Good Medieval Monday! Our theme this month, betrayal,
continues. Today I’m hosting Becca R. L. Syme. Her excerpt from The
Outcast Highlander is betrayal at its best! Let us know how you feel
about it.
Excerpt from
The Outcast Highlander
“Bring them
forward.” The fat man reached across his table and picked up a charred leg of
some animal. Broc had never seen a sheriff eat in court before and hoped this
was a sign of his gluttony. Men with deep desires always had a price.
The front
guards stepped aside and Elizabeth walked between them, leaving Broc in their
midst. With his broad sword strapped to his back, it wouldn’t have taken him
long to cut through them if he’d had to. Most of them were boys, even compared
to his own years, but more importantly, they were not well-fed nor
well-trained. The soldiers were in use elsewhere and those who remained filled
what boots they could.
They would be
quick fodder if someone threatened Elizabeth.
“My lord and
sheriff.” Elizabeth’s voice wavered, but she executed a perfect curtsey,
staying near the floor until he bade her rise.
Until he got a
good eyeful of her spilling décolletage, more like. Broc shuffled uneasily. She
played a dangerous game.
“Rise, lady.”
The sheriff burped and set down the leg of fowl. A wild turkey, by the look of
it. Large, browned skin, dripping with fatty juices. He licked his lips like
the lecherous fool he was and leaned over the table. With a smile, he followed
her rise.
“I’m here to
beg you for the release of my husband, Lord Andrew de Moray, Twelfth Viscount
of Avoch and Strathaven, servant to the king.”
Broc held his
laugh in. Servant to which king? The
sheriff would assume Edward, who had
taken the rule of Scotland along with England. But when Andrew said it, he
meant Robert Bruce, whom he considered to be the true King of Scotland.
The sheriff
only leered at Elizabeth and grinned. “I’ve heard of your coming, lady. I trust
you were safe, even with your company.”
“I am safe.”
Elizabeth turned to the dungeon door and cringed visibly. “I’ve heard of my
husband’s capture and impending doom. I wish to bargain for his life.”
“And what did
you bring to bargain?”
Elizabeth
straightened and lifted her chin. This was at least not the posture of a woman
who planned to prostitute herself for her husband. For that much, Broc relaxed.
“I have a suit
of armor made by Spanish monks in the 11th century for my lord’s
father.”
The sheriff
pulled a knife from his side pocket and began to pick his teeth. “Yes?”
“And enough
gold and silver to fill three chests, but I’m sure I could get more.”
He kept
picking his teeth, flicking pieces off the blade to toss at various courtiers.
Each one looked disgusted at the act, but smiled in return. He had these men
well-trained
“You’ll have
to do better than that.”
“My lord is
wise, as always.” Elizabeth turned to Broccin and a hint of regret passed
across her face.
She was about to offer herself.
Broc’s hand
went immediately to the hilt of his sword, but before he could draw, ten long
spears had come down around him. Each tip was so close to his neck, if he moved
in any one direction, he would be a dead man.
“I have as my
captive, the leader of the renegade group of Highland warriors that have been
falsely raiding and plundering in my husband’s good name.” Elizabeth sank into
another curtsey. “As a token of my good fellowship, rather than having him
killed upon capture, I offer him to you in exchange for my husband’s release
and the clearing of his good name.”
Broc couldn’t
breathe. If there hadn’t been ten sharp edges within striking distance of his
throat, he would have pushed forward and demanded she speak sense.
Beneath the
spears, a boy snuck forward and twisted rope around Broc’s hands. Suddenly, the
knot was so tight, he couldn’t move at all. The spears raised and one of the
guards pulled his sword from its sheath, and tossed it forward.
The long
weapon slid all the way through the circle of guards, almost to Elizabeth’s
side, and she glanced back in her curtsey. Broc met her eyes and seethed, but
her countenance did not change.
“They call
themselves the Mac Ri Albannach.”
Elizabeth over-pronounced the Gaelic like a true English, then returned to the
refined, long tones of the court. “Sons of the Rightful King.”
Broc snorted. They did no such thing—they didn’t need to
call themselves anything. But to the English, there was nothing more
fearsome than an organized group of rebel warriors from the unknown mountains.
He struggled against his bonds and one of the spears sliced into his shoulder.
The cut was
deep and the hot, thick blood flowed down his back in double time.
“I hear tell
there’s a real man behind this legendary Highlander who raids English
strongholds and beheads shire magistrates.” The fat sheriff stood and walked
around the table.
“I had friends
at Carlisle.” The fat man spat from outside the circle of armed guards.
“Friends who were killed by some band of rebels, intent on savagery and filth.”
He pulled
Elizabeth to her feet. “And yet you captured this man? How do you intend to
prove it was him and not your husband who led these raids?”
“Ask them.”
The sheriff
called out. “Bring the raider out.”
From the
corner of the room, a man in chains was pushed forward. Broc’s heart sank. The
man they’d assumed dead, Tearny MacDonnogh, was almost no better off than if
they had indeed killed him. His once muscular frame was now emaciated, with
skin hanging from his arms. He was bare to the waist and the scars of beatings
reminded Broc of just how long it had been since they had been to Berwick.
“Is this the
man who led you at Carlisle?” the sheriff asked. “And is he leading the Mac Ri Albannach?”
Tearney’s
greasy, matted hair swung around his face as he nodded. His eyes were
half-closed and his mouth hung open, but he managed to make his affirmation
known.
The sheriff
cackled and threw Elizabeth to the ground. “I’ll be knighted for this for
certain.”
With broad
gestures, he pointed to Tearny and then the dungeon door. “Release both of them
to her care, as we agreed. And take this one down to the bowels. I want the
smithy to make him special chains with double-thick cast and no slack.”
He took his
captain of the guard by the throat. “And by God, he had better be who she says
he is, or it’s going to be your head on a silver plate instead of mine.”
“He’s the man,
my lord.” The captain scratched at his throat where the fat hands had gripped
him. “He bears the marks from Lord Hobble’s double-bladed Arabian weapon. I saw
the scars on his arm.”
Broc
swallowed. He did bear such a scar, and he had been the one to kill the
perverted English lord in the battle of Carlisle, but only because the man had
nearly killed Andrew and was about to disembowel him when Broc discovered and
beheaded the man.
He was
outnumbered, his weapon lost to him, bound, and soon to be imprisoned. Fighting
back now would only mean Andrew’s certain continued imprisonment and possible
death. At least if he kept quiet like a captive, he could know Andrew was free.
Even if it meant he would rot in the dungeon himself.
Back Cover Copy for The Outcast Highlander
Kenesy MacLeod
returns home after a failed marriage alliance in France to find her world in
turmoil: her best friend married to an English sympathizer, her mother at
death’s door, and her father imprisoned and thought dead. As an English lord
descends to claim her father’s lands, Kenesy escapes north with her mother and
brother, and runs straight into the arms of the outcast Highlander.
Driven from
home and family by a crazed father, Broccin Sinclair refuses to stand aside
while the English invade his beloved Scotland. But who should he champion? The
freedom fighter who saved his life, the family who has forgotten him, or the
woman who captured his childhood heart?
***
The Outcast Highlander begins the Highland Renegades series of medieval romance
novels by USA Today bestselling author
R.L. Syme (also writing as Becca Boyd). Please visit http://rlsyme.com
today to get The Outcast Highlander for
FREE! Happy reading!
