The Highlander's Redemption. Marguerite Kaye

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      Across the road, at the foot of Castlehill, a group of men were bundling something—or someone—into a close. Despite the potent effects of the whisky swirling around his brain, Calumn’s body was immediately on full alert. He strode purposefully towards them, his long legs covering the short distance effortlessly, his golden hair and the heavy skirts of his coat flying out behind him. When he arrived his fists were already clenched in readiness. There were three of them, soldiers in uniform, he saw with disgust, surrounding their victim. He caught a glimpse of pleading eyes and fair hair, noted that the woman was young and extremely pretty. She was also struggling frantically.

      Concern for her plight and loathing for its perpetrators filled his mind and fuelled his body. With a roar like a battle cry, Calumn launched himself at the soldiers, with nary a thought for his own safety. He took the largest of the three first, hauling him clear of his intended victim before landing his own mighty fist smack in the middle of the man’s face. With immense satisfaction he heard the crunch of bone. A swift follow-through with a double punch to the abdomen, and with a whoosh of breath the man collapsed, moaning. Calumn turned his attention to the other two, fighting dirty, using his feet as well as his fists.

      Heart pounding, legs shaking, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow, Madeleine leant back against the wall and took deep, gulping breaths of air while in front of her, in the narrow space, her rescuer set about the soldiers with a devilish fury. He was a tall man and, beneath his expensive evening clothes, a very well-built one, with broad shoulders and powerful thighs. His hair, the colour of ripe corn, unpowdered and untied despite his formal dress, flew out in a bright halo of colour behind him as he dealt efficiently with her assailants. Of his face she could make out little, gaining only a fleeting impression of cold menace.

      A cruel blow to the jaw took his second opponent out. A vicious kick and an arm-twisting had the last one at his mercy. On the stairway which wound its way from the close up to the first of the tenements, a man appeared in a nightcap, brandishing what looked like a poker. Her rescuer glanced up, telling him curtly to go back to bed, at the same time frogmarching the third soldier out of the close and hurling him into the gutter. Madeleine forced herself to move. Quickly retrieving her small bundle of belongings from beneath the stairwell, she picked her way over the comatose bodies of her attackers out into the street where her rescuer waited.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he said anxiously, his voice a soft, attractive lilt, very different from the harsh tones of the soldiers.

      Madeleine nodded. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she managed through lips made stiff with fear. Seeing he was not yet convinced, she tried to reassure him. ‘Truly, I’m all right, I took no hurt.’

      The tension in him eased, his mouth curling into a smile, the fierce lines on his face relaxing, so that she saw he was young, perhaps five or six and twenty, and almost unfairly handsome. His eyes were dark blue, his smile engaging. Despite her ordeal, she could not but return it.

      ‘Calumn Munro,’ he said with a flourishing bow, ‘I’m happy to have been of service.’

      ‘I’m most happy to meet you, Monsieur Munro,’ Madeleine said with a curtsy which was almost steady.

      ‘You’re French,’ he exclaimed in surprise. ‘Mais oui.’

      She was enchantingly pretty, all big green eyes and silken hair, with a mouth made for kissing. Alone, at such a late hour and in the vicinity of the castle, he had assumed she must be a courtesan, but, looking at her more closely, he wasn’t so sure. Of a certainty, she was no common harlot. ‘May I know your name, mademoiselle?’

      ‘I am Madeleine Lafayette.’

      ‘Enchanté.’ His exertions, on top of the whisky, were beginning to take their toll on Calumn. He needed his bed, but he could not simply abandon the poor lass to the whim of the next group of soldiers who were even now making their raucous way up the hill. ‘Let me escort you home, mademoiselle,’ he said, proffering a gentlemanly arm. ‘It’s not safe for any woman to be out on her own here at this hour.’

      His knuckles were bleeding. There was a bruise forming on his cheekbone. She saw now what she had not noticed before, that he was—albeit charmingly—in his cups. ‘I am thinking that you too should be in your bed, monsieur,’ Madeleine said, ‘you look as if you have had too much wine.’

      ‘Not too much wine, too much whisky,’ Calumn corrected her gravely. ‘Let’s get you home. Come now, which direction?’

      The words were very slightly slurred. She began to fear that he would collapse if they stayed here for much longer. ‘Which direction are you taking?’ she asked, and when he pointed vaguely down the hill, told him that she, too, was going that way. She would see him to his own door and then claim to have lodgings nearby. She tugged on his arm. ‘Come along, monsieur.’

      ‘Calumn, my name’s Calumn,’ he said, taking her bundle and throwing it casually over his shoulder before tucking her hand into his other arm. ‘En avant!’ He seemed to rally, setting off down the brae with an easy grace, the loping stride of an animal built for speed, not the mincing step of a city man. Clinging to his arm, Madeleine had to run to keep up.

      They crossed into the Lawnmarket, which during the day teemed with tradesmen selling butter and cheese as well as the wools and linens for which the place was famed. At this time of night it was eerily quiet, difficult to imagine that in just a few hours it would be nigh on impossible to get from one side of the street to the other without running the full gamut of maids, merchants and pickpockets.

      At the far end, Calumn stopped at Riddell’s Court where his family kept rooms. ‘Where to now?’

      Madeleine shrugged. ‘Not far. I can make my own way from here,’ she said, trying for a confidence she was far from feeling. The reality of having to spend the night outside and alone was only just starting to sink in.

      She reached for her bundle of belongings, but Calumn held on to it, seeming to notice for the first time what it actually was. ‘You’ve just arrived, haven’t you?’

      Madeleine nodded reluctantly.

      ‘And you’ve nowhere to stay?’

      ‘No, but there is no need to …’

      ‘You’d best come up with me then.’

      Madeleine shook her head.

      ‘I don’t blame you, after what you’ve been through, but you’ve nothing to worry about. Apart from anything else, I’m fit for nothing but sleep. I’ve a spare room with a lock on the door that you’re welcome to, and I promise I won’t try to take advantage. Word of a Munro.’

      She had a fleeting sense of a shadow when he said his name, like a cloud crossing the sun, then it was gone. Weighing up a bed in a house and a door with a lock, against a draughty stairwell and a backdrop of late-night marauders, Madeleine was extremely tempted to accept his offer. Instinctively, she felt Calumn Munro was trustworthy. Had he not already proved himself a knight errant? She nodded her cautious acceptance. ‘You’re very kind, monsieur. ‘

      Calumn led her through the wrought-iron gate which protected the close entrance into the courtyard and up the steep wooden stairs to the second of the building’s four storeys. He had some difficulty in fitting the heavy key into the lock, but eventually threw the door open with a flourish. ‘Here we are.’ He pulled Madeleine into a narrow hallway and thrust the door shut behind them.

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