Never Cross a Highlander
by Lisa Rayne

Copyright © 2022 by Lisa Rayne. 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.

CHAPTER ONE

Stirling, Scotland

Ailsa Connery’s life depended on the view from Princess Elizabeth’s balcony. Her young charge, the second child born to King James VI, had chambers that bordered an inner corner of Stirling Castle. The location of the princess’s rooms gave the best angle to view the entire royal courtyard and the approach to the castle’s single outer gate.

“Elizabeth!” She rushed into the lass’s sleeping nook. “Hurry! The clans begin to arrive for the tournament. You do not want to miss the sight. It shall be grand.” Ailsa yanked the covers from Elizabeth’s bed and silently cursed the status of the young lady’s wild tresses.

Only fifteen summers in age and spoiled to the point of utter uselessness, the lass made it her mission to vex Ailsa on a daily basis. Ailsa had braided Elizabeth’s hair into a long, tight plait afore bed last eve, yet here she sat rubbing the night from her eyes with those same tresses tumbling free and untamed. The only way that could have happened was if the bratchet had removed the tie Ailsa had securely wound around the end of her braid. Something she would had to have done apurpose.

Elizabeth knew what a chore it was to brush and style the thick mass of hair that fell to her waist. She also knew Ailsa hated the chore. The chit had done it out of spite. Properly detangling the mess atop the lass’s head would cost Ailsa valuable time she did not have this morn, time she needed to be on the balcony so she could locate the warriors who would ride in wearing the glorious colors of her clan, deep red traversed with blue and yellow.

With an irritated shake of her head, Ailsa turned toward the wash table and stepped on something that lay underfoot. She looked down to see the tie that should have been on the end of Elizabeth’s braid. Tossing the tie onto the table, Ailsa decided to bypass the needed lecture. In a few short days, she’d never have to worry about serving as lady’s maid again. Someone else could worry about the antics of Princess Elizabeth and be the brunt of constant criticism and thoughtless regard. Someone else could worry about how to brush the child’s hair just so, which dresses fit which mood, and whether they would be hauled in front of the king for false reports of being mean to his precious daughter.

This day, Ailsa had no intention of letting the lass’s antics get under her skin. Her chance at freedom lay somewhere just outside the castle gates, and she was going to be standing on the princess’s balcony to watch it ride in. She was going to get them both out on that balcony the fastest way possible. If that meant tugging out some royal hair along with the tangles, then so be it. It didn’t matter if Elizabeth was stylish this morn. They were on a reconnaissance mission. At least, Ailsa was. As for Princess Elizabeth, all that mattered was that she also be on the balcony so it looked as if Ailsa was merely dutifully accompanying her mistress. If Ailsa were seen alone on the balcony, someone might suspect what she was about.

Upon the instructions of the captain of the guard, the castle soldiers watched Ailsa closely. She could not leave the castle without Elizabeth or one of the princess’s personal guards. Ailsa was limited on where within the castle she could roam alone and during what hours. She had mapped it all in her brain.

Who did what when.

Who went where when.

Who watched her do what at what hour.

She’d memorized it all.

Now, all she had to do was navigate in between the windows of time created by the guards’ maneuvers and slip outside on the last night of the tournament set to begin in a few days’ time. Her plan required she make her escape right afore the Connery warriors departed. Her clan warriors would protect her. They’d prevent this nightmare of unlawful enslavement from continuing. They’d see her safely home, back to her glorious Highlands. Her heart leapt at the prospect.

Not willing to let the king’s spawn steal her chance at getting her first glimpse of Clan Connery plaid in three years, Ailsa grabbed Elizabeth by the wrist and tugged…to no avail. “Come on, princess. Time to put on your finery so all the arrivals can see how bonnie you are.”

Ailsa had learned long ago the only way to get Elizabeth to do most anything without opposition was to appeal to the child’s vanity. You could not approach Elizabeth directly. The more she knew you wanted her to do something, the more ornery she would be about trying to prevent you from getting your way.

Ailsa had already picked out the dress Elizabeth would wear. She grabbed it from the hook on the wardrobe door and displayed it across her arm. “Look. I selected the green satin with the full skirt for you. You know how lovely you look in this.”

Elizabeth had amber hair. It was her best feature considering what otherwise could have been an engaging countenance and appealing smile if her lips weren’t oft misshapen with her mal disposition.

“Why must I watch the arrivals? The fun will not start until the competitions begin.” With the back of her hand, the princess brushed a mass of dangling tangles from her eyes, then plopped backward onto the bed. Arms spread wide, the lass closed her eyes and let out a put-upon sigh.

Panic began to invade Ailsa’s outwardly calm demeanor. She could not allow this delay. The morn was slipping away.

She rushed forward with the dress. “Tsk tsk, Your Highness. You know your father will expect you to be on the balcony to receive his guests.”

’Twas a lie, but the princess did not know that. If she thought she’d incur the ire of the king, she was more likely to do as Ailsa bid. The deception was not guaranteed to work, since the princess had her father firmly enamored despite her constant penchant for mischief and malcontent. Mayhap ’twas no surprise this, given she was the only of the king’s three daughters to survive infancy. Still, at times, His Majesty could be quite fickle with his affection, and no one, not even his daughter, wanted to be on the wrong side of his disposition on those days.

Counting on Princess Elizabeth to not want to risk paternal disfavor, Ailsa pressed the fib further. “You must not bring shame to His Majesty by being absent at the start of these most important festivities or by arriving late. ’Twill be thought a sign of disrespect.”

Ailsa did not know if anyone would care about Elizabeth’s presence one way or the other, but their presence on the balcony mattered immensely to Ailsa’s future and her freedom. She could not stand another year, another month, nor even another week imprisoned here as Elizabeth’s servant.

Nay, she silently admonished herself, say it true. You are held as a slave.

The members of the royal household did not like the term applied to those like herself, descendants of a people stolen from the continent of Africa, whom they held captive to work against their will. While some of her heritage who provided services at the castle were independent and paid in small amounts of coin or sundries for certain services, like Elene More, the seamstress who sometimes visited the castle, or Blak Margaret, the queen’s attendant, Ailsa was being held inside the castle as forced, unpaid labor. A status due solely to her dusky brown skin. That transgression against her person easily cleared her conscience of the small deception created by the words she’d uttered to the princess.

Corralling Elizabeth into appropriate behavior had been a constant battle since the day Ailsa had the misfortune to be improperly detained by the captain of the king’s guard and forced into servitude at Stirling Castle. Winter’s cold had come three times since then, and Ailsa had lamented ever being able to escape this enslavement that had been foisted upon her shortly after she’d reached just a score in years.

She had been born a free woman of the Highlands, the descendant of Caribbean sugar plantation laborers who, during a transfer between islands, had been discovered by Hebridean pirates in the bowels of a Portuguese ship traveling from São Vicente. Unlike many African captives stolen by pirates, her grandparents had been allowed to work off their value and eventually earn freedom instead of being sold to wealthy Scots or Brits as enslaved servants for display as a symbol of prosperity.

Thought to be one such recent acquisition purchased for the king, Ailsa had been detained by the leader of the king’s guard. The king had arranged a summer festival to celebrate the allegiance treaties he had procured from several of the then-current Highland lairds, and she’d been with a few of her kinsmen listening to an animated trumpeter. Ailsa had been surprised to see the trumpeter also had brown skin. Fascinated and delighted by the musician, she’d somehow lost track of time and ended up separated from the other Connery spectators. The captain had found her there unchaperoned while she danced and bobbed to the lively sounds of the trumpet and the drums of the two accompanying musicians.

The captain had surprised her when his angry grip snatched her from behind. He’d muttered a stream of obscenities while pulling her away from the crowd. Convinced she had somehow escaped from the group of recently arrived captives he’d herded toward the castle, he’d not stopped his fussing long enough to listen when she’d called him on his mistake or tried to explain her circumstance.

Most of the other captives were so new to the country they had spoken neither Gaelic nor the king’s preferred English, at least not properly. While her use of English may have been twinged with the Highland cadence natural to a native speaker of Gaelic, she’d been certain someone would soon recognize she had been raised outside the confines of captivity. She’d been wrong. Stripped of her garments and forced to wear the inferior linens of servants, she’d been poked and prodded like some wild animal, then hauled before the sovereign for inspection.

The humiliation lived inside her still.

They’d even changed her name.

They called her Anne. Anne Blanke.

All the captives were eventually called by the surname Blanke, as if they had suddenly become some new exotic clan sprung magically from the walls of the castle. How absurd that, no matter what she said or did, she had not been able to convince anyone they had made a mistake.

Being treated as having no worth outside the services she rendered to a vile, unmannered lass had taken its toll. Ailsa was through playing nursemaid, she was through being a captive, and she was through being Anne Blanke. By the time the tournament contests were completed, she’d be in the custody of the Clan Connery army and headed home. Back to claiming her real identity and a chance to rise beyond the limits of her station to head clan healer.

The thought spurred Ailsa to hasten with her dressing of the princess. Mindful that she did not have enough time to release fully the clumps of tangles from the lass’s hair, Ailsa sat Elizabeth facing away from the vanity looking-glass afore attacking the mass of mottled curls. She brushed quickly, ignoring the whines of discomfort and loud complaints that issued from the royal bratchet.

After Ailsa had gathered, rolled, and pinned Elizabeth’s hair with such attention one would have thought she had indeed created a masterpiece, Ailsa admired her efforts with satisfaction. From afar, no one would be able to tell the pins held together a veritable rat’s nest. Only someone who came close to the princess would be able to see the details. ’Twould work for their—her—immediate purpose: get out onto the balcony with all due haste. Once the day’s procession of clans was done, Ailsa would find an excuse to have the princess change attire, and she would redo the coiffure appropriately.

“There, Your Highness. You look quite fetching. Shall we retire to the balcony?”

“No.” The princess turned toward the looking-glass. “I told you I did not want to watch the procession. Why don’t you ever listen?” She glanced back at Ailsa. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with you blackamoors. You have been here long enough to be able to understand simple English.”

Ailsa flinched at the use of the word blackamoors. To be reduced to no more than your skin color and thought less human as a result had been a sobering experience. ’Twas something she had nary become accustomed to, nor would she ever. While she had always been an outsider in her clan due to her illegitimate birth and mixed blood, the lack of acceptance had often been subtle and subversive. This constant subjugation to ill will, persecution, and accusations of inferiority took a different toll. She’d learned to read and write—in secret—late at night in her mother’s cottage. It had been an odd undertaking for a lass, especially a common village lass with brown skin, but somehow her mother had managed a tutor. Ailsa would wager her own intellect and ability to understand far surpassed that of the princess, who shunned attention to her studies in the same way she shunned decent behavior.

Not to be deterred from her ultimate goal, Ailsa decided on a different tactic. “I apologize, Your Highness.” She bobbed into a brief curtsy. “I thought only that you would not want Lady Sophie to receive all the attention this day, but if I was mistaken—”

“Lady Sophie?” The princess popped to her feet. “Of what do you speak?”

The temporary diversion gave Ailsa time to steer the princess’s attention away from the looking-glass. With cunning deliberateness, Ailsa walked to the double doors that led to the balcony and opened them.

“Why, Lady Sophie will be viewing the procession this morn, of course. Know you not of this?”

Lady Sophie, a petite, fair-skinned lass from the Northern Isles, had accompanied her parents to Stirling to observe the tournament and be introduced at court. Her father, a distant relative of the recently imprisoned Earl of Orkney, who was cousin to King James, hoped the trip might secure the lass a suitable marriage offer. Princess Elizabeth detested her. Anyone who garnered attention away from the princess was not to be tolerated.

“Umpf.” The indelicate grunt was unlike the princess. She usually hid her disdain better, but perhaps she felt no need with only her blackamoor lady’s maid in audience.

Without hesitation, Elizabeth strolled onto the balcony with the regalness of the future monarch she was destined to be. As the daughter of the reigning monarch of Scotland, England, and Ireland, the princess’s hand was a much sought-after prize. She had no lack of suitors vying for her, but that stopped her not from a miserly penchant to hoard attention solely for herself. Lady Sophie could certainly not be allowed a monopolistic appearance afore the crowds gathered to view the procession.

Ailsa stepped onto the balcony behind the princess, her relief at the lass’s unknowing cooperation overshadowed by the anticipation and excitement threatening to overwhelm her. She tried not to fidget, biting her lower lip as she fought the urge to bounce out of her slippers. Slowly, she edged decorously to the side of the princess, so she had an unobstructed view of the front gates and the courtyard.

The first clan had already arrived. Their long line of mounted warriors was nearly through the gates. Not far behind them came a clan draped in plaid of pale browns and gray, the Donnellys. The clan was known for its fierce warriors. Their feats in war fueled many a Highland legend. Several possible tournament champions surely dwelled within their ranks.

Ailsa inched toward the edge of the balcony to get a better view. As she did, she noticed Lady Sophie on the balcony on the opposite side of the U-shaped courtyard. The lady intently watched the procession of Highland warriors using a small spyglass, a monocular device with a glass eyepiece. When looked through, it increased the size of objects viewed in the distance, making them look closer and clearer. The device had only recently come into use by naval officers and ship captains. Coming from the northeastern coastal region of the country, ’twas no surprise Lady Sophie would possess such a scientific treasure, but her apparatus-enhanced observation abilities made Ailsa nervous.

The spyglass lifted from its courtyard target and stopped, pointed in the direction of Ailsa and Princess Elizabeth. Lady Sophie went to lower the glass but then jerked the implement back up to her eye. When she lowered the looking tool again, her gaze focused on Elizabeth. Ailsa was certain the Orcadian was staring at the princess’s hair.

A nervous itch crept up Ailsa’s back, but she stood immobile, barely risking a breath lest Princess Elizabeth notice Lady Sophie’s interest. Ailsa had taken a huge risk this morn, one that she thought she would have time to rectify afore anyone noticed. All she could think about when she awoke this day was that her enslavement ordeal would soon come to an end. Her impatient gamble may now cost her in ways she had not fully considered. She faced certain discipline if the lady had noticed the fiasco of a hairdo Princess Elizabeth currently displayed and spurred Elizabeth to check the unstylish creation or said something this eve when the royals and titled folk supped.

Princess Elizabeth looked up and spied Lady Sophie across the balcony. Lady Sophie gave a genteel nod to the princess, all the while looking every bit as if she were trying not to laugh. Elizabeth gave a haughty nod in return and looked away dismissively, not remotely interested in—or mayhap unaware of—Lady Sophie’s suppressed mirth. Once Princess Elizabeth returned her gaze to the courtyard, Lady Sophie made eye contact with Ailsa and cordially tipped in acknowledgment the silk hand fan she’d swapped for the spyglass.

Nearly paralyzed with worry that she’d been found out, Ailsa stared blankly in Lady Sophie’s direction. She struggled to decipher the meaning of the lady’s gesture. The Orcadian’s shoulders began to shake. After another quick glance at Elizabeth, the lady lifted her silk fan to cover the lower half of her face and began to laugh in earnest behind the fan.

A few moments later, having managed to collect herself, Lady Sophie lowered the fan. Sporting a huge grin, she glanced conspiratorially at Ailsa and placed her index finger in a vertical line against her lips afore she rested her fan lightly against her heart. Ailsa then understood the message. Lady Sophie was letting her know the secret of the beehive coiffure was safe with her. Princess Elizabeth had apparently made one too many nips and snipes at the visitor over the last few days, and Lady Sophie was all too happy to simply enjoy this moment of secret one-upmanship.

Finally able to breathe normally again, Ailsa returned her attention to the arrival of the clans. Three more clans marched through the castle gates over time, but to her extreme dismay, the clan she awaited was not amongst them. She tried to stifle her disappointment. The games did not start for a full sennight. Other clans would arrive over the next few days to pay their respects to the king, draw their lots for the games, and enjoy the feast scheduled to last until the night afore the competitions began. Clan Connery must be amongst those who intended to arrive on a later day to make a grand entrance. She would just have to hold on to her patience.

Already bored, Princess Elizabeth turned away from the balcony afore the last warrior cleared the gate. Ailsa turned to follow and nearly collided with the captain of the king’s guard. He took one look at Elizabeth and frowned into a double take.

Worry returned to Ailsa full force. From his expression, the captain had noticed the princess’s hair. Hopefully, he was one of those men so ignorant of women’s ways he’d find the coiffure curious but not enough to remark upon. If not, her chance to return to the Highlands might now be at-risk.

Ailsa held her breath and waited.

Additional Details

ISBN:

Release Date: December 16, 2024 Page Count: Content Warning: Read Content Warning No content warning available for this book. ×

Release Date: December 16, 2024

Page Count:

Content Warning: Read Content Warning No content warning available for this book. ×

Content Warning: Read Content Warning No content warning available for this book. ×

Release Date: December 16, 2024

Page Count:

Content Warning: Read Content Warning

Content Warning: Read Content Warning

Content Warning: Read Content Warning