Page 11 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

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Thomas had never in his life seen Inverness Castle so full of gaiety. He was sure that the walls themselves would soon start to crumble, unable to contain all of the noise or the shaking caused by hundreds of dancing feet.

People seemed to have abandoned each of the morals that they had been taught, bending more to the will of drinks and amusement than that of God. Women he had known his entire life, women who never once showed him a wee bit of interest, were looking at him as if he was a prized stud. Men went clambering to the floor in a brawl, only to rise a second later in a friendly embrace, practically crying as they reaffirmed the deepness of their friendship.

Thomas had always thought it silly that his father never fully unleashed the power of his liquor stores, but now he saw the wisdom in the choice. People were going mad.

John reentered the hall and began a slow trek toward him, beaming and stopping here and there to share a joke or the verse of some song.

“Ah, Thomas, have ye ever seen such a party? This is how the castle ought to be all the time.”

“Aye, if only the morning wouldn’t deliver such a blow.”

John laughed heartily and accepted a goblet from a passing lass, one who Thomas was sure he had seen before. In fact, there were many women that he was sure he had seen before. Not serving in the castle, but in some awfully improper spots down in Inverness.

John must have seen Thomas’ eyes trailing the woman as she left. “Sutherland paid them—wanted this wedding to be one fer the ages.”

Ah. No wonder the women seem so loose, Thomas thought.

They were whores, and likely earning a bit extra for each man they snared. It couldn’t have been a cheap plan for Sutherland, who had not returned with John, and who Thomas couldn’t remember seeing with any of the women himself. He wasn’t smart enough, or sober enough, to work out the reason for it.

“Our good friend Sutherland seems to have many plans. How was yer little talk?”

“Keep yer voice down, brother,” John mumbled. “Canna have the wrong ears hear ye now. Sutherland and I worked out all the final details. All that is left is the action itself.”

Thomas nodded slowly. “Didn’t happen to ask him what would happen to Kenna? Once Sutherland’s plan is through, she will be the easiest one fer the Queen to lay her hands on.”

“Kenna is a bright lass. She’ll be fine.”

“Kenna is a foolish girl, more apt to say something worth killing her over than not. Ye ken that better than anyone since ye’re the one always saying it.”

John’s fingers tightened on the goblet in his hands, and he sneered. “Fer one with so many concerns, ye speak them a bit too late. The Fraser has already wed her and bed her. Ye’re drinking at the dregs of her wedding feast.”

“But—”

“Enough.” John hissed, looking around them both to make sure all were out of earshot. “Remember why we did this. We were dead men, just like our father. Elizabeth and Kenna were ruined, if not dead themselves. We saved those lives and, as ye’ve said yerself, Rob Fraser is a better husband than Kenna deserves. ‘Tis a gift to her, all of this.”

“Aye, we give her a gift and then do our best to sour it with treachery.”

“We give a gift to see if she makes anything of it. And the last I checked, serving one’s clan is the noblest of endeavors,” John said in finality, standing and leaving Thomas to his self-inflicted penance so he could rejoin the rest of the celebrations.

John had a fair point. It had almost even been wise, Thomas comprehended, wondering if this was some sort of new John that he would need to learn to contend with. He preferred him stupid and hotheaded; it meant that he knew where every swing was coming from. He could control it, manipulate it, ensure that the fist fell where he wished. Hopefully, this new version would wear off over time.

Thomas knew that John was right about them having few options that ended with them having heads. Even fewer resulted with them still holding the castle. But holding the castle was pivotal if they wanted any sort of favor from their Laird, the Earl of Huntly; a man whose face they had only seen a handful of times but whose words had affected their lives simply because they were born with the name Gordon. It had given them so much, but it had cost them even more.

Remembering Kenna that morning, and her undeniable fascination when she first saw Rob Fraser, gave him a bit of hope that he hadn’t lost her, not completely. The rest of the feast, with her sitting stony-faced beside her new husband, was all that he could have expected from a sister who had always been too stubborn for her own good. Given time, Rob Fraser may just be able to wear her down and get Kenna at her best.

But then, it was Kenna. With her mouth, she would probably be dead by the end of the week.

“Can I top ye off, milord?” It was a lass with matted hair and an overly tanned complexion. Probably some farmer’s daughter who had heard that there was gold up for grabs if she was willing to pay the price to take it. Not the prettiest of them, but she would do.

“Aye.”

She filled the goblet and settled herself into Thomas’ lap, pressing herself up against him and suckling at his neck through fake giggles that she probably thought he wished to hear.

He let her continue her work, grinding up against him, while he stared past her to his full cup. With a tip, he poured some of the deep-red liquid onto the ground. A tribute to those he had lost.