Fin was off his horse before it even stopped running. He ran across the bailey, his boots thundering hard across the wooden bridge that connected the yard to the keep proper. He dashed into the entry hall and stopped, looking around. At one end of the building was a large hearth, the fire blazing inside of it, cutting the chill in the air.
A young man who served as Col’s squire approached him, his face ashen, his expression grave. He stopped, and Fin was sure he could see tears standing in the boy’s eyes.
“What has happened?” Fin asked.
“The… the Lady has been poisoned,” the young man said.
Fin’s eyes widened, and his belly churned. He had gotten word while out hunting that something had happened, and he needed to return to Westmarch Hall immediately. He had ridden with all haste to get back to the keep, fear and anxiety fueling his flight.
“And Baron Lennox?” Fin asked.
“Is fine,” he said. “He is with Lady Gillian now.”
“Take me.”
The page turned and led Fin down a corridor, their footsteps thumping hard on the stone. They turned into a passage that ended at the door to Col’s bedchamber. The page gave him a slight bow and peeled off, leaving Fin on his own. He headed for the door but was intercepted by a voice echoing off the walls behind him.
“Captain Begbie, please wait.”
Fin turned and found Col’s physician, an older man of wide girth named Dougal, approaching him. He waited for the physician to catch up to him. The older man stopped, his face flushed, his breath quickened.
“What happened?” Fin asked.
“Somebody slipped some poison intae the Lady’s wine,” Dougal said. “But we ken it was meant for the Baron.”
“Is she alright?”
Dougal nodded. “She will be,” he replied. “Thank God she didnae ingest much. Right now, she just needs some rest.”
“Thank God,” Fin said, a wave of relief washing through him. “I need tae see Col, and I need tae see him now.”
“He’s with the Lady right now, and she shouldnae be disturbed,” Dougal said. “I’ll tell him to find ye.”
Fin grumbled under his breath. As the Captain of Col’s personal guard, it would fall to him to find the poisoner. Which meant he needed to gather as many pertinent details as quickly as he could. For all they knew, the poisoner was on horseback and galloping away from Westmarch as they stood there dickering. Every moment they lost could be another mile the poisoner got further away.
“Tell him tae find me now, Dougal,” Fin ordered. “I need tae see him right away.”
“Aye, Captain Begbie.”
As the physician hustled for the door, Fin watched him go for a moment, disbelief over this turn of events washing through him. With a low growl, he turned and walked away down the corridor, his heavy footfalls echoing all around him. He found a pair of soldiers on duty and ordered them to stand watch outside Gillian’s door. Nobody in and nobody out, save for the physician.
Feeling helpless and powerless, Fin stalked the halls of the keep. After their reunion and reconciliation, Gillian’s father had a castle built for them on the border of the Western March – halfway between York and his home village. Col had told him it was meant as a symbolic gesture, a blending of their two people.
And shortly after they had moved in, Col had appointed him to head up his personal guard. At first, Fin had thought it was a joke. But Col assured him it was not. He’d told Fin that he believed in him and trusted him with not just his life, but the lives of his family as well. It had meant the world to Fin, and he liked to think that he had grown into his position. His men were loyal and would follow him to the gates of Hell if he asked. And Fin knew that every one of them would lay down their life to protect Col and his family.
Fin also knew there were some in the Highlands that resented Col for his alliance with the English, and saw Westmarch Hall as a symbol of betrayal. They saw it as a selling out of the Scottish people in favor of Col’s personal enrichment and argued their alliance came at the cost of their freedom. It wasn’t true as far as Fin was concerned. He was as sensitive to the Scottish independence as anybody, but Col made sure his people were well taken care of, and his people never went without. And yet, his alliance and bond with the Duke angered them.
Fin should have gone to check on the children. He’d been so worried about Gillian that he had not stopped to think. Col and Gillian had two children – James the firstborn, and their daughter Freya, who was two years old. But Fin knew they would be with Jane as they often were. Given the circumstances, it was probably the best and safest place for them. Jane cared for them like they were her own, and in Fin’s state, he would probably just scare them anyway.
Fin found his way up to the ramparts on the outer curtain wall of the castle. It was where he went when he needed to think and clear his head. The night was darker than pitch, and the torches flickered, casting eerie shadows that writhed upon the stone parapets. The clouds overhead were thick and dark, and a drizzle had started to fall over the land. It suited Fin’s mood perfectly.
Fin needed to find the person responsible for poisoning Gillian. But until he could talk to Col, he felt utterly powerless. Fin was a man who did not like feeling out of control of a situation. And this was a situation he had zero control over, which left him feeling awkward and frustrated. All he could do was keep pacing the ramparts, trying to calm himself down, and gather his wits about him. He knew he was going to need all of them.
Fin stopped and looked out into the vast sea of darkness before him – the Western March. As the Captain of Col’s household guard, it had been his job, his responsibility to keep Col, Gillian, and their children safe. It was his duty to protect them and make sure nothing happened to them. And he had failed in his duty. Gillian lay in bed, possibly dying of poison, while he’d been out hunting. His failure could have cost an old friend, and his Lady, their lives.
Fin let those thoughts trail away, knowing the rabbit hole they would inevitably lead down. It was a warren of self-doubt and personal recriminations. And right now, he needed to keep a clear head. He could not afford to pity himself. He needed to find out who tried to poison Gillian. And he needed to kill that person.
“Fin.”
He turned to see Col striding up to him. His expression was grim, and his face pinched, clouded with a whole host of dark, negative emotions. But more than anything, his cousin and oldest friend looked scared. Nothing scared Col and seeing the fear on his face, left Fin feeling rattled right down to his core.
“How is she?” Fin asked.
“Dougal says she’ll be fine,” he replied. “Says that with some rest, she’ll be right as rain soon.”
“That’s good. That’s real good,” Fin said. “Dae ye have a suspect yet?”
Col shook his head. “No. But there is no shortage of people who want me dead – Scottish and English alike.”
“Aye, that’s true.”
Col flashed him a wry grin. “Yer an arse.”
“Aye. But ye love me anyway.”
“Aye. I suppose I do,” Col said. “Now, what are we gonna dae about this?”
Fin sighed. He’d been pondering the answer to that question since he found out Gillian had fallen ill. But he was no closer to an answer now than he was then.
“I need ye tae look into this for me, Fin,” Col said.
“Of course I will,” Fin replied. “Dae ye even need tae ask?”
Col nodded. “Good. I want ye tae turn over every rock ye need tae turn over. But find the man who did this. The man who tried to murder me wife.
“Every rock. Aye,” he said. “I will nae let ye down.”
“I know ye won’t.”
Col clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a nod. He turned and walked away quickly, no doubt going back to Gillian’s bedside. Fin was left standing alone on the ramparts. His mind and heart churned wildly, and his entire body stirred with anger. That somebody came into the keep he was charged with protecting and nearly killed Gillian – tried to kill Col – filled him with a deep, abiding rage.
Fin vowed silently to himself that he would find the man responsible and would take his life. More than that, Fin knew he would enjoy it. It was merely a matter of finding the person who did this foul deed.
And when he did, they would spend the rest of their short life paying for it.
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He scaled down the tree and dropped into the middle of the soft dirt road. His cousin Finlay — Fin to most — stepped out of the thick bushes that lined the road that cut through the dense forest. Fin was armed with his bow, the short sword strapped to his back, and a pair of matching dirks that hung on his belt. Col looked him up and down, a grin quirking one corner of his mouth upward.
“Think ye’re needin’ all them blades then?”
Fin shrugged. “I just like tae ‘ave options.”
Col chuckled. “Daenae be stupit, ya bleedin’ dobber. If this goes off the way I planned, we ain’t gonna be fightin’.”
“Yeah, well, what ye plan ain’t always what actually happens,” he added with a laugh. “I tawt it best to be prepared, eh?”
A wry grin pulled one corner of Col’s mouth upward, and he shook his head. “Git your arse into the bushes already.”
Fin chuckled as he stepped back, getting himself into position. Col picked up his quiver of arrows and slung it over his back as the sound of horses whickering, and the loud creaking of carts filled the forest around him. He stood in the road, waiting for the carts to come around the bend.
The trees pressed close on either side, the sunlight filtering through the thick canopy overhead left much of the forest in gloom and shadow. Col felt his stomach tighten, and the beads of sweat trickle down his chest.
He saw the pair of foreguard riders come around the bend first. They wore the standard of the House of Hamilton — a yellow griffin bracketed by three white stars on a blue field. It was a standard that Col was well acquainted with since he and Fin, a couple of rabble-rousers from the Scottish Highlands had spent the previous year making life miserable for James Hamilton, the Duke of York.
The taller of the two men at the front held his hand up, signaling to the cart drivers behind them to halt. He turned to Col, his expression one of pure irritation.
“You there,” called one of the foreguards in his clipped English accent. “Clear the road. Make way immediately in the name of the Duke.”
“Seems to me ye’re on a good Scottish road, laddie” Col grinned.
“Clear the way, or you’ll be dealt with,” the man replied, sounding bored.
Two more riders came up from the rear, their armor gleaming dully in the murky light. An older man with long graying hair and deep lines etched into his face stared hard at Col, his jaw clenching. He turned to the man who’d spoken to Col.
“What goes on here?” His voice was authoritative; he was obviously in charge. “Why have you stopped the caravan?”
“This — man — refuses to remove himself from the road, sir.”
The older man turned to Col, his eyes filled with disdain. “What is the meaning of this?”
“As I was tellin’ yer friend here, this is a good Scottish road,” Col explained. “And to travel it, ye must pay a toll.”
The older soldier laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. The humor, however, did not reach his eyes as he glared at Col.
“I will give you exactly three seconds to remove yourself from our path –”
“I wull give ye two seconds a’fore me men out there in the woods fill ye full of arrows,” Col interrupted. “How’d that be, eh?”
A moment of tense silence filled the woods as the English soldiers glanced nervously around at the dense, dark forest around them. Col saw the uncertainty in their faces, not sure if he was telling the truth or not.
“Shall we start countin’ then, laddie?” Col asked.
The old soldier stared him down, the younger ones growing even more nervous.
“Tell ye what… I’ll start,” Col pressed, not wanting to give them more time to think. “One –”
“Kill him,” the old soldier yelled.
The words had barely cleared his mouth when an arrow came sailing out of the forest and hit the man square in the neck with a wet, meaty thump. The shaft of the arrow was buried deep in the man’s neck, the sharp head of it protruding from the other side. Blood ran from the man’s mouth, and his eyes stretched wide as a wet gurgling sound bubbled up from his throat.
“Well feck me,” Col muttered to himself. “Wasna s’pose to happen like that.”
All was still and silent around them for a long moment, as if the entire world was holding its breath. Col exchanged wide-eyed stares with the English soldiers, none of them believing what had just happened.
But then the old soldier slumped in his saddle and fell to the side, hitting the ground with a dull thud, breaking the paralysis. The two soldiers who’d been at the head of the line spurred their horses and came charging straight at Col, their swords drawn and raised. Behind them, Col noted four more soldiers coming up the line with their blades bared.
Another arrow streaked out of the bushes, narrowly missing the two soldiers riding toward Col, but it made them slow for a heartbeat. It was just long enough for him to pull an arrow from his quiver, nock, and release it in one fluid motion. Col’s bolt punched through the first soldier’s breastplate, knocking him backward off his horse. He drew another arrow, nocking it as he spun and released. It took the soldier in the arm, and he let out a grunt of pain but wheeled his horse around, another arrow from the forest just missing him.
As the four other soldiers reined to a stop beside their fallen commander, Col aimed with another arrow.
“Stop, stop!” Col called. “Stop ye’re bleedin’ shootin’.”
The soldiers all cut glances at their dead then stared hard at Col. He kept his arrow nocked but lowered the tip and stared back at them.
“We’re gonna give ye this one chance to git the feck outta here,” he told them. “Dae that and ye’ll live. If not, ye’ll die.”
The soldiers exchanged glances, none of them seeming to know what to do without their commander there to give them orders.
“Leave the carts and get the feck outta here. Now.” Col tried to sound as authoritative as he could.
They continued to hesitate, waiting for somebody to step up and assume command. Col grimaced, knowing he needed to squeeze them even tighter to get them moving and put an end to more violence and bloodshed.
“Daenae do this. We daenae want to kill ye,” Col said, and after a moment of silence passed between them, he called out to the forest. “Archers.”
“Okay, okay, bloody well wait,” one of the soldiers nearly screamed. “We’ll go. Just — don’t fire.”
“Hold,” Col called out, locking eyes with the soldier who’d spoken. “Leave the carts, and go now.”
He watched with grim satisfaction as the drivers climbed down off the carts and followed the departing soldiers on foot, running down the road away from them. Col walked along well behind them, making sure they were leaving and didn’t have reinforcements waiting on the road behind them. However, it was clear, and soon the soldiers and drivers disappeared from view.
“Ye can come oot now, Col chuckled.
Fin stepped out of the bushes, a broad smile on his face. He slung his bow over his back and joined Col beside one of the carts.
“Worked agen,” he said.
“The English ain’t none too smart. More’s the pity,” Col replied with a grin. “Takes the bloody sport oot of it. ”
Col turned and eyed the two dead English soldiers on the road behind them then turned back to Fin, giving him a pointed look.
“Mosta the sport at any rate.”
Fin shrugged. “I was aimin’ fer his leg. He musta moved.”
“Aye. Musta.”
Col clapped his cousin on the shoulder and turned to the three carts sitting idle on the road. The horses whickered and stomped their hooves on the soft earth.
“Let’s see what we got,” Col asked.
Fin rubs his hands together, a broad grin on his face. “Aye. Let’s do that.”
As they rifled through the carts, tossing aside the things they had no use for, Col kept an eye on the road behind them. He was still concerned about the English. He knew that eventually, the raids would take a toll. And he knew Duke Hamilton would send more than eight easily intimidated soldiers to protect his caravans. He ultimately knew that the Duke would send his army to deal with them.
Col knew it would happen and worried about what they would do. As much as the clan elders disapproved of what they were doing, even they understood the necessity of it. They would never actively support him and Fin, but they reaped the benefits all the same. Their clan chief lived many miles to the north of their village and proved to be as useless as the elders — though he demanded his share of the spoils. It was a bone of contention that Col held onto, but the good of the clan outweighed everything else for him. Their people needed to eat.
“Lotsa food,” Fin’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Vegetables. Taters. Some salted meats. Should keep the bellies full a couple o’ weeks at least.”
Col nodded. “That’s good… real good.”
He turned to Fin, hopped up on the cart, and hefted a small wooden chest. Fin looked up at him, curious but hopeful. Col opened the small chest with a flourish and grinned. He reached in and pulled out a gold coin, tossing it to his cousin, who grinned with delight.
“Gold,” Fin nodded.
“Couple o’ hundred coins in here if there’s one.”
“That will do some good fer the clan.”
Col nodded. “Aye. But not as good as that food will do for them. For now, daenae tell the elders about the gold. I daenae want it disappearing.”
“Aye. We turn that over to them bleedin’ vipers, we’ll never see it agen. Neither will the clan.”
They continued to dig through the carts, loading what they planned on taking into one of the wagons for easier transport. Col knew they needed to get moving. The soldiers would likely be coming back to claim the bodies of their men and would soon be bringing help. And he did not want to be around when they did.
“God is good,” Fin crowed. “This mebbe worth more than that wee chest of gold ye got over there.”
Col turned to find his cousin holding up a bottle of a brown liquid he took to be whiskey. Fin was grinning as he pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a long swallow. He grimaced as the liquid burned its way down to his belly then nodded.
“That’s good,” he rasped. “I’ll be keepin’ that to meself if ye daenae mind.”
Col laughed. “All yers, Fin. Let’s just finish up and get outta here a’fore the Ainglish come back with friends.”
Fin corked the bottle and looked at it longingly before stowing it in a bag and setting it on the seat of the cart they were loading before hitching the other team of horses… they could always use new mounts.
When they were finished, Fin hopped up onto the seat and got the cart moving. Col mounted one of their newly acquired steeds and followed along behind Fin, keeping an eye on the road behind them. They took a circuitous route back to their village, careful to mask their path to avoid giving the English a map to guide them when they came seeking retribution.
As they entered the village, people flocked to them, a cacophony of cheering and voices calling to them as if they were conquering heroes, returning from battle. Col supposed in their eyes, he and Fin probably were hero-like. Especially when compared to the elders who refused to do anything to improve their situation.
Fin climbed down off the cart and handed the reins to Bernard, a large burly man with no hair and a foul disposition. Bernard was in charge of doling out the things that the villagers needed, such as food and medical supplies — a position he took very seriously. He gave no real sign of it, but Col knew Bernard appreciated what he and his cousin were doing on behalf of their clan.
“Made it back alive, did ye?” Bernard said.
“Daenae we always, old man?” Fin replied.
“Aye. Until you daenae.”
“With all that bleating, ye sound like an old goat, Bernard,” Fin quipped.
Fin and Col both chose horses from those they’d taken from the English as the older man grumbled and climbed aboard the cart and steered it all away to where he stored the goods for the village.
“Col,” a voice sounded behind him. “A word, laddie.”
He let out a soft sigh and turned around to see Hugh, the oldest of the elders and leader of their council, striding toward him. He turned back to Fin and handed him the reins of his horse.
“Will ye take it hame fer me, please? I’ll be along shortly.”
Fin nodded, a sour look on his face. He cared no more for the elders than Col did. Col watched his cousin walk away before he turned back to Hugh. He was a tall man with long gray hair, a close-cropped beard, and a body once broad and strong but now turning to flab. Col had watched him year after year, growing fatter as the people went hungry.
Eventually, Col had enough of it and had started to do something about it. He had acted where Hugh had not. He had provided for his people when the elders sat idly by as crops grew rotten and fields lay fallow, the soil not fit for planting. The elders never skipped a meal though their people had missed many. Col saw to it they never went to bed with an empty belly.
“Whatsit then, Hugh?” Col snapped. “I’m tired and wish to go hame, not stand ‘ere and fight with ye.”
“Always so disrespectful, laddie,” Hugh replied. “If I weren’t so used to it, I’d take bleedin’ offense.”
“Take offense if ye wish. It troubles me not,” Col growled. “All that matters to me is doing what ye and the elders should be doing. And that’s providing fer and protecting our people.”
“Protecting them?” Hugh chuckled ruefully. “You call bringin’ the might of the Ainglish army down on us protectin’ them? And mark my words laddie, that’s exactly what’s gonna happen.”
“Ye assume tae much, old man.”
“And ye don’t think enough, boy,” Hugh yelled.
The older man looked away as he took a long breath, then let it out slowly. Col glanced at the people milling about in the village square, all of them doing their best to appear as if they weren’t listening. Hugh finally raised his gaze, and Col could see the anger burning in the old man’s eyes at his defiance. At his lack of respect.
“Sooner or later, the Duke, with his whole army, will come searching fer whoever’s filchin’ his goods,” Hugh said. “And what’ll ye do then, boy? How’ll ye protect this village against an entire fecking army?”
Col opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, knowing he had no response to the question. The truth was, although he and Fin took precautions against being found and covered their tracks as well as possible, being discovered was always a possibility. And if it came to that, if Duke Hamilton marched his forces on their village, their only recourse would be to run and hide deep into the Highlands. He knew some… maybe most… in the village were willing to assume the risk and the consequences for what he and Fin brought home. Others he knew shared Hugh’s opinion on the matter. Not that it stopped them from partaking of their bounty.
Col stepped closer to Hugh, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed. He leaned forward until the tips of their noses were but inches apart.
“Mebbe, if you did something to help provide fer our people, we wouldnae have to do this,” Col growled through gritted teeth. “Mebbe if you didnae sit on your arse, waitin’ fer God Almighty himself to rain food down upon us, we wouldnae have to do this. Our people are hungry, Hugh. Our people need food.”
Hugh stared hard at him for a long moment, the air between them crackling with tension and the whispered promise of violence. Col gritted his teeth and, with his eyes, dared the older man to make a move. He knew Hugh would be no match for him, and unleashing on the man he blamed for their people’s hardships might feel good.
As much as he wanted to take a swing at Hugh, Col held himself back, and the moment passed. He let out a frustrated, angry breath and turned, choosing to walk away from the situation.
“Ye’re gonna be the death of us, boy,” Hugh called after him.
Col thought it was a possibility, but until the English brought the hammer down on them, he would keep doing what he was doing … providing for his people.
Chapter II
“I see your uncle has returned,” Jane said.
“If this is the part where I’m supposed to break into song and dance, I fear that will be a long wait for an unsatisfactory result,” Gillian replied.
Jane laughed and turned away from the window. “Cheeky.”
Gillian shrugged but smiled. Jane had been her handmaiden and best friend since childhood. She probably knew Gillian better than anybody else in the world and was the only person she allowed herself to speak freely around. Jane knew well that Gillian’s relationship with her uncle was often contentious. But Gillian knew the importance of keeping up appearances and never indulged her feelings in public. Her uncle did the same.
“The wagons your uncle was supposed to be escorting did not return with the caravan,” Jane noted.
At this, Gillian put down her book and raised an eyebrow. “Did they not?”
“It did not appear so.”
Gillian got to her feet and smiled. “Shall we go see what my father has to say about that?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
Trying to stifle their giggling, Gillian led Jane by the hand as they rushed down the corridor in a swishing of silk skirts and the scuffle of slippered feet. They dashed down the stairs and followed the corridors usually used by the servants, doing their best to be unobtrusive.
Sidling down a long corridor, they came to the door that led into a small antechamber outside of her father’s office. Her father was the Duke of York and a significant man. Unfortunately, his duties also necessitated his attendance at Court in London quite often. Gillian missed him when he was gone, but he would not let her go to Court with him, saying she was not ready for that viper’s nest.
Her father was a good man who doted on her, and she loved him. He said he wanted to shelter Gillian from it as long as he could. But at the same time, Gillian knew he could not keep her from it forever. Not if he wanted to find Gillian a proper suitor. While she desperately wanted to go to Court, the thought of so many men vying for her attention as if she were a cow at auction tempered her enthusiasm.
Gillian looked at Jane with a broad smile on her face. “Okay, now be quiet.”
Jane stuck her tongue out at Gillian grinned. “As if I didn’t know that already.”
“Don’t be cheeky.”
Stifling their giggles, they quietly slipped into the antechamber and softly closed the door behind them. On the other side of the room, a wooden door was cracked partially open and led into the Duke’s office. Gillian could already hear her father and uncle inside … and her father did not sound well pleased.
“How in the bloody hell did this happen? Again?” Her father roared, punctuating his displeasure by slamming his fist down onto his desk. “You assured me you had this brigand… this Phantom… in hand.”
“Actually, your Grace, I believe I said we will have him in hand. And we will. I assure you,” William replied. “Also, I will not dignify this man by using that name. Nor will I suffer my men to use that stupid name.”
“And yet they are using it anyway, whether you suffer it or not,” the Duke howled. “You have been assuring me that you will have him in hand for months now, brother. When will I see results? When will I see this brigand in shackles in the cells below this keep?”
“Soon, your Grace,” William said. “I assure…”
“Yes, yes. You assure me,” James cut him off. “I am growing tired of your increasingly empty assurances, brother.”
Gillian and Jane huddled near the door, eavesdropping on the conversation. She knew it was childish, petty, and even vindictive, but she could not deny feeling a certain sense of satisfaction at hearing her father tan her uncle’s hide.
But more than that, she wanted to hear more about this brigand who had bedeviled her uncle for months. All she knew was that he was a Scottish Highlander with a knack for outsmarting and outmaneuvering her uncle and his men.
For almost a year now, this brigand had been ambushing the Duke’s supply trains. In one sense, he scared Gillian. Her uncle was many things, but stupid was not one of them. That this brigand had been making him look the fool for a year now was terrifying. What if he suddenly decided to sack York?
On the other hand, Gillian was fascinated by this brigand… for the same reason. His undeniable intelligence was utterly captivating. Gillian knew she was probably romanticizing his exploits, but she could not help it. The whole situation was more than a little amusing to her. Gillian had long enjoyed tales of adventure and action.
“Your Grace, I will take my men north, and we will root out…”
“No, you will not. I will not have you laying waste to Scottish villages because you are angry,” her father interjected, his voice echoing around the anteroom. “How you conduct yourself reflects upon this House and me.”
“With all due respect, your Grace …”
“William, the King has tired of war. He feels it has proven to be costly and fruitless. He now desires to end hostilities and establish commerce with the Scots.”
A door slammed heavily somewhere close by, and Gillian tensed. Hard footsteps approached the door to the anteroom before fading away. Jane looked at her with wide eyes and gripped her hand tighter. Gillian knew if her father caught them eavesdropping, he would stripe her backside.
“We should go,” Jane whispered.
Gillian shook her head. “Not yet. Just a bit longer.”
“Your Grace…”
“I know how you handle situations like this, and I will not have you laying waste to Scottish villages,” her father interjected. “I will not have you tarnish my good name any further than you already have.”
“Your Grace, their nobles are warring with themselves. They have no king. They are weak and vulnerable,” William interjected. “Now is the time to strike.”
“War is proving to be counterproductive. I see it. The King sees it. And we both agree that finding a peaceful resolution is in all of our interests,” her father added.
“And how do you achieve a peaceful resolution with bloody savages?”
“We can have greater influence over the Scots if we help choose their next king. One that will be a friend to the Crown,” her father said evenly. “And if we can hold influence over the Scottish king, then all the better for our king. Understand?”
Gillian’s uncle muttered, but it was too low for her to hear. She frowned as if she was missing out on some vital piece of information, listening to the conversation with rapt attention. As much as she loved tales of action and adventure, she enjoyed politics and intrigue even more. That was one of the reasons Gillian wanted to go to Court so badly… to see it first hand.
“To that end, you will travel to Edinburgh on the morrow. You will assure their nobles that we bear them no ill will for the doings of this brigand, and you will work with them to ascertain this man’s identity,” her father went on. “You will also treaty with the Scots to ensure that when caught, this brigand will be brought here to York to face the King’s justice.”
There was a long, tense silence, and she pictured her uncle turning several shades of purple. The man was boorish and did not enjoy being ordered about by anybody. Surely he must be apoplectic by now?
“Will there be anything else, your Grace?” he finally muttered.
“No, that is all.”
“Then, by your leave, I will take my ease for the day,” he replied, his voice tight. “It would appear I have a journey ahead of me.”
The next thing Gillian heard was the sound of heavy boots stomping on the hard stone floor of the chamber, followed by the door slamming shut. Her father sighed, and Jane took her hand, pulling her toward the door they had entered by.
“Gillian, would you be so good as to come in here, please?”
Her father’s voice froze the blood in her veins. She and Jane shared wide-eyed, fearful expressions. He had known they were there the whole time! Jane silently urged her to withdraw, but Gillian shook her head. She took her hand from Jane and motioned for her to go. She would face whatever punishment awaited her alone. Standing up straight, she smoothed out her skirts and put on an expression of careful neutrality before going through the door and closing it solidly behind her… giving Jane the chance to escape.
She crossed the chamber and stood before her father’s desk with her hands clasped before her. Gillian’s heart fluttered in her chest like the wings of a hummingbird. Her father looked at her as he took a long drink of wine.
James Hamilton, the Duke of York, was an imposing man. Tall and broad through the shoulders and chest, his hair was dark, though beginning to gray at the temples. His hair, like his beard, was trimmed neatly and short. Lines were forming at the corners of eyes that glittered like chips of sapphire and carried within them, a fierce intelligence.
Gillian’s father was not an overly demonstrative man, emotionally speaking. He was usually very even, though he did have a temper and could be provoked to a fit of anger that most feared. Gillian had heard most speak of him as being cold and aloof. Many were intimidated by the Duke… some outright terrified of him.
Yes, he carried himself with that royal bearing… a product of his station. Gillian knew that was how he had to be seen. But she had never known him as anything other than warm and caring. He doted on her and always favored her with the warmest of smiles. He allowed himself to be less guarded and more open around her, and she loved him for that.
“Correct me if I am mistaken, daughter,” her father started, “but have we not discussed your penchant for eavesdropping before?”
He set his goblet of wine down on the desk and looked at her, his eyebrow raised, eyes twinkling. She knew that he should be cross with her, but a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
“We have father,” she added, trying to sound abashed.
“And I further seem to recall telling you what would happen if I caught you at it again,” he said.
Gillian swallowed hard and nodded. “You did, father, but my curiosity has won out again.”
He chuckled softly. “Curiosity can be a virtue,” he said. “But it can also be a curse… the sort of curse that leaves one with a striped backside.”
“I… have been told,” she lowered her gaze to the floor.
“Master Covey has just carved himself a new paddle, and I believe he is most anxious to break it in.”
Gillian’s stomach lurched, and her heart fluttered anew at the mention of Master Covey… the Sergeant-at-Arms of the household. Or as Gillian liked to call him, the Chief of Cruelty. Covey was the one who doled out punishments for the household staff who broke House rules or worse. Gillian had even heard whispers that he carried out executions for her father. She had seen him whip somebody to within an inch of their life but she had thankfully never seen him lop somebody’s head off.
“Father, I did not mean to eavesdrop…”
She fell silent as he arched his eyebrow again. Gillian looked down at the floor, fearful she had finally crossed the line with her father and had earned a striping for her transgression. Looking up at him, she decided to be honest, hoping to avoid an appointment with Master Covey.
“I only wish to learn, father,” she said. “I am curious about a great many things… how you conduct the affairs of your office among them.”
Her father sat back in his chair, a look of interest on his face. He had not expected that… Gillian admitted that she could be a girl of whimsy and fantasy. But deep down, there was a thirst for knowledge that could never be slaked. Even her tutors had noticed that about her… though most did nothing to encourage it. Most of her tutors believed she should focus on what it took to make a good wife to a royal husband.
They believed her education should consist primarily of affairs of the house, rather than the affairs of state. But her father had insisted that she received a well-rounded education commensurate with that her brother, Henry. Her father believed that a woman of his House should be intelligent, articulate, and knowledgeable about all things. And Gillian loved him for that too.
“It is why I wish to travel to Edinburgh with uncle William on the morrow,” she added.
Her father pursed his lips and looked at her, an inscrutable expression on his face. But he had not immediately dismissed her idea as ridiculous, and to Gillian, meant that he was at least open to the possibility.
“I believe that watching uncle William negotiate on your behalf would be quite instructional,” she pressed. “I believe it would greatly enhance my education.”
“I just do not know if it is safe, my dear child,” he said. “Not with this… brigand… still roaming freely.”
“Father, my understanding is that this brigand attacks supply wagons. From what I have heard, he does not attack people or take hostages. His interest is in the goods those wagons carry. Which means he is a commoner simply trying to provide for his family.”
“Perhaps.”
“For a year now, he has taken only wagons…”
“For the moment. That could change, my dear girl.”
“Father, in all our time here in the north, I have never been,” she pleaded. “I would love to see it. And I would love to see the negotiations with the Scots first-hand.”
“Gillian, …”
“Father, you have always stressed the importance and value of education and experience,” she urged him. “I want to add value to this House and be prepared to help advise my husband when I marry.
Her father took another drink of wine, giving her a long, considering look. Finally, he sat forward and set his goblet down, a small frown pulling the corners of his mouth downward.
“I cannot allow it, Gillian. I am sorry, but it is too dangerous. I cannot have you risking your life. I will not.”
“Father…”
“I have made my decision.”
Gillian stood before her father pouting for another moment before turning and fleeing his office, slamming the door behind her. She dashed through the castle until she reached her chamber, barged through her door and slammed it behind her. Jane looked up from her seat near the window and lowered her book.
“You look vexed,” she said.
“I am vexed!” Gillian almost shouted. “He will not let me go to Edinburgh.”
Gillian dropped heavily into the chair across from Jane, her expression dark. Folding her arms, she frowned deeply, as Jane closed the book and set it on the small table next to her.
“And why won’t he let you go?”
Gillian’s expression soured. “He says it’s too dangerous,” she hissed. “He’s worried about the brigand swooping in and stealing me away.”
Jane rolled her eyes and laughed softly. “That is…”
“Ridiculous,” Gillian cut her off.
“So, what will you do?”
Gillian shrugged, “What can I do?”
A wicked smile touched Jane’s lips. “That depends. How badly do you want to see Edinburgh?”
“Very badly,” Gillian complained. “I have wanted to see Edinburgh for as long as we have lived in the north.”
A mischievous light sparkled in Jane’s eyes that brought a smile to Gillian’s face. She knew that look well… it meant that Jane was about to propose something entirely outlandish and daring. Gillian watched as Jane got to her feet and sauntered over to the window.
“Well, you can sit here moping about it,” Jane said. “Or, you can do something about it.”
Joining Jane at the window, Gillian casually surveyed the bailey below, watching for a few moments as her uncle directed his men to load the wagons and prepare for their ride to Edinburgh. And as she stood there watching, an idea took root in her mind.
Gillian looked over at Jane and smiled. She had been Gillian’s courage and sense of adventure since they were young. Jane often prodded Gillian into taking a chance. Into taking a leap of faith. Jane had always been able to get Gillian to do things she did not usually believe she could do.
In some ways, it was a good thing. It helped bring Gillian out of her shell. In other ways, it had caused her endless trouble throughout her life. Their antics did not always amuse her father. But Gillian sometimes enjoyed the way Jane pushed her to do things that made her uncomfortable. She played things so safe in life, and doing something out of character was fun.
“What’s going through that mind of yours, Gilly?”
A devilish smile touched Gillian’s lips. She looked at the men loading the carts in the bailey one more time then turned back to Jane.
“Fetch me some breeches, a long-sleeved shirt, and a cloak,” Gillian said with a smile. “I am going to stop complaining and do something about it.”
“You are wicked,” she laughed.
“I have learned from the best.”
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Rosalie brushed sweat from her forehead with her dusty forearm. Blinding and hot, the sun-baked the earth from a clear, blue sky. She leaned up against the well, taking a break from her daily laundry. Her hands caressed the swell of her belly, extending out from her body. A smile crossed her face as her unborn child kicked beneath her hand.
In the distance, a great cloud of dust rose, swallowing the road and pastures on the horizon. Rosalie stood, holding her lower back to calm the pain surging through her. The hairs on her neck prickled as she watched the unknown rider storm towards her.
“Hamish! Thomasina!”
Rosalie cringed, wishing she was able to move faster than a hobble in her late-term. The twins barreled from around the corner of the cottage, followed by a massive sheepdog. Mud stained the hem of her little girl’s dress and streaked both the children’s faces. The stain was Rosalie’s least concern at the moment.
“Get in the cottage.”
“But Ma!” Hamish smacked the ground with the stick he held.
“NOW. Both of you.” She groaned, stabilizing herself on the well as light-headedness made her vision swim.
The two children jumped at their mother’s command. It was rare she raised her voice. They ran into the cottage. Hamish peeked out at her and the oncoming rider before slamming the door.
Rosalie looked around her. If the rider was a foe, there was little to defend herself. Declan wouldn’t return from bringing in the harvest until after dark. Even Evelyn was off gathering herbs in the mountainside before the weather turned for the year. She was alone.
As the rider approached, Rosalie’s fear faded into concern. Blonde hair flew out around the rider. The woman was weak, barely keeping hold of the reins of the horse. Her skirts were stained up to the knee with mud. The blond hair was tangled, small sticks, and bits of brush protruding from the tangled curls.
“Gale?” Rosalie cried. She tried to run, her feet staggering with each step and her arms cradling her precious cargo. “God’s teeth.”
As soon as Rosalie reached her, the young woman slumped in the saddle. Her horse whipped its mane and pawed at the dry earth. Rosalie took hold of the beast, trying to calm the startled, run-down creature. Sweat streaked its dusty hide.
Gale’s lips were dry, cracked, and pale with dehydration. She couldn’t hold herself up, leaning on the horse’s neck for support. Scratches from rogue branches scraped her skin and clothes.
“Rosalie…” Her blue eyes rolled open, dazed with fatigue.
Rosalie led the horse to a trough before attempting to help Gale down. Her hands reached up to help the girl. “Ye got to help me, Gale.”
Gale mustered up her strength to push herself from the saddle. Rosalie tried to catch her, but in her current state, moving alone was awkward and arduous. The woman slipped to the ground, and all Rosalie could do was slow her fall and make sure her head did not hit the earth.
“HAMISH!” The small boy opened the door, waiting for release from the cottage, “Get me water. Have Thomasina cut some bread.”
Hamish, only three minutes older than his sister, took pride in his position as an older brother. He barked an order at Thomasina, still waiting inside the home, and ran as fast as he could to fetch water for his mother and the strange woman.
Gale was still conscious. She tried to stand, teetering from exhaustion and thirst.
“Sit down,” Rosalie commanded, trying her best to brace the woman.
“I’m sorry,” Gale’s voice cracked.
“Shh, not now.”
The two women took their time walking over to the stone steps in front of the cottage. Rosalie took the dipper from Hamish and lifted it to Gale’s lips. The girl sipped at first before draining the water with greedy gulps, and Rosalie handed it back to Hamish for more.
“I didn’t know where else tae turn.”
Rosalie brushed her fingers over the woman’s hair, trying to calm her. The water seemed to reawaken a manic fright within her. Gale’s eyes were wide, her body trembled. She tried to stand, but Rosalie grabbed her wrist and pulled for her to sit back down.
“I want ye tae sit fer a moment.”
Thomasina poked her head out. She was shier than her brother, trying to hide most of her body behind the door. Rosalie reached her hand out and found a hunk of loaf placed in her open palm before Thomasina disappeared back into the cottage.
“Can ye eat?”
Gale nodded, “Aye, thank ye.”
They sat in silence while Gale nibbled at the bread and recovered her strength. Rosalie wouldn’t let her speak until after she rested. Thomasina and Hamish crowded her as she tried to get Gale changed into clean clothes and into bed.
“What’s wrong with her, Mama?” Thomasina whispered.
Rosalie shook her head, “I don’t know, but she traveled a long way to get ‘ere.”
Hamish hovered over the sleeping Gale, looking at her as if she were some strange creature. Rosalie tried to pull him back. “Who is she?”
“An old friend. You two, get yer chores done an’ let her sleep, ye hear? An’ Thomasina, what did ye do tae yer gown?”
Thomasina blushed and looked down at her stained skirts. “It weren’t my fault, Ma. It’s all Hamish’s doin’. I swear tae ye.”
“I don’t care whose fault it is; get changed an’ go scrub it out ‘fore it sets in. I worked hard on that dress for ye.”
The twins sped off to work. Hamish had the evening pleasure of finding twigs and kindling around the edges of the property. Thomasina would work on her dress until her hands were raw from the cold water.
Declan returned to his home in good spirits. “Rosie! We brought in the harvest early!” He placed his cap on a small peg protruding from the interior of the door. Upon seeing Gale passed out on the twins’ modest bed, Declan stopped in his tracks.
Rosalie wiped her hands on her apron. A small plume of flour-dusted the air. She smiled at Declan. “That’s great news.”
He looked at her, confused. “Is this?” He pointed at the sleeping woman. “Is tha’…” he leaned in closer, “Gale?”
Rosalie nodded, a small grin still flickering at the corners of his mouth. The smile faded when she noticed how rigid Declan’s body became. His defenses flared up, and his hand instinctively fell to his sword as he looked around.
“It’s jus’ her.”
“Are ye sure?” His brow darkened, and Rosalie knew his mind filled with fears for his family. No matter the years passed, he never could forget or forgive himself for letting Rosalie stay with the dreadful family that beat and scarred her.
Rosalie pursed her lips into a grim line and nodded. She was reasonably sure. She looked down at Gale, considering—she was fleeing from someone or something when she rode upon the settlement. Rosalie poured a cup of hot bone broth and knelt beside Gale.
Rubbing her back, she roused the young woman. “Gale, Gale,” she whispered. The young woman startled awake, kicking out and shuddering, letting out a soft cry as she looked around the room and remembered where she was, “Shh, it’s alright. Yer safe now.” Rosalie ran her hands over the distressed blonde head.
As if struck, Gale’s eyes welled up with tears and panic. She sat up. Rosalie tried to restrain her, afraid she might cause herself to faint with the sudden movement. Hamish and Thomasina were back inside, watching curiously from the corner of the room.
“What’s wrong with her, Mama?” Thomasina played with her skirts.
“She’s had a long journey, is all.”
Declan seemed less accepting of the situation. Rosalie eyed him and could see his skin turning red with marks of anger. She knew her husband well. The last thing he wanted was to harbor a fugitive that might land his family in danger.
“Drink this.”
Gale took the glass and sipped at it nervously. The warm liquid seemed to help calm her.
“Declan’s here, Gale, an’ we need tae know what’s happenin’?”
Gale crumpled over the cup and started to cry. Her bright blue eyes shone out like icy gems, contrasting against the reds and pinks of her irritated face. She tried to calm herself with deep breaths, her hands shaking as she forced down more of the broth.
“Pa is dead,” she shook her head, “an’,” she sniffed, “an’ Ma, I think she means tae kill me.” Rosalie and Declan looked at one another. Gale’s hand snapped out, grabbing Rosalie’s. Her eyes filled with desperation. “Please, I don’t know where else tae go. You mus’ help me, Rosalie. There’s no one else I know who can.”
Declan grabbed the sleeve of Rosalie’s dress in a gentle attempt to pull her into a private conversation. Rosalie shrugged him off, intent on hearing Gale through before making a decision. “Calm down, Gale. Start from the beginnin’ an’ tell us what happened.”
Gale took a deep breath. “Ma kept gettin’ worse after ye left. She’d go through these states…” Gale’s face twisted, as if pained by the memory, “…where she didn’t even recognize us. Sometimes though’ we were different people—she were different. This man came one day, said he were a doctor—that he could help her. Ma seemed to get better, but these delusions…” she gestured to the air, rolling her eyes up, “It were as if somethin’ possessed her when she’d have ‘em.” Gale struggled not to start crying again. “Her an’ this doctor were close. They got tae a point where they were inseparable. Pa was gettin’ uncomfortable with it, said he weren’t helpin’ her anymore, an’ when he finally asked the doctor tae leave, that’s when, when—” sobs wracked her body.
Rosalie rubbed her back. Declan stared at her, still standing with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Gale calmed herself enough to continue, the pitch of her voice squeaking with emotion, “The doctor said it were his heart.” Gale shook her head. “Within a week, Ma started actin’ like it were her Keep an’ talkin’ about the doctor as if they were already married. One o’ the workers made a comment abou’ how she weren’t the heir, but I was. Ma and the doctor were in an outrage, fightin’ all evening. That night, he came into my room…” Gale’s body shook as she recalled the memory. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her words spurted as venom pulled from a wound. “He tried tae lay with me. He tried to convince me to marry him, that it was I he loved, not my mother, an’ when I refused him, he… he…” she started crying again. When she caught her breath, she finished, “I managed tae getaway, an’ this was the only place I knew I’d be safe from ‘em.”
Declan paced around the room, looking out of the small shutters for signs of danger. “Do ye ken if ye were followed?” Gale shook her head in negation. “Rosie, outside.”
Rosalie smiled at Gale. “Jus’ give us a moment.” She turned to her children, “Hamish, stoke the fire. Thomasina, keep our guest comfortable.”
“Yes, Mama.”
The evening was warm and sweet with blossoms in full bloom as Declan paced the front of the cottage. “I don’ like it, Rosie,” he said.
“She saved us—both o’ us, Declan.” Rosalie reached out to him.
He nodded. “I ken.” He took a deep breath, “If they seek her out, it willnae take long tae fin’ her with us.”
“We cannae jus’ turn her away!” Rosalie’s temper flared. She gestured angrily towards the house.
“That’s not what I’m sayin’.”
Rosalie tried to calm her defensive stance; her arms crossed over one another. Declan stepped towards her, cradling her face in his hand. Her posture softened. She knew he was just worried about her and the bairns. Rosalie didn’t need to worry about him doing the right thing.
“Wha’ about the Brodys? Angus would help us,” Rosalie’s saw Declan’s eyes light up as he thought, running scenarios through his head, crunching numbers and deciding which course of action might be best for him and his people.
“The chief might no’ take kindly to a refugee in his parts. Her mother has a right to her.”
“She’s an adult!” Rosalie gasped.
“Aye, but she’s no’ wed yet, an’ her mother will still have a say unless we can prove these accusations.” Declan rubbed Rosalie’s arms as he thought, “I think it best we keep all this a secret. We’ll say she’s a cousin o’ yers.”
Rosalie laughed. “No one around here’ll believe it.” Each year, the travelers stayed with them for a few weeks. The clan knew Magda and Anna. The past seemed long ago. Enoch was no longer a problem; following Alexander’s orders, he’d traveled to live with his father
“Aye, but…” Declan looked at her. His gaze was calming and reassuring. She trusted him and his input with all of her heart. “The Brody’s willnae ken that. We can trust Angus, but no one else.”
Rosalie nodded and bit her lip. She looked back towards the cottage. “My cousin,” she whispered. “It should work. An’ long term?”
Declan shook his head, “It’s no’ our problem, Rosie. I ken ye want tae help, an’ I love that about you,” he brushed her hair back and gave her a weak yet genuine smile, “but we can only help in this way this time. We’ll get her into hidin’, an’ then she’s on our own. Ye remember that family?” His fingers grazed Rosalie’s back, causing the hair on her neck to stand. “We cannot risk gettin’ our bairns involved.”
Rosalie thought for a moment before nodding. “I understand.”
Gale waited on pins and needles. She almost stood when Rosalie and Declan re-entered the cottage. Declan addressed her, “Tomorrow, I take ye west tae the clan Brody.”
“Thank ye, thank ye,” she smiled, and her eyes shone, threatening tears again.
Rosalie grinned, thinking of all the small cruel things Gale had done in the past, and wondering if this was God’s way of teaching the woman humility. “Thomasina, Hamish!” The children trained their full attention to their mother. “Meet your cousin.” A mischievous smile, brimming on laughter, crossed Rosalie’s mouth as she thought of names. “Mairi.”
“Bitter?” Gale scoffed, her usual pretentious nature returning in a flash, “No, it willnae do. I,” she touched her fingers to her chest, “am not bitter.”
“Mairi is a pretty name,” Thomasina said, cocking her head to one side and eliciting a laugh from Rosalie.
That night, the family slept. Declan and Rosalie whispered to one another in the dark, dreading parting from each other even for a moment. When morning came, Declan wasted no time. They were well on their road by midday. Their journey would have passed in silence, Declan not wanting to engage with the woman more than necessary, if it were not for Gale’s constant chattering. Gale’s only words were complaints and whines about the ride, the heat, the dirt, and everything else under the sun.
By the time they reached the Brody keep, Declan was more than ready to part from her presence. He rode straight for Angus’s house and was surprised to see a man taller than himself chucking wood outside of the small cottage. Declan looked up at the warrior’s build with slight awe, feeling small in his presence.
“May I help ye?” The man let the ax fall with a thunk into the wooden block.
“I’m lookin’ fer Angus.”
“Declan?” Angus popped his head out of the cottage. His hair was thinning so that Declan could see the top of his head shining through the patches of wispy gray. “It is you! Aggie!”
Angus hobbled towards Declan, a slight limp in the leg bitten so many years before. “Look at ye,” the old warrior smiled, “Yer gettin’ old.”
“I’m gettin’ old?” Declan was amused. “Have ye seen yer head lately?”
Angus grinned, running his hand cautiously over his aging scalp. “An’ Rosalie?”
“She’s fine—with the bairns, an’ swollen with a third on the way too!”
“Congratulations.” Angus smacked Declan on the shoulder. “This is me nephew on Aggie’s side, Errol.” The old man bounced on his heels with evident pride at the size of the man. He nodded at Declan, “An’ yer friend, there?” Angus raised his brows.
“Rosalie’s cousin Mairi,” Declan did not even look at her, pushed to the limits of his patience. “Can we talk in private? I need yer help, Angus.”
Angus looked surprised. He looked between the girl and Declan before nodding and gesturing for Declan to walk with him. The two disappeared, leaving Errol and Gale alone.
Errol walked towards the young blonde woman and reached up to help her down. The moment he touched her waist, Gale shrieked at the top of her lungs. Errol started back.
“Keep yer filthy hands off me! How dare you touch me?” Her nostrils flared wide with indignation.
Errol smiled, watching Gale struggle off the horse as her foot caught, and the opposite leg swung back and forth as if trying to touch the ground so far below. “My apologies,” he laughed. “Yer right. Ye don’t need any help, d’ye?” Laughing, he picked up his ax and returned to work, leaving Gale to her own devices.
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The covered wagon bumped and sloshed through mud and over rocks. The highlands unrolled around the small traveler caravan making its way towards Loch Awe of Argyll, Scotland. Her feet bouncing as she sat on the back of the wagon, Rosalie watched the passing of the burnt sienna and pale green glens blanketing the slender winding trail on either side. She pulled her travel cloak tighter to shield the child against the light drizzle and gentle breeze. As they approached the settlement banking along the loch, the smell of juniper and myrtle awakened her excitement.
Dogs barked alongside the wagons. The wheels creaked and moaned as they cut through thick mud and rattled over uneven rocks. The clang of pots and falling items from within the caravan made Rosalie bite down on her lip and cringe.
“How much further?”
Magda braved walking through the rocking vehicle to hear the young woman speak. Rosalie looked up tenderly at her adopted mother as the old woman braced herself against the arched frame for support.
“Patience, Rosalie, patience,” Magda’s aged voice cracked. “Aye, not much longer, ma dear. We’ll pro’ably settle o’er there. You know, as much as I do, it’s up to Alexander.”
Rosalie smiled up at Magda, taking a moment to appreciate the wise eyes framed by shocks of gray and white streaking her thick, dark hair. The two women peered over the landscape. They could see the first signs of civilization sprouting over the meadows and pastures. There was always uncertainty about what a new place would bring.
Alexander, the eldest man, had traveled through most of the country at one time or another. Regardless, each place he brought them back to was a gamble. Time changed people and their opinions of their kind. Some welcomed the travelers and the trades they offered, bringing their wares for repair, or enlisting the services of the women to mend and sew new gowns. Other times, they were met with the prejudices and fears of the villagers, driven off like rabid dogs before they could prove their good intentions.
“I have a good feelin’ about this place, Magda.” Rosalie rubbed out the folds of her wool gown, warming the flats of her hands against the rough-spun cloth.
“Aye.”
Magda agreed, but the young redhead could see uncertainty twisting her cracked lips. The ancient eyes remained trained on two men tending a field nearby. They paused their work to watch the caravan roll through. Neither of them waved, just stared, passing unknown words to one another as they watched the procession tumble through.
In the distance, a castle tower arose, twisting five stories high into the air. “There’ll be work ‘ere. They can afford a castle; they can afford labor.” Magda turned to shield her aching bones from the early autumn cold in the shelter of the rounded wagon. “Get that damned dog ‘fore it keels over. An’ mind your gown.” Her voice trailed off, but Rosalie could hear her mutter something about the girls’ carelessness and making a decent impression.
Rosalie offered no response, and Magda waited for none before disappearing inside. Rosalie lifted the hem of her skirt as she jumped down, mud splashing up and sucking around her leather boots. The dog stopped at her feet, panting relentlessly from the hours it had spent alongside the wagon. Rosalie tried her best to mind its paws as she scooped the creature in her arms and ran to catch the back of the wagon once more. She tossed the dog up and took one more glance at the men nearby before clambering in herself.
“Kin’ o’ handsome that one is, ay dog?” She scratched behind the animal’s ears as the two men disappeared behind them. One was tall, about her age, with red hair a shade lighter than her own. The other was an older man, older than even Magda.
Although they habitually kept a low profile, it was impossible to go unnoticed as their caravan passed the humble homes stretching out from the loch and castle. It took them over an hour to reach the tree line cloaking the mouth of the Awe River. Juniper, willow, birch, and the thick underbrush of late summer enveloped them. Rosalie stayed on the back of the wagon, stroking the tired dog, as the caravan stopped and started while the men checked out spots for them to set up camp.
In the heart of the woods, they found a clearing large enough for their vehicles. Through the vegetation, the young girl could still hear the roar of the river nearby, although it was no longer in sight. The wagons moved in a large circle, creating a protective ring around the camp. The rain let up, but despite the bright sun and clear blue skies, moisture still hung in the air, nipping at noses and cheeks.
“Get on it, girl. Go help Anna,” Magda called out.
Rosalie felt flush with excitement. Exhilaration always filled her when they came to a new place. Her heart pounded with hope and excitement as grand fantasies of adventure played out in her mind. She found Anna already picking the site clean of twigs and brush, piling it in the center, where the men would dig out a pit for the fire.
Anna was Rosalie’s childhood friend. Although Rosalie was unsure of her own age, as Magda had adopted her in infancy, she guessed Anna was a year younger than her. She always felt envious of Anna in the most loving way possible, admiring her olive complexion, rounded curves, and the contrast of her dark, thick hair against light amber eyes.
Rosalie dove into her duties, creating a makeshift basket out of her apron. “Did ye see the gentleman we passed?”
“Aye,” Anna grinned. “Ye fancy him?”
Rosalie blushed, wishing Anna hadn’t said anything. There was no point in entertaining such thoughts. To marry an outsider would mean exile from the ones she loved.
“Why? Did you?” Rosalie shot back.
Anna smirked and shrugged. “I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em. Those arms…” she shuddered playfully.
Rosalie giggled and shushed her friend, looking around to make sure no one heard their banter as they worked. The men set to their duties, and Rosalie let out a sigh as she realized no one was close enough to listen to them. Anna was bolder than Rosalie. She admired her for that, but there was less risk for Anna.
Rosalie never quite fit into either world. Her auburn hair, bright green eyes, and fair complexion were a daily reminder she did not belong. Outsider’s blood coursed through her veins. She was destined to a life never entirely fitting in with the travelers, yet always cast out by the rest of the world as well.
“Y’know Enoch is sweet on ye.” Anna saw Rosalie grimace. “Wha’, you don’ like him?”
Rosalie was not sure how to answer. There were few choices for marriage, and her time was approaching—lest she wanted to be a maid for the rest of her life, or say goodbye to those she loved. Enoch was a handsome man, dark and about as tall as Rosalie, but growing up in the small community, she knew things about him.
“You know how he is.” Her face grew dark as she thought of the few times she’d overheard him boasting to his friends about some of the ways he came into revenue for the Roma community. It was men like him that gave travelers a criminal reputation, and whether Magda and Alexander knew of his nighttime occupations, Anna and Rosalie had heard his proud stories of bravado and treachery.
“Aye,” Anna nodded, dipping the second jug, “I do, but he’s strong, Rosie. He’s got good blood in ‘im, an’ ye know he’d keep ye safe and provided fer. Isn’t tha’ what matters?”
As if he could sense them speaking, Rosalie looked up to see Enoch approaching them. She gathered her skirts and rose, not wanting to deal with both of them at the same time.
Anna’s mouth fell open at Rosalie’s sudden change of course. “Where’re you off to?”
“I’m goin’ to help Magda with the wash.”
Anna looked over her shoulder. She saw Enoch closing in on them and stared Rosalie down, pursing her lips. She knew what her friend was thinking. It was foolish for her to throw away such blatant opportunities for marriage. It did not matter what she felt about him. All that mattered is if he could protect her and her future children from the dangers of the world.
“Suit yerself, Rosie,” Irritation underlined every word as Anna stood, “Ye could think aboot others fer once. Maybe spend a li’l less time alone in the woods.”
As Anna turned away from her, Rosalie snatched her wrist with the speed of a viper. “I’ll think on it.” She met her friend’s amber eyes, wishing to qualm her fears. It was enough. She watched Anna’s anxiety lift a bit, and the smile return to her eyes.
“Good; ye’d be a fool not to.”
Rosalie hurried away, stealing a glance over her shoulder at Enoch. Their eyes locked for a moment. He gave her a look like a wild cat crouched and ready to pounce on her. It sent a warning up her spine, telling her not to let him catch her alone or test his temper. Disturbed, she ran to find Magda, still feeling his eyes boring into her back.
Magda was waiting for her. Whatever grief Anna gave her, her mother was worse. She had watched the whole thing from beneath the canopy stretching from the wagon. Rosalie cursed under her breath; the old crone was cross.
“Are ye daft, girl?”
Rosalie knitted her brows. She could feel her patience thinning. There were too many people nagging her—and she was too tired to coddle the lot of them. “No.”
“Yer sure actin’ like it. He was comin’ right to ye. What’re ye thinkin’?”
“I was thinkin’ the life o’ a spinster sounds nice.” She couldn’t help but smile as she heard Magda’s sharp gasp.
“Don’ joke, Rosalie!”
Rosalie started to gather the laundry, Magda, right on her heels. “Aye, it’s no joke. The way I figure it, I can save a whole lotta time if I skip the family bit. Get a nice sheep or two—”
“Bite your tongue.” Magda looked around to see if anyone could hear, and Rosalie let out a peal of laughter. The woman’s hands shook. “You’ll be the death o’ me, child.” She was downright mad, and Rosalie knew better than to push her too far, “Tomorrow, yer goin’ with him into town. No excuses. You hear?”
“Aye, I hear,” she heaved the basket into the crook of her arm and stepped out of striking range, “but today, I’m lookin’ at sheep. Ye think the clan’ll notice if their flock’s down a few?”
“Ohh…” her hand grasped at her chest in a dramatic gesture. “I swear, the devil gave ye that red hair. Get out o’ here. Go on!” Magda picked up a small rock and threw it at Rosalie’s feet. “Get! I cannae look at you right now!”
Rosalie smiled to herself as she watched Magda fret. She paced, cursed, and prayed to God for help with her daughter. It was too easy to give her a hard time.
Yet the joy slipped away as soon as she was alone in the woods. All jokes aside, she knew she would have to marry another traveler if she wished to remain in the Roma’s good graces. The thought of exile was too much for her to bear. The idea of leaving Magda and Anna tightened her chest until she couldn’t breathe.
Her thoughts circled over and over until she pushed them out. With a small prayer, she decided to let fate take care of the situation. The woods calmed her. Being alone out there awakened her sense of adventure, and helped her forget about everything else. Out there, without fear of judgment, she could be herself.
The river was just far enough away from camp to give Rosalie complete privacy. She was grateful for the clear skies and bright sun fingering through the trees. The traveler followed the shoreline until she came to a bend extended by large boulders. Someone had pushed a log across this part of the river to make a footbridge.
It was an ideal location for her to spend the rest of the day. She washed the clothes, beating them against the rocks until her hands were dark red from the cold water and her arms trembled. Before hanging them to dry, she double-checked the sky. Even though it looked promising, she knew the weather could change in an instant.
There was always a large number of clothes to wash following a move. It was Rosalie’s favorite chore because she could be alone for as long as she wanted. For the first hour or so, she rested, twisting daisy chains for crowns and letting her muscles relax in the warming sun. As the moments passed by, she became more and more curious about what lay on the other side of the river.
By noon, she couldn’t help herself. She was careful, hopping between the water-slick boulders to reach where the log bridged over. With a quick shake, she checked its stability. It was only as wide as her shoulders, forcing her to inch across, toe-to-heel. The bark was worn, and slicker than she thought, but the idea of turning around scared her more than continuing forward.
The rapids below roared, capped in angry white swirls. Rosalie’s heart pounded as the sound deafened her. She focused on the opposing bank, her hands outstretched for balance.
A strong wind gusted over the churning rapids. Rosalie teetered. Her feet slipped. Her balance failed, and dark water beckoned. She screamed.
Chapter II
The world spun around her. Her chest slammed against the log, knocking the air from her lungs. In a moment of desperation, she managed to cling to the trunk. The ice-cold water suffocated her. The smooth flats of her boots touched the river’s bottom. Her feet skated over the slick rocks. The current dragged her legs beneath the log, threatening to yank her under it.
There was no one within shouting distance. She tried to think of a way out, but it seemed hopeless. No matter how much she pulled, her arms were too weak to lift herself from the current sucking her down. The tip of one of her fingernails broke as she clawed at the bark. She clung for dear life as the cold froze her to the bones. Her already tired arms wouldn’t hold out long. Tears choked her as her fingers started to slip over the log anchoring her. Just when she thought all hope was lost, a hand gripped her wrist.
Someone yanked her from the rapids, and before she could register who… or what was happening, was dragged to the safety of the boulders. Disoriented, wet and panting, she fell against the strong muscles of a broad chest. Her hands fumbled for stability and sank into a damp linen shirt. When she finally looked up, she blinked in shock at her savior.
“Are ye alright, lass?”
Deep blue eyes, shades darker than the river, stared down at her with concern. It was the man she’d seen in the fields earlier in the day. His strong arms cradled her close. Rosalie became aware of the intimacy of the position, which seemed to scare her more than the rapids. She tried to yank herself away, but her balance was still off, and she almost fell right back into the water.
The man was a foot taller than her, taller than anyone from her community. He made her feel small and fragile, and his hands kept a firm hold on her. A warmth seemed to surge from every place he touched.
Rosalie’s cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. Her sudden feeling of vulnerability in this stranger’s embrace ignited her temper.
“Let go o’ me,” she snapped.
The man obeyed and sidestepped. His hands remained outstretched to catch her if she fell. She could not look at him as she tried her best to scramble back to solid ground. Her body shook violently beneath her heavy, soaked gown.
“What were ye thinkin’?” His brows furrowed in both concern and slight anger. “Were ye tryin’ to kill yerself? To think if I hadn’t heard ye scream—if I hadn’t been ridin’ by—”
Rosalie felt tears burning at the corners of her eyes. She could hardly breathe, and looking at him was almost blinding. The fact that he was attractive made it worse.
He must have seen how shaken she was because his features softened. “Sit down.” He took his coat from his back and spread it over the grass.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” The words rushed out. She didn’t want to seem rude, but she was overwhelmed.
“Aye, nice way tae thank me for savin’ yer life. Sit down.” The tone of his voice carried authority she could not protest. It sent shivers through her that weren’t from the cold. She looked at the jacket and decided to sit on the grass beside it instead.
“Yer stubborn, ye ken?” There was nothing cruel in his voice—merely amusement as he pulled his coat back up from beside her. “Mos’ people would say thank ye for comin’ to their rescue.”
Being so shaken in the presence of a stranger made Rosalie madder than ever. She considered storming off and heading back to camp, but the thought of Magda’s response to a drenched Rosalie bereft of laundry, kept her glued in place and shivering to the bone. Her teeth chattered, and she was both relieved and dismayed to see the man walk off into the tree line. Rosalie immediately set to removing the wet clothes from her body before she froze to death.
The fabric stuck to her arms, tangling her. In her frustration and panic, she tried desperately to free herself, fighting against the wet cloth. Her heart froze when she heard something drop behind her.
“Please tell me that’s not you,” she squeaked. She swallowed hard, hoping it was just an animal snapping twigs in a hurry to get away.
“I-I’m sorry, lassie. I didn’t mean tae—I was jus’ gettin’ wood. I didn’t ken, I swear it.”
Rosalie groaned in embarrassment. She peeked over her shoulder, and some of it melted away when she saw the shocked look on his face. Her people didn’t hold the same shame of the human body as outsiders did. Modesty was expressed through intention and action, not from a complete aversion to nudity, even when the situation required it. He was dumbfounded, and the control it gave her mingled with nerves enough to awaken her playful mischief.
“Excuse me.”
The few sticks he still held in his arms tumbled out. “S-sorry, lassie.” Crimson flooded his cheeks. His eyes fell to the ground, shielded by one of his hands. He turned away. “I meant no ‘ffense.”
Rosalie freed herself from her dress, and with brazen confidence, walked across the open expanse to where the clothes dried in the sun. The dress she pulled on was still damp, but not nearly as soaked as the one she’d pulled off. She was surprised to see he wasn’t peeking and took a moment to admire his broad shoulders and strong frame.
“Ye act like you’ve never seen a woman before,” she teased, fishing for more information about him.
“I have, jus’ not one so…” His words dried in his throat.
“Naked?”
“Aye.” He let out a heavy sigh and nodded in a way that made Rosalie giggle.
Her voice came out like the tinkling of glass blown in the wind, light and delicate.
“Ye can turn around now if you like.”
The demure way he peeked over his shoulder, making sure she was decent, made her heart skip a beat. He couldn’t look at her directly and melted any nervousness or anger from moments before. The young man scrambled to collect the wood and set to start a fire, avoiding her blazing emerald eyes. She sat down across from him and openly admired his curly red hair and pronounced jawline, enjoying the way her ogling made him visibly nervous as he attempted to light the fire.
When the spark caught, he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Ye shouldn’t be dressin’ like that out in the open. What if it wasnae me, lassie?” His words simmered with authentic anger.
“An’ who are you to tell me what I can and cannae do?”
He looked at her, mouth hanging open, aghast. He started to defend himself, rattled by the chain of events, but then he saw the smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. A great, contagious laugh burst out.
“Yer cheeky, lass, ye ken that?” He shook his head. A single dimple revealed itself as he smiled, feeding sticks into the growing flame, “I cannae say I’ve met anyone like you ‘fore.”
“Oh, aye? An’ is that a bad thing?” Rosalie was genuinely curious but tried her best to cloak her insecurities. She pulled at the sleeves of her gown and rubbed the cold from her arms.
The way he looked at her then made her feel more naked than she was before. Those sapphire eyes met hers, and she felt her heart race to twice its usual speed. “No,” was all he said. It made her blush, and heat rose in her cheeks. She tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear and looked down, trying to hide the flame blossoming in her stomach and warming her heart.
Silence passed between them. It was alive with the sounds of the rushing river, Rosalie’s heartbeat roaring in her ears, and the crackling of the open fire. She tried to think of some way to break the silence, the nervous tension building between them. The chattering of her teeth only seemed to intensify instead of subsiding.
“Yer still cold.”
Although relieved for the break, she didn’t like to see him frown. It was new for her to have a stranger, or any man for that matter, be genuinely concerned with her wellbeing.
Rosalie rubbed her arms and nodded. “I best get o’er it. Magda’s goin’ tae kill me.” The young woman sucked in through her teeth and shook her head, noticing the dusk stealing color from the world around her.
The stranger stood. Rosalie remained glued in place as she watched him walk around the campfire, slipping his jacket off once again. “Please,” he said. She pulled back from him, as much afraid of giving him the wrong idea as afraid of the way her body would react to his touch. Still, with each gust, she felt as if the wind cut her to the bone. She nodded her consent.
She did not look at him as he slipped it over her shoulders. It was heavy leather and instantly shielded her from the cold. His fingers grazed her shoulders, and the touch sent rippling waves down her spine.
“Thank ye,” she whispered, glancing up at him. He paused for a second, as though losing his stream of thought. As though it had crashed somewhere behind them, he snapped back to the present, cleared his throat, and took a seat next to her—so close… it almost felt as if they were touching.
“I don’t even ken yer name.”
“Nor I, yours.”
“Declan,” he said, and tossed a small twig into the shrinking flames. “Declan o’ the Gregor clan.”
Rosalie nodded. She had many names. One only her community knew, ones she used in different towns, and then the common one, which seemed to be the public catch-all. For a moment, something about him made her want to tell him her real name. It was a foolish thought.
“Rosalie. No clan.”
“Yer different than the other gypsies.” He said it with an innocence that kept Rosalie from taking offense.
“Aye,” she nodded. “I was adopted. An no,” she smiled, knowing all the rumors whispered about her kind, “I wasnae kidnapped by ‘gypsies.’”
He looked relieved to see her smiling. “Why were ye adopted? If that’s nae too personal.”
“I think we’re past personal, Declan,” she winked. His name tasted sweet on her tongue. She paused for a moment, the cheer slipping from her as she weighed whether to tell him the truth or not. She looked at his calm, strong features, and felt a pang in her heart as she realized it didn’t matter what he thought of her. This was the closest they would grow. She decided to tell him the truth. “If ye didn’t judge me a‘fore, here’s somethin’ tae scare ye off. I’m a bastard.”
Rosalie thought she saw embarrassment in his features. She stared at him, waiting for a response.
“None o’ that’s yer fault, lassie. An’ I dinnae think it makes ye who ye are.” And then, when he looked at her, she could feel their heartbeats sync. “Do ye ken who yer parents are?”
“No.” Their eyes deadlocked. “I’ve ne’er asked.”
“An’ why is that? I’d be curious, if it were me.”
“It seemed taboo, I guess. Scared Magda might take it the wrong way—think I weren’t grateful.” Maybe it was the knowing that they would never see each other again, but something about Declan opened her up. “I used to dream me mother were a lady, though, when I was a wee bairn. Silly, ain’t it?” She only gave a half-smile before breaking away from his mesmerizing blue eyes.
“No,” Rosalie startled as his fingers touched the side of her face, guiding it toward him. “Ye look like a lady.”
She closed her eyes as his fingers grazed the globe of her cheek. It first soothed her like a balm, but then her heart pattered with nerves. Part of her wanted to push into the palm of his hand, savoring how safe and accepted she felt in that moment, but couldn’t set aside reality. He touched one of the tight-wound curls. Rosalie squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She could smell sweat and dirt on him, mingling to create a unique, pleasant musk.
The young traveler slid her fingertips over the top of his hand, taking in the marks of hard work carved into his skin. She could hear his heartbeat quicken, and his breath shorten. If she let this go any further, all hope of coming out unscathed would vanish. As she pulled his hand away, a floodgate burst in her mind. A million thoughts drove her back to reality. If she let this go any further, it would only hurt her.
Besides, she didn’t even know this man. Enoch’s retelling of his conquests, how he seduced such maidens as herself, came to the forefront of her mind. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t imagine he could play such treacherous tricks—yet fear would not let her forget.
“Still, we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” she said. The young woman withdrew, pulling her knees up to her chest and tightening the leather jacket around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to ye. If Magda found out—”
“What? If she found out I saved ye…” His brow wrinkled, but his voice remained calm. “She’d be relieved, no?”
Rosalie bit her lip and shook her head. “Please,” she begged with her gaze, “please don’t tell anyone we’ve met. If ye see me ‘gain, ye cannot know me.” She gripped his hand tight.
“I’ll see ye, though?”
“Not like this.” Rosalie shook her head. “Nothin’ good ‘ill come of it.”
“I ken ye feel it too. There’s a connection here. Ye cannot deny it, lassie.”
“Which is why if ye like me at all, you’ll stay away from me. There is no future fer us. Not o’ bein’ friends, or, or…” she did not want to say it out loud. It was presumptuous of her, a fantasy she couldn’t afford to entertain.
“Meetin’s like this don’ jus’ happen ev’ry day, ye ken.” He went to touch her hair again, but she pulled back.
Laughter came up from within her, partially from nervousness and partly from disbelief. “Like you don’ have plenty o’ appropriate women to pursue.”
That did it. It was clear she offended him. Color rose from his neck, reddening his face about as much as his hair. He just looked at her, and his expression said it all—his feelings were sincere.
A stick broke from somewhere within the darkening forest. Both of them tensed and looked back. Panic froze her.
“Rosalie!” It was Enoch.
He was further down the river, looking for where she’d been working. Rosalie looked around at the darkness and was shocked time had slipped by as fast as it did. Her eyes flew open.
“Ye have to go.” She stood and presented his jacket. “Please, if ye like me at all, ye have tae go ‘fore he sees ye.”
The anger subsided into concern. He looked towards the sound of Enoch growing closer, yelling her name, and trudging through the brush. “Tell me I’ll see ye ‘gain.”
Rosalie shook her head. “Please,” fear threatened to make her cry. Enoch was closer. “Please, jus’ take yer horse an’ forget aboot me.”
“I cannot. Promise me I’ll see ye, an’ I’ll go.” He stood, towering above her, making her feel small.
“Rosalie! Answer me!” Enoch screamed. Any second, he would appear and be able to see them together.
“All right, all right, I promise.” She slammed the jacket into his chest and started towards his horse, “Jus’ get outtae here. If they knew—” she held out the reins for him and looked over her shoulder again.
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Evie tutted and laughed as she washed Bryce’s face. Her son had arrived home covered in mud after a day spent with his uncle Rory mucking out the horses at Kirklinton. He hated being clean and was making much protest, as Hamish appeared at the door of the parlor from the farmyard and smiled.
“More mud, more horses, lad,” he said, and Bryce nodded.
“Yes, Father,” he said, “Uncle Rory is goin’ to teach me to ride.”
“Uncle Rory has a lot to answer for, and I shall be havin’ stern words with him when next I see him,” Evie said, unable to hide her amusement.
“Ah, let the lad be, Evie. A little mud never hurt anyone,” Hamish said, bringing in a fair amount of it caked to his boots.
He settled himself down by the fire, stretching his legs out as the dogs came running to his side.
“And where is little Hanna? She is never near the mud, is she,” Hamish said, just as the door to the parlor opened and his daughter appeared.
“Oh, there she is,” Evie said, smiling at her daughter, who was wearing a pretty white dress and had her hair tied back in ribbons.
“Father, Father,” she cried, running over to Hamish and throwing her arms around him.
“One muddy little child and one lovely clean little child,” he said, picking her up and twirling her around.
“Hamish, ye will make her sick, the poor lass,” Evie said, shaking her head.
“Nay, my wee lass, ye are a bonnie thing,” Hamish said, setting Hanna down and patting her on the head.
“Have ye had word as to my father?” Evie said, turning to Hamish, who shook his head.
“I have heard nothin’ from Kirklinton today. I wish Rory had stayed to give us news, but perhaps he hurried back. There will be news soon, daenae worry,” Hamish said, giving Evie a weak smile.
Her father had grown ill in the past months, growing frailer by the day. She had always imagined him as ageless, a man who would never grow old, but just recently, she had noticed such a change come over him, and the sadness in her mother’s eyes had been so sad to see.
She patted Bryce on the head and hugged him close. He was a boisterous little boy, though already growing up fast. At five years old, he was becoming more like his father every day, while Hanna was every bit her mother’s child. She was only six, a quiet and timid girl, though with a sharp mind, who took after her father.
“I am worried about my father, Hamish,” Evie said, as she finished washing Bryce’s face, and looking the boy up and down for further signs of mud.
“I know lass, come then, we shall all walk to Kirklinton ourselves. Children, get yerselves ready for a walk across the moorlands,” Hamish said, scooping Hanna up in his arms and twirling her about.
“Ye shall make her sick,” Evie cried.
.
Together, they set off across the moorlands. It was a bright summer’s day, and the heathers were glowing purple all around, a gentle breeze blowing from the south and bringing with it the warmth of far off climes. Evie walked alone., while Hamish ran ahead with the children, carrying them in turn on his back and pretending to be a horse, as he charged on ahead.
He is such a good father to them, she thought to herself, smiling, as Hamish charged ahead with Bryce upon his back.
As they approached Kirklinton, the children ran on ahead, and Hamish waited for Evie, taking her by the hand as they walked towards the castle.
“I know ye worry about yer father, but he is strong as an ox,” Hamish said.
“Even the strongest ox has its day,” she replied, leaning her head upon his shoulder.
“But I worry for Rory if yer dear father should …” he began, his words trailing off.
“Rory is ready for the responsibility of bein’ Laird. Ever since Owen entered the monastery at Lanercost, he has known that ‘Tis his place to inherit the title one day,” Evie said.
“And ye and I shall be at his side when that day comes,” Hamish replied.
The great gates of Kirklinton were swung open, and the party made their way inside. Evie was surprised by the sight which met her, as her brother Owen and Uncle Duncan came to greet them. Each was dressed in the habit of the monastery, and she greeted them with joy, a questioning look upon her face.
“Well, this is a happy reunion, Evie,” her uncle said, embracing her.
“ a happy one indeed. But why are ye both here? What brings ye to Kirklinton? There is nay trouble at Lanercost, is there?” Evie asked, and Owen shook his head.
“Nay, sister, nay trouble. But mother sent for us; she worries that …” Owen said, his words trailing off.
“He is nae dead yet, far from it. I have just said to Hamish that our father will outlive us all. Have ye prayed for him?” she asked, and the two men nodded.
“Night and day,” her uncle replied.
“Then we must surely have confidence that our prayers will be answered,” Evie said, and she called the children over, and stood them in a line, “now, children, we will see yer grandfather, and I want nay misbehavior, dae ye hear me. Put a smile upon yer faces and greet him with a kiss.”
The children nodded, and Evie turned to the others, giving them a look, which expressed a similar sentiment.
“Ah, here’s my young rider,” Rory said, emerging from the keep, just as the others prepared to enter, “how did ye enjoy the horse today, my wee lad?” Rory said, as his nephew and niece ran to greet him.
“He enjoyed it well enough, though try nae to get him so muddy next time, Rory,” Evie said, smiling at her brother and shaking her head.
“They are both bonnie bairns,” Rory said, smiling, as he stood at Evie’s side, and the two children ran off across the courtyard after Owen and Duncan.
“And ye are a good uncle to them, Rory, though I know ye would dearly like children of yer own,” she replied, as they walked together towards the keep.
“Aye, but the woman I love does nae want that,” he said.
Evie made no reply, she knew her brother loved Caitlin, he had always loved her, and with Owen now in the monastery, it was more important than ever that Rory was soon married, and an heir given to the clan.
“Well, perhaps one day,” she said, and he sighed.
“That has been my thought for too long. Always ‘one day.’ Anyway, come and see Father,” he said, “ye daenae need to hear of my problems.”
She took Hamish by the hand and followed Rory and the others inside, expecting to find her father lying in bed, her mother at his side.
But, as they came to the doorway of the Great Hall, she was surprised to hear laughter coming from inside and sound of her parent’s voices in animated discussion.
“Oh, Evie, and my grandchildren, all my children,” Fraser said, opening his arms as the children followed Evie’s earlier instructions.
Rory was there too, and he glanced at Evie, smiling and shaking his head.
“Father … ye …” she began, but he too shook his head, beaming around at the two youngsters who had crowded before him.
“Everyone thought I was at death’s door. But it was merely a fever, one which yer dear grandmother was soon able to cure me of,” Fraser said, patting each of the children on the head in turn.
Evie looked at Hamish, who laughed and turned to her in astonishment.
“Ye shall outlive us all, Laird,” he said, and Fraser nodded.
“Aye, the Musgraves have nae seen me off, and neither shall a mere fever. It takes more than that to see an Elliott to his grave. Now, tell me what news ye have for me,” Fraser said, looking around at them all.
“Brother, ye are a remarkable man,” Evie’s uncle said, and Owen agreed.
“We hurried here from Lanercost when we heard that ye were sick,” he said, and his father shook his head.
“The road from Lanercost is dangerous; they say the Musgraves are stoppin’ folk along the way. If ‘Tis discovered that ye are Elliotts then …” he said, shaking his head.
“We are monks, and even the Musgraves have nae the audacity to set themselves upon holy men,” Owen replied.
“Daenae be so certain, Owen. The Musgraves have burned crofts on the lower moorlands, and they still bother the folks crossin’ the border near Lochrutton,” Rory said, shaking his head.
“Enough of that talk, ye will scare the children,” Evie said, for she was careful to guard Bryce and Hanna against tales of the Musgraves.
It had been nearly ten years since her ordeal at the hands of Isabella, and in those years, they had heard little from south of the border. With Crispin dead, no one had challenged Hamish’s right to rule as Laird of the McBryde’s, and with the border clans united under Fraser Elliott’s banner, the threat of the Musgraves had lessened. But Evie had never been able to rid herself of the thought that Isabella Musgrave was still biding her time and seeking her revenge.
Never trust a Musgrave, for they shall nae rest until every one of us is revenged upon, she thought to herself.
“Aye, enough of this talk, let us celebrate,” her father said.
“And what are we to celebrate, Fraser?” Evie’s mother said, and her husband laughed.
“Well, it seems the news of my fever has brought us all together and ‘Tis a rare occasion when anythin’ brings us together. Come now, we shall call for some refreshment and perhaps Isla, ye shall play the flute for us so that I may have the honor of dancin’ with these two lovely ladies,” Fraser said, holding out his hand to his grandchildren,, who both giggled, as their grandfather began to caper around the room.
Evie laughed, taking Hamish by the hand and stepping to one side, as her mother began to play. Rory called for drinks and food to be brought, and the family settled down to an afternoon of merriment and fun. Fraser danced with all his grandchildren, and the Great Hall was filled with laughter.
“We are very blessed, Hamish,” Evie said as she watched the children playing together.
“Aye, lass, that we are,” he said, putting his arm around her.
“Why daenae ye and Hamish take a walk by yerselves. The children will be all right here with us. There is enough spirit in yer father to keep them goin’ for hours,” her mother said, pausing a moment from her flute playing and whispering to Evie.
Evie nodded, taking Hamish by the hand, and they slipped out of the Great Hall, the sounds of celebration continuing behind them. They walked across the courtyard and onto the moorlands, only pausing when they were some distance away from the castle, where Hamish put his arms around her and held her close.
“Will our children have as happy a future as we?” Evie said, slipping her hand into his and leading him on across the moorlands.
“A happy future comes at a cost, lass. Think what ye and I went through before we could say that we were truly happy. Hanna and Bryce will have their share of sorrows and woes, of that I am certain. But like every generation they will find their happiness too, I am sure of it,” Hamish replied.
“With a family such as ours, I daenae doubt it. They are loved, and that is all that matters,” Evie replied.
“If ye have love then anythin’ is possible,” Hamish said.
They paused, standing on the ridge looking out towards the Armstrong castle, and back towards Kirklinton. The sun was high in the sky, the heathers purple and golden, stretching as an endless carpet before them. Evie turned and looked at Hamish, leaning up to kiss him, her love for him growing stronger day by day. She loved him beyond words, beyond everything they had endured together, and she knew that he loved her in just the same way.
“Will it always be like this?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Maybe nae, perhaps it will be even better,” he replied, and she smiled at him, knowing that whatever the future held, one thing was assured.
“We will keep fightin’, Hamish, for love is stronger than anything that can face us,” she said, a perfect moment, the future awaiting.
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
This time, we follow the story of Margaret, an adventurous English lady who runs away to escape the burdens of her heritage and finds herself in the keep of a handsome Highlander. She knows that he is the one, but she can never reveal her secret. If she does so, he’ll hate her forever. What is this secret that she’s hiding so adamantly? And how will it affect their relationship?
