bent low over her hand, then turned to study the still form of the MacAlpin.

"You know, of course, who murdered your father?"

"Aye. Cowards. Highwaymen who struck under cover of darkness and hid behind masks. Duncan here said there were more than a dozen."

"You saw them?" Gareth turned a piercing gaze on the withered old man.

"I was bringing Mary back from a birthing at our nephew's farm. By the time I realized what was happening, they were gone. And the MacAlpin was drenched in his own blood." The old man choked back a sob before adding,

"Mary and I brought him here in our wagon. But even my Mary's medicines could not save him."

"Did you get a good look at any of their horses?" Gareth hand hovered inches above his sword, and Meredith was touched by the vehemence in his tone. Though their lands had been adjoining for generations, she had never before been witness to Gareth's concern for her father's welfare.

"Nay." The old man's voice broke.

"It was too dark, and my eyes are growing dim. But my arms are still strong enough to wield a broadsword with the best of them. A few minutes sooner and the MacAlpin would still be alive." He touched a hand to Meredith's shoulder and added softly, "Or I'd have died alongside him where I've always been."

"Don't dwell on it, Duncan." Meredith stood and wrapped her arms around the man who had been her father's right hand since they were lads.

"You and Mary did all you could."

"Those were no highwaymen," Gareth said in a voice loud enough for all to hear.

A murmur went up among the crowd.

"What are you saying?" Meredith turned to study him while keeping an arm around Duncan's shoulders.

"It was the Highland Barbarian, Brice Campbell."

Meredith stiffened. The very name Brice Campbell sent terror through the hearts of all who heard it. He was a Highlander, and rumored to be the most feared warrior in all of Scotland. The Lowlanders, and especially the Borderers, found themselves under attack by both the English and their own neighbors in the Highlands.

"Everyone knows he and his men come down from the Highlands and strike, then disappear into the hills before anyone can catch them."

"But why would the Campbell attack Alastair MacAlpin?"

"The land." Gareth noted the hush that had descended over the crowd.

"How many times have your borders been attacked in night raids in the past year?"

It was common knowledge that MacAlpin land had been attacked half a dozen times. Eight men had been killed and two boys under the age of ten. Crops had been destroyed, cattle stolen. And each time the looters had disappeared without a trace.

""Twas the English. Everyone knows they are the ones who loot and pillage."

Meredith frowned.

"My father never mentioned the Campbell."

"Not to you, perhaps. But he said as much to me."

She was stung by his words. For as long as she could remember, she and her father had shared everything. With the death of her mother and then the murder of her little brother, Brendan, father and daughter had forged a bond of love and trust. Why would he have kept such a thing from her?

As if reading her mind Gareth said,

"You're young, la.s.s. Alastair thought it too much of a burden to place on your shoulders. And so he confided in me and suggested that if anything should happen to him, he wanted to be a.s.sured that the MacKenzie clan would look out for you."

"I can look out for myself." She drew herself to her full height and turned away, dismissing him.

"I would not presume to intrude on your grief unless I thought it of the utmost importance." Gareth touched her shoulder and drew her around to face him, knowing that the crowd of onlookers overheard everything.

"But those under the protection of the MacAlpin must be a.s.sured that they will have a strong leader. If it is indeed Brice Camp- bell who killed your father he will not be deterred by a lone woman. Your father would expect you to form a strong union immediately."

He saw her eyes narrow fractionally as she gave him a withering look.

"You would speak to me of marriage before my father is even in the ground?"

As she started to turn away he said,

"I speak of a merger of our two lands, our two clans, in order to fight the common enemy.

It is a small sacrifice to pay for the safety of those who depend upon you."

Meredith saw the looks that pa.s.sed from Duncan to Mary, from one villager to another. Though no one spoke she could sense the fear that had suddenly taken hold. A seed had been planted. A seed of fear and rebellion. And she felt powerless to stop it.

"I am not suggesting that you marry me," Gareth said, pressing his advantage.

"Though as the eldest, it would be my right." He saw her shiver and knew that he had touched a nerve. From the time they were children Meredith had sensed something unsettling about Gareth that she could not name.