Page 10 of Highlander’s False Identity

For a moment, she surveyed the speeding grass beneath her feet. Reaching into her pocket, she felt the cool edge of her black dagger, like a good friend.

“Och, I dinnae doubt ye!” he replied, without looking back. “But if ye will go about robbing folks, then ye have to expect some fight back!” he said pointedly. “An’ I’m pretty sure the laird and lady will have something to say about that tae!”

Edme didn’t reply. A memory, which proved to be an inspiration, seized her. Gingerly, she reached into the hunting pouch, strapped onto her side. Tucked into it was her little secret.

Even though it was risky, she could not resist taking a peek at the large blade, gleaming with jewels in the dim light. Edme smiled. It was still there. She glanced over at Beathan, oblivious, in front of her.

The Craig clan sgian-dubh glistened brightly, and Edme could not resist running a finger up and down along its ornate metalwork.

A glint came into her eye. She squeezed the dagger and thought of pointing it in his face. It was sharp enough to slit him from ear to ear. Even a slight lass like her could do it.

Edme mused for a moment or so, as the stallion drew closer to the keep. But then, something in the distance stopped her. Coming towards them were riders, from the barracks beyond. Undoubtedly these were the laird’s men, armed and ready to sniff out trouble.

As the figures grew closer, little men astride lumpy Highland ponies came into focus, and Edme could tell they were watching her; their beady eyes locked onto her face.

“Is it a lass or a man?” she caught one of them saying, his reedy voice carried on a breeze coming up from the valley.

Sighing, Edme put the knife back into its sheath and resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to explain herself to the laird and lady, regardless of whether she wanted to.

As they galloped closer and the keep came solemnly into view, Beathan waved cheerily at the waiting men.

A swarm of guards rushed to greet them. From their reaction, she could tell that Beathan was well-liked by his men, and in the short time that she had been re-acquainted, she was beginning to see why.

Slowly, she realized that she could not stay mad at this man, no matter how hard she tried. Something in his easy charm made it impossible.

Edme fastened away the Craig sgian dubh, placing it back in its pouch, unseen by the guards. She had never been serious about using it, anyway.

But Edme’s heart churned. She had no idea what awaited her at the Craig keep. She ought to have been frightened and desperate for escape, but she was not, and no matter how much she tried, she just could not think of him as her enemy.

But that wasn’t her only problem; she felt something much worse and completely unexpected, a tidal surge of desire.

* * *

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Maid of McKinley!”

The laird’s laughter rang in Edme’s ears, as they rounded the path to the keep.

It was a long time since she had been here, and in the intervening years, it felt as if the tower had grown taller and darker.

Standing in front of the keep was the beaming laird. He was a little older than she remembered. Edme recalled a tall, well-built man – rather like Beathan – with burning red hair and an easy smile. Now sprigs of gray had crept in, and his hairline had receded like the tide.

He smiled with a genuine warmth, but when he saw her bonds, he stopped. Squirming, Edme watched as his face changed from genial to confused. Wallace glanced over towards her, perhaps expecting enlightenment, but she dropped her eyes.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Beathan jumped off his horse and rushed to greet his parents.

His mother, Freya, welcomed him in. Now middle-aged, she had lost nothing of the impetuous glint in her eyes, and her waist was as slim as ever it had been. Edme looked at the lady of Craig admiringly and then instantly felt embarrassed by her attire.

It was not only the laird and lady who had noticed her clothes; everyone had. Guards, counselors, laborers, all leaned in to have a good look. Edme was not shy, but even she shrank from their relentless gaze.

Freya looked at Beathan questioningly. “I trust ye’ve delivered the jewels?” she asked expectantly.

Beathan just rushed past them. “Allow us to come in, I have quite a tale!” he said, walking through the heavy wooden door to the keep.

“….And yer guest?” Freya inquired coolly, looking at Edme.

Her strange tone alerted Beathan to the fact that Edme was still strapped onto his horse.

“Och!” Beathan exclaimed, turning to look at her. She could feel the weight of all the stares bearing down on her. In that instant, she hated Beathan for making a spectacle of her like this.