Page 53 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

Was there no reason? Kenna bit her lip, wondering if she was bold enough to ask the question aloud that had just come to mind. Rob would have laughed at her hesitation. He thought she was fearless.

“Say, Florence… Ellen does not have any living children, does she?”

Florence gave her a sad look and shook her head. “No. Ellen lost the child barely two weeks after she and Hugh wed. She hasn’t conceived since.”

* * *

Two days later, Kenna trudged up the inn steps with a frown. Florence had convinced her to go outside, to embrace the beautiful fall afternoon with its cloudless sky and gently flowing breeze. Ellen had declined their company, as she had done ever since Kenna pushed for the story of her marriage. Kenna felt a strange sense of guilt about it, but Florence did not share her mind. As always, she was dedicated to having a bit of fun, avoiding all conflicts and misery as if they were the plague.

The pair started in the bread shop next to the inn, filling up on sweet pastries and crusty bread smeared with butter. Then they had gone to the apothecary that was just across the street from the inn, pointing at the multicolored jars that filled the shelves and doing their best to guess what various powders and potions were used for. All had gone well in those two shops, so Florence had worked her magic and convinced Kenna to venture, for the first time in days, to the next street over, promising her fantastic shops that stocked some of the most incredible things, some of the merchants even bringing goods from as far as Persia.

At first, it had been fun to see something new, to pick up bits of jewelry and wonder if Rob would be pleased to see her wearing it while Florence pointed out intricately painted bits of pottery. Then she had heard the whispers. Florence became nervous and flighty, pointing Kenna’s attention away from the nobles that were casting her nasty looks.

But then one had grown bold, marching up to her and, with spit flying from his mouth as he overenunciated every word, said, “Ye must be awfully pleased with yerself, out here flaunting about so shamefully just after the news arrived. Yer worthless Earl of Huntly shall not be able to run from Her Majesty forever.”

He emphasized his anger by upending his flask over her head. It was only water, but it stung as painfully as molten metal. While the shopkeeper ran forward and began to pat her dry with a bit of clean cloth, Florence chased after the nobles, demanding answers. When she returned to Kenna’s side, her eyes were wide and nervous, and she quickly began to walk them back toward the inn.

As it turned out, the Earl of Huntly had managed to escape Strathbogie and had joined the ranks of his army, which had already been out roaming the countryside in preparation for open rebellion. According to the noblemen, Rob and his men had ransacked the castle after Huntly escaped and interrogated a few of his surviving men. Whatever information they had discovered must not have been good, for a rider had rushed back to Aberdeen to relay it to the Queen, arriving only that morning.

Back in the safety of her room, where she should have been wise enough to have stayed all day, Kenna snatched up a pillow and held it to her face so that she could scream without raising any alarm. How long would people continue to blame her for things that she had no control over? Had she been at Strathbogie, helping the Earl slip through the fingers of the Queen’s small host of men? No. So why was it her fault?

The dress, still damp, clung uncomfortably against her skin and Kenna tugged angrily at her laces. She peeled off the simple cotton dress and cast it down onto the table as she looked around the room, trying to remember which of the many trunks and chests in the room held her favorite white linen dress. Today was the type of day that required a favorite dress.

Her eyes fell on the two chests stacked in a pile beside the door. If she remembered correctly, the dress she was looking for was in the lower of the two. With a grunt of exertion, Kenna lifted off the top chest and set it down on the ground before she began to rifle through the lower chest, unfurling the white dress with a whoop of victory.

That was when she heard the soft thump.

“Where…” Kenna looked around the room, wondering what it was she was hearing.

Then the thump came again, and Kenna looked down at the chest she had just moved.

A third thump confirmed her suspicions. There was something inside of the trunk, something alive.

With hesitant fingers, Kenna reached out and tipped open the lid of the trunk. There, slithering around amongst the collection of petticoats, was a long, gray snake with a series of black diamonds down its back. A small horn rose from its head, and two copper-colored eyes looked up at Kenna while a black tongue slipped in and out of its mouth.

Kenna screamed and slammed the lid, a loud crack on the inside of the chest telling her that the snake had lunged a moment too late. Pounding footsteps on the stairs overpowered whatever other sounds the snake was making before her door was thrown open and her father-in-law stared down at her.

“What is it?”

“There is a snake in my chest. It was big and gray, and it had a horn. Is that strange to say, the snake had a horn? I don’t ken; I just ken I have never seen one like it before.” The words kept falling from her lips. She didn’t know how to stop them. “I just heard a noise, so I looked, and there it was, and so I slammed it, and I think it tried to get me and it was just so big…”

A few more men joined their Laird, catching the last of her comments and casting curious glances down at the chest.

Then there was Florence, coming up behind the rest and looking confused, but also a bit intrigued.

Urging her back, Laird Lovat stepped in front of the chest, a pair of men beside him with long dirks at the ready. He tipped back the lid ever so slightly and peered inside for only a second before he softly replaced the lid.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What was it, father?” Florence asked.

“A horned viper. They aren’t native to Scotland so how the hell did it get here?”

Kenna did not feel like that was a question worth asking. The damn thing hadn’t wandered into the inn, up the stairs, and into her chest on its own.

“It was a snake fer a snake,” Kenna said, angry at how apparent the trembling was in her voice. A few days free of death threats and angry nobles had apparently made her soft.

Laird Lovat cast her a wary glance. “Aye, I expect that is the implication. Well, lads, let’s bring the chest outside and deal with the thing. I want the rest of these chests searched. Go and stay with Florence ‘til ‘tis done, lass.”

“It will all be over soon,” Florence cooed as she wrapped an arm affectionately around Kenna while the men began to haul the chest from the room. “The Queen sent out a notice. All of the men are to prepare themselves for battle. The Earl of Huntly is officially in open rebellion against the Crown.”

“Good, this needs to end,” Kenna said.

She wondered which would be able to hold out longer: her or the Gordon rebellion? She couldn’t be sure but, if she were a betting woman, she wouldn’t put money on herself.