Highland Justice
by Heather McCollum
Copyright © 2022 by Heather McCollum. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Northern coast of Scotland
25 December in The Year of Our Lord 1590
CHAPTER ONE
John Knox, Scottish theologian, 1550 AD
Christmas Day shall not be celebrated with popish joviality but be a day of godly reflection and worship.
Gideon Sinclair held up three velvet pouches. “Gifts for ye,” he said, tossing one to Cain, his eldest brother and chief of the mighty Sinclair Clan of northern Scotland. Cain balanced his eight-month-old daughter, Mary, over his shoulder as he caught it.
“Your second brother is dead,” Joshua Sinclair said, smiling wryly as he snatched out of the air the pouch Gideon threw at him.
“Do not believe everything chiseled on tombstones,” Gideon said, referring to the false grave marker Joshua had left behind on Orkney Isle, which declared his death.
It was Christmas morning, and all four Sinclair brothers and their sister and aunt had gathered with their growing families at Girnigoe Castle, their ancestral home in the north of Scotland. Morning church services with Pastor John were finished, and they had just eaten a hearty meal to celebrate the end of the fast leading up to Christmas.
Gideon handed his youngest brother, Bàs, his pouch. As large as the rest of them, the bag looked small in his solemn brother’s calloused hand. “Open them,” Gideon instructed his brothers.
“’Tis not Hogmanay yet,” Ella, Cain’s wife, said, referring to the last day of the year when gifts were usually exchanged. She gently pulled their daughter from Cain’s shoulder. Cain met her gaze with a gentle smile on his stern face. Ella certainly had softened the mighty Horseman of Conquest.
Gideon’s jaw tightened, and he rubbed at it absently. “I want my brothers to have them now,” Gideon said. “To remind us of who we are.” He pushed a smile onto his mouth as he turned a ring on his finger.
Cain was the first to tip the heavy ring out into his palm. It was a thick gold band. On one side was etched a bow and arrow; on the other side was the same horse head that was tattooed on each of the brothers’ arms. Inside read Eques a Conquestum.
“’Tis Latin for Horseman of Conquest,” Gideon said, even though his brothers were well versed in Latin.
He turned to Joshua, his second brother, who had brought a horde of Orkney inhabitants back to Caithness, including his wife, Kára. She sat in a chair by the hearth nursing their son. “And yours says—”
“Eques quidam de bello,” Joshua pronounced perfectly. “Horseman of War.” He rolled the gold ring in his fingers, holding it to the light, to see the sword on one side and the horse head on the other.
“A rich gift,” Joshua said, nodding.
Gideon’s smile increased. “A worthy reminder that we are God’s Four Horsemen.” He held up his own ring that had the scales of justice etched on one side.
“Thank ye, brother,” Bàs said, his tone even. Gideon saw him slide his ring, pronouncing him the Horseman of Death, back into the velvet bag. “I must go,” Bàs said. He never remained long in their presence, preferring to live alone in the forest between Girnigoe and Varrich castles.
Gideon hadn’t expected his brothers to dance with joy about the rich gifts, but he hadn’t expected them to study their rings with barely a smile. “Do ye not like them?” he asked.
“That depends on the meaning behind them,” Joshua said, sliding the ring on the finger of his right hand. He held it up to catch the light. Hannah, their meek and mild sister, came over to study it.
Gideon pulled out another pouch. “Hannah, one for ye.” He stepped forward to kiss the top of her head and laid it in her palm. The look of joy on her face made his chest tighten. She’d been ignored for so long by their father that she didn’t question the insult of being forgotten.
“For me?” she asked, waiting for his nod to open it. She pulled out a thin gold ring molded with swirls along the top. The tiniest horse’s head was engraved on both sides. Inside was soror karissima, beloved sister.
“Thank you,” she whispered, sliding it onto her finger. At least she looked happy to receive her gift.
“Where is my rich ring?” Aunt Merida asked, inspecting Hannah’s finger.
“I will have something for you on Hogmanay,” Gideon said, smiling at his eccentric aunt who never failed to keep things lively in the household.
Gideon met each of his brothers’ gazes in turn. “I wanted to give ye each something now to remind ye that we are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that Father raised us to be: Conquest, War, Justice, and Death.”
“We don’t come down from the clouds, Gideon,” Cain said, placing the ring on his finger. “Da thought it was the end of days when Mother died, so he raised us that way.”
“My brother was insane with grief and then rage,” Aunt Merida said. She passed the sign of the cross before her, something she’d done her whole life even though Scotland was now Protestant. “You were all raised engulfed in his madness.”
Near the fire, Kára stood with her son, Adam, over one shoulder, patting his back. Joshua leaped up, eager to hold his bairn, something Gideon still hadn’t gotten used to. The Horseman of War was a father and husband, enthralled with both son and mother. “We can be something different,” Joshua said over his shoulder and then lifted the bairn high in the air.
“Not over the head,” Kára said with a small laugh. “He’s quite full of milk.” Joshua pulled the little lad to his chest and inhaled deeply against his head as if relishing the bairn’s scent.
“Again, thank ye,” Bàs said, holding up the pouch. He took a step toward the door of the keep.
“I have need of my brothers’ advice before ye go,” Gideon said, stopping him.
Wee Adam began to fuss. Joshua dipped low and then straightened, starting a swaying type of dance while rising and falling, his knees bending and straightening. “See he likes the motion,” Joshua said, glancing at his wife as he bobbed.
Ella swayed with wee Mary because she, too, began to fuss. Cain took the bairn from her. “Maybe she’s fouled herself,” he said, lifting the bairn to sniff her lower half.
Gideon’s jaw dropped open as he watched his oldest brother sniff for possible shite. When had two of the fiercest, most brutal warriors in Scotland become nursemaids?
Gideon ran a hand down his jaw and raised his voice to be heard above the swaying, fussing, and sniffing. “The Mackays are not adjusting well to our occupation. They resist merging with Sinclairs.” Gideon had been tasked to bring peace between their clan and the conquered Mackay Clan. He’d moved into Varrich Castle in the summer, trying to sort through the many layers of crime and antagonism there. Using the vast knowledge of law and guidance from philosophers, kings, and statesmen from the past, Gideon had formed his own code of ethics and laws under which the Sinclair Clan flourished. He’d researched the barbaric customs along with the compassionate rules of governing people to create the best of life for his people. Yet the Mackay Clan did not always adhere.
“Perhaps they refuse your efforts because you keep judging them so harshly,” Ella said, her eyebrow rising. She patted her baby’s back as Cain held Mary, beginning his own little dance opposite Joshua. Ella certainly hadn’t forgotten that Gideon had judged her harshly when she first came to Girnigoe. In his defense, she had lied and had been tasked to kill his brother.
“The Mackays are lawless people, used to a chief and steward with black hearts,” Gideon said.
“And you judge them in public,” Kára said as she hurried back from the hearth with a blanket for Adam. She tipped her head toward the flames that danced on the customary Yule log they’d lit earlier. “Do you even have greenery up or a Yule log burning to show them that you can be merry?”
“Public punishment deters other lawbreakers,” Gideon said. “And there hasn’t been time for frivolous decorations and old customs. Crime was rife within the Mackay Clan, and I am bringing peace.”
“Perhaps ye should take the time,” Cain said, changing shoulders as if one might be more comfortable for the bairn. “Merriment can lead to loyalty.”
“No one comes up to the castle anyway,” Gideon said. “Who would even see my holly and Yule log?”
Ella went behind Cain to smile sweetly up at her bairn over his shoulder. “Maybe,” she said using the singsong voice she used only with Mary, “they don’t come up to visit because you have decaying skulls flanking the gates.” The bairn smiled back at her.
“Good Lord, Gideon,” Hannah said, a harsh pinch of rebuke on her angelic face. “The heads are still up?”
He’d left up the severed heads of the past Mackay chief and his steward, who had abducted Hannah, Ella, and her young brother, intent on rape and murder. The grim reminder of what could befall traitors against the Sinclairs had been a warning at first. Once the heads had stopped stinking, Gideon hadn’t really thought about them. But their skulls did still flank the portcullis gate.
Gideon let out a rush of an exhale that no one heard over the coos and chuckles of besotted parents. Why was he asking his brothers about integrating the two clans when they had no experience doing so? He was the one who read books that described the process. He was the one who had learned to judge right from wrong in the Sinclair clan, since his father had charged him with the duty at the age of five. In his father’s opinion, it was Gideon’s only purpose in life, and he’d shouldered the responsibility well.
Gideon rubbed the old scar running down his cheek then raised his hands overhead to stretch his back as if he felt the weight. He looked to Bàs. “I will exit with ye, brother. Apparently, I have a Yule log to find on my way back to Varrich.”
“And holly,” Kára said, smiling his way.
“Mistletoe too,” Hannah added.
Joshua raised an imaginary tankard to him, since he’d left his on the table. “Let me know if ye need any help over there.” He still held Adam in one arm, dipping low back and forth as his son’s eyes fluttered shut.
Gideon smirked at his always teasing brother. Raised as the Horseman of War, Joshua was a trickster, even if he seemed much cheered after marrying his Orkney princess. “I don’t think the Mackays have forgotten how ye set their fences and forests on fire,” Gideon said.
Joshua’s grin faded. “We left the cottages sound.”
Bàs grabbed Gideon’s arm. “Come, let us leave them with their families.”
Finding their horses in silence, the brothers rode out across Girnigoe’s two drawbridges and under the impressive portcullis as snow sifted down under a heavy gray sky.
Gideon pressed his sleek black horse, Sgàil, into an easy trot through the empty streets. Most villagers would be celebrating quietly in their homes with small feasts.
The two brothers pushed into a gentle lope across the moor where Gideon and Bàs would part. Trusting Sgàil’s footing, Gideon raised his gaze to the swirling sky, inhaling the fresh chill to clear his head.
“Gideon?” Bàs’s deep voice drew his attention, and Gideon slowed.
“Aye?”
Bàs matched his pace, still staring straight ahead, watching the whitening landscape, his brows furrowed. “Must we be who Da said we are to be?” Bàs asked, coming to a halt. “Now that he is dead?” His pale gray horse stood as still as he sat, both serious and silent. “Cain is the leader and Horseman of Conquest, but he did not conquer the Sutherland clan. And Joshua seems much more…peace-filled now and is not always trying to start wars.”
Gideon slipped the gold ring off his finger, holding it up. “Father raised us to be The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
Bàs’s stern face turned to him. “Only after I executed our mother with my birth.”
Gideon put the ring back on his finger where it turned a bit too easily. Perhaps he should have it tightened. “We are either the mighty Sinclair horsemen or we are not. There’s no partway, or we weaken. ’Twas why I gifted each of us a ring, to remind us who we are.”
Melancholy mixed with the hardness in Bàs’s face. He was the youngest of them all, but being the executioner for the clan had aged him. Gideon wouldn’t pity him, though, for this was who Bàs was, and a man should not be pitied for fulfilling his duty.
“Who we are?” Bàs asked as if mulling over the question. “It seems who we are is not entirely made up of our actions, but also our thoughts and our hearts.”
Gideon shook his head. “Our thoughts and hearts are displayed clearly in our actions if one takes the time to watch them. I was trained to watch the actions and expressions of people to administer justice for Clan Sinclair, and now for the Mackays at Varrich.”
“One’s heart and thoughts are reflected in one’s actions?” Bàs asked.
“Aye, ’tis that simple,” Gideon said. “We’re taught what is right and wrong, good and evil, through the church and through our clan upbringing. Those who choose to commit crimes show their hearts to the world.” Gideon started his horse walking with one hand on the reins, his other fisted on his thigh. “’Tis my duty as one of the Sinclair horsemen to judge. And we must stay the horsemen or weaken. Weakness will lead to the end of the mighty Sinclair Clan.” He shook his head. “I will not let that happen.” Gideon’s whole life centered on making the clan stronger than any in Scotland.
“Life is simple for ye,” Bàs said.
Gideon smiled, feeling how right the world was. “Aye, life is simple when ye know the rules, and I will bring that simplicity to Varrich.”
Bàs nodded and turned his gaze to the forest where he would veer off toward his cabin nestled in the woods. “Happy Christmas to ye,” he said. “We will meet again in a week at Hogmanay, no doubt.” With a press of his heels, Bàs and his horse tore off across the snow-covered moor.
Gideon guided Sgàil west toward Varrich and entered the woods. Thick snowflakes floated down, landing in stark contrast on the horse’s ebony mane and ears. All of Gideon’s horses were black, since he controlled the third calvary as the third Horseman, Justice. And he worked diligently to keep Sgàil’s coat glossy and sleek.
The air was frosty, and the wind ebbed and flowed in small gusts around them as Gideon let Sgàil follow the usual path between Girnigoe and Varrich castles. Yule log. Holly. What else was needed for Hogmanay merriment? Mistletoe, sweets, and whisky. Bloody hell. Making merry was costly and time-consuming.
“A Master of Revels,” he murmured. He’d have to choose a jester to oversee the festivities. A Mackay lad to involve the people.
Nearly an hour later, Gideon and Sgàil broke from the forest onto the moor that stretched down to Varrich Village and the castle. Warrior’s instincts made him pull Sgàil to a halt as soon as he saw movement at the far end of the clearing. A woman stood before the forest’s edge, her arms open wide. She turned slowly in a circle, her face tipped up to the sky as if she watched the snow float from the heavens.
Gideon dismounted, leaving Sgàil to wait behind. Gideon walked with deliberate smoothness, unwilling to ruin the natural peace that the falling snow created. The lass turned one way and then reversed, face still tipped to the sky. The closer he walked, the clearer he saw her. The gentle, contented smile across her face drew Gideon’s full attention.
“Three… Four… Five…” She counted loudly with each turn.
Gideon stopped a few yards away. Snow dotted her free-flowing dark curls, alighting so gently that they seemed to transform into a translucent veil. The soft flakes kissed her cheeks before melting.
“Six… Seven…”
She wore a dark green costume with a short woolen jacket in blue. She paused, and he watched a snowflake land on her dark eyelashes fanned out under her closed eyes. But it was the softness of her pink lips, bent in the most contented smile, that made it difficult for Gideon to inhale. Had he ever seen such simple contentment before? He certainly hadn’t experienced it.
“Eight… Ni—”
As if he’d made a sound in the unbroken silence, the woman’s eyes snapped open, her gaze finding him easily, since he was the only person on the snowy landscape. She gasped and lifted two sgian dubhs from the pockets of her skirts, one in each hand.
…
“Halt,” Cait Mackay ordered.
“I halted a full minute ago, lass,” said the massive warrior who had snuck up on her. He held no weapons in his hands, but his obvious strength marked him as deadly.
Her eyes darted to the sides, but he was by himself, and the children were still hidden in the forest behind her. “Be gone with you, and leave me unmolested, else you will find yourself bloody.”
He took a step closer, his palms out as if she were a fearful dog. Maybe she should growl and show her teeth. He might think her mad and leave off.
“I plan no evil toward ye. I’m but traveling to my home at Varrich and saw ye dancing in the snow.”
She tracked his movements, her heart beating hard.
“Do ye need assistance?” he asked. The wind swept over the gentle hill of the moor to lift her hair. “Are ye not cold?”
Ye are nothing but a cold fish to a man. Cait pushed the plaguing words away and clasped her daggers tightly. “I have not seen you in Varrich.” Handsome in face and taller and broader than most, the warrior was one she couldn’t have missed. He either lied or he was a Sinclair. Both made him dangerous.
“I’ve not lived in Varrich Village long.”
He wore the Scots plaid wrapped around narrow hips and a thin linen tunic with a short jacket. His boots laced up and had fur wrapped around them to his knees. Lord. He was full of muscle and wore a sword sheathed at his hip. He smiled, but he still appeared dangerous. Perhaps it was the scar down his cheek that made her think he roared a battle cry more often than he laughed. Dark hair, clipped close, and a short, well-groomed beard made him seem civilized despite how natural he stood in a warrior’s stance. But she took no chances with strange men and kept her guard up.
Cait heard a limb snap in the forest behind her and talked loudly to cover it. “And I was not dancing,” she said, it being the first thing to pop into her head.
“Twirling then and…counting.” His eyes squinted in question.
The falling snow had been so beautiful that she’d taken a moment to herself while her children hid for their game.
The mountainous man folded his hands before him in a gesture that she supposed he used to look less threatening. As if that were possible. “I’ve never seen a lass older than ten twirling out in the snow.”
“’Tis a way I practice my knife wielding.” She held the two blades ready in her hands.
He nodded. “Ye may not want to expose your throat so much then,” he said, tipping his face to the sky in imitation of her enjoyment. He sliced a finger over the masculine bump in his throat.
“I will take that into consideration. Thank you and good day.” She took two steps back, listening for any sounds in the winter trees behind her where a path led to the river. The falling snow muted sounds so that she could barely hear the rush of water.
“But why were ye counting?”
Her lips opened for a long moment before she answered. “I…like to count?” Her statement came out like a question, and she tried to cover her concern with a slight smile.
A crunching sound in the woods caught her ear. “What is your name?” she asked quickly to cover it. “Perhaps I have heard of you in the village.”
He kept his smile. “Ye first.”
“Mistress Cait!” Libby’s voice called from far away in the trees behind her. Damn. Cait closed her eyes for a brief second before snapping them back open. Not only had he won her name, but he now knew that there were children with her. What he didn’t know was that she’d protect them with her life.
“Cait?” he said, cocking his head, his eyes merry with victory. “Cait Mackay then?”
“Come quick!” Trix screamed, tugging Cait’s attention away from the warrior. The young girl ran at her from the woods. “Willa!” Tix yelled. “She’s fallen in!”
