Highland Harmony: Avelina and Drew (Clan Grant Series Book 8) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Drew Menzie stumbled toward the cottage in the outer bailey of his clan’s castle. Glad that his sire was better and he did not have to act as laird anymore, he’d indulged just a wee bit too much. He’d had enough ale tonight, for sure! God’s teeth, but he needed to learn some self-control. He approached the front door and knocked. A flurry of giggles greeted his ears after the last rap of his knuckles fell against the worn wood.

“Drew, ‘tis you?” a young, high-pitched voice asked.

“Nay, ‘tis the monster from the forest in search of a damsel who needs rescuing. Do you fit my needs?”

“Aye. Come find me, young knight.”

Laughter from more than one lassie echoed through the door and he laughed as he grabbed the door handle to keep from stumbling backward. How he wished Aedan were here to join him in this eve’s merriment. Unfortunately for Drew, his best friend had deserted him to marry the beautiful Jennie Grant, so he was no longer interested in fornicating with a bevy of lasses for entertainment. Ironic that at present, Aedan was the responsible laird, while Drew had been relieved of his duties until his sire needed him again.

“Oh, save me,” crooned one of the lasses through the door. He barged into the cottage and pushed his way between the two buxom beauties, barely managing to find his way to the pallet in the corner. Once he fell onto the bed, he rolled over so he was lying on his back looking up at the two faces—one brunette and a lovely redhead.

The lasses giggled and teased him, grabbing him in all the right places, but suddenly his head spun a bit too much to allow him to remain in his present position. Hating to do it, he pressed away from the two soft bodies near him, forcing them to withdraw from him. The brunette had already found her way to his nipple through his tunic, and the redhead had been nuzzling his neck. An unmistakable urge propelled him up and out the door to the side of the hut, whereupon he heaved out half of the ale and whisky he had indulged in during the night.

When he finally had no more fluid left inside of him, he rubbed his forehead. His mouth felt like the hide of a boar, and the thought of another ale sent him back for one more contribution to the rocks on the side of the cottage.

God’s teeth, but he had to stop. His indulgences had gotten out of hand as of late. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic and turned back toward the front of the cottage. He groaned when he saw the two lasses staring at him, both wide-eyed with alarm.

“Och, Drew. What is wrong?”

“Naught to worry your bonny head about, sweet lassie. But I believe I’ll postpone our entertainment until another night.” He winked and strode past the two girls, but as soon as he was out of their line of sight, he ran into the trees to rid himself of the rest of the contents of his belly.

After he finished, he wanted naught more than to recline on the mound of soft leaves next to him, but instead he hiked back toward the keep. The reason he’d returned met him at the door as soon as he opened it a crack.

“Drew, thank the saints above. Are you sotted? You look terrible.”

Drew’s mother, Rhona, stood in the great hall, kneading her hands. “I’m fine. I’m going to my chamber, Mama.”

“Can I do aught for you? Please let me help you.” She reached for her son.

Drew pulled away from her. “Nay. I do not feel well. ‘Tis late, Mama. Go to bed.”

Drew headed for his chamber, barely managing to escape her reach, but then turned around to find a pallet in the hall. He couldn’t handle the chamber this eve.

Hellfire, but he had to get away. Aye, he loved his mama and papa, but every time he was around them, the memories he attempted to banish bloomed to the surface. Nay, he must get away. Lately, all the ale in the world did naught to clear his memories. He would go to Aedan’s. Aye, his friend was newly married, but he needed to get away from his mother, from everything.

He fell onto the pallet, closed his eyes, and slipped into oblivion.

The next thing he knew, someone was yelling his name. His sire.

“Get up, you lazy swine. Can you not spend one night away from the ale? You need to direct the men in the lists.”

Hellfire, but the last thing he needed right now was to go out to the lists. He heard his friend Boyd try to reason with his father. “Word is he was heaving all over last eve.”

“Boyd, if the fool drank that much, then he needs to get up off his arse and work the ale off. He’s supposed to be out there with the guards. ‘Tis his job to lead the men and your job to assist him.”

“Aye, but I can handle them today, my laird. ‘Tis a challenge for me, and I welcome it.”

Drew swung his legs over the side of the bed, waited until the room stopped spinning, then threw his plaid on over his tunic and breeches. Weaving a bit on his feet, he finally made it over and stood facing his sire. “I’m coming.” If he didn’t go now, his father would continue throwing insults at him until his head exploded.

“Get your lazy arse out there. You need to work as they do if you plan to lead again one day.”

Drew pushed past his father and out into the passageway, nodding to Boyd as he moved past him. Drew was accustomed to his father’s harsh demeanor at this point in his life. He just wished he had a better way about him, especially when he was around Boyd. Drew could ignore his father’s rants, but he feared someday Boyd would move on to another castle. With no family left, he had naught to hold him here, but Drew would be devastated if he ever chose to leave.

As soon as he headed down the stairs of the keep, his father’s usual tirade picked up again behind him. “If you ever wish to become something other than a drunk, you must be a hard worker. You should be out there ahead of our guards.”

Rather than argue, Drew stayed silent as he strode through the bailey. He’d tried so many different ways to make his sire proud of him, but it had never happened. When his sire had taken ill, Drew had taken over, working the guards in the list and leading them when the neighboring Lochluin Abbey had been attacked. His father had not once praised him for the brave way he’d fought to protect their land and Aedan’s in the recent skirmishes that had broken out across the Highlands. Even though he’d suffered no injuries and lost no men, his father had told him he needed to improve. In truth, it was hopeless. He could never live up to his brothers’ memories.

He strode straight for the stables.

“Drew, it’s so good to see you this morn.” He blew a kiss to the fair lass near the buttery, but did not slow his stride. Boyd had fallen in behind him, he noticed, and he gave his friend a nod and a smile—or as close to one as he could manage. When he passed the armorer, who was struggling to move a heavy piece of metal, he swung inside to lend a hand.

“Drew, no need to help. I’ll get my son to assist me.” The man in the armory was already panting from his attempts to move the heavy load.

“I’ll not walk away. Boyd can help us.” Boyd ran over and the three men lifted the metal and moved it to the large table in the back.

The armorer stood and smiled at Drew. “Many thanks. Would have taken us a wee bit to do it ourselves.”

After trading more pleasantries, Drew and Boyd continued down the path. A lass carrying a loaf of fresh bread hurried after them. “My mama sends this for helping her the other day.” She blushed and giggled after Drew accepted the loaf from her with a wink. He tore it in half to share with Boyd.

Almost to the portcullis, Drew heard the smithy yelling at the horse he was shoeing. “Ye olde beast, stop your snorting and hold still.”

Drew hurried over to the old warhorse and helped calm him, talking sweetly to him and feeding him a part of his bread. The animal quieted enough for the smithy to finish his work. When the older man pulled out the stone lodged in the horse’s hoof, he held it up for Drew to see. “He had a reason to be a mite ornery, lad. My thanks.”

Drew spun on his heel, waved, and continued on toward the stables.

As soon as he arrived, the stable lad tore over to him. “Drew, I’ll get your horse ready for you.”

Drew waved at the lad. “I’ll handle it.” He saddled his horse, and not long after, he and Boyd were mounted and heading out toward the area where the guards practiced. He had pushed the lads hard since the skirmishes, and he was proud of all they had accomplished. His sire followed at a distance—he could hear him yelling about something, but he wasn’t interested in stopping to see what.

By the time they reached the field, Drew’s father was close behind them, so Drew moved aside until his father drew up next to him. The men stopped practicing and awaited their orders. He glanced at his sire’s weathered face. The laird had fought many battles, but he no longer had the strength of years past. His tales had been told so many times that most of the clansmen already knew them by heart, but they would still politely wait for him to finish.

A guard strode up to them and asked, “Drew, what move do you want us to practice today?”

Drew glanced at his father, but the older man just nodded for him to respond. He gave his instructions and dismounted. As he made his way onto the field, one guard after another ran to his side to speak with him.

“Drew, you should see how well Donnal did today. He’ll be strong enough to fight with us the next time.”

Another lad made his way up to him and said, “Menzie, we had five men against the winners from yesterday, and we trounced them.”

Drew looked at Boyd and grinned. He had initiated a competition of strength to fire the lads up, and it seemed to be working. He patted the guard on the shoulder, but didn’t stop as he continued toward his sire’s second-in-command. He’d hoped his father would have given him that job, but Egan had been with his sire forever.

“Menzie, these new swords you had the smithy craft are easier to handle. How’d you know?” Egan shouted at Drew. “Brilliant design.”

His father shouted, “Aye, I told Drew ‘twas the way I wanted them.”

Drew whirled around to stare at his father, who was still ahorse. He’d had no say at all about the swords, but now he was taking credit for that, too? Boyd gave Drew a pointed look, but continued over to a group of lads in the lists.

Aye, ‘twas past time for Drew to get away for a while.

***

Lachlan Burnes flicked the reins of his horse, urging the beast to a gallop across the meadow just outside his sire’s castle. He was eager to escape his mother’s latest foul-mouthed assault.

He headed straight for his favorite place—his hideaway. The area he’d found was quite hidden, which was why he held it in such favor. He could curse, yell, holler, and throw rocks to his heart’s content—or his temper’s content, which was the case more often than not. When his mother and father got into their ritual insulting game, throwing every mistake he’d ever made since he was ten summers at him, he’d learned to leave as soon as possible. He’d heard all the insults before. There was no reason for him to stay to hear a repeat performance. As added entertainment, his parents had a cruel way of inciting the clansmen to chant insults at him when they joined the Burnes family in the great hall for the meal. They’d do anything at all if given enough mead.

He knew when he was almost at his special spot because the terrain became more and more laden with rocks. It was a small glen between two walls of solid rock—one much shorter than the other, which appeared to climb into the sky. Stones and moss were everywhere, and enough rubble tumbled from the walls that he didn’t dare take his horse all the way in, choosing instead to tie him to a bush in the surrounding area. In all likelihood, that’s why everyone else stayed away.

Once he had dismounted and hooked the reins over the branch of a nearby bush, he crept over to his spot as quietly as possible. There was a new eeriness to the glade today, one that sent a shiver up his spine, but he saw naught out of order.

His mother’s voice echoed through his mind. “You lousy fool. You are of little value to the Clan Burnes. How could your father ever leave you in charge of the clan?”

Her face popped into his view, so he picked up a stone at his feet and hurled it, hitting the rocky ledge across from him. He could almost envision it hitting her right between the eyes—an image that made him smile—so he picked up another loose stone and fired it at the stone wall.

After five more missiles hit the wall, he grinned and stood back, feeling much better. Aye, that’s what he needed to do. Strike the woman down where she stood. He yelled up at the sky in triumph, imagining how wonderful it would feel to hear his mother begging his forgiveness and telling him how much she loved him.

Lachlan felt so empowered he picked up a larger rock that took two hands to lift. He swung it over his head and hurled it forward, catching the middle of the wall, sending some smaller stones scuttling down the side of the glade. His blood pumped through his veins in excitement, the flush of exerting himself racing through him, making him want to do it again and again. So he did, increasing the size of the rocks until he found one he could hardly lift over his head. He laughed when it crashed against the rocky ledge, sending stones shooting off in every direction.

Finally, he stopped, panting to catch his breath, a wide smile on his face. He leaned over to rest his hands on his knees and wait until his breathing returned to normal. But a strange rumbling sound met his ears, so he picked his head up to search for the source.