The Castle of Eight Lairds

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Lifted up by my arms in the middle of a deep sleep, I struggled fruitlessly against the hands that gripped at me as I woke.

A giant of a man with curly red hair and a frizzy red beard held me away from him as I found my footing. He smiled widely but shook his head and clucked his tongue before speaking.

“Ye two are the worst thieves I’ve ever seen. Ye fell asleep in the middle of yer jobs.”

“We’re not…we’re not thieves.”

I glanced over to see Marcus who was being held back by a tall but slender man with dark hair that was cropped short and eyes that were a startling blue. His face was grim. He looked remarkably serious.

Marcus said nothing. He still looked half-asleep.

The man in front of me—seemingly deciding that I was no threat—released his grip on me as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“Oh, really? Then how and why did ye climb our gates in the dead of night, and why are ye asleep in the stall with our finest horse?”

“We were on our way to see Laird,” I completely drew a blank on the name Morna mentioned in her letter. “Laird…Laird Aldridge. He’s expecting us.”

Marcus groaned, and I knew that I’d said the wrong name.

The man in front of me laughed. “Laird Aldridge? There is no such man here.”

“I…I mean Laird Albert.”

I knew the second I uttered the name that it was wrong, as well. In an attempt to save me, Marcus spoke up for the first time. It was a struggle to refrain from literally facepalming myself on the forehead. I felt like a total idiot.

“Laird Allen. We are here to see Laird Allen.”

The man turned to face Marcus.

“And ye say he’s expecting ye? Ye think I should believe that when this lassie,” he paused and pointed his thumb at me, “doesna even know his name? Do ye know him?”

I tried to recover.

“I do know his name. You just startled me, is all. And we do know him. As I said, he’s expecting us.”

He swiveled back toward me.

“This shall be fun, lass. Okay, if ye truly do know him, pray tell me what he looks like.”

I was an imbecile. I glanced back and forth between the two men and pleaded with Marcus with my eyes for help. He simply shrugged.

“It’s been a very long time since I last saw him. I would’ve been a small child, really. Although, I do remember that he is very tall.”

“Just how tall would that be, lass?”

I pursed my lips and attempted to look like I was trying to remember. “I would say just a little bit shorter than you.”

For the first time since our exchange began, the man holding Marcus’ arms released him and cracked a silent smile.

The red-haired man shook his head and smiled even more widely.

“Ye’ve managed to make Calder smile. He doesna smile for anyone. I suppose that means that thief or not, we canna kill ye. ’Twould break his heart.”

My eyes must have widened with worry for the man hurried to reassure me.

“Doona fash, lass, I only speak in jest. We wouldna ever kill ye. Now, do ye have any idea what ye said that might’ve made Calder smile so?”

I shook my head. I didn’t have any idea.

“Lass, Laird Allen canna be more than a few years older than ye are. I doona believe that he was my height at the age of ten.”

“Damnit.”

The redhead’s eyes widened.

“’Tis unladylike to curse, lass.”

“Ha.” Marcus seemed to be enjoying the spectacle I was making of myself. His smile was as wide as Calder’s. “There’s nothing ladylike about Laurel.”

The redhead raised his brows at me in question.

“Is that so, lass? Ye look like quite the proper lady.”

I shot Marcus a frown. I was low-maintenance to be sure. I didn’t fuss with fashionable clothes, and I never paid more than twenty dollars for a tube of mascara, but I’d never considered myself unladylike. Perhaps, I did need to start trying just a little harder. I didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking of me as a manly slob.

“I…I am too ladylike.” My answer sounded ridiculously childish.

The redhead gave me a sympathetic look. “O’course ye are. Laurel, was it?”

I nodded.

“’Tis a bonny name.” He extended his hand to me, and I gladly took it. His grip was firm and his handshake was a little over exuberant, but it made me like him immediately. “I’m Harry.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Harry.” I pointed to Marcus once my hand was free. “This is my brother, Marcus.”

As expected, Harry’s brows lifted as his trademark smile spread across his face once again. He was looking at the obvious difference in our skin colors and not buying it for a second.

Harry extended his hand toward Marcus and spoke as they shook. “Yer brother? Are ye sure ye dinna mean to say friend or mayhap, lover?”

Marcus spoke and the lie sounded remarkably believable even to me. “Her parents took me in when I was young. I’m her brother in every way that matters.”

Understanding spread across Harry’s face, and I could see right away that Morna had been truthful. There was no malice in the man’s doubt, only curiosity. “Neither of ye are from here, aye? Not that I rightly care, to be sure. ’Tis only that I’ve never heard such speech in my life. I’ve already told ye Calder’s name. He’s a shy one. Ye willna get much out of him. Now.” He clasped his palms together and rubbed them back and forth excitedly. “Calder and I are expected in the village shortly. ’Tis time we decide what to do with ye.”

“What to do with us? Are you not going to let us speak to Laird Allen?”

“Laird Allen isna here. He hasna been in two and a half years. I doona expect he will be here for another fortnight, at least. While I doona believe for a moment that ye know him or that ye even have business with him, I like ye well enough that I’m willing to host ye until he returns. I’m verra curious to see how he responds to ye.”

For the first time, Calder spoke up, his tone filled with warning.

“She’s a lassie, Harry. She canna stay in the castle. ’Tis not allowed.”

Harry waved a dismissive hand.

“Calder, ’tis a foolish superstition—one we should’ve tested long ago. She tries to control us through fear. ’Tis likely that much of what she says is untrue. I hardly believe that having one lass inside these walls will cause us trouble.”

“Let us at least have them stay in the village, Harry. ’Twill be safer for everyone.”

Harry gestured toward the stable doors with a small nod of his head. Together, we all began to move toward the exit.

“Ach, doona be such a worrier, Calder. ’Twill send ye to an early grave. ’Twill lift everyone’s spirits to have a lass about—even yers, I reckon.”

As Harry pushed the large doors open, we stepped out into the fresh air, and Marcus and I got our first look at The Castle of Eight Lairds. It was even more gothic and intimidating than it appeared in the documentary. Dark, dead vines creeped up the front, and the forest surrounding it dropped off steeply on each side.

Marcus muttered under his breath, “Wow.”

Harry clasped Marcus on the shoulder. “’Tis even more impressive in the daytime, aye?”

Marcus nodded as Calder stepped over near Harry. “I doona think this a good idea.”

Harry’s tone dropped and I noticed that his face—when he wasn’t smiling—made him appear very unfriendly.

“I doona care what ye think, Calder. See them settled inside while I ready our horses. Place Marcus in Timothy’s old room. Place Laurel in the castle’s finest bedchamber.”

“But that’s Raudrich’s room.”

Harry nodded. “Precisely. Raudrich has always had a soft place in his heart for the lassies. He willna have the heart to remove her once he arrives, and it will keep the rest of us from being unsettled. He can sleep elsewhere.”

Without another word, Harry turned to leave us. Desperate to see the inside of the castle, I all but chased after Calder as he walked inside.