Enraptured by the Highlander

“Yes,” Mrs. Hertha’s voice was delighted while Caelan was sinking into despair. “I went to take a look too and he is as handsome as could be. I was told he is the son of another Earl with a viscounty for himself.”

“Has she—” Caelan paused as the words he was about to utter were bitter with dread and remorse, “has she taken to him?”

“I cannot say,” Mrs. Hertha said, giving Caelan some temporary relief. But his reprieve was shattered in the next moment. “What I do know is that the young lord went His Lordship to ask permission to court her. I’m so happy. It’s a long time and My Lady should have some happiness. She’d be unwise to reject him.”

Every word she said after ‘court her’ felt like a heated lance piercing his heart. Thank God it was dark or he could never explain to the woman why tears of loss were brimming in his eyes. Unmanly yes, but tears from his breaking heart were fully justifiable. A young man, handsome, rich and socially sanctioned by her class and her father was going to steal Adelaine from him.

“She would,” Caelan choked out. “I…it might be best.”

“I know it will be,” Mrs. Hertha asserted. “I’ll be leaving now, going the same way I came, I assume.”

“Aye,” Caelan nodded even though she could not see him. “Just straight ahead.”

“Thank you, dear sir,” Mrs. Hertha called back as she got to the door.

With her gone, he sank back to the rough corner and unfolded the bundle. He had no appetite. Dismally, he looked at the round of bread and the slices of beef. Not wanting them to go cold, he ate but without relish. The meat was seasoned to perfection, but it tasted like ashes, the bread was soft and buttered but it was mush in his mouth.

Adelaine, his Adelaine, was going to marry another. It startled him a little that he’d already put such a claim on her when he had no real right to do so. But even if she wasn’t his, it still hurt. If only he could see her, if only he could beg her to not do it. But she had already stated—not with definite terms—that she wanted nothing to do with him. He would probably never see her again,

or at least until the day of his execution when he was marched out to go to London.

He did not sleep that night and had no rest but when dawn came, he was up on his feet, walking and pondering how to get Adelaine to come to see him. Sadly, the only thing that would get her to come to him was his confession.

Was it worth it to lie to her to get her attention? What if news went to her father’s ears? What then? To his surprise, Mrs. Hertha came in with a bowl of porridge and bread. Was the Earl gone this quickly?

“Mornin’,” he said warily, “I dinnae expect to see ye today.”

“His Lordship went out early so I took a chance,” Mrs. Hertha smiled. “We wouldn’t want to lose all that fattening progress we’ve made, eh?”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Caelan said, took the bowl and ate the meal quickly. The warmth inside his chest felt lovely. “Thank ye…how is Lady Adelaine doing today?”

“Resting,” Mrs. Hertha said while taking the bowl. “She’d had a long night.”

He knew he was pushing his boundaries but could not stop himself from asking. “And this young Lord…dae ye ken if she’s going on with the courtship?”

“I suppose she will be—” Mrs. Hertha stopped mid-word and looked at him sideways. Her following smile was part sly and part delighted. “Ahhh, you fancy her, don’t you?”

Keeping his reaction to a more-than-true statement he said. “She’s been kind to me. I only want what is best for her.” And that is me.

“She is a sweetheart, isn’t she,” Mrs. Hertha nodded. “Well take care down here, and hope for the best for her.”

Caelan did not see her the next morning nor did Adelaine come at all, but that was expected. He had read the tragic tale of Hippolytus twice and each time he grimaced at what undeserved misfortune could take the innocent just because of another person’s pride and cruelty.

Leicester said nothing about the still unused stack of paper and Caelan ate quietly then handed the bowl back to him. The third day came and was a repeat of the one before it. He walked until the old aches in his feet sprung to life again but he could not dare rest and let cold kill him. He dreaded the continuing dullness but then something happened to not only break it up but make hope spring anew inside him.

He was up about midnight, pacing when something fluttered in from the window. At first, Caelan thought it was a stray leaf but none had come in before. Warily, he went to look at it and found a folded sheet of paper, tightly bound and pressed into a thin blade. He unfolded it and maneuvered so the light of the full moon could illuminate what was on it.

The moment his eyes landed on the first letter, written in a hand he knew better than his own his throat closed up so tightly he could barely breathe. It was Artur, his second.

Laird, after weeks of search we ken yer in the dungeons of the Earl of Daffield’s keep. Don’t worry, me men are nearby. We’ve noticed the Earl’s daughter visiting ye. We’re daring to ask her for help to free you but if not, at the first chance we will come to rescue ye. Have faith, one way or another we will nay let ye die.

In disbelief, he read over the note, three times. When the reality sat that his men had not given up on him fresh vitality surged within him. He would have called out for joy if the fear of giving himself away had not stopped him.

He crushed the paper in his fist and then tore it to shreds and, using his foot, ground the tiny scraps into the ground. All was not lost as he had believed. He then fell on his knees and prayed.

Sequestered in a sheltered cove in the Northumberland forest close to the Earl’s lands, Artur sat up as Donnan crept inside. The cave was more of an overhang than anything else but the lip of the rock was good enough to keep the snow from burying them in and was the inside was deep enough that they could sleep and make a fire. Gregor and Rogan sat up as their brother came in and looked at him with anxiety.

Before Donnan could brush the snow off his shoulder and say a word, Rogan asked, “Did ye get to him?”