True Highland Spirit Read Online Free PDF Page A

Alys for her competence and her hard work. The tower was considerably cleaner since she took on the role of chatelaine. But McNab was not her clan. Alys had a way out. She should go back home where she would be safe, protected, and fed. It was more than what she could expect from life with the McNabs.
    Morrigan fingered the dangerous seal on the parchment. It was a picture of two knights on a single horse in red sealing wax. Morrigan saw it before when it was sent to Archie. It always contained instructions from the man who paid them to do certain tasks, generally of an illegal or immoral nature. Who sent the missives or why, Archie would not say.
    Morrigan broke the seal and opened the missive.
    Kill the bishop of Glasgow, or they all will die .
    Morrigan stared hard at the words. She sounded them out carefully to ensure there was no mistake. She was not the most proficient reader, but she knew her letters well enough to be chilled by the missive’s meaning.
    Kill. It most definitely said kill.
    “Damn ye, Archie,” Morrigan rasped. “What the hell have ye gotten us into this time?”
    ***
     
    It took one week before the pain in Morrigan’s throat subsided. It was another week after that before she could draw a full breath without wheezing. During that time Morrigan paced, fretted, and waited for her wayward brothers to return. She wished to see Andrew because she was secretly fond of her younger brother. She wanted to see Archie because only he knew who sent the missives and who was threatening the clan.
    Archie and Morrigan followed the directions in the missives for the past several years. Generally the directions were to raid a particular clan’s livestock or rob a certain group of travelers. Truth was, they did that anyway, so doing what the missives required for an extra reward was hardly a difficult decision. In return, they received small payments, sometimes some cloth or occasionally some livestock. The McNabs were raiders. Thieves. Nothing to be proud of, but it was the only way they had to provide for their clan, impoverished as it was. Raiding was the only thing she did well. Very well, though it was a shame to admit it.
    It had not always been that way. Years ago, the stomachs of the McNab children did not rumble as much as today. They had never been a rich clan, but they had never been poor either. Morrigan’s grandfather was to blame for their current distress. He had sided with the English when it was no longer fashionable to do so.
    Grandfather McNab had made a promise to the English king, and he would keep his word. Most lairds had sworn allegiance to England, Robert the Bruce included. But the Bruce had no compunction in switching his allegiances when it was politically advantageous to do so. McNab had not, and when Bruce came into power, he revoked much of their land, took their cattle, and forced them to pay huge reparations. The clan never recovered.
    So they stole when they were hungry. Morrigan had no ethical dilemma regarding her criminal activities. She knew whose bellies her stolen goods filled. Their neighboring clans had benefitted from their disgrace. Morrigan cared not if they stole back some of what used to be theirs.
    “Rider approaching!” a watchman called from the wall.
    Morrigan put her hand on her sword hilt and strode out of the main hall to the inner ward. She stepped lightly, a habit from her career choice, her boots making little sound on the stone passageway.
    Outside, a rider had been let through the main gate, which was never fully repaired from the last time some invader had knocked it down. People in the courtyard gathered around; a visitor was unusual and cause for inspection.
    “A message for the McNab,” said the messenger.
    “I’ll take that,” said Morrigan. “See to his horse and get the man a draft o’ something wet.”
    “What news?” asked Alys, wiping her dirty hands on her apron. She had no doubt been working on a kitchen garden again. Morrigan was