It was a bright and sunny day, and Jane was more content than she had ever been. The laughter of the children was loud, and they ran around her skirts in the grass, but she was unbothered by their playfulness.
Three years had passed since her wedding, and life had taken a permanent turn for the better. Although she had been unsure at first about whether or not they should live in the castle with William, now it was her home. They had stayed since Suisan had left, and they did not want William to be alone since he seemed to have no plans for marriage just yet.
She and Alastair had stayed to keep him company, and they spent their summers in England just to make sure they were not always in his hair and to see her father. This summer, however, Alastair had brought them to his former home, where he had lived with his parents and sister.
The small village which had burnt down had become a beautiful field of grass. Alastair had built a little cottage where the old house stood and had left it there for years. This summer, however, he was ready to bring them there and to introduce them to his parents at their grave.
Upon their arrival, he left them standing in the field and went to check the cottage. Although he had hired people to clean it, he still wanted to check that everything was fine before he brought them in.
So Jane had remained outside with the children, sitting in the grass while they played around her. The moment was serene, and she turned her face up to soak in the warm rays, the sun was lovingly shining down on them.
“Ye look calm,” he said teasingly, returning to her side. She had to smile. Usually, she would have told the children to stop running by now. Seeing their father, the two smaller children, who could walk on their own, ran to him, Ramsey, who was three, Maria, his twin. Ivie, who was only a year old, crawled over at a much slower pace.
This was her family now. After their wedding, it was not long before they were blessed with Ramsey and Maria. Her son had her eyes, although he took everything else from his father. Alastair had shed tears the day he was born, and she could never forget the look on his face.
Ramsey was a very intelligent and strong boy with a solid moral code despite still being so young. He was just as reckless as Jane and searched for excitement everywhere. He loved books, and Alastair and William agreed to allow him access to the castle library once he was old enough. He would always run into Jane’s arms the moment she mentioned storytime. Once he was old enough to hold a wooden sword, he would start lessons in swordsmanship.
To their son, family came first, and this showed in how he doted on his sisters and listened to his mother when he saw that his inability to sit still brought her distress. He was very close to his father, copying his actions and wanting to be just like him. William was also like family, and he spent a lot of time reading with William. Jane kept hoping some of William’s calmness would rub off him.
This hope was too far-fetched, however, as he had the genes of two hotblooded parents and spent quality time with his grandfather, John Baxendale, who was the worst of them all during the summer. Ever since her father had retired after Ivie’s birth, he had ample time to sit back and do nothing. That meant that while Jane tried to temper Ramsey’s excitable nature, her father facilitated it. According to him, he was enjoying what he missed out on by not having a son.
Maria, Ramsey’s twin and their first daughter, had taken only Jane’s red locks. Once again, she looked like her father and was identical to Ramsey. Alastair had been overjoyed and prided himself on the fact that his daughter looked like him and was gorgeous. Maria was just as hot-blooded as Jane, and as much as she wished not to admit it, she began to understand how her governess, Mary, had felt, trying to make a lady out of her.
Maria would take swordsmanship up alongside her brother as soon as she could get a grip on a wooden sword. This was obvious as she watched her father spar and mirrored her brother’s excitement. While Mary had wailed in protest, she had grudgingly allowed it since Jane was adamant that she wanted Maria to be free to learn the way of the sword so that she would be able to protect herself even better than Jane had been able to.
The little Maria, unlike her brother, had no interest in books whatsoever, and only agreed to settle down and listen to a story when William was reading. Marie was completely taken by William, and Jane could not blame her when the first time she saw him, she had thought he was an angel.
William was the happiest she had ever seen him when surrounded by their family. He was so bright with joy that he rivaled the sun.
Ivie was their youngest and their last. Finally, in her, Jane found her spitting image, although her hair was dark brown. She was precious, and her siblings loved her unconditionally, and she received all sorts of gifts from their daily adventures. Jane was always alert to intercept those presents as one day Ramsey had run in saying that he had a gift for Ivie, and it turned out to be a frog.
Ivie seemed to be calmer than both her siblings and although she could crawl around quite well already, she stayed put most of the time, unlike the other two who, once they could move, wreaked havoc everywhere they could reach. Jane was beyond thankful as she was not sure what she would do with three handfuls.
Mary had high hopes for Ivie, and according to her, would be the perfect student. Despite being a calm child, Ivie was very happy, always ready to melt hearts with her adorable giggles. She had everyone wrapped around her tiny fingers.
“I am calm,” she responded to Alastair as he bent to raise Ivie into his arms, successfully carrying all three of his children on his shoulders. Jane raised a brow at her husband, one son hanging onto his back, one daughter sitting on his neck, and the baby in his arms reaching for his face.
He was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. Over the years, Alastair had begun to keep a beard, and she loved it. His full beard gave him a mature look and somehow made him look softer, more of a family man, especially surrounded by his children.
Jane swooned, once again noting how hopelessly in love she was with this man. Who would have thought that she would find so much happiness from the failure of an arranged marriage? She thanked the heavens that her father had sent her to the Highlands – otherwise she would have never met the love of her life.
She grinned as she remembered the rude yet gorgeous man she had stepped out of her carriage to insult.
“Magnanimous ye say? Och ye English really love to make yerselves feel righteous! As though yer Lord or whoever is in that carriage cared about me truly. Let him come out here and tell me if he didnae simply dae it in his self-righteousness with the expectancy of some thankful bootlickin’.”
She remembered his words exactly as he had spoken them. He must have felt so angry when he said them. She giggled to herself as her children laughed as he played with them. What would he have thought if she had told him then that she would have him married and giving tender love to her children in a few years? He would have called her crazy, and she would have thought she was too.
“Ye are givin’ me that look again,” Alastair said warily, after glancing her way and finding her watching.
“What look?” she asked, her face frowning in innocent confusion.
“The one that says ye want me to give ye another child, and I just must say, nay! It is way too early for that. Ivie is nae grown!” he declared righteously.
Her jaw dropped as she realized what he said and grabbed the closest thing to throw at him, which just happened to be grass. He guffawed even as the grass flailed in the air, falling just short of him.
“Come,” he said, reaching his one free hand out to her. “Let’s go meet me parents.”
She got to her feet, smiling softly and brushed the grass from her skirts before taking his hand contentedly.
They were approaching where the tombstones stood further down the field when Jane realized that there was a person already standing there. She glanced up at Alastair for clarification. This was supposed to be family time.
Her frown only deepened, however, when she saw the look of shock on her husband’s face as he froze, staring at the figure of a woman with flowing dark hair that fell past her waist.
“Devona?” he whispered hoarsely, the tremor in his voice alerting Jane to the fact that this person would affect their lives forever, although she was not certain how.
Jane Baxendale relaxed into the comfort of her carriage seat, choosing to disregard the glares of her governess. Mary Barton scoffed her displeasure, hands folded in her lap and back perfectly straight, as she shook her blonde head.
“You are off to be married, and yet you still disregard the simplest of my teachings. A lady never slouches!” Mary said, the displeasure evident in her voice.
Jane had seen the scolding coming but deserved to relax as her mind was swimming with questions and doubt.
“It is but the two of us in this carriage, Mary; besides, I fear I might be sick if I do not find myself some form of respite,” she responded, causing Mary to press her lips together but say nothing in retort.
As Mary had mentioned, she was off to be married, being sent by her father to her betrothed in the Highlands: Laird William of Clan Mackenzie. She was nervous and worried, despite her innate curiosity. She wanted to see the Highlands. She wasn’t going to see the sights, however, but marry a man she had never met.
She knew that he was not old, her father had been considerate enough about that, but she knew nothing of his character and wondered if he would be of calm countenance or if he would turn his face in anger to her. She worried her lip as she thought. Would she find him attractive? It was essential if there was to be an atom of romance between them. She couldn’t face a life devoid of romance.
Her father, Captain John Baxendale, had left his station in Inveraray to meet at their manor, giving the news of her impending marriage. Her first emotion had been surprise. Her father was a very ambitious man, and she had known that the chances of a political marriage were rather high, but had not expected to be sent to the Highlands.
Scotland! – a foreign place, with different customs and people leading a different way of life. She felt as if she had been thrown into the deep sea, given that she knew nothing of what to expect. Slouching further in her seat, she glanced at Mary by force of habit but looked away when the woman stayed quiet. Mary seemed to understand her fears and was allowing her the slight indulgence to do as she pleased before being thrust unprepared into her duties.
Marriage to the Laird of the Mackenzie clan would help her father strengthen his position with the crown. Or at least, that was what he hoped to achieve with the union. She wanted to help her father, of course, and she had known for a long time that it would happen by marriage. It was not that she was attracted to any of the noblemen in England anyway, so perhaps a Highlander was best.
She had just finished reassuring herself when the carriage lurched to a stop, and in the absence of the noise from her party’s movement, she could hear the sound of steel clanging against steel. She sat up immediately, even as Mary’s face registered concern, and she met her gaze.
People are fighting outside, is it my men?
Her question was answered when Adam, the leader of her entourage, rode back to her carriage window. She moved the curtains aside so that she could see him properly.
“I am sorry for the disturbance, Miss, but there is a skirmish ahead with what appears to be bandits attacking three Scotsmen,” he explained, swaying slightly as his horse marched on the spot as though excited by the conflict.
Jane’s eyes widened at the news, even as the concern drained from Mary’s expression, and she went back to sitting stoically. She worried her lip, wondering if they should get involved. Bandits were a menace everywhere, and if it were her party in trouble, she would wish for help. However, it was unwise to get involved without thought.
Although I want to help, it could also be a ruse, and all the parties involved might be bandits waiting to attack a good Samaritan.
“The Scots are outnumbered, and I believe they bear the colors of the Mackenzie clan,” Adam added, causing her to raise her head to look at him again.
‘Mackenzie’ was the clan she was to be married into! Although she might have chosen to help out of the goodness of her heart, Adam’s words decided it.
“Do we try to go around them, or should we step in, Miss?” Adam asked, although her face probably gave her answer.
“Help them, Adam,” she ordered.
Immediately he gave a small bow and turning to the guards behind, gave a signal. Four guards rode past from behind them, but she knew that two would remain behind to protect the carriage. Adam gave another bow before leaving to join in the fray of the battle.
Her guards were some of the best, having been trained by her father for their purpose. They were loyal and treated well in her father’s household. She knew they would protect her and ably perform the task. Mary said nothing, and Jane wondered if the governess approved of her orders or not. It did not matter, as Mary held no sway in that respect, but she was sure that helping those with the colors of her soon-to-be husband’s clan was the right choice.
As she expected, it was not long before the sounds of battle died down, and Jane smiled to herself. Her party had subdued the enemy, and as the future Lady of the Mackenzie clan, she was already helping her people. The carriage moved forward a little before stopping again, and she was just in time to hear Adam yelling at the Scots.
“You ungrateful bastards! Is this how you speak to people who help you?!” she heard Adam’s angry voice. Her smile fell and contorted into a frown of confusion. Adam was a calm person, so he would not be incensed without good reason. What could have gone wrong?
“I dinnae remember askin’ fer help from ye English shites! What should I be grateful fer when ye stepped into our fight uninvited? Now ye want to make me lick yer feet in thanks? We would have been fine on our own if ye had gone on yer way.” An unfamiliar voice responded in the harsh accent of the Highlanders. Her expression frosted over as rage sparked in her chest from the stranger’s rudeness.
“We should have just left you to face your lot on your own! I only acted on the magnanimous order I was given, but if I knew what a waste it would be, we would have saved our energy.” Adam spat, causing the rude Scot to laugh derisively.
“Magnanimous, ye say? Och, ye English love to make yerselves feel righteous! As though yer Lord or whoever’s in that carriage cared about me truly. Let him come out here and tell me that he didnae simply dae it out o’ self-righteousness with the expectancy of some thankful bootlickin’,” the Scot retorted.
Furious, Jane stepped down from the carriage, surprising Adam, who had been standing beside his horse right in front of the carriage doors.
“Miss!” Adam exclaimed in surprise as she stepped around him, turning her furious gaze to the antagonists. The first man her eyes met did not seem to be the speaker as he looked sheepish and avoided her gaze. Out of the three men, it was the one in the middle who was the culprit. Despite her rage, her heart staggered at the sight of him. Being so used to the clean-cut handsomeness of English noblemen, she was unprepared for the wild ruggedness of the man that stood before her.
He was handsome enough to steal the breath from her lungs, standing a few inches taller than Adam, his frame large and full of brute strength. His long brown hair was flying untamed around his chiseled face, and his dark eyes were so deep that she would gladly lose herself in them, if not for the disdain in his gaze. She glared at him as her rage returned.
Who is this rude character?!
“It is not a Lord, but a Miss who now regrets extending such a generous hand of aid to a group of unscrupulous Scots. That you would be so boorish as to be rude to those who assist you is bad enough, but to think you would leave such a distasteful impression on foreigners is disgraceful. You are lower in moral standards than the bandits we just fended off,” she said haughtily, causing the Scot to look taken aback and gape like a fish at her onslaught. Satisfied, she turned to Adam, who gave her a bow.
“I apologize for making you and the men waste your efforts on such a miscreant,” she added, heading back into the carriage, leaving Adam wide-eyed and the annoying Scot standing aghast with his jaw open.
“Please, allow our party to continue the journey and forget this unfortunate incident,” she ordered. Adam gave another quick bow, rushing to carry out her orders as she settled back into her seat. Her heart was pounding with excitement, despite her anger. Perhaps it was that she was pleased to have wiped the disdain from his face and replaced it with shock.
Such a sour and unpleasant man.
She heard the sound of horses and peeked out through the carriage window to see the Scots riding off. She sneered at their retreating forms, wondering who they were. She had seen their colors, and they were undoubtedly men from the Mackenzie clan. She hoped that they were not all like that, although she wasted no time in putting that man in his place.
His face flashed in her mind again, and she leaned back in her seat as her heart pounded. Despite his horrible demeanor, he was quite handsome. She wondered if the Laird would be as attractive. The carriage began to move again, and she finally noticed the small smile on Mary’s face.
“What is it?” she asked, eyeing her governess out of the corner of her eye. Mary smiled wider.
“That was very eloquent. You put that man in his place quite well and also dismissed him. That was truly ladylike,” she praised, causing Jane’s brow to rise.
“Well, thank you, Mary, it is a product of your tutelage,” Jane said, praising Mary in turn and allowing them to fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride.
Mary was to educate the children that Jane would eventually bear as well as keep her company. She had known Mary her whole life and felt the woman was something of a mother to her. Jane did not even remember her own mother, who had died when she was young, so all she knew was the governess. Although Mary could be strict and taciturn, she still gave Jane a feeling of warmth with her presence.
They arrived at the castle in the late afternoon, and Jane took a few deep breaths to calm herself while the footman opened the carriage doors for her. She glanced at Mary, finding strength in the gray eyes of her governess and lifted herself out of the carriage with all the grace she could muster.
She came face to face with her betrothed for the first time. He gave her a smile that seemed bittersweet and a bowed, taking her fingers and kissing them.
“Welcome to the Mackenzie clan castle, Miss Baxendale. I am William Abernethy, the Laird, and I am pleased to meet me betrothed.”
He was a very handsome man, Jane noted. His hair was blonde and looked softer than silk, the way it was tied loosely from his face, and his eyes were hazel with golden specs when the light hit them at a certain angle. He looked like an angel but did not make her breath stop as it had with the rude Scot. She bit back a confused frown and, instead, gave him a deep curtsy and smiled.
“It is an even greater pleasure to meet you, my Laird,” she answered as she straightened back up. For a few seconds, they exchanged pleasant smiles and looked each other over, before the maids appeared to retrieve her things.
“Ye will be taken to yer chambers, and the maids will help ye settle in. I ken I should take ye around meself, but please, bear with me. Today is the day of the feast fer the Clan Mackenzie’s one-hundredth anniversary to power,” he explained.
Jane nodded in understanding even before he finished. “Oh,” she said.
“Aye, ’tis a busy day fer the clan and me. I’m sorry to make this meetin’ after yer arrival so rushed. I will dae me best to make it up to ye another time,” William added. Jane was already nodding in agreement.
“Certainly, certainly, I understand, of course, please do not worry about me. Thank you for your hospitality. I will see you at the feast.”
He gave her another polite smile, and she returned it before following the maids with Mary. He meant no harm and seemed to be a genuinely pleasant and gentle person, but she could not help feeling uncomfortable and unwelcome as she was ushered into a lavish chamber as the maids fussed and arranged her things.
It seemed he did not take to her, just as she did not take to him. If he had found her exciting, he certainly would have wanted to spend more time with her, regardless of what he had to do. More importantly, she would have wanted to spend more time with him if attracted to him, but she was not. If their first meeting was anything to go by, their marriage would be one of mutual respect and perhaps even friendship.
Mary was expertly directing the maids while Jane lost herself in thoughts. All she wanted was to take a long and relaxing bath to prepare herself mentally for the feast ahead. If she could, she would try to figure out why she felt no attraction for her betrothed. He certainly looked like an angel, but instead, she had been attracted to the rude devil she had met on the way.
Chapter 2
Alastair Bain adjusted the sash over his coat more violently than was necessary, his fingers moving according to the level of his irritation, taking it out on his clothing.
“This bloody thing willnae stay put!” he muttered darkly, all but ready to rip the cloth in half.
His fingers began digging into the cloth to tear it when Lain Darrow stepped in. Lain pried his fingers from the sash and helped him arrange it.
Lain was heir to the recently deceased Head Advisor of the clan and a close friend of Alistair.
“There, there, calm yerself now. Ye dinnae have to take out yer frustrations on yer poor garments,” Lain said, his voice teasing as always.
Alastair rolled his eyes at his ever playful friend in mild annoyance. Lain was right; he was taking out his frustrations on his clothing, but he did not care. Of course, he was upset. It was supposed to be a merry day for the clan Mackenzie, but it had started horribly.
He had been returning that morning from the outskirt villages of the clan where two attacks from unknown raiders had taken place, killing young men and attacking the farms. Word had been sent to the castle, and he had gone to investigate with two of his men. It had been slightly worrisome, but he had already decided to solve it by requesting that William send a few extra soldiers to defend the border villages.
The first tragedy had struck on the way when he and his men suddenly found themselves surrounded by an ambush of twenty bandits. He would have won, he knew, although he would not leave the skirmish unscathed. He had already been cursing in his head because, not only would he arrive late to the castle due to riding with injury, he would also be unable to attend the feast, even if he made it on time since William would force him to stay with the healer.
He had already been resigned to his fate, but then things had become more annoying. An English party appeared out of nowhere and began to help him. He would have been glad if it had been anyone else but the English. Looking at the prideful face of the head guard after he disarmed the last bandit, Alastair had lost control and snapped when the English guard had the guts to refer to him as a ‘comrade.’
He glowered at the memory. As though he could ever be comrades with the English. Their cruelty knew no bounds. The main carriage in the party had drawn close, and the last thing Alastair had expected was for its owner to be a lady, and a stunning one at that. Perhaps the fact that he had been expecting a fat old Lord made it all the more shocking; her beauty had hit him like lightning.
Her auburn hair caught his attention, blazing with red highlights when the sun was upon it. She had exited the carriage with so much grace, and he felt as though he stood before a queen. Her lips were full, and her neck was slender beneath her diamond-shaped face with cheekbones like cut-glass. Her green eyes were as beautiful as emeralds, and as she met his gaze, they were aflame with rage.
He had caught himself then, realizing that he was admiring an English woman. His anger at that moment had mostly been against himself, but he glared at her instead. What was wrong with him, thinking such things of the English? He was thrown off guard and incensed by his weakness. He was even more shocked when she did not cower but instead dealt him a harsh verbal blow.
It was even worse when she dismissed him as though he were but a child with no manners. His pride was smarting from the road to the castle. It continued to sting as he made his way to his chambers to wash, and it still had not stopped smarting now as he stood with Lain, getting dressed for the feast.
Lain smoothed out his outfit once more before stepping back before the mirror.
“See? Ye look almost as good as me now,” Lain preened.
Rolling his eyes, Alastair gave his friend an unamused look to which Lain only laughed. He glanced at their reflections in the huge mirror. He had allowed Lain to brush his hair after he bathed. That was as far as he would go to tame his locks, feast or not. With his hair back, his features stood out, and he frowned slightly. He looked almost like Lain, who the women flocked around; the only difference was his permanent scowl.
Lain was playful and possibly the biggest flirt in all of Scotland. His jet black hair was slick to his head, making his stark blue eyes catch attention from a mile away. By some sorcery, he managed to look both boyishly handsome and manly at the same time. William always joked that out of the three of them, Lain would attract women even in his old age.
“Ah, Alastair, me friend, being dressed by me hands today, ye just might get a woman in yer bed tonight,” Lain said.
Alastair gave him a sigh. “Ye should be aware that I am now considerin’ bundlin’ ye out of me window,” he threatened.
Lain guffawed, running out of the room hastily and allowing him to follow at his own pace as they headed for the feast. Just might get a woman in his bed? For some reason, Alastair could only picture the beautiful English woman telling him off for his rudeness. He shook his head.
It seems I’m goin’ mad. Perhaps I need some rest.
He came into the hall and found it already full of people. As expected, Lain was already surrounded by a flock of women. He rolled his eyes and searched for William’s blonde head amid the darker colors. It was always easy to spot William in a crowd as blondes were rare in the Highlands. It also helped that he was quite tall.
Finding him standing with two other Lairds in alliance with the clan, he made his way through the crowd to his best friend. He put his hand on William’s shoulder and made his presence known. William’s naturally soft gaze visibly lighted up with recognition as he looked to his friend.
“Ah, Alastair, ye have returned! I worried that ye wouldnae make it in time. When did ye leave the border villages?” William asked, lowering his voice at the last sentence.
“I only returned in the late afternoon; I left them this mornin’. Ye were nae in yer office, so I left me report and went to begin preparations fer the feast,” he responded.
Ending their exchange, he turned to include the other two in their conversation: the Laird of Lenord and the Laird of Ephimer. Alastair extended his hand for the allies to shake.
“It is good to see ye Laird Balfour, Laird Cargill. Always a pleasure to have ye on our lands,” he said.
The two Lairds smiled broadly, shaking his hand enthusiastically as they returned his greeting.
“It is always a pleasure to be on yer lands, Mr. Bain. We had been wonderin’ when ye would join the feast. It seems ye were on some special errands for yer Laird William here, eh?” Balfour said with a friendly laugh. Alastair smiled politely, neither confirming nor denying Balfour’s words.
“We always say how lucky William is to have such a trusted man on his side, ye ken. Ye are a Laird’s true right hand, and if I had one like ye, I would have nay troubles handlin’ Ephimer,” Cargill joined the praise.
Alastair gave a nervous laugh. At this point, he was feeling uncomfortable as he did not enjoy the conversation being centered around him, preferring to be in the background. William, knowing this, made efforts to leave the conversation.
“It’s so nice seein’ ye gentlemen, please get drunk tonight, the wine is abundant,” William said, smiling pleasantly. The other Lairds laughed rather boisterously, obviously satisfied with their plans for the evening ahead.
“Aye, aye! We shall drink ye dry today, Abernethy!” Cargill said, already headed for the wine.
“Remember that ye asked us to drink and dinnae complain if ye run out of wine early!” Balfour joked, joining his friend in search of wine.
William looked slightly amused as he watched them go before turning to Alastair.
“Tis a good thing they’re so easy to appease, aye?” he chuckled before moving on to more pressing matters. “How bad was the situation at the border villages? As bad as it said in the distress letter?”
Alastair felt his expression turn serious as he remembered the grass covered in blood and the bodies he’d helped to bury in the border villages. It felt strange how he’d been part of the grief and loss a mere day ago, and now he was back at the castle where everything seemed alright.
“Aye, me friend, it was indeed bad. Many young men were slaughtered in those villages. It seemed they just wanted the young men. Or perhaps those lads were the ones who resisted and paid for it with their lives. I took more time helping than I expected, which was why I only headed home this morning.”
His friend looked deeply disturbed as he considered this. William was a good Laird and cared deeply for his people. He hoped that he would be able to shrug off his sadness at the news of the attacks and not go about the rest of the feast gloomily. While they had run into some ill-timed trouble, the feast of celebration was necessary. The clan had been in power for a hundred years, and five of those had been under William’s prosperous rule.
“Dinnae despair me friend. The people have suffered a loss, but their spirit is nae broken. They were preparing to celebrate as well just this mornin’ before I left. Despite the losses, they are still strong, as they ken their Laird will protect them,” he assured his friend. William gave him a weak smile and tapped his shoulder.
Alastair worried, for William always looked like a tired lamb when he looked into his eyes. He was as calm and pleasant as ever, but there was a sadness that he had not seen for a long time, and he did not like it. He pointed it out to Lain, and even Lain had seen it, although he had immediately joked about how he should spend less time looking into William’s eyes, he knew that Lain worried too.
“Ye saw the situation with yer own eyes. What dae ye suggest I dae to help?” William asked him.
“Send a few more of our soldiers down to the border villages. There is only one outpost there since these villagers only produce enough to care for themselves, and nayone attacked them before.” Alastair added.
William nodded his agreement as Alastair considered how unsafe it was in the border villages. They were small and peaceful, and no one thought to attack them, so they were not rigorously guarded by the clan. They were barely taxed since they could only sustain themselves and nothing more. It was not expected that raiders would suddenly take an interest in slaughtering these people.
“The security in those parts is really lackin’, me friend. On the way back, me and me men were ambushed by a band of twenty bandits just as we left the border villages to take the road into the clan.”.
William’s eyes widened, and his grip tightened as he searched his friend for signs of injury.
“What?! Ye are nae injured are ye? By the gods, why are ye just tellin’ me this now? Dae ye need to see a healer?”
Alastair sighed, knowing that his friend would react that way and tried to calm him before he was carted out of the feast to a healer.
“Relax, William, I am alright. I hate to say it, but we were saved by an English party that was passin’ by. The English helped us take them down without issue,” he added darkly.
“Oh, nay…” William said, holding his hand to his head, “ye were awful to them, were ye nae?”
Alastair frowned defensively.
“Me? Awful? I will tell ye there was this horrible English witch…” he began, only for his words to dry on his tongue as he caught sight of the very woman.
There was a lot of commotion in the castle. People were walking around, all of them carrying something, anything from food and wine to decorations for the celebrations.
Peigi had had something to do with all of that, but it was mostly because of Mrs. MacLeish that the feast for celebrating Hendry’s fifteen years as the Laird of clan Dunbar would be so grand. Peigi refused to take credit for it; besides, she spent most of her time with their three children, running around behind them and making sure that they behaved or that they were not running around the castle with dirt on their faces.
It was another one of those days, though it was easier than most. Peigi had taken the children to the edge of the forest near the castle grounds where they could play and also help her gather everything that she needed. Every now and then, she still gathered some herbs, some leafy greens, and some snails to take back to the castle and cook herself, and she was still met with the same resistance from everyone but her husband when it came to eating them.
Mrs. MacLeish kept reminding her there was no need for her to cook such things anymore; in fact, there was no need for her to cook at all. Peigi had always liked it though, and she wasn’t about to stop doing such simple tasks simply because she was the Lady of the clan and she could have someone else do them for her.
She smiled as she watched her two eldest, a boy and a girl, run around the clearing as they played. Her youngest one, another boy, was in her arms, as he was still too young to join his brother and sister, but he also seemed happy to watch them.
As with every child, a fall was inevitable, and both of her older children fell down as they chased each other, which forced them to erupt into wailing cries.
“Ach, ye wee ones,” Peigi said, standing up from the rock that she was using as her seat and walking over to them. She made sure that they weren’t hurt, and soon enough, they had both stopped crying and were smiling again, the shock of falling already forgotten. “Shall we go to papa?”
The children shouted their agreement, and she followed them as they made their way back to the castle, always keeping a close eye on them. She had never stopped being paranoid, not even after all the years she had spent without seeing her father or anyone from the Black Stags. In fact, there had been few threats since Hendry had defeated the brigands, as everyone had learned their lesson; no one could be his match.
When they were back at the castle, the children ran to Hendry, who was speaking to a merchant in the courtyard, and he picked both of them up, one in each arm. Peigi joined him, pressing a kiss on his cheek, and their two children did the same, making Hendry laugh in delight.
“Where have ye been?” he asked. “Did mama show ye the forest?”
The children started babbling excitedly, the older girl talking about the woods while the younger boy struggled a little to find the right words, his vocabulary still limited by his age. Their son, the one that Peigi had in her arms, was cooing softly, and Peigi held him close to her, rocking him gently as she did.
“Are ye ready for the feast tomorrow?” Peigi asked. “Beitris sent a letter that I just received this morning . . . she said she’ll be coming. In fact, she said she wouldnae miss it for the world.”
“Ach, that’s a relief,” Hendry said. “I feared that she would send her brother instead . . . or worse, her father. I cannae imagine what I’d do if I opened the gates and saw him.”
Peigi laughed, shaking her head at her husband. “Dinnae be rude, Hendry. Besides, I ken that yer fonder of him than ye say ye are.”
Hendry neither confirmed nor denied that, but Peigi didn’t need him to do either. She knew her husband too well for him to lie to her. Besides, before either of them could say anything, the gates to the castle opened once more, and a medicinal cart led by a cloaked figure entered the castle grounds.
Peigi frowned as she gazed at the figure, unable to make out any features, even in broad daylight.
“Who is that?” she asked Hendry, who seemed to be just as confused as she was.
“Shall we find out?” Hendry asked as he walked towards the figure, Peigi following close behind.
“M’lord,” a voice said from under the hood, before the figure pushed the hood back, revealing the youthful, though rugged face of a man with dark hair and blue eyes. It was no one that Hendry or Peigi recognized, which could only mean that he was a traveler. “I come to ye seeking a place to stay and a place to work.”
Peigi looked at Hendry expectantly. After all, she had once been in the man’s shoes, not that long ago, and Hendry remembered that.
“All travelers who seek help are welcome in my clan,” he said. “Come . . . tell me where ye come from.”
Peigi walked back to her two children, taking the younger by the hand as the oldest followed close behind, the four of them walking back to the castle.
Peigi cursed under her breath as the needle pricked her finger. It was not ladylike by any means, but she thought that she would be forgiven since she had spent her entire life among a group of men whose kindest words were a good morning. Surely, one expletive every now and then would not condemn her to an afterlife in hell.
One stitch to go and the bust of her dress would be ready to accommodate everything that she would need to take with her once she would leave, the pockets that she had just finish sewing there being big enough to carry several bags of coins.
There were goosebumps on her skin. The cold draft came through the cracks in the walls, washing over her bare skin, and Peigi could not wait to put her dress back on, desperate for some warmth. Once she was dressed, she stood up and made her way out of her chambers.
Her father would be furious with her if the supper for him and his men would not be ready soon, and Peigi didn’t want to have to face his wrath once again. She had had enough of it in her one-and-twenty years in the world, and she had recently decided that she would not tolerate any of it anymore.
That was why she was leaving, after all. A life among violent criminals was no life at all, especially when everyone treated her like their personal servant.
As Peigi walked to the kitchen, she saw one of her father’s men, Asgall, his clothes askew and dripping wet, leaving puddles behind him as he walked down the hallway. It could only mean one thing, Peigi thought; he had just returned from the cave where her father kept all the stolen gold and goods that he acquired from his incessant pillaging, which also meant that the waters had subsided enough for her to be able to reach it that night.
It was time for her to leave, but first, she had to make supper.
Peigi busied herself with the food, chopping vegetables in silence, when her father barged into the room, accompanied by a small group of his men. They were looking for alcohol, Peigi knew, but she let them search for it instead of bringing it to them; one last act of defiance while she still called the keep her home.
“Where’s the wine, lass?”
Her father’s thunderous voice echoed in the room, but Peigi paid him no mind. She simply kept chopping the vegetables with the intensity of someone trying to pull a thread through a needle.
Then, she heard her father’s steps behind her, heavy and loud enough to make her feel trapped, even though he was nowhere near her yet.
“I said, where is the wine?” her father repeated. “Black Stags are celebrating tonight! We’ll have all the wine in the keep, and then we’ll go out, and we’ll steal some more!”
Peigi knew all about her father’s celebrations, which came after every particularly successful fight or pillage. It was more reason to drink than anything else, but that day her father and his brigands had returned in such high spirits that it could only mean one thing; they had gotten more gold and goods that they knew what to do with, and they had raped every woman who had had the misfortune to be near them.
The thought made Peigi sick to her stomach, and her hand began to tremble where it was holding the knife. For a moment, she had half a mind to kill her father right then and there, to stab the blade through his heart and leave his men without their ‘Sire.’
Peigi had always hated that honorific. She never understood why he wouldn’t allow them to simply call him Murdo.
Killing her father would only end up getting her killed, too, though, and Peigi had no intention to die at the hands of such vile men. So, instead of jamming her knife through her father’s chest, she pointed at the corner of the room, where they kept the wine.
“Get it, then.”
It wasn’t her father who had spoken, but rather one of his men, a short, scrawny boy by the name of Tomag. Peigi always remembered him being nice to her when they were younger when they spent plenty of time together as he was only a few years younger than her, but ever since the brigands had welcomed him in their ranks, he had become one of them. Now, Tomag was nothing more than another cruel, hateful little man, whose only share of glory came from stealing and killing innocents.
“Why don’t ye get it yerself?” Peigi asked, looking over her shoulder at Tomag. “Ye still have yer hands, dinnae ye?”
It was the wrong thing to say, but Peigi was used to saying the wrong thing. Suddenly, there was a hand tangled in her hair, and her father was shoving her aside. Much to the amusement of his men, who laughed at her, Peigi wailed in pain when her father all but ripped her hair off its roots, and so she bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, just so that she could bite back her scream. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of hearing it.
For a few seconds, Peigi did nothing but stand there, her gaze pinned on her father as the air came out in puffs through her nose. She clutched the knife tightly in her hand, fingers itching to trace her own father’s blood, before she eventually dropped it on the floor and did as she was told, bringing the men the alcohol and even pouring it into cups for them.
It was not time for being brave, not yet.
By the time that Peigi had finished cooking the food for the men, they were all drunker than they could handle. Peigi watched them as they feasted on roasted meat and even more wine, greedily eating and gulping down the alcohol that seemed to flow endlessly out of the pitchers. The sight brought a small smile to her face, not because she was enjoying the show, but because she knew that soon, her father and his men would be fast asleep, unaware of everything that was happening around them.
Peigi’s predictions had been correct. It took a little over an hour for the first men to begin collapsing over the tables and chairs, all of them too drunk to stay awake even a moment longer, and by the time that the plates were empty of any food, all men were snoring in their deep sleep, her father included.
If she had put a little something in their wine to help them sleep, well . . . then that was just a part of her plan.
Peigi quickly fled the room, tiptoeing around the brigands, just in case one of them was a lighter sleeper than the rest. Her heart thumped in her chest so loudly that it was a miracle none of the men heard it, and Peigi had to fight back nausea that came with trying to flee and with the thought that, were she to be caught, she would be severely punished. She was certain that a lashing would be the lightest punishment she could possibly get if her father found out that she was leaving.
Her father didn’t find out, though; no one did. Peigi was soon out of the keep, and though she had no idea where she would go, she had never felt so free, so happy before. The moment she stepped out of the building, it was as though a weight lifted off her shoulders, and she had never felt the same lightness in her feet as she did then.
Peigi all but skipped her way to the shore. It was dark that night, the clouds obscuring the moon and the stars, leaving the sky looking like nothing more than a black void. She only had a lamp to light her way, but she didn’t need much more. She knew Barns Ness like the back of her hand, after spending her entire life there, and especially after exploring the land as a child.
The sea was calm, calmer than it had been for days, and the tide had receded enough for her to be able to reach the cave where her father kept his treasure without a problem. The little boat that his men used was there, sitting by the shore, and Peigi pushed it into the sea, before jumping onto it and rowing her way to the secret cave.
She would be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that she was scared. The waters were just as dark as the sky, uninviting and treacherous, and Peigi kept her eyes peeled for any rocks that could crush her boat to pieces.
Her arms began to tire soon, but she kept rowing regardless. While she was used to lifting heavy weights, what with her father forcing her to help him and his men and making her clean the entire keep for him, Peigi had not rowed in a long time. The last time her father had asked her to help transport goods to the cave, the strain on her arms was almost unbearable. She pushed through the shaking, though, forcing herself to row even harder, and soon, she was at the mouth of the cave.
The rocks there were sharp, and as Peigi pulled the boat onto solid land, the stones scraped her legs and made her wince in pain. She paid her injuries no mind because right in front of her was a pile of treasure, all ready to be taken.
It seemed to her like her father had stolen from the entire area of East Lothian, and he had taken anything from gold to barley and horse saddles. There were even a few clothes there, as well as jewelry that would never see the light of day again unless his father’s men suddenly grew a liking for necklaces.
There was one that caught her eye, a gold necklace with a large pink pearl at its center. Her father often praised it as his finest possession. It would certainly be a shame for it to stay there, hidden for years, Peigi thought, and so she grabbed it along with three bags of coins, stuffing them all in the pockets she had sewn that afternoon in the bust of her dress.
The strange weight on her chest made her look down at herself, and she soon noticed that she seemed rather indecent, her breasts bulging over her dress, and she cursed under her breath once more.
It would be rather unfortunate if she would have to fight off a man who would take her appearance as an invitation, but after living with a group of brigands her entire life, she knew how to fight, and she knew how to win.
Peigi looked around the cave some more, scouring her father’s treasure for anything else that could be useful, and she found an old, dusty jacket that was too big for her but was thick enough to keep her warm, and it could cover up her unforeseen bust problem.
Once she had the jacket on, she realized that she would have to put up with the smell of mildew and old saltwater until she could find something else to wear, and the stench forced her to scrunch up her nose in disgust. Still, it was better than nothing, and Peigi wrapped the jacket tighter around herself before she hopped right back on the boat and made her way across the narrow sea.
It was time to go. She looked at the keep, though it could hardly be called that, with its dilapidated walls and broken glass on the top windows, the ones that always let in the cold breeze and left Peigi freezing in the middle of the night.
She was not going to miss her home. She was not going to miss her father or his men, and she certainly was not going to miss the way that they treated her, as though she was nothing more than a maid to them.
Peigi thought back to when she was a little girl. She wondered if things would have been different if her mother hadn’t passed shortly after her birth, if she would perhaps be happier, or if even her father would be a different man, but thinking about such things did her no good.
There had been a time when she adored her father, like all children do, a time when she didn’t know, or rather didn’t understand, what kind of man he was. There had been a time when she had thought he would raise her to be his heir, train her like he had trained Tomag when he was a child, but her father had never shown that much interest in her.
To him, she was only a girl.
Peigi kicked the boat a few times for good measure until her foot went through the rotten wood, leaving a large hole on the side, one last act of defiance. Then, she turned around and began to walk away from the keep, towards the first direction her feet would take her.
It didn’t matter where she was going, as long as it was far away from Barns Ness. It didn’t matter that she had no horse, or even any food, save for some cheese and bannocks that would last her for a day or two.
All that mattered was that she was finally on her way to a new life. She had no delusions; perhaps it would not be an easier life since up until then, she had never had to worry about food or board, her father providing both for her despite his other shortcomings. Now, she had no idea if she would even have a roof over her head soon, and she was certain that there would be hardships along the way, but no matter what she would go through, at least she wouldn’t be around those vile, cruel criminals that her father called his brothers.
Soon, the lamp that Peigi was carrying died out, and she was left plunged in darkness. She had already managed to put a good distance between her and the keep, though, so she didn’t worry too much when she found a small opening in the earth, where some roots were growing in thin soil, and decided to rest.
The next morning would surely bring travelers with it, people who could give her a ride to the nearest town or village, she thought, and she had the money to reach Dunbar in the following few days; Dunbar, which was her final destination, where she could find some work and be safe from her father.
Peigi closed her eyes with that thought in mind, praying to the Lord that she would be safe that night in the wilderness. She clutched the sghian dubh, the small blade that she had been given as a young girl by one of her father’s kinder men –Conall, rest his soul –tightly in her hand, just in case her prayers wouldn’t work.
Chapter 2
Peigi always detested life on the road. It was better than staying home, though, where the fire she would light in her chambers every night did nothing to keep her warm, and the brigands’ insults and rage were lurking behind every corner.
Now, she was in the back of a wagon, where some merchants had found some space for her. She had been traveling for days, and her fatigue, paired with paranoia eating her from the inside every time she thought about her father, made her look like a ghost, pale and frail, with large, dark circles under her eyes.
She hadn’t even managed to sleep after that first night, and she must have been on the road for about a week, if she had kept track of time correctly. The merchants had taken pity on her, and since they, too, were going to Dunbar Castle, they were more than happy to accept a few coins in exchange for a spot in their wagon.
When they reached the castle, Peigi was surprised to see that it looked nothing like what she had imagined. She knew that the Dunbar clan was the one who fell victim to her father’s ransacking the most, but precisely because of that, she thought that they would be swimming in riches and treasures. When she saw the place, though, she realized that her father had driven the Dunbar clan to ruin.
What must have once been a magnificent castle was now in disarray. There were parts of its walls where the stones had fallen, leaving a gap where they used to be, and weeds were taking over the ground, as though no one was bothering to clean them up.
The people, too, looked as though it had been a while since they had last seen a good day. They all seemed healthy enough, with the plump, rosy cheeks and the bright eyes that came with having enough food to eat, but their clothes were patched up in several places, while others wore torn garments.
Perhaps they preferred to feed themselves, Peigi thought. Maybe they didn’t have enough money and goods to feed and dress themselves, all because of her father’s greed and his desire to take what was not his.
That was one of the reasons why Peigi had wanted to go to Dunbar in the first place. She knew that it was the only place around there with enough guards to make her feel safe, but she also wanted to give back a part of what rightfully belonged to them. She wanted to help them, to repay them in some small way for what her father had done.
Peigi thanked the merchants, leaving them to their business before hopping off their wagon and making her way to the two guards that stood by the entrance to the castle.
The moment she walked up to them, Peigi knew that she was not welcome.
One of the guards, the shorter one with a gap-toothed grin and a pair of meaty, hairy hands gripping his weapon hard enough to make the wood creak, appraised her from head to toe. Immediately, he decided she was not going anywhere near that castle if the look of disgust on his face was anything to go by. Still, Peigi had to at least try and get inside the walls.
“Good day—”
“Ye cannae go in,” the other guard said, a towering man with thin, blonde hair and a patchy beard, without even hearing what she had to say first. “We dinnae allow beggars in.”
Peigi would have taken offense at that, had the days she had spent on the road not left her covered in filth and reeking worse than a barn. She didn’t think she looked like a beggar, not even at her worst.
“I’m no beggar,” she said. “I’m looking for work, I have traveled for days to get here. Please, I beg of ye . . . there must be some work that needs to be done in the castle.”
The two guards glanced at each other, and then back at Peigi. Their matching smiles filled her with hope for a moment, until the shorter one spoke.
“Aye . . . I’ll hire ye to clean my chamber pot.”
“With those things, she’ll topple right over!” the other man said, as he pointed at her.
Peigi followed the man’s eye line and looked down to where he was pointing; her breasts. Red with embarrassment and fury, Peigi grabbed her jacket and wrapped it tightly around herself, covering her bosom.
The two men laughed, much to Peigi’s annoyance. Her mouth twisted in a frown, ugly and scornful, but she was not about to give up so easily.
“Any work in the castle, I’ll do it,” she said. “If ye need a cook, I can cook . . . I can cook and clean, I can sew, I can even work with the horses. I’ve tamed all of my father’s horses, I can do it, and I can do it weel. Please . . . please, at least ask if the Laird needs one more pair of hands.”
“We willnae bother the Laird for a beggar,” the taller of the two guards spat, before taking a step towards Peigi and slamming his boot down on the ground, startling her. “Away wi’ ye! We dinnae need another mouth to feed! Leave!”
Peigi considered offering to pay them for a moment. No man in the world would refuse some coins, but she couldn’t know for certain that the two guards wouldn’t become greedy after knowing that she had gold on her. Perhaps they would try and take it all from her, and there would be no one to stop them from doing so. Peigi had to put her safety first, so she retreated, shuffling her feet on the ground as she walked away.
One defeat didn’t mean that she was going to give up, though. Just because those guards wouldn’t let her in, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t sneak into the castle. The same merchants who had brought her there were still by the entrance, chatting away to another clansman, and when everyone was distracted, Peigi finally had her chance.
There were empty barrels in one of the carts that the merchants had brought with them. Peigi knew, as she had seen them carry three of the barrels with ease when they rolled off the wagon after hitting a bump on the road.
She quickly opened the lid on the one closest to her and snuck inside as gingerly as she could. Though she made plenty of noise, no one heard her over the buzz of the locals and the merchants talking and laughing with each other, and Peigi smiled to herself, satisfied, once she settled inside the barrel.
The barrel was just the right size for her to fit inside, though it was terribly cramped, and she knew that she couldn’t stay there for long. She just hoped that the merchants wouldn’t stay and chat for much longer, as her legs had already begun to cramp up.
Peigi didn’t have to wait long. Soon, she felt the cart move, and though she didn’t risk cracking the lid open and glancing outside, she knew that they were going inside the castle grounds. Now, all she had to do was sneak back out once the clansmen put the barrels away, and then pretend that she already had permission to be there.
Deception seemed to come awfully easy to her, Peigi thought. It seemed to be something that she had inherited from her father, but unlike her father, Peigi only used it when she had no other choice. She didn’t like deceiving people or lying to them; she, too, had been fooled several times by her father and his men, and she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such cruelty. When it came down to choosing between saving her life or telling the truth, though, then Peigi would choose the former every time.
Inside the castle grounds, there was more noise than she could have imagined. She could hear the voices of tens of different men, some laughing and talking with each other, others yelling commands to those who worked for them. There were women’s voices too, Peigi realized, and suddenly, she was filled with excitement.
She had never had a chance to have a friend, another woman in whom she could confide. The brigands in her father’s service had all been men, naturally. The only women with whom Peigi had had any contact were the women that the brigands brought for a night of fun, gone by the morning light, while the servants who took care of the keep were either older or refused to talk to her, just because she was her father’s daughter.
If she were lucky, she would not only be safe, with a job and a roof over her head, but she would finally make some friends, she would finally get to know some women who were just like her.
She didn’t want to think about what would happen if she were not lucky.
The cart soon stopped, and Peigi had to brace herself as the barrel threatened to topple over. Thankfully, she remained upright, and then she settled back into her previous position, trying to get as comfortable as she could.
It would be a long while until she would be able to get out of the barrel. Surely, the courtyard would not be empty until late at night, and even then, she would have to be careful. She didn’t want any guards to see her coming out of the barrel, especially not the same guards who had refused to allow her to enter the grounds. She was certain that if anyone found out that she had snuck into the castle, she would be executed, and all her troubles would be in vain.
Soon, she heard voices once again, this time louder, as though the men were standing around the cart. Peigi tried to be quiet and even forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, with as little noise as possible, even though she doubted that anyone could hear her breathe, not when they were conversing so loudly among themselves.
Peigi could catch phrases here and there, and she listened to the men intently. They were talking about their trade, it seemed, about how much they would be charging for their goods. She heard two of them discuss the Dunbar clan’s finances, and how much they each thought they could get away with overcharging when the financial state of the clan was so dire.
The conversation made her frown, and she had half a mind to jump out of the barrel to reprimand the merchants, consequences be damned. Perhaps if she would expose them to the Laird, then he would be kind enough to let her live.
She couldn’t bring herself to do it, though; she couldn’t bring herself to risk her life or, even worse, her freedom, now that she had had a taste of what it meant to be truly free.
Just as she was trying to convince herself that the best plan of action was taking no action at all, Peigi heard a sudden interruption in the conversations of the merchants and the clansmen, which was then followed by half a dozen ‘m’lord’s. Her breath caught as Laird Dunbar approached the cart. What was he even doing there, among the merchants, hay, and dung? Surely he had better things to do?
It didn’t matter what he was doing there though. Peigi was more concerned about the fact that he had come there in the first place. Surely, a Laird would not be there unless there was something wrong.
Could he possibly have found out that she was hiding in the barrel? It could not be. If anyone had seen her, it would be a clansman, not the Laird himself, she thought.
“Did ye come for the inspection, m’lord?” Peigi heard one of the merchants ask, and his words made her heart sink to her stomach. She didn’t know that inspections were a common occurrence in castles, and suddenly, she felt incredibly stupid, cursing herself under her breath.
She should have been more careful; she should have found a less risky way to sneak inside the grounds, one that would not bring her face to face with the Laird of the clan himself.
“Aye,” Laird Dunbar said. Peigi could hear his footsteps, loud and heavy, as he circled the cart, sometimes coming closer and sometimes walking away from her. She could only hope that he would skip the cart that she was in since there were a lot of other carts to inspect.
“What have ye brought with ye?” the Laird continued. “Did ye bring everything that we asked for?”
“Aye, m’lord,” a merchant assured him. “We brought ye grains and wine, and we brought some thread for cloth too, as ye asked.”
“Did ye find any trouble on the way here?” the Laird asked. “Those darned Black Stags, did they get to ye? Did they steal from ye?”
Peigi had known that the Dunbar clan was her father’s biggest target, but the ferocity in the Laird’s voice told her that it was worse than she thought. He sounded like a man who had gone mad with hatred, as though he could hardly contain his rage against the thieves, and Peigi couldn’t blame him. She could only feel sorry for him, for everything that her father had done to him and his people.
“No, no, m’lord. There was no trouble at all this time,” another merchant said. “We thought it was odd, at first, but we have been fighting back more . . . the weapons ye gave us have saved our lives and our goods many times. Perhaps the Black Stags have seen that we are stronger now. They ken that we can defeat them.”
Peigi knew for certain that that was not the case. Her father and his men were not afraid of anyone, especially not some merchants, and she also knew that the merchants, no matter how well-armed they were, were no match for the brigands. Once they were sober once more and they had spent and eaten everything they had pillaged, then they would return, and they would do so with a vengeance.
“We cannae defeat them,” the Laird said, as though he could read Peigi’s mind. He was a smart man, she thought, if he knew that there was no beating her father. “Not yet, not like this; but one day we will . . . I will make sure of that.”
There was a short silence among the men, none of them willing to point out that Black Stags had beaten them every single time they had tried to fight them, but it was quickly over after the Laird spoke again.
“Show me what ye brought. Make sure to open everything, I dinnae want any Black Stags making their way inside castle grounds, ye hear?”
There was a chorus of agreement from the other men, but Peigi could hardly hear it over the sound of her thundering heartbeat. She thought her heart would jump out of her chest; if she didn’t faint first, that is. Her ears buzzed loud enough to cover any other sound, and she could feel her fingertips go numb as she waited for the inevitable.
The lid of her barrel opened with a whoosh, but Peigi didn’t see the sudden flood of light before her eyes fell closed, plunging her in darkness.
The excited high voice of Isabella cried as she clutched the long, taffeta frock. Edme smiled at her daughter, as she played in the McKinley keep bedroom. It was the end of a cold, dark day in late December. A chilly wind raced around the keep. Even after all this time, it was impossible to keep the draughts out.
“Well, wait an’ see what yer father thinks, but…,” started Edme, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. Her daughter loved nothing better than to dress up and while playing in the bedroom, had unearthed a dress that used to be hers.
Edme picked up the flame tinted gown, complete with a little sash of McKinley tartan, and held it close. She wondered if there was any way she could still get it on. Then she put it down, embarrassed at the thought.
“Was this yers, mamma?” asked Isabella, her voice high and enquiring. Edme sighed. She was such a bright child, but sometimes her questions seemed never-ending. She looked down at the pretty ten-year-old, her green eyes sparkling intently. “Aye,” she said. “I wore it, just a wee bit older than ye when I was a lassie,” she paused for a moment. “I wore it when I first kissed yer father, but I dinnae suppose he remembers that!”
Then she smiled, folding it away. “It’s probably a wee bit large for ye,” she said dubiously. Then she thought back to how small she was as a teen – she still was – and how much her daughter had grown over the last few months and wondered. “It might fit, but,” her voice trailed off, but the words had barely left her mouth before Isabella snatched the dress, eagerly.
“I’ll look after it an’ be really careful, I swear! I want to look my best for the festivities!” Isabella said, joyfully.
“Aye, an’ try an’ get the attention of that wee Jock McTavish, I shouldnae wonder!” said another voice.
Isabella turned around; “Grandma Freya!” she bounded towards the door of the bedroom. “When did ye get here?” she asked her.
“Just now. We’ve been knocking and knocking!” said Wallace, his eyes twinkling on the threshold.
Edme jumped up, shooing away her daughter, who scampered off with the dress. “Wallace! Please come inside. Come, we’ll go into the main hall!”
“I’m sorry we’re late,” apologized Wallace, his ginger hair was gray these days, but otherwise, he looked the same as Edme remembered. “It took us so long to travel through the Highlands in the snow. But then, it’s always like this at Hogmanay!” he smiled merrily, proffering forth a bottle of whiskey. “A drop of the good stuff for the celebrations tonight!”
Edme took the bottle from him, pretending not to notice that half of it was already drunk, and from the broad grin on her father in law’s face, and the deep red in his cheeks, it was clear to see where it had gone!
“Where’s Beathan? He’s nae left ye alone, has he?” asked Freya, as a silent servant took her cloak. Walking about the room, she took a look around.
“Well, it’s different here since last time!” she said. Edme nodded.
“We thought we’d do Hogmanay here, this time,” she said. Looking about her old family home was still full of memories, some good, many bad, but all burned deeply within her heart, especially at this time of year.
“Since joining the clans together, we have been thinking of spending more time here, an’ really getting to ken the people again…,” Edme said. “We used to have a feast here every year when my father was..,”
Edme’s eyes misted with sadness. She had loved the parties at the McKinley keep, and this was the first year that they had decided to come back to host another one. Edme chewed her lip, suddenly unsure.
“I do hope this isn’t going to be a mistake,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
Then she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Nae, it isnae, lass! It’s about time we laid the ghosts to rest,” Edme looked around, and there was Beathan, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
He embraced his parents quickly before going back and giving her arm a little squeeze. Then he looked around the room.
“It’s looking good in here, Edme,” he said. The room was festooned with greens, holly, and mistletoe brought in from the woods. In the center, a huge fire burned, and a splendid table set for a banquet.
Later, they would go back out, but first, they would give thanks for what they had.
And what they had was plenty, Edme had never been happier. And today, she was just as in love with Beathan as she ever had been.
Beathan went over to her, giving her a little kiss, before filling a glass for them all to share.
“There’s so much to remember, at this time of year,” said Freya suddenly. Her eyes drifted, heavy with tears.
Isabella, who had been hovering in the doorway, stopped a moment, watching as her grandmother grew wistful. Wallace placed his arm around Freya. “Aye, I ken, the first Yule without yer mammy!” he said.
Beathan also grew quiet, as Edme rubbed his arm supportively. “Aye, she passed almost about this time last year, I dinnae think she ever got over my father’s death…”
Finlay’s death had left a big absence in the lives of all of them, especially Freya. Beathan had also mourned his loss.
The three of them had spent the day tending to the graves, before riding over to the McKinley castle for the family feast.
“Tell me about great-grandpa,” said Isabella, enthusiastically, her eyes flashing. She was always so interested in history, especially family stories.
Edme watched her as she moved across the room, touching Grandma Freya lightly as she went, and smiling. The flame tinted taffeta suited her, offsetting her jet-black hair to perfection.
“Och, Isabella, yer the picture of yer great grandmamma!” murmured Beathan, as if he had just noticed the uncanny similarity between Sine and his daughter, even though they were not blood.
Beathan stroked his daughter’s black hair gently. But Isabella pouted at him.
“Ye were going to tell me about Grandpa Finlay,” she demanded. “An’ his two different colored eyes!”
All four grown-ups laughed at her fierceness.
“She’s her mother’s daughter, for sure,” chuckled Wallace, approvingly, “An’ her grandmamma’s too!”
“Och, aye, Grandpa Finlay,” began Beathan. “Well, ye ken, he had quite a tale of his own, being a foundling, of sorts,” said Beathan, as Edme took his hand. “An’ he hid who he was for a long time!”
But Edme was not listening. She was staring at the dress Isabella was wearing. It all came flooding back. That first Yule at McKinley, and the kissing game she had played with Beathan. But he had always said that he didn’t remember. She didn’t know why, but this made her sad.
“What’s a foundling?” said Isabella, as sharp as ever, as she sat down next to her father.
“Och, he wasnae exactly a foundling! He was about ten when they found him wandering,” cut in Wallace. And then, of course, this started a good-natured argument about what a foundling was and the exact nature of Finlay’s birth.
As the family argued, Edme refilled the glasses silently; she was secretly pleased with everything. The table looked splendid, and the smells coming from the kitchen promised the best hog roast in all of Scotland! Later, they would eat like kings, before toasting Finlay and Sine.
Edme listened, as the four of them shouted and argued. It was times like this that sometimes she felt sad that her side of the family was so empty.
Seeing her thoughtful face, Beathan came over to her, giving her a little squeeze.
“Hoo, what is it now?” he asked softly, nuzzling her cheek tenderly.
Edme looked into his eyes. “Nae, nothing, I am just happy, that’s all…” she smiled.
Beathan led her over to the mistletoe hanging over the doorway to the main hall.
“Och, Edme, this takes me back, to the feast all those years ago,” he said, bringing Edme close. Edme could feel her cheeks tingling and beginning to heat up.
Even after all this time, Beathan still had the power to make her feel like an excited teenager. She looked over at Isabella, in the flowing gown. She was listening intently, as Wallace recounted the story of Finlay and his rise from outsider to the laird of the clan.
Beathan paused and then whispered in her ear. “Isn’t that the frock ye had on when ye first kissed me, all those years back, Edme?” he grinned at her.
“What?” she almost shouted. Raw emotion ripped through Edme, instantly. “Ye remember it; ye remember us kissing at Yule?”
She couldn’t believe it. For years, Beathan had claimed he could not remember. She looked at him in surprise.
“Is it the whiskey? Are ye drunk?” she asked him, but Beathan smiled.
Behind them, Wallace continued his tale to a captivated Isabella. “An’ he returned to his family home, to be laird, knowing it was his rightful place!”
At those words, Beathan stroked Edme’s hair tenderly. “Just like ye!” he said. “Some things are meant to be…”
She looked at him closely, reaching for the dint in his chin, which was still there after all these years. Suddenly, it felt like everything in her life had fallen into place.
Then Beathan pulled her closer and laughing, said. “Aye, of course, I remember ye kissing me! How could I ever forget?”
“Think hard, lad. Ye only get one chance: yer gold an’ yer horse, or yer miserable throat!” the girl hissed, pulling the muffler tight against her face, and pressing the blade against the man’s cheek.
Everything in the woodland turned to silence; the birds overhead stopped singing, and she could hear the man’s heart beating hard against his chest.
“So, what’s it to be, eh?” she asked, pressing the dagger into his flesh. She had attacked him from behind, and in the black trews and léine, was indistinguishable as a woman. Only the delicately framed eyes rounded with long lashes gave her away.
She peered into the man’s face and was unprepared for what she saw. He was so young, the bewilderment palpable in his green eyes. The lad was so wildly handsome that she almost relented.
“Well?” she demanded menacingly. “Dinnae make me cut off yer bonny nose, laddie!” she said, watching his eyes widen in terror.
But it didn’t last for long. He began to punch and kick, fighting back against her slender grip. Although she had the knife, he was stronger, and it was impossible to hold him. Before long, he pushed her aside.
“Ye’ll nae get awa’ wi’ this! Ye’ll be caught and hung, ye scoundrel!” he shouted, getting to his feet.
“Nae ye dinnae!” she cried, forgetting to lower her voice. “The Spaniard at Glen Shiel thought he’d get away from my daddy’s blade too. His blood didnae wash off for weeks!”
The man’s green eyes flashed vehemently, and the woman’s heart gave a painful thump; did he recognize her?
Without waiting to find out, she pushed him back. In the distance, she heard hooves, and turning was nearly knocked sideways by a huge black stallion.
“Prince!” the man called as the girl dived for cover, away from the hooves of the charging horse.
“Gadzooks, it’s nae a horse, but one o’ Satan’s imps!” she yelled. The lad laughed before bringing the horse to a standstill.
He walked over to her, with a length of rope, which was surely for her hands. She was down on the ground, tangled and scratched in the undergrowth. The lad sneered, his green eyes glinting in the chilly winter morn.
“Dinnae think ye’ll get away wi’ this!” he scoffed. “I’ll come back for ye – if the devil hasnae taken ye first!”
Soon he was binding her tight against the sharp branches of the pine tree. She struggled, but it was to no avail. As he tied her, the girl watched him. He was strangely familiar. From somewhere, she could picture his face in her head.
Despite herself, she could not resist taking a closer look at the man she had been attempting to rob. He was about twenty years of age, tall and good looking, with a noble chin and a determined nose.
His complexion was smooth, and the skin looked so soft, the girl found herself wishing she could run her fingers over it.
It would have been easy to give in to her softer feelings. What fight she had left was being overwhelmed by the crushing tiredness that she felt. Her stomach ached for food. It had been two days since she had eaten properly, foraging from croft to croft in the clanless zone. She was too weary and hungry to fight more.
But then she pulled herself up sharp. She was so close now – she could not afford to fail. She had to get his knapsack. Undoubtedly it contained jewelry, her only chance to get out of bandit country safely.
The young man was mounting his horse and about to ride off. Knowing she had to act fast, the girl struggled against her bonds. With a little effort, she had them loose.
Stealthily, she slipped her narrow wrists free and found her slingshot. She had one chance to get this right.
The stone catapulted through the air, across the clearing and straight into his face.
“Aargh!” he screamed and instantly fell from his horse. Unfortunately, his fall was broken by something soft and supple: her!
Without warning, she found herself buried under his weight. She fought hard to get free, pushing against him wildly, trying to move his muscular form off her body. They were close enough to kiss, and she could hear his breathing coming in waves.
For the briefest of seconds, the lad’s eyes were face to face with hers. He stared so hard that she blushed, heat racing through her body. The boy’s lips were pink and inviting. For half a moment, she imagined kissing them.
Her reverie cost her the advantage. Within seconds, the man caught both her wrists in one strong hand, while the other hand gripped her face. Too late to scream, the girl’s eyes bulged, and her heart pounded. But he didn’t use his strong, pale hand to throttle her. Instead, he yanked down her scarf, exposing her face to the cold, March air.
There was a sharp intake of breath, as the lad stared at her, open-eyed. Despite her unmasking, the woman could not help but take amusement at his reaction.
“Gadzooks!” he exclaimed, looking visibly shocked. The girl smirked. Clearly, her disguise worked well; the lad had no idea that she was a female.
A thin veil of recognition passed over his face. She watched as it traveled down through his features. Instantly, he let her go.
Knowing that he no longer posed a threat, she got to her feet, straightening out her long, honey blonde hair, which had been set free from its cover.
Unmasked, the girl positively glowed in the dim morning light, amused at the lad’s entranced gaze.
“Well, hello!” she murmured, still catching her breath.
The lad stared uncomprehendingly into her face as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. His stare was so brazen that she felt like she had to deflect his gaze.
“Ye nae seen a woman afore, lad?” she mocked. “Put yer tongue back into yer heid!”
Then, getting up from her position on the ground, she walked tentatively around him. Now that she had made her connection, it seemed unlikely that he would continue with his attack.
“So then, ye’ve changed a wee bit since our last meet,” she said pertinently, raising a light brown eyebrow pointedly. “Long time, no see, laddie!”
The lad just stared into her eyes, as if he could not comprehend the words she was saying.
She could see by the way he was looking at her that he was trying to figure her out as if she were a puzzle.
He stood, running his bright jade eyes up and down, along and across her form. She had seen that look before on men’s faces and had reason to fear it. However, with this lad, she instinctively knew that she was safe.
It wasn’t even because she recognized him. The girl had learned, through bitter experience, that simply knowing a man did not preclude him from taking advantage of a girl if he thought that he could get away with it.
God knew, over the last few weeks and months, as she had picked her way through the Highlands from hunting lodge to hunting lodge, she had met more than her fair share of chancers.
So, she knew a good man when she saw one. From the honest glint in this lad’s eyes, there was no way he would take advantage. If anything, she was going to be the one to do that!
The girl did not wait around to find out if she was wrong. Without giving the lad a chance to get one over on her, she reached around for something, anything, to avoid him leaving her with nothing.
He had not only managed to get to his feet but had now summoned his enormous black stallion to his side, which was harrumphing and whinnying impressively in her direction. If she were not quick, he would jump on the horse and be gone forever!
Panicking, the woman looked about for some way to stop him. She desperately needed what he had, and there was no way that she could allow sentiment to get in the way.
However, she was disarmed, and her slingshot lay several feet away, near the wretched horse’s powerful hooves. Given the menace in its eyes right then, she felt little desire to try and acquire it.
She was defenseless!
He was about to leap up when she spied a very large stone, nestling at her feet. Without waiting to think it through, she hurled it straight at him.
The lad was in the middle of mounting the ferocious beast, when the stone hit him, squarely on the jaw, visibly injuring him.
Thump! The girl’s heart gave a jump as the lad tumbled unceremoniously towards her for a second time. But this time, the girl knew better than to get trapped beneath him and sidestepped to avoid his fall.
Wham! He landed in a sorry pile, not far from where she had been, but the girl wasted no time in getting free and preparing to run fast. To try and make good her escape, she picked a second stone from the ground and flung it at him, this time hitting him in the face.
“Aargh!” groaned the lad, clutching his face and rolling around in agony.
The girl tried to ignore his pitiful cries because she knew if she paid them heed, she might end up taking pity on him, which would never do!
Trying her hardest to push away the errant thought, the lass twirled around, just for a second, catching the red-haired lad straight in the eye.
He wasn’t hurt badly but was beginning to smart. She could not help herself from saying to him:
“Ye should ken better than to try and stop me, Beathan!”
She might as well have slapped him across the face; such was his surprise. It was hard for her not to laugh at his dismay.
“Aye, I ken ye, an’ yet ye dinnae ken me!” she quipped, smiling at his amazed face. “A lass could feel hurt!”
It was a jest, but something deep inside the girl’s heart stirred. She had been prepared for his recognition from the moment the mask had been pulled from her face. When it hadn’t happened, she had been stung slightly.
But there was no time for such thoughts now. Events were moving at such a speed that they were outpacing even the girl’s racing thoughts.
Without a second’s further consideration, she leaped towards the loosed horse. The animal was snarling and snorting like one of Satan’s beasts, but she paid it no heed. She had a way with horses and could tame it, the same trick she had with men.
The girl steadied the black horse and mounting the beast, was off, galloping across the soggy landscape, her hands tight against the horse’s back.
From down on the ground, in the ditch, the lad was stirring, but she was so far away that she could barely see him.
Raising his voice against the wind she heard the pierce of his cry, “Halt there! Stop, thief!”
But it was to no avail. As if he knew this, the lad yelled again, this time with something that stopped her heart in its tracks… her name.
“Ye’ll nae get away wi’ this…. Aye, lassie, I ken ye… Edme!”
Chapter 2
“Edme!” his voice rang through the trees in the small copse multiple times. “Edme! Edme! Edme!” the lad screamed his lungs right out of his chest, circling her heart with his cries.
For just one moment, Edme hovered astride the braying horse. Then, the lad issued a direct command to the animal.
“Prince!” he called plaintively. At the sound of its master’s voice, the horse immediately stalled, refusing to go further and threatening to throw the girl from its back.
“Stop it!” Edme screamed. The animal, which had behaved itself up until now, was rearing up into the air. At any turn, she could be cast asunder. “Help!”
She soon found herself flying through the air, like a stone from her slingshot. As she fell, time seemed to slow down, filling her with a strange calm. In the skies above, the birds beat their wings in flight, and a deadening quiet fell over the copse.
Even the stallion was temporarily silenced, mesmerized by the sheer grace of her fall. It was as if she was flying on gossamer wings; the only sound was the echo of her scream ringing out over the treetops and across the trees.
Internally, she raged. He had done this to her! If he had never removed her scarf, she would have been well on her way by now!
“Beathan!” she cursed, falling out of the sky and landing almost directly on top of him with a hearty smack.
But unlike his crash landing, it seemed that he was waiting for her, ready to break her fall with outstretched arms.
Thump!
With a crash, she landed straight into his waiting arms. It took Edme all her strength not to scream, but she just managed it.
All the same, she could not stop herself from shutting her eyes and scrunching herself into a ball to shield herself from pain.
But to her surprise, she did not feel any. As she checked herself carefully, there was barely a jolt to her frame.
“Aye, yer alright, I reckon!” she could hear his voice say. “An’ I doubt there’s anythin’ wrong wi’ yer eyes!”
Self-consciously, Edme opened her eyes. The sharp winter daylight pierced them painfully, as the world jarred into focus. Looking upwards, she had expected to see gray acres of sky. But instead, she found herself glaring straight into Beathan’s emerald eyes.
Beathan blinked. He was so close that she could feel his breath. He pored over her, checking for injuries, tending to her like a nurse.
Edme’s body tensed, and she removed herself from his grasp and stood beside him, albeit taking a few well-chosen paces back.
“Well, if it’s not the Maid of McKinley! So, is this what yer doin’ noo? Robbing folks?”
Edme could feel the lad’s cool gaze washing over her like winter rain. Instantly, she felt small and cheap.
“Well, come on noo! Ye were after my mother’s jewels weren’t ye! So come on an’ tell me just what it was that ye wanted them for!” he asked, not unreasonably.
Although a foot away, Edme could feel him bearing down on her, staring at her intently. But instead of returning his gaze, she turned away, clamming up.
“Tell me then, Maid McKinley, what is it that yer clan wants wi’ our clan’s precious stones?”
The question hung in the air, hauntingly, needling the girl visibly as she pretended to look away. Inside, her heart beat fast. She did not know what to say. She did not have an answer to give him for the question he asked. She pouted and turned away, much to the scorn of the lad watching her.
Beathan folded his arms and waited, with a smug expression on his face.
“Well, if ye will nae tell me, maybe the Laird can drag it out of ye,” he announced, a determination coming into his bright green eyes. “Or maybe even one of the guards! I daresay the Sheriff will take an interest too!”
At the mention of this, the girl’s eyes widened. Watching her reaction carefully, the lad continued.
“An’ wi’ all the robberies around here, I wouldnae be surprised if he hangs ye, just to mak’ an example!” he added, glancing slyly at her.
The girl visibly whitened, her already pale skin taking on an almost translucent quality.
In the lull that opened up between them, a flock of starlings flew overhead, their noisy intervention momentarily distracting them both.
Edme watched the lad as he raised his eyes up high, noting his firm physique and rugged shoulders. Then she smiled, a little coyly.
“Ye wouldnae dae that,” she declared softly, her eyes scanning his for a reaction.
He bristled slightly, but without taking his eyes off the noisy birds, he continued, “Och aye, wouldnae I? Is that a chance ye wannae take, lass?”
Edme could not see his face, but she fully imagined him to be laughing at her, despite his stern words.
“The laird takes the theft of his jewelry very seriously! An’ that’s nothing on what the lady might do. An’ I can tell ye, ye dinnae want tae get on the wrong side of her!” he added.
This time he did look at her, bringing his almost luminous bright green eyes down to bear on her. At that moment, Edme thought she detected just a shade of warmth. In his face, a glazed amusement passed over, as if he was having some sort of jest with her. Then, in an instant, it had vanished, and his face returned to its ice-cold bed of steel.
“So then, what’s it gonnae be, lassie?” Beathan inquired, almost snarling the words; his previous demeanor put on hold.
All the same, Edme held her nerve. One thing the last few months had taught her was to spot a performance when she saw one. The lad was bluffing; she felt sure.
“Ye either answer my questions, or ye come wi’ me to someone who will make ye!” he promised, stiffening in his pose and patting down his clothes.
His hands fumbled about for something that seemed to be missing. In the blink of an eye, the girl noted his empty dagger pouch.
Then, her deft eyes spied something, glinting in the March sun – his black sgian dubh. It was there, just nestling by a tree, maybe about half a foot away from where she was standing. Unable to believe her luck, Edme lunged to grab it.
“I think yer lookin’ for this!” she announced, flashing the ornate looking dagger towards him, just close enough to his person for him to try to snatch it.
Like a cat, teasing its prey, she held it close enough to elicit a response, but in the split second that he took to swipe at it, she retreated, laughing.
Frustrated, Beathan lurched forward again, still unable to catch the dagger.
“Here! Give it back!” he demanded as she laughed.
“Nae,” she replied, taunting him with the jewel-encrusted sword, jabbing it this way and that, with dramatic gestures, swiping through the air. “I will nae!”
“It’s hopeless, yer nae match for me, lassie!” Beathan reasoned, but under his pale soft skin she could see that beads of sweat were forming,
“Och, I ken yer strong, laddie,” praised the girl, pretending to be impressed. She glanced over at the boy’s taut muscles. It was hard not to be somewhat affected by the lad’s solid set of muscles. Although covered by a brightly checkered plaid, Edme could see the outline of his frame, from his well-defined shoulders to his muscular forearms sticking out of his sleeves.
She gave an involuntary shiver as she contemplated the look of his firm stomach and tried not to think of anything that lay beneath his sporran.
“So, yer strong,” she repeated. “But are ye quick?”
Before the meaning could be clear to him, Edme was off, running as fast as she could, her slender frame disappearing over the top of the hillside.
The name burned in Beathan’s heart like fire. As he watched the McKinley filly speeding away again, Beathan could barely believe his eyes.
In despair, he shouted after her, hoping it would shame her into stopping. It did not.
“Edme! Edme McKinley! Come back here now, or ye’ll be the worst for it!” he called hopelessly after her.
God knows, Beathan had been having a bad enough day already. His mission had been simple: transport the Cairngorm brooch belonging to his mother from the Craig keep to the Duncan castle, which had been his grandmother’s home before marriage. This was mainly for safekeeping since, in recent times, attacks and skirmishes with the English and other bandits had seen a sharp increase.
So far, he had had to contend with a freak hail storm, an inexplicably spooked horse, and a loosed bull. His intended leisurely morning’s hunting had ended when he lost his father’s jeweled dagger and now this!
For a moment or two, Beathan watched in dismay as both sword and girl bobbed out of view, then he steeled himself. He wasn’t about to let them go without a fight!
“Edme! Stop!” he called, tearing after her.
Despite his intense fury – which was mainly at himself for allowing this to happen – Beathan could not help but feel slightly impressed at this slip of a lass who had somehow managed to get the better of him.
This chimed with Beathan’s vague memories of the slight, lively maid with honey streaked hair he recalled from Hogmanay gatherings at the McKinley castle. These were held annually and always well attended by the local clan Lairds.
If it was one thing that the Laird of McKinley knew, it was how to put on a good feast. Fondly, Beathan recollected childhood scenes in the vast McKinley castle with venison, haggis, pheasant, and other hearty dishes. This was washed down with wine and a local, single malt, which, even as children, they managed a wee dram.
But he couldn’t remember much of Edme, just a hazy recollection of a rather bossy wench with blonde tresses. Back then, she had been very much in her older brother’s shadow, and he could not remember having a lot to do with her, as girls barely entered his head back then, and when they did, they were more annoyances than acquaintances.
Well, that was one thing that had not changed! As Beathan watched the laughing girl run faster, he resolved that he would get the last laugh somehow. And it was not long before he got his chance!
Whump! A sharp cry sounded across the horizon, and Beathan watched the girl fall over and lay very still.
Unable to see if the girl was safe or harmed, Beathan sped along, over the craggy hillside and up to the spot where the fallen girl lay. It looked as though she had tripped over a branch and hit her head against a rock.
As he approached, Beathan took a sharp breath. The sight of her laying there so still, her shining honey-colored hair strewn recklessly about her whitened face, brought him up hard.
Everything about her seemed lifeless, her lithe limbs stretched out in various directions, and her eyes shut.
Beathan’s heart thumped painfully in his ribcage. With a sour twist, he saw his jeweled dagger lying on the wet grass before him as if it had been offered up by the Gods.
But he was so overwhelmed that he forgot to take it. Instead, he hovered over the girl’s unmoving form. Barely daring to breathe, he looked on.
Everything around him seemed to have stilled, slowed to a crawl almost, as if time itself had been halted.
Thump! Thump! Thump! His heart clamored loudly in his chest. She couldn’t be dead, could she?
His eyes widened in fear as he approached her cautiously, gently prodding her shoulder. There was no response.
“Edme?” he asked softly.
Heaven knows, Beathan had been trying his darndest to keep the trepidation out of his voice and act as if he was not affected. After all, she was a thief who had taken his dagger. There was not one person in the clan who would condemn him in any way for the course of events that had unfurled.
In reality, he would be wholly justified in walking away from the woman who had tried so hard to rob him. Perhaps he would even be doing the clan a favor, ridding them of such a troublesome wench.
It wouldn’t be the first time he had to injure someone in combat. Skirmishes with the English and their traitorous lackeys were becoming ever more frequent, and Beathan had had to assist his father, the Laird of Craig, many times in seeing them off. Just last year, he had been present at the battle at Glen Shiel, which had seen many of their best men slaughtered.
But that had been different, they had been under attack and fighting for the survival of the clan. Also, none of them had been women.
Beathan stared down at the pallid girl, lying rigid in the muddied bog, and gave an involuntary shiver. He tried to remind himself how this woman had just attempted to rob his clan of their jewels and their heritage.
However, just as he was about to pull away from the maid, he lingered. He could not do it. Despite his bravery in battle, Beathan still retained a softness inside. She was injured, and she needed help.
Pressing down closer against her, Beathan looked carefully for signs of life. It didn’t feel quite right, slipping his fingers in beneath her stays and checking for a pulse, but he did it anyway, knowing that every second she was unconscious put her further into danger.
“Edme, Edme,” he said softly, calling her name, trying to wake her.
Nothing. She did not so much as flinch when he brought his head close to hers. Panicking, Beathan went to check her airways. By placing an ear to her mouth, his face close to her bosom, he could tell she was not breathing.
Urgently, he pressed his mouth against her lips. They were so tender and a delicate shade of rosebud pink, their sweetness at odds with the girl’s usual brash manner.
She lay there, as pale as a corpse, her chest not responding to his compressions. Forcefully he breathed in through her airways, her honeyed perfume swirling in the air like a song.
After a few sharp breaths, he gave a slight pause, giving a chance for the girl to breathe alone. But there was nothing. Now panicking, Beathan worked harder, breathing in deep and rhythmically to her flattened lungs.
It seemed to take forever, and a deep silence fell over the glen as if everything was still and waiting for her to take a breath.
Beathan did not know how long he waited, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but it felt like days. After several rounds, he was forced to stop to catch his breath. He was just about to continue when the girl took in a large breath.
She slowly came around, opening her eyes with a small groan. Sitting up, the girl tried to get to her feet.
“Nae ye dinnae!” said Beathan gently, pressing her back down. “There be plenty of time for that when we get back to the keep!”
Edme looked up. “The keep? How ye gonna get me there Master Craig?” she asked pointedly.
From behind him, Prince snarled impressively. Beathan glanced at the horse and laughed. The girl groaned, rolling her eyes.
Reading her mind, Beathan continued. “Dinnae ye fash, this time, I’m going to make sure ye cannae fall!” he grinned, fastening the wench’s hands securely behind her slender back.
As he tied her up, Beathan felt a sudden jolt of what could only be described as lust, racing its way up through him.
Beathan scowled. This was the last thing he needed now, to let unnecessary passions get in the way of a cool-headed decision. He had made that mistake once before. This time he resolved to make sure she did not escape.
“Come on, lass, be still. Ye need to keep yer strength up for meeting the Sheriff!”
The girl groaned as Beathan smiled. Helping her up gently, he fastened the tired girl onto his horse, ensuring she was firmly set. Then he leaped on in front and cracking the whip set the stallion off on a gentle trot back towards Craig keep.
“Well, the second attempt was better than yer first time!” drawled the girl, enigmatically as they went. Her voice was dreamy, but when he turned to look, Beathan saw a serious look shoot through her eyes. Then they turned mischievous.
“First time?” he asked, confused. “I barely ken ye, lassie. The first time for what?”
Beathan momentarily took his eyes off the path to look at her, uncertain.
“Och, Beathan!” she whispered coyly. “The first time ye kissed me, of course!”
Many things had happened since Donal had returned to Achadh na Cairidh, bringing with him Vanora as his new bride; things that Angus had found out through a copious number of letters that he, Donal, and Vanora exchanged.
After the passing of his father, Donal was now Laird Cameron. Donal had buried him next to Ronald, and he knew that eventually, he would join them, and he would see them once more, though he did worry about his mother, despite her insistence that she was doing quite well.
The first grandchild kept her quite busy, after all. Vanora had given birth to a baby boy a year after they got married, whom they called Ewen after Donal’s father, and Donal could have sworn that he had never seen his mother so happy before.
The boy was now soon approaching his first birthday, and Donal’s mother fawned and fussed over him every single day. Donal could only hope that his son would not end up getting spoiled, but he could already tell his hopes would eventually be crushed.
The only thing that gave him some peace of mind was that the three of them, he, Vanora, and their son, were just about to leave for Knapdale. It was time that Ewen met his other grandparents from his mother’s side, though there was a different reason why they were visiting.
Angus had told them, in his last letter that his father, the laird of the MacMillan clan, was dying. It was no surprise to anyone; the laird was in his later years, and he had lived a full life, but Donal and Vanora wanted to be there regardless, both for the laird and for Angus.
Donal had been apprehensive at first. He and Vanora had not told anyone yet, not even his mother and their closest family, but she was pregnant once again, though no one could tell over her petticoats and her skirts. Donal could only see a hint of a swell in her belly when she lay naked next to him, and that was more than enough to drive him to immediate panic every time that she had to travel for longer than the time it took for her to get to the kitchens.
Still, Vanora had gotten fed up with him, and so she had insisted that they traveled to Knapdale and, well…Donal could never tell her no.
That was how he found himself traveling with Vanora, little Ewen, and some of his clansmen, making the long trip to Knapdale, the entire time fussing over Vanora much more than she would like him to.
“Do ye think that Angus will find himself a nice lass?”
Vanora looked up from where she was watching Ewen nurse on her breast, frowning at Donal as though he had said something ridiculous, shaking her head at him.
“Weel…he will be the laird soon!” she said. “He must find a wife, dis he not? How else will he get an heir?”
“Ach, I dinnae ken,” Donal said. It was a thought that had been in his mind for a while, even though it probably was something that didn’t bother Angus himself at all. “What if he doesnae find anyone?”
Vanora shrugged, just a little so that she wouldn’t disturb Ewen. “What if he doesnae?” she said. “It isnae the end of the world, noo, is it?”
Before Donal could say anything else, Ewen decided that he had nursed enough, and so they continued with their journey.
Soon, they arrived in Knapdale, and once again, it looked just like Donal remembered it, though he supposed there couldn’t have been many changes in Castle Sween ever since he had last been there. The loch was beautiful as always—its calm, dark waters reflecting the equally calm sky, where the clouds passed like grazing sheep.
It was peaceful, Donal thought.
It remained so for about five seconds, before Mrs. Gallach ran towards them at full speed, only stopping when she saw Ewen in Vanora’s arms.
“Mo leanbh, what a handsome wee bairn ye are!” Mrs. Gallach said, getting a delighted giggle out of Ewen as a reply. “Ye look just like yer maw, dinnae ye?”
“I think he looks verra much like me, Mrs. Gallach,” Donal said, even though everyone said the same thing about Ewen. Donal was convinced they said he looked like Vanora only because of his dark locks, while they ignored the rest of his features—which, in Donal’s mind at least, were the same as his.
“I think ye canna see weel,” Mrs. Gallach said, but she did so with a grin on her face. “Come, ye twa…ye must be tired after all this traveling.”
“Aye,” Donal said, urging Vanora to follow the head housekeeper. “I’ll stay and help the men with the horses. Go and find Angus, and I’ll meet ye two inside.”
Vanora did as she was told, and Donal took a moment to look around the grounds of Castle Sween, breathing in deeply. The air there was the same as the air in Achadh na Cairidh, of course, but Donal, sentimental as he was, wanted to think that Castle Sween didn’t stink so much of manure.
As he helped his clansmen with the horses, settling everything and making sure their things went to the right places, a large mass tackled him, throwing him onto the ground and pinning him there. His face was suddenly caked with mud and other substances that Donal didn’t even want to think about, and he spat out a mouthful of hay that had found its way into his mouth.
Donal didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know who it was that had attacked him so suddenly.
“Is that what ye call a warm welcome?” he asked, as he struggled against Angus’ hold. The man had become stronger since the last time he had fought him, and it only fuelled Donal’s desire to beat him. “Ye havnae seen me in twa years!”
Angus laughed from where he sat on the small of Donal’s back, holding him down with his entire weight.
“Ye would do the same to me if I came tae Achadh na Cairidh,” he pointed out. “How have ye been, Donal? How’s yer lass?”
Donal hated how casual Angus sounded, as though he wasn’t thrashing beneath him. The man had made one big mistake, though; he had already fooled himself into thinking that he had won.
Donal bucked against him, hard enough to throw Angus off him, and he was back on his feet before the other man could stand. The two of them stared at each other, bending at the hips as they prepared to strike, both men huffing like a pair of bulls.
Donal pulled Angus into a hug, and Angus hugged him back tightly, patting his back. When they separated, they had matching grins on their faces.
“I’m verra weel now that yer off me, and Vanora is weel, too,” Donal said, before leaning in closer, whispering conspiratorially. “She’s with another bairn. No one kens yet, no one but us, but I wanted ye tae find out before anyone else.”
Angus gasped before his lips split into a grin so colossal that Donal feared his face would stretch out and remain like that forever.
“I always kent that ye’d have more bairns than ye can handle,” Angus said, giving Donal the kind of wink that made him blush furiously.
Donal dusted himself off, trying to look as presentable as possible after a scuffle in the mud, and the two of them made their way inside the castle, where Donal could only hope to have time to clean up before dinner.
“What about ye?” Donal asked him. “When will ye have bairns of yer own?”
Angus seemed to hesitate at that. He sucked his bottom lip under his teeth, biting down on it as he looked at Donal, and then shook his head softly.
“I willnae have any bairns, Donal,” he said. “After…weel, after everything, after Vika, I vowed tae never take a woman.”
Donal opened his mouth to speak, to try and talk some sense into Angus, but the other man held up a hand to stop him before continuing.
“Aye, I ken what ye’ll say,” he said. “I’ve heard it all…I’ll be a laird soon, and so I must take a wife, I must have an heir, I must, I must, I must—these people, the people of my clan, and ye and Vanora, yer all the family I need, Donal. I decided a long time ago that I willnae take a wife, and nothing ye can say will change my mind. It’s alright, it truly is. I dinnae wish to take a wife, and I am happy the way things are. There isnae any sense in fixing something that isnae broken.”
Donal couldn’t argue with that. Besides, Angus did seem perfectly happy with his life. Donal had no reason to think that he needed anything or anyone else to make him happy.
The two men parted ways when they got inside the castle, Angus going to tend to his father, and Donal going to clean himself up and change clothes before he would have to meet anyone else.
The following days reminded Donal of the time he had spent in Knapdale as a young lad, and even though they were all well into adulthood, he, Angus, and Vanora often acted like wee bairns, much to Mrs. Gallach’s disappointment and disapproval.
Donal didn’t care a bit.
Their antics only stopped a few days after their arrival, when the laird of the MacMillan clan was laid to rest, after a night of agitation and pain. Donal and Vanora stayed by Angus’ side the entire time, tending to his needs, though the man was not as shaken as Donal had once feared.
He had had time to digest the situation, after all, ever since his father had first fallen ill a few months prior.
Donal was glad that he could at least be there for Angus when his father passed. He was even more glad that he could be there when he was crowned the laird of the clan, Donal standing aside and watching proudly as the clansmen pledged their allegiance to him.
The feast in Angus’ honor was a thing of wonder, just like every feast that was organized by the capable hands of Mrs. Gallach. The tables overflowed with food and drink, towering plates of pork and beef, potatoes, and greens covering every inch available in the great hall.
Donal was sitting next to Angus and was already on his third cup of wine when he caught a glimpse of Vanora at the other end of the room. She had been late to the feast, tending to Ewen first, nursing him and putting him to sleep, but now she was there, and the sight of her gave Donal pause.
She was wearing the same dress as she did when she attended the feast that was thrown for Donal two years prior, the one that had made every man in the room beg her for a dance and a moment of her time. It was no different now, and Donal could see the way that the clansmen were staring at her, practically salivating as she walked across the room and took her seat next to Donal.
The only difference was that Donal would now kill them all if they so much as dared to ask Vanora to dance. He probably didn’t look very intimidating, though, when he stared at her too, mouth agape and eyes wide like saucers.
He couldn’t believe that the woman was his wife. Even now, after two years of being married to her, he couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty, at the contrast between her unmarred, pale skin and her dark, luscious locks, the pinch of her waist, the swell of her breasts at the neckline that scooped across her chest.
Donal recalled the comment that Angus had made a few days prior, and he couldn’t help but agree; they would end up having many more children than they would know what to do with.
“Ye might wish tae close yer mouth afore a fly gets in there,” Vanora said, and there it was, the difference between the woman he had seen two years ago and the woman that was married to him. Still, Donal couldn’t help but acknowledge the fact that his heart melted when she smirked at him.
“I dinnae think I can,” he said, teasing her right back. “Ye kept the dress.”
“Aye,” Vanora said with a small frown. “Of course, I did. Tis an expensive dress. Did ye think I’d throw it away?”
Donal didn’t know what it was, exactly, that he had thought since most thoughts had simply left his mind to leave space for the one that dominated everything else; that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I dinnae think ye’d wear it again,” he managed to say, shrugging a little. “But I am glad that ye did.”
Donal spent the rest of the night dancing with Vanora and talking to Angus, celebrating his braw new title and promising him that he would be there, right by his side, no matter what. Anything that Angus could possibly need as a laird, Donal was prepared to help him with it.
The three of them celebrated until late at night, and Donal and Vanora only retired to their chambers when most of the clansmen were already asleep, passed out at their respective tables. Once in their rooms, Donal couldn’t help but tear that dress off her, lavishing her with all the attention in the world as she rocked over him, taking him inside her with a shuddering gasp.
Vanora fell asleep in his arms afterward, but Donal could not sleep. He spent endless time simply looking at her, at the bump in her belly that seemed to grow every single day, at the stretch of her gorgeous limbs. He caressed her gently, careful not to wake her.
When he heard Ewen cry from the adjacent room and felt Vanora stir against him, he pushed her back down on the bed and pressed a kiss on her forehead before heading to his son’s crib.
Donal took Ewen in his arms, laying the boy against his chest as he sat down next to the window. The first light of dawn was already visible in the horizon, bathing the room in a pale blue light, and Donal began to rock back and forth, hushing his boy until a few moments later, his cries ceased.
Donal returned to his chambers with Ewen still in his arms. He lay down next to his sleeping wife, placing his son on top of his chest, and he finally fell into a peaceful sleep.
