Sean was securing the last of the nails on the doorframe to the entrance of the tavern when Brandon came up behind him.
“Sean,” Donovan said. “A rider approaches.”
Sean’s heart began to race, his mind wandering and fearing the worst. Who could know we’re here? It’s not possible. This is a remote area. Only a few people I knew possess knowledge of these parts.
“Fetch yer sword,” Sean said to Donovan. “Tell the other villagers to go indoors and await instructions.”
“Aye,” Donovan said before quickly retreating and spreading the news.
Sean quickly retreated to his cottage, Rose tending to a garden as he went inside to fetch his weapon.
“What is it?” Rose asked.
“A rider approaches,” Sean said.
Rose wasted no time—she followed after Sean and retrieved her own sword, the two of them then moving together toward the trail leading up to the village and standing on their guard. They waited…and waited…and waited. Finally, a single man on horseback became visible in the distance, riding slowly and with caution toward the front of the village.
“Who is that?” Rose said. “He looks…like a Highlander.”
Sean shook his head, squinting and perplexed as to whom the rider could be. He watched as the man approached, and then his jaw opened as the rider’s face came into clearer view. No, it can’t be! I thought he was dead!
Sean lowered his sword, Rose grabbing him by the arm as he did so. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”
Sean jutted his chin toward the incoming rider, now just ten paces away from where they stood. “I know him,” Sean said. “I know the man that approaches.”
“Ye do?”
“Aye…he is…my brother…”
The rider, his face now in full view, dismounted his horse and smiled as he outstretched his arms. His face and build were similar to that of Sean—rugged, handsome, a few scars, and a weathered look in his eyes.
“Big brother,” the man said. “It has been a long time.”
Sean approached his kin slowly, shaking his head and still amazed that he was looking upon his face. “Eamon,” he said. “I never thought I would see ye again.”
The two brothers squared off, neither of them saying a word for several moments. As they looked on at one another, Donovan approached from the rear.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
Sean nodded. “Aye. Everything is fine. There is no cause for concern.”
Eamon waved. “My name is Eamon.” He nodded to Sean. “I am kin of this fine man here.” He looked at Rose. “And who might ye be?”
Rose held her head high—proud. “I am his wife. My name is Rose.”
Eamon’s eyes went wide. “My God,” he said. “He married again. I would have never thought that I would live to see the day. I guess that explains the smile that he now sports. Ye do look quite different now, Sean, I must say.”
Sean took another step forward. “How did ye…Why are ye here?”
“Oh, I’ve been looking for ye for quite some time, brother. I’ve been searching the Highlands in every part. After I couldn’t find ye…” He gestured around the village. “I figured there was only one more place ye could be. Quite stunning, I must say. It looks like ye have built quite a nice home for yerselves.”
Sean crossed his arms, huffing as he did so. “What are ye doing here, Eamon? What do ye want?”
Eamon shook his head. “Ye still hold a grudge against me, I see.”
“Considering what ye did, can ye blame me?”
Eamon took a step forward. “I am not here to quarrel with ye about things from the past. There are much more pressing matters at hand. Can we speak indoors? Somewhere private?”
Sean debated for a moment, just as eager to hear Eamon out, as he was to tell him to leave. He betrayed me, he betrayed our family. He left before he could help me avenge my fallen wife…
“The cottage behind us,” Sean said, forking a thumb over his shoulder. “I will meet ye there.”
Eamon nodded, stepping around them both and moving toward the cottage. Once he was out of earshot, Rose said: “He is yer brother?”
“Aye,” Sean said, watching as Eamon entered their home. “But I have not seen him in years.”
“Why? What happened? Ye never mentioned him before.”
“There is good reason for that. He…betrayed me.”
“How?”
Sean grabbed Rose by the hand and moved toward the cottage. “I’ll explain later,” he said. “Let’s hear what he has to say first.”
They followed after Eamon, entering their cottage and seeing that he had already taken up a seat at their dinner table. They both stood, waiting with curious expressions.
“Aren’t ye going to sit?” Eamon asked.
“Speak,” Sean said. “Say what ye are going to say.”
Eamon leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. “As I said,” he began, “I am not here to speak of the past. I…need yer help, actually.”
“And why should I help ye?”
“Because there is a significant amount of riches to be had at the end of this journey that I am proposing, more than ye could ever imagine.”
“Riches?” Sean said. “Whose?”
Eamon smiled wickedly. “Try the King of England. After yer little tiff with him after the murder of his nephew, which spread like wildfire around the Highlands, by the way, he decided that he needed to employ a more…personal touch to the English plight to rule the Highlands.”
“Personal touch?” Rose said.
“Aye,” Eamon said. “The King is sending a proxy to the Highlands. A nobleman by the name of Cutler. He wishes to track ye all down and dispense of ye after killing the King’s nephew and the men he sent to avenge his death. Ye had to know that this kind of retribution was a possibility.”
“I did,” Sean said. “But what is it that ye are proposing?”
“I am proposing,” Eamon said, “that we kill this man Cutler. We dispense of the English once and for all by cutting off the head of the serpent.”
“And these riches ye speak of?”
“This man Cutler is bringing his lot with him, all of his gold and coin. I am organizing a group of men to band together. We will kill the king, dispense of his minions, and steal his riches. And ye, my dear older brother, are one of the finest, if not the finest swordsmen in all of the land.”
Sean shook his head. “I will not rob anyone. I have a simple life now. And I wish to keep it that way.”
Eamon held up a finger. “But Cutler will no doubt track ye down if ye do not rid yerself of him first. It is a preemptive measure, brother. If ye sit here and do nothing, he will find ye, and he will kill ye. Ye don’t want his riches? Fine. But ye know that he must be dealt with before he deals with ye. I know where he is going to be. I just need ye to agree to the job. Join me. Join the other men that I have to organize and help me take down this tyrant.”
Sean turned away; his mind wracked with affliction. I cannot lose Rose. I cannot lose my people. I cannot allow the King to destroy all that I have built and take away my life after I just pieced it back together.
Sean looked at Rose, bringing his hand up to her cheek and stroking it delicately. “What do ye think, my love?”
Rose sighed. “Cutler will no doubt find us unless we deal with him first. I believe the words yer brother states to be true.” She took his hand and held it to her belly. “And there are more than the two of us to think about now…”
Sean’s eyes went wide, smiling with sheer joy as he understood fully what his wife was hinting at. “Are ye sure?” he asked.
Rose nodded and smiled. “Aye. I am quite sure. And we must do all we can to protect it before it arrives…”
Sean looked again at Eamon, his younger brother eagerly awaiting his reply. Sean felt the intensity of the situation increasing now that he knew his wife was with child, and the urgency to save them both and keep them out of harm’s way was even more pressing than it was before.
“So,” Eamon said, arms outstretched. “Will ye join me?”
Sean took a beat. Thinking…and thinking…and thinking…and then he nodded. “Aye,” he said with depletion in his tone, not eager in the slightest to take up the sword but knowing that he was going to have to protect everything he loved. “I am in.”
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Four English redcoats wandered into a forested area. The glow of the moon cut through the trees, slivers of silver coating the ground as they hopped off their saddles and prepared to make camp.
“Lord Cutler will be most displeased,” the one with ginger hair said. “We failed to capture that savage that stole his swords.”
The leader, tall, strong, and handsome, waved his hand through the air. “Say not another word, Thomas. I am well aware that our mission has failed.”
“There were four of us,” another one added. “How did he escape?”
The soldier in charge placed his hands on his hips, turning and facing his men as he spoke through gritted teeth. “Are we prepared to have a conversation that will do nothing more than go in circles? We lost the Highlander. It is what it is. I will have to face the consequences that Lord Cutler will dispense once we return to the castle. Enough of this useless banter. Set up camp. We will leave in the morning.”
The redcoats tethered their horses to the nearby trees and began setting up a fire. Blankets and rolled-up mattresses were set out on the ground as meats and stews were prepared for consumption. The redcoats then gathered in a huddle, crickets chirping in the distance as the dark of night consumed the forest, and the only light came from the moon overhead and the dull glow of the fire that cast hues of orange on the redcoats’ faces—and then the crickets ceased chirping. Silence held sway. The redcoats looked around.
“It is quiet,” one of the redcoats said. “And so quickly, too…”
They glanced around, fearing that a wild animal—or something else—was lingering close by.
“It is probably nothing,” the leader said. “You are just paranoid.”
But then a twig snapped, the redcoats all standing up and reaching for their weapons in response.
“Something is out there!” one of them said. “Something is in the trees!”
“Nonsense,” the leader said. “We merely—”
His words were cut short and followed with a wet smacking noise. The leader looked down at his torso, a small pool of red forming on his chest from the arrow that had impacted with his chest. As the redcoats stared on in a daze, they were rushed on all sides by a group of black and green-clad figures with masks over their faces and hoods over their heads.
“It’s the Scots!” one of the redcoats yelled. “It’s those bastards, Scots!”
The redcoat leader fell to his knees. Another reached for his sword but was swiftly cut down by one of the intruders with a quick blow to his torso…
The last two redcoats left standing retreated immediately, mounting their horses and preparing to make their escape.
The leader of the intruders, a warrior with a red cloth mask covering his face, attempted to strike down one of the redcoats, huffing, and puffing as he ran and prepared to strike. The soldier turned, defending himself with his sword and engaging with the leader. He swiped out a hand, trying to land a blow on the leader’s face—but all he managed to do was pull down the mask and reveal the face of a beautiful woman underneath, his face slack and expression nothing shy of shocked as he stared into the eyes of one of the most beautiful women in all of Scotland. The other redcoat, while straddling his horse, looked at the woman’s face, her features clear and unmistakable, and painting a permanent picture in his mind.
“You!” he exclaimed. “I know you!”
The redcoat engaging the woman leader was struck with an arrow to the back by one of the archers, landing on the ground before the life evacuated from his body. The last redcoat left standing retreated from the forest, moving swiftly away as the group of intruders that had killed his companions sheathed their weapons and stood in a circle around the campfire. A few arrows were launched in the man’s direction—and one of them managed to bury itself into the lower part of the man’s back.
“Damn,” one of the intruders said. “He got away…”
“Can we give chase?” another said.
The leader shook her head. “No…he is too far gone…and that arrow he just took will undoubtedly kill him.”
The leader of the intruders, the woman, slowly pulled down her hood and squinted as she watched the last redcoat flee from the forest. Her black hair licked with hints of auburn was tied up in a thick bun, and combined with the mask and the loose nature of their clothing, one would have never guessed that one of the finest and most fearsome women in all of Scotland was hiding underneath it all.
“He saw me,” she said. “That redcoat saw my face…”
“Does it matter?” the man beside her said. “He is dead anyway. He bleeds out as we speak.”
“I saw him before,” the woman said. “Months prior. He tried to proposition me…” She huffed. “Damn it! We must hope that he bleeds out before he reaches his English overlords.” She pulled at her bun, letting her flowing locks fall down over her shoulders as she shook it out and pulled the mask down off of her face. She was beautiful, her soft skin glowing in the deceased redcoats’ campfire as she put away her swords and placed her hands on her hips.
“Rose,” one of the bandits said. “What now?”
The leader, Rose MacGillis, gestured to the dead men. “Search their belongings,” she said to her people. “Let’s see how we made out.”
The intruders began searching the bodies, bags, and horses of the dead English redcoats. They found coin, food, clothing, jewelry, and various other trinkets. Kelly, Rose’s right-hand-woman, her hair the color of a ruby, cozied up alongside Rose with a small sack filled with coins in her hand.
“Look here!” Kelly said. “We made out well. This is enough to feed us for at least a week!”
Rose turned around and looked at her group as they proceeded to take the last remnants of their loots from the fallen redcoats. “Are we finished?” she asked.
Kelly nodded. “Aye. I believe that’s all of it.”
“Then, the time has come to make our departure…” She turned to leave—but someone called out before they had the chance to disembark.
“Rose!” one of the men said. “Come! Quickly!”
Rose looked upon the man calling her name and saw him standing over the lead redcoat that had taken the arrow to the chest. His eyes were wide, a look of shock completely stretched across his face.
She came alongside the man. “What is it?”
The man pointed. “Look! Look who it is…”
Rose squinted as she looked upon the ashy face of the fallen redcoat. She looked at his features, his lifeless eyes, his agape mouth. It took her a moment to realize who she was looking at, but once she did—her mouth fell open as she became consumed with shock.
“Me God…” Rose said with a gasp.
Kelly approached her. “What is it?”
Rose pointed at the dead man. “This man,” she said. “This man is an important member of the English army.”
Kelly looked at the body. “I do not recognize him. Who is he?”
Rose sighed. “His name is Lord Henry of Sanford.” She turned to Kelly. “And he is the nephew of the King of England.”
***
Rose and her people had fled from the forested area and retreated to a village a half-day ride away. They sat around a table, sans their green and black uniforms and masks, dressed in commoner’s clothing with none of the other denizens in the dimly lit bar made of cobblestone the wiser. The village rested in an area a short distance away from an English stronghold, the entire area for miles consumed by redcoats and lords and those suffering under the oppression. The air in the tavern was thick with tension, each Scotsman and woman inside checking over their shoulders in fear that an English noble or redcoat would show up at any moment.
Rose was completely dumbfounded. She had been so careful for so many years to make sure that her identity and that of her people were not discovered. The masks were a deliberate choice, the false rumors that were spread about the Scots being led by a man the same. Rose had gone to great lengths to make sure that no one ever discovered who they were—but then they killed the nephew of the King, and then her mask was pulled off, and it was done so by a man that she just so happened to be propositioned by a few days before.
Fool. He only overheard me name because Kelly shouted it out when we were drinking in that tavern. But why, how did we manage to cross paths with him again? Is it fate? Did I bring this upon us?
“This is a problem,” one of the men said, a man named Brandon, barrel-chested and with a long and thick beard. “Lord Henry of Sanford is a well-revered man. His death will bring about a lot of attention.”
“There was no way we could have known that it was him,” Kelly said.
“But,” Rose said, “it is a problem like Brandon has stated, nonetheless. The redcoat that fled saw me face. He will no doubt report this to his superiors. They’ll send an army. We cannot fight an army.”
Kelly hung her head. “It is me fault, Rose. I was the one who blurted out yer name.”
Rose waved her hand through the air. “It does not matter. What’s done is done…”
Another man at the table, Eric, spoke up next: “This was foolish. We should have never started this campaign of thievery, to begin with.”
“Do not be a fool,” Kelly said. “We agreed long ago that this was the life we were going to lead. We are the Scots—the most feared thieves in all of the Highlands. This one interruption in our routine will not stop us.”
Rose held up a finger. “It was always a point,” she said, “to make sure that no one saw our faces our learned our true names. But that time has passed now. We have become compromised. The Scots must disband. We must figure out a new way.”
“We cannot quit,” Kelly said. “After the English destroyed our clan, they left us with no choice but to pillage them in return! How will we live? How will we survive?”
“We shall have to figure it out. But the time has come to bring an end to the Scots. We are disbanded. We shall disappear into the Highlands without a trace. It is our only option.”
“We have no money after this,” another one of the Scots said. “If we truly choose this to be our last exploit, how will we live?”
Rose perched forward on the table, a fierce intensity in her eyes. “I need all of ye to listen to me,” she said, an authoritative quality in her tone. “I was chosen to lead us after we lost our people. I was the one who made the decision to live the lives we had, and it was designated long ago that I would be the one to make all the final decisions about the best course of action for all in this band. I trust ye, all of ye, and have heeded yer words good and well, but the time has come to move on. I do not know what is in store for us, but I shall make it me priority, as I always have, to figure it out. And that’s exactly what I shall do…”
The collective tension was thick around the table as the group sipped at their drinks. The atmosphere around them was elated, the other Scotsmen and women in the bar drinking and laughing and singing made their dire nature stand out all the more.
Rose felt depleted. She felt like she had made a mistake she couldn’t come back from. We did so well for the longest time. What happened? Where did I go wrong? These people look up to me. I must Do what is in their best interest…and I am not quite sure what that is…
“So,” Brandon said, “what do we do?”
“We should track the redcoat down,” another one of the men said. “Finish him off afore he reaches his destination.”
“That time has passed,” Rose said. “It is too late now.”
Brandon huffed. “We should have been more vigilant.”
“Again, that time has passed. We cannot focus on what we could or should have done. It is what it is. We merely need to figure out how we proceed from here.”
“And what does that look like?”
Rose looked out toward the fogged glass window to her left, the dark terrain of the Scottish Highlands as hazy as her plan of action. “The redcoat that fled,” she said, “will no doubt tell his masters what transpired. He knows that he was attacked by us, the Scots. Our reputation is fierce enough at this point that I am sure he has no doubt…he also saw me face. He may not know me name, but he has a description nonetheless…our only course of action now is to flee. We must find someplace to hide until this all blows over.”
“It will not merely blow over,” Brandon noted. “We killed the nephew of the King. The repercussions will be swift and merciless.”
“I have no doubt,” Rose said, “which is why we must find someplace that they will never think to look.”
“Where?” Kelly said. “We have stayed in our region for quite some time. There are so many uncharted parts of the Highlands that we do not know about.”
“Which is why we must find where they are. There must be somewhere we can gae, someplace that the English do not know about.”
Brandon looked around the tavern like a solution would somehow present himself. When he laid eyes on a man seated at one of the tables—his mouth was open in shock. “Do ye know of the one they call the Wanderer?”
Rose looked at Brandon, squinting with a pensive gaze. “Aye,” she said. “He is a rogue. A thief and swordsmen for hire. What of him?”
“It is said that he knows every area of the Highlands. His knowledge of the country is vast. That is why it is so hard for the English to find him—he knows of where to hide. Perhaps if we seek him out, he can help us. The man has been said to do anything for the right price.”
Rose pondered the proposal for a brief moment. We are shy of options. We must flee here as soon as possible. “Where do we find him?” she asked Brandon. “This man they call the Wanderer?”
Brandon forked a thumb over his shoulder. “Easy,” he said, “he is sitting right over there.”
Rose craned her neck and looked around Brandon’s brawny frame. It took her a moment to see him, but after a few seconds of searching, she saw the strikingly handsome man with the angular jawline and the brooding eyes seated by himself in the corner—the man that those in the Highlands all knew as the Wanderer.
Chapter II
Sean could feel the gaze of the table from the corner. He didn’t know who the collective group of Highlanders were, but based on their body language, he could tell they were a tight unit. He sipped at his drink, pretending not to notice their gazes being directed toward him as he focused straight ahead and only took the occasional look at them through his peripherals.
They are not a clan. Perhaps they are thieves.
He kept a steady hand on his sword, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice. He did not want to engage in a fight—but he would if need be.
The chatter went on at the table for a few minutes, Sean sensing that they were going around and seeing who would be brave enough to approach him. They want something…They know of who I am…
Eventually, one of them stood—the woman, her hair the color of a raven and features as beautiful as any woman he had ever seen in the Highlands. She reminded Sean in many ways of his deceased wife; her curvaceous form was similar to that of his past love. Who is she? There is…something about her…Sean saw the woman stand, shifting his weight as she approached the table. Do not come over here…Do not bother me…
But it was a fruitless hope—the woman was closing in, a drink in her hand, and an inquisitive glaze in her eye. She approached his table with the utmost confidence, no shred of fear about her as she came two feet shy of him and stood there waiting.
“Can I help ye?” Sean finally said, making it a point to not look at the woman.
“Me name is Rose,” the woman said.
Sean shrugged. “Good for ye.”
Rose jutted her chin. “Are ye the one they call the Wanderer?”
Sean leveled his gaze in Rose’s direction, fearful of having his presence announced. “I do not know what ye are talking about.”
Rose gestured to the members of her table, all of them watching with anticipation in their composures. “Me friends,” she said, “are inclined to think that ye are the one they call the Wanderer.’ Is it not true?”
Sean shook his head. “They must be mistaken. I do not know of who ye are talking about.”
Rose huffed, pulling out the chair next to Sean and seating herself across from him. He is quite handsome…But no, do not think of such things. That is not relevant. Focus, Rose…
“I do not ask ye to sit,” Sean said.
“Well,” Rose said, “I am sitting.”
Sean looked at Rose, her features in full view. She was stunning. There was no denying it. But Sean could not look past that. He did not want to desire anyone else. He did not need to desire anyone else. “I am just trying to have a drink,” he said. “I am not looking to have a conversation.”
Rose leaned in, squinting, sizing Sean up. “Ye are him,” she said, “ye have a look about ye.”
“What look might that be?”
“One of a weary traveler. It is universal in the Highlands. A man like ye clearly does not have a clan, a place to call home.”
Sean laughed. “Ye base all of this merely on me appearance?”
Rose shrugged, unable to help herself from noting his ruggedly good features, titillating her despite her best intentions. “Am I wrong?”
Sean said nothing, sipping at his drink as he looked away. This woman is smart, very smart… “Can I ask,” he said, “why ye are bothering me?”
Rose drew a breath, preparing to ask her lingering questions. “I require assistance.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
“It is. And I have been led to believe that ye are the man to assist me.”
Sean leveled his gaze toward the tavern owner, wiping down the counters and serving the patrons dwelling inside. Sean was liquored up enough that he felt his defenses being lowered. “I do not know,” he said, “of who this ‘Wanderer’ is that ye speak of. But I am willing to indulge in a conversation on one condition.”
Rose crossed her arms. “Gae on…”
Sean gestured to the tavern owner. “Buy me a drink. Then I will hear what it is ye have to say.”
Rose smiled. Then she turned, held up two fingers, and flagged down the tavern owner. The burly man with the beard the color of fire approached, rubbing his hands together before saying: “What can I fetch ye?”
Rose looked to Sean, waiting for him to give an answer.
“Whiskey,” Sean said. “Yer most expensive bottle.”
Rose showcased a smirk, looking away and giving her table a reassuring glance as the tavern owner set about fetching Sean’s drink. “So,” she said, “be honest with me—are ye the one they call The Wanderer?”
Sean pouted his lip. “I’m curious who has led ye to believe this.”
“It is a simple answer—aye or no.”
Sean took his time answering, pondering how to best approach the conversation. I have been around long enoughthat me face is undoubtedly known by several. What harm could come to tell her? This woman is not a threat. She requires assistance. Perhaps a lofty payday is in store for me…
“If I am the one ye speak of,” Sean said, “then what benefit do I gain from indulging in this conversation?”
“Money,” Rose said. “Enough to help sustain ye.”
“Ye require me services then. Well, the services of the Wanderer.’”
A nod. “I do.”
“And what does that look like?”
Rose sighed, leaning back in her chair, the weight of her history being exuded in the prolonged exhale she took. “As I said,” she stated, “I require help. I require a guide.”
“A guide?”
“Aye. A guide,” she gestured to her table, “me friends and I are looking to retreat into the Highlands.”
“How far?”
“As far away from the English as humanly possible.”
The tavern owner returned and placed Sean’s whiskey in front of him before taking away the depleted glass. Sean pushed the glass aside, lowering his tone as he leaned in and looked at Rose square in her eyes. “And why,” he said, “would ye need to be fleeing from the English?”
“A rather silly question,” Rose said. “All Highlanders live in fear of the English.”
Sean scowled. “Not me,” he said.
“Which is why ye are the man for the job.”
“Tell me first why ye are running.”
Rose leaned back in her chair. “We had a run-in with a group of redcoats,” she said. “It appears that one of them has a connection with the King of England himself.”
“It sounds like ye killed this man.”
A pause on Rose’s end. “It is possible.”
Sean said: “And now ye are attempting to flee before the repercussions of this catch up to ye.”
Rose sighed. “Are ye going to help us,” she said, “or not?”
Sean crossed his arms. “It depends. Being that ye have attracted a significant amount of trouble because of yer actions, that trouble will be focused on me as a result. If I help ye, that is.”
“I am willing to pay.”
“How much?”
“Name yer price.”
Sean smiled, pulling his fresh glass of whiskey to his lips and taking a sip. “I doubt ye can afford me.”
Rose smirked. I could handle ye if I need to. She blinked herself out of the thought. Stop! Enough! Why are ye doing this? “Ye would be surprised to know what I can afford,” Rose said, slipping her hand into her pocket and producing a sack of coins that she dropped right on the table in front of Sean.
Sean looked at the sack, hearing the weight of it slam down upon the table. Quite a bit of coin in there. This woman is not kidding…
Sean took his time, drinking his whiskey and taking a quick look at Rose’s table. They were all waiting, just as eager as she was to receive the final answer.
“Where do ye wish to gae?” Sean asked.
“As far as possible,” Rose said. “That is why I am speaking to ye. Again, the rumor is that ye possess a vast knowledge of the Highlands. Ye know of places that no other man does. That is why they call ye Wanderer.”
“It is not a name I relish.”
Rose smiled. “So, it is true then. Ye are him…”
Sean swirled his whiskey around in his glass, biding his time, debating his next move. These Highlanders attract trouble. And it is the kind of trouble I cannot afford right now…but there is a lot of money in that sack, perhaps more to be had. That could sustain me for a while as I traverse the Highlands. It could get me in the door with the right people, the people who know of the man that burned me family alive.
“This is risky,” Sean said. “Helping ye is a dangerous proposition. As ye said—ye murdered a member of the King’s family. That is not something that will be taken lightly.”
Rose crooked a finger. “And ye have gravitated toward trouble on yer own, as well. Do not act like that is not true.”
Sean took a sip of his whiskey. He didn’t want to outright admit that he had attracted his fair share of trouble. It was true. But he didn’t know the woman in front of him. Trust was a hard thing to come by in the current day and age. He needed to wait it out, feel out the situation, and act accordingly. It was every man—and in this case, every man and woman—for his or herself.
“Ye wish,” Sean said, “for me to guide ye.”
Rose nodded. “As far away from here as possible.”
Sean scoured his brain, the entire geography of the Highlands mapped out well in his mind. He knew of every remote area there was in the Highlands. It assisted him well in being able to blend in and out at a moment’s notice. A particular area came to mind to him, one that was far from the reaches of the English, a place where one could live in peace without attracting any trouble.
“I know of somewhere,” Sean said. “But it is quite a trek.”
Rose shrugged. “We are willing to make that journey. How far is it?”
“About a week’s ride, perhaps a little more. But it is worth it. The location I speak of is capable of sustaining many, many people. It will serve ye well, and it will be worth the price of me services.”
Sean took a moment to take in all the members at Rose’s table. He could sense their grit, their survivalist mentality as they stayed huddled together. They are loyal. A true band of Highlanders.
Sean squinted, something about the aesthetic of the group sparking a memory in his mind. He tilted his head, looking at each member in Rose’s band of Highlanders with an inquisitive expression—and then it clicked.
Sean smiled. “I know who ye are,” he said.
Rose’s eyes turned to slits. “What do ye mean?”
Sean leaned in. “It’s ye, isn’t it? The one they call the Scots.”
Rose said nothing—but the pale expression that came over her face said everything.
“Aye,” Sean said. “I have heard of ye. Ye are a band of thieves that are known for robbing English redcoats. I have heard of the tales. Ye are quite formidable…the only thing is that the rumors state that a man is in charge of the Scots. Not a woman.”
Rose smiled. “I do not understand to whom ye are referring to…but I would say that a woman is just as capable as leading as a man is.”
Sean laughed, clapping his hands together. “Well, well, well. It appears that two of the most notorious Highlanders in all of Scotland have crossed paths, me lady.”
“Please keep yer voice down.”
“Relax. No one in this tavern is our enemy. The closest English stronghold is only a few miles away. They have not bothered the patrons here in quite some time.”
Rose sighed, crossing her arms. “Are ye going to help us,” she said, “or no?”
Sean looked at the sack of coins that Rose had placed on the table. Debating. Weighing his options. “I want double,” he said. “I take the sack ye have put on the table as a down payment. Once we reach the area that I speak of, I ask for the same amount of coin to be paid.”
Rose held on for a moment, sizing Sean up as she made her decision. After a few moments, she stuck out her hand. “Deal,” she said.
Sean placed his palm into Rose’s and shook. “Deal.”
Rose stood from the table. “I am going to speak to me people. Wait here.”
Sean held up his glass. “Take yer time. I am not going anywhere…”
Sean watched Rose as she walked over to her group, leaning in and whispering to them: “We have retained his services.”
Kelly, Rose’s right-hand woman, said: “How much?”
“I have paid him all the coin we have on hand. And we must pay him the same amount once we reach our destination.”
Kelly’s eyes went wide. “Are ye mad? We do not have that kind of money!”
“Then, we will find it.”
“This is foolish,” Brandon said. “How are we going to acquire more coin?”
“We shall figure it out. We do not have a lot of options, me friends. We must take this Highlander up on his offer.”
“We do not know him,” Kelly said. “How can we trust that this man is not going to stab us in the back?”
“There are more of us than there are of him. Should a problem arise, we are capable of handling ourselves.”
“Rose,” Kelly protested, “we—”
Rose held up her hand. “It is done. Gae and fetch the horses from the stable. We shall leave shortly. I shall converse a bit more with this Wanderer before we make our leave.”
Brandon huffed, shaking his head. “I do not like this, Rose.” He glanced at Sean. “I dinnae trust this man.”
“Neither do I,” Rose said. “But we have no other choice. Now gae. We must take our leave. Gather the horses and supplies for a week’s travel. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
The Scots all exchanged subtle glances before standing from the table and meandering toward the exit, Rose heading back to Sean’s table as he took another sip of his whiskey. “It is done,” she said. “Me people have agreed.”
Sean nodded. “Very well. When do ye wish to leave?”
“Right now,” Rose said. “Time is of the essence.”
Sean looked at the whiskey in his glass, still half full. “Once I finish me drink. Then we shall depart.”
Sean brought the glass to his lips—and then Rose took it from him, taking the glass and downing the rest of the whiskey with ease. “Like I said,” she said. “Time is of the essence. We must take our leave.”
Sean stood, gesturing toward the exit. “As ye wish…”
Rose led the way, Sean following after her as they headed to the entrance. But as they came, a few feet shy of the door—an English redcoat entered, his immaculate uniform standing out among the dark tones in the bar as he jutted his chin and stared on at the Highlanders inside the bar as a terror-laced hush settled over the entire scene.
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Amelia watched as Prince Charles and her young son, Jamie, played near the hearth. Her heart was full. Her husband, Jamie, was regaling his guests with a story about their time in London, something to do with the stuffy foppish Englishmen he’d come into contact with, and she smiled.
Who had ever known that life would turn out as it had? She was once a young Lady in England, proud and frivolous, hoping for a marriage to a handsome, wealthy, young, aristocrat. And now, she was still a Lady, of sorts, but she was anything but frivolous and proud, and she was happier than she had ever thought possible.
Before her sat her entire family. Her parents, Lord Jonathon Parker and his wife, Henrietta, and Jamie’s mother, Fiona, laughed along to Jamie’s story. William and Marianne sat nearby, Marianne holding her new child, a daughter she’d named Seoighe, to express the joy she found in her new life. The newlyweds, Ruth and Troy, sat near each other, hand-in-hand, often glancing at each other.
Amelia was content. This was her adopted tribe, her Scottish clan, and it meant more to her than she’d ever thought anything could. More than the poems that poured from her soul onto the page. More than the thought of having status in London. More so than herself. She loved these people, and she wished them all the happiness in the world. She chuckled to think that her best friend and her best friend’s sister had all found lovers and husbands among the Highland men.
If someone had told her that years before, she would have scoffed at such an idea. Married to a Highlander? One of the brutish, barbaric, and primitive lot? And now, she had been proved wrong. For Jamie had grown into a man she loved more each and every day. He led his people and his family with compassion, love, and mercy. He was an attentive lover, a kind husband, and wonderful person. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of it. This was true happiness, indeed.
Marianne watched, smiling, as Jamie told tales of his time in London. He was so animated and had such scathing remarks to say about the English, that it was highly entertaining. In the past, she might have been offended, but she knew he was speaking the truth. He spoke only of the fops and wigged men that seemed to pervade London’s inner circle and had not a moral bone to share between them.
She held tighter to her young daughter. The labor had been hard, but it had been oh so worth it. To be given such joy at the meeting of her daughter, Marianne thought she should name her Joyce, or Seoighe in Gaelic. But even before this child, her joy had been complete. She had William, her sister, and Amelia, and the fullness of love that surrounded her in her new family.
Once Jamie had finished his tale which had the whole family in stitches, he turned to Ruth and Troy. “And so, ye two, when will ye be leaving us once again tae head tae the high seas?”
Ruth beamed, her happiness in full, having returned from a lovely trip around Scotland, Ireland, and England. She loved being a captain’s wife. She looked healthy and fresh, and both of their faces were tanned from their time at sea. Troy’s hand was on her shoulder, making small circles with his forefinger. She was safe, comfortable, and free.
“Well, we’d leave right away, of course, but we didn’t want to disappoint all of you,” Ruth said with a mischievous grin, and Amelia laughed.
“Ah well, we cannot compete with the ocean, I suppose. When will your next adventure be?”
Troy responded, “Well, I have agreed tae take a ship of goods tae the Americas and bring back American cotton for the English mills. I never thought I’d be doing business with Englishmen, I can assure ye, but I suppose I didnae think I would be married tae one either.”
Ruth smiled at him.
Fiona, Jamie’s mother, broke in, interested. “And do none of the sailors give you trouble about having a woman aboard? You always hear in adventure and pirate stories that women are seen to be bad luck on a ship.”
Troy eyed Ruth knowingly and grinned. They had not told everyone of Troy’s past, besides Amelia and Jamie, feeling it would be better this way. “Ye are right, Lady Kinnaird. Pirates do say that, but once the sailors see what a prime navigator my wife is, they come around soon enough. She has brought me nothing but good luck.” Troy squeezed Ruth’s shoulder, and she chuckled.
“It took some convincing, mind you, but I can be quite forceful when necessary.”
William laughed. “I can agree tae that, lass.”
Jamie broke in. “Well, shall we have dinner, then? I’m starved, and there’s no point in sitting around talking with empty bellies.”
The servants were already prepared, being called in to bring warm meat, bread, potatoes, and vegetables. Plenty of mutton filled the table as the Kinnaird flock had grown to such an extent that they were able to kill some of the sheep for meat.
Jamie moved to the head of the table, his brown hair in a tight bun at the nape of his neck, his waistcoat taught over his strong body. He called over the group as they took their seats around the oak table, talking excitedly with one another. It was not a holiday, but it felt like one. “Raise yer glasses, ye bloody loud lot, and let’s toast tae our reunion.” Everyone raised their glasses of wine and ale.” Jamie put a hand behind his back and cleared his throat. “I’m not quite one for emotional speeches. ‘Tis my wife that has the beautiful words.” He winked at Amelia, who colored under his praise. “But I cannae express fully how grateful I am tae have met ye all. Before ye, ‘twas just me and my mother, as well as William there, but he hardly counts.” William grumbled in faux indignation, and everyone laughed.
“We didnae know it, but we were missing a family. By meeting Amelia, we brought in Lord and Lady Parker, and Marianne, and of course, wild Ruth.” He smiled at her. “Then the minister came intae the story.” Everyone chuckled once more, and Troy grinned. “We couldnae let him get away. Or at least Ruth couldnae.” Everyone burst into laughter, and Ruth rolled her eyes.
Jamie paused, looking at each of them. “Ye make Brechin better than it ever could have been, and I wantae thank each and every one of ye. Ye are always welcome in the castle, for here is family. Slainte!”
The women of the group had moistened eyes, and the men pretended they did not. They drank their glasses heartily and began to speak again to each other with warmth, eating and drinking in earnest.
Amelia looked up at him admiringly as Jamie watched over his old and new family. He was the laird, and such a laird he was, still as devilishly handsome as the day she met him, bumping into him outside of the castle as he stumbled home drunkenly from the bar. She laid her hand on his hand and squeezed it.
In fact, Amelia reflected, all three of the gentlemen that she, her best friend, and her best friend’s sister had married were all devilishly handsome and rogues in their own way. All three women had fallen for them hard and through difficulty, but it had all come right in the end. That’s what Amelia loved the most, and what fueled her poetry. Healing, reconciliation, restoration of happiness. After her father’s debts were paid, and she was able to release him from debtor’s prison, he and her mother were restored to each other, and her happy parents were restored to her.
And, Marianne had William, such a dear friend. So roguish and charming, yet solid of character, and patient and kind. She had never seen a man love a woman so, perhaps besides Jamie, and of course, the new addition of Troy Ferguson.
Whenever Amelia let her glance fall upon those two as they spoke to each other in smiling whispers, her heart was light. Marianne had told her all that had happened since she had been away in London, and she was so grateful. She knew that there had been something between the pair of them that she wouldn’t want them to miss out on, and she was so happy they’d found it. The two of them looked just as happy as could be, laughing and smiling to each other as they shared intimacies.
Amelia supposed her matchmaking work was done. First with Marianne and William and now with Ruth and Troy. Perhaps one day with little Jamie, she thought with a smirk.
A maid entered the room and approached Marianne with a curtsy and a note. “Ma’am, there is a man here tae see ye. He requests the presence of ye and Mrs. Ferguson at the back entrance.”
“Thank you,” Marianne replied with confusion and looked at an equally confused Ruth. The whole of the company stopped eating and began to speculate as to who it could be. William said, “Want me tae come with ye, love?”
Marianne shook her head, her heart beginning to beat a bit faster with nerves. “No. Stay with Seoighe. I will go with Ruth.”
He nodded and took his daughter from her arms, smiling down at her young face. Marianne and Ruth left together, both of them feeling the same thing. “‘Tis Father isn’t it?” Ruth asked, an icy dread surrounding her heart. “But why? For what purpose? There is naught he can do tae us now,” she reassured herself.
They followed the maid to the back entrance, which was usually restricted to servants, but for some reason was requested by the uninvited guest. They glanced at each other again briefly as they saw the hooded figure awaiting them by the door.
The maid curtsied and left them alone with the man who removed his cloak. It was Lord Anthony Browne. He looked so changed they hardly recognized him.
“Father?” Ruth asked timidly, unsure of who she was looking at, but the familiar features remained the same.
He nodded, smiling. “Yes girls. ‘Tis I, your father.” He glanced at Ruth and moved to hold both of her hands in his own. Ruth tensed at such an intimacy and nearly pulled away, but she saw a kindness in his eyes she had not seen before.
“Ruth, I am so glad you are well. I heard that you were returned to Brechin, and I was grateful for it.” He looked down. “Please forgive your father for what he did. To attempt to push you into an unwanted marriage.” He moved to Marianne. “And forgive me as well, my dear. Forgive me for everything, if you can find it in your hearts.”
Marianne and Ruth were frozen. They were so shocked by the speech, but they were also surprised by his demeanor. He was not rude or brutish or imposing. He was subdued, reserved, polite, and kind. Who was this man who had so lately been their deplorable father?
Marianne, recovering more quickly, spoke first. “Father, are you in earnest?”
Lord Browne dropped her hands and sighed. “I know it must seem strange to you both, but I have had a change. A change I would like you to know about.” He paused. “I have been married.”
Marianne and Ruth gasped in surprise. “Married? To whom?”
“To a woman who I know you will love and admire. And,” he added with a chuckle, “she is a Scotswoman.”
Ruth burst into laughter. “Well that certainly is a change, Father.”
Lord Browne turned to the side and motioned with his hand. Marianne and Ruth were surprised to see another cloaked figure, lingering in the shadows. The figure stepped forward timidly and grasped the hand of Lord Browne.
“This,” Lord Browne began, “is Aila, my new wife. Aila, these are my daughters.”
The hood of the cloak fell back to reveal an older woman, a woman whose beauty remained in her kind face. She smiled at the women, bowing her head slightly. Still surprised, Marianne and Ruth nodded in return and gave their hands in introduction.”
“You are most welcome, Lady Browne.” Marianne smiled, and Aila blushed. “Didnae expect tae have a title, tae be sure. Ye must call me Aila, my dear.”
Lord Browne grinned. “Well, you are a lady after all, Aila, despite the fact that we must sell my estate in London.”
She waved a hand away. “I care not for things as that. I would feel most uncomfortable living in London, pretending tae be a fancy lady.”
Ruth liked her instantly and smiled at her new stepmother. “We are most glad to have you, Aila.”
Marianne was beaming, feeling her muscles relax. Perhaps it was really true. Her father had changed. “Father, Aila has brought about this change in you?”
He nodded, smiling. “I’m afraid so, my dears, but it was coming before that. Ever since I left the house after our discussion, Marianne, I was a broken man. Angry, full of hatred and bitterness, seeking only my own comfort. But I decided to stay in Scotland, so that I could hear news of you both if anything came up. I knew I could not return to London because of my shame. I stayed in a nearby village, and the townspeople brought me back to life. I was put to work. Good, honest work, and there I met my love.”
“But the home in London? Your position in the House of Lords?” Ruth asked.
“I have left the position, but the home remains. I will need to return to sell it in order to cover debts, I’m afraid, but ‘tis no matter. I wish to remain in Scotland.”
Ruth was bowled over again with surprise, but at this statement, she knew that something new and wonderful had taken hold of her father. “Come,” she said to him, surprising herself. “Come and meet my husband anew. Come, Aila, to meet everyone.” She grabbed onto Aila’s hand.
“Yes, Father and stepmother,” Marianne said, taking Lord Browne’s arm, “Come and meet your granddaughter.”
Lord Browne smiled, and his eyes were moist. Aila was beaming. “I thank the Lord each day for you girls, and I ask for his forgiveness for how I was to you. Your mother would have been ashamed. I would be most happy to meet your new family.”
The four of them walked together towards the main hall, smiling, their hearts finally feeling at rest after so many months of resentment and anger. They entered the main hall to the surprise of their family, clan Kinnaird. There were now no regrets or sadness between them anymore. It was only love and a budding, fresh hope.
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“It will be your birthday soon. Is that not enough?” Ruth repeated her sister’s words as she sat upon the hill, pen and drawing paper in hand. William Fraser, her new brother-in-law had gifted her with some drawing materials as an early birthday gift, and she could not have been more pleased. She loved her new brother, and he understood her in a way that her sister did not. She and her sister had always been different, but the difference was becoming even more apparent as Ruth became more and more irritated at her growing sense of isolation.
“No, ‘tis not enough,” she breathed, remembering her sister’s disappointed expression. Ruth swooped her pen across the page and looked up at the surrounding hilltops. Scotland was the most beautiful place she had ever seen. To be fair, it was the only place she had ever seen, besides her previous home in London, of course, but at the time of moving only a few months ago, it had taken her breath away. Even now, she loved the green of the grass, the swish of the heather on the moors, and the gray of the sea more than anything. They inspired her, and she would run to them whenever she could, but they were not enough for her. She longed to move, to run, to have adventures, and to see as many places as she could before she laid her head to rest in her grave. And then the nightmares had come to haunt her mind every night. Nightmares of her father returning and placing her back in her restrictive life once again.
Her drawing was her other solace. She would draw maps or landscapes, and there was plenty to offer her in the surrounding wilds of William’s family home. Today, she wanted to capture the hills of Brechin in the beautiful light that came when it was about to rain. Marianne, her sister, had given up warning Ruth of the dangers of wandering in the rain, but Ruth knew she still waited nervously for her younger sister’s safe arrival home. Especially now that Marianne was pregnant with William’s child, she had become even more anxious. It was becoming almost unbearable for ‘wild Ruth’, for that is what William and Jamie, the laird of the clan in the area, had come to call her.
Whenever she would gallop faster than their horses or proclaim her desire for an expedition across the sea, William and Jamie would say “Och, Wild Ruth is at it again. One day, she may just up and leave us.”
Ruth kept drawing, but in her heart and mind, she whispered, “Yes, yes, I will.” She sighed. She hadn’t told her sister that, yet. She knew it would only send her into worrying about her more than she already did. She did not tell her of her nightmares either. There didn’t seem to be a point. Marianne had fallen in love with William, and, along with Ruth, had fled their father’s house in London. Lord Browne had arranged for Marianne to marry one of his friends, but they left him and London, so that Marianne could live a life of happiness and freedom. Ruth was grateful to her sister for rescuing her. She really was. But, now that Marianne was happy in her new life with her new family, for that was what she wanted, a true home; whereas Ruth didn’t want to do what was conventional or normal. Ruth desired freedom more than anything else, and Scotland had given her that, but in this small isolated place, she still had to “fit in” as a woman and do what women do.
“We are out of our father’s clutches forever! You may do as you please!” Marianne had begged Ruth to feel happy in her fate.
“I know, Marianne. It is wonderful, but why can’t you understand? I want a new life. I want to go and to do things.”
“But why must you? Can you not be happy in your family here? Have I become not enough for you?”
Ruth sat down and shook her head. Tears brimmed at her eyes. She whispered, “Marianne, I wish I could make you understand. This desire gnaws and aches in my every fiber. I want so much more for my life.”
Marianne sat down next to Ruth and placed a soft hand on her back. “Help me to understand, Ruth.”
But Ruth left the room, nearly in tears, hating herself for what she was doing to her sister, but also for having this feeling that she could not, would not, give up. She would run away. One day.
But, those plans were not for now. Other things filled her mind on this glorious day. There was the May Day festival, which Marianne and Amelia, Jamie’s wife, had asked her to take part in. Ruth loved parties and would love to mix with her friends in the village, but she was not happy to have been relegated to such womanly tasks as party preparations. It was to be held in a few weeks, and Marianne had suggested her aid to help get her out of the funk that had pervaded her mind of late. The nightmares had begun only a month or so before, and her desire to leave also grew at the same time.
And, on top of that, the beautiful, intriguing, irritatingly evasive Troy Ferguson seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. He and the Laird and Lady were friends, and so she would see him up at the clan parties or family gatherings quite often. He was also the parish minister, and so she would see him every Sunday at the pulpit, doling out advice about duty and kindness and love. That was all well and good, but why would he not speak to her?
Ever since their discussion about traveling after the birth of Amelia’s son, James, when Troy had deigned to tell her a few small tidbits of his mysterious life, he had seemingly avoided all contact. He’d even gone so far as to turn a shoulder to her at social gatherings! He was polite for the most part, engaging in small pleasantries if he was forced into conversation with her, but he could not look at her face, and Ruth was annoyed by it.
What was so repellent about her? She had plenty of friends in the village and plenty of suitors as well, if she was being honest. She got along with everyone except for her sister at the moment, so why should the minister practically shun her?
It was a question she’d been mulling over for months, and she wished she could just let it go and turn up her nose at him in response. She tried, but it still ate away at her. And ever since she’d first glimpsed his large form behind the bridal couple at Marianne’s wedding, she had been fascinated by him. He was like an exotic figure from a foreign land with his unique Scottish accent and mysterious expressions. And he was far too handsome for a minister. She’d seen many more young women in the church pews glance up at him from underneath their eyelashes, hopeful for an approving glance from him.
But to her relief, he was not flirtatious, and they would usually leave the service disappointed. William liked him, and that, she knew, was a good thing. Ruth sighed again, her focus not quite on her drawing but on the thoughts that swirled inside of her. How can I get him to notice me?
Amidst her own thoughts, Ruth did not notice the change in the breeze or the darkening of the clouds overhead. She was not afraid of rain, but it was rather unpleasant to get caught in, especially when one had their drawing materials with them.
Soon enough, a raindrop fell onto her page, smudging the freshly laid ink. Ruth made an annoyed sound and looked up into the sky with a slight gasp. She noticed the whipping of the wind and the silence that had come over the area. She clasped onto the reigns of her horse, Emerald, and untied her from the tree that stood close by. “Come, Emerald, we must fly like the wind!”
She patted Emerald on her white nose, and, after gathering her materials, climbed astride her. She was unendingly grateful to Amelia who “outlawed” side saddles at her stables, and so she could ride freely like a true adventurer. The rain began to come down harder now, but Ruth trusted Emeralds sure-footedness. She had been a gift from the laird’s stables, and so she knew the Brechin hillsides by heart.
Ruth clicked her tongue, and Emerald was on her way, rushing down the hill towards William’s home far in the distance. Rain began to drip into her eyes and mouth, so she decided to lean down against the horse to protect her face. She closed her eyes and simply trusted that Emerald knew the way.
She smiled to herself. If she could not yet have her big adventure, these small adventures were enough to fill her yawning appetite in the meantime. She breathed in the comforting smell of Emerald’s hide intermixed with the fresh rain and held on tighter. But suddenly, Emerald reared up at something in the path that had scared her, and her hooves slid along the muddy stream that had appeared in the heavy rainfall. In her surprise, Ruth cried out and fell back off the horse, down and down she went, and suddenly, there was a flash of pain and everything went dark.
***
Marianne Fraser, three months pregnant, wandered in front of the fire, awaiting Ruth’s arrival. She had not yet returned, and the rain was falling fast and hard. Marianne tried to calm the fluttering of her heart. She had become more nervous of late, with the onset of her pregnancy and Ruth’s discontent with her situation. How could she help her sister be more comfortable and happier? Were they not free from their Father’s control? Did they not achieve that?
Ruth had been happy when they’d first arrived in Scotland, the free life just opening up before them like the horizon. But something had changed. Now Ruth had taken to the hills nearly every day since the beginning of this malaise or unease about their way of life. She would argue with Marianne about nearly everything, especially if it had to do with “women’s work” or marriage or anything conventional. William was the only one that could talk any sense into her, and she raged at that thought. She was her own sister, after all. What had happened to make her change so much? Did Ruth no longer love her?
And then there was Troy Ferguson. Without having heard from Ruth herself, she could tell Ruth was intrigued by him. He was a handsome man to be sure, and very funny, and very intelligent, but he did not seem at all interested in Ruth, and she wanted to make sure Ruth did not suffer overmuch from disappointment at unrequited love. Marianne thought perhaps that was what had brought upon her low mood.
She feared for her sister’s heart more than anything, and William needed to often remind her that Ruth was to soon turn 22 and must be allowed to be a free woman and live her own life in the way she thinks is best. Marianne would agree if it was any other woman, but Ruth, so innocent and naive about the ways of the world, wanted things she had no business wanting. At least not until she knew everything about those things. She was afraid Ruth would be hurt in more ways than one if she loosened her ties on her at all. She couldn’t just give up caring about her sister’s well-being.
Suddenly, a harsh knock sounded at the door, and with a spark of hope, Marianne rushed to answer it, heaving the heavy oak door open to greet the roaring wind and the rain. A tall figure with a brown three-cornered hat emerged into the firelight. It was a very wet Troy, and he was carrying a very wet, unconscious Ruth in his arms.
Chapter II
Marianne gasped, and simply pointed to the long couch that stood by the fire before she could find her words. She found her voice eventually as she shut the storm out behind them. “Troy! What has happened?”
Troy laid Ruth softly down upon the couch and stood up next to Marianne, taking off his sodden hat. Marianne knelt down next to her sister as best she could in her condition. Troy began breathlessly, “‘Tis my fault, Marianne. I was out walking in the rain, and I came upon her horse, scaring it tae high Heaven. It bumped her from its back, and she fell, hitting her head. We need tae see if she’s broken any bones. I can take a look, but we should call the doctor.”
“Of course!” Marianne rushed off to ask a servant to take the horse for the doctor before Troy could object to a pregnant woman rushing off to do anything.
After Marianne left the room, Troy knelt beside a sleeping Ruth. His boots squeaked with the movement, and he dripped water onto the rug. Ruth’s loose, reddish-brown hair was matted around her face, and he pushed it out of the way lightly with his fingertips. Her lovely pink mouth was slightly open, and Troy remarked how peaceful she looked as she lay on the sofa in her sodden, brown riding habit that clung a little too tightly to her chest and waist. He tried not to notice, but it was impossible.
Troy had never met someone as enticing as Ruth. Certainly, he had met with and bedded many an intriguing and beautiful woman, but Ruth was different. She struck him to the heart, her beauty fraught with layers and layers of something else he couldn’t quite identify.
He had avoided her eyes and her person for months on end, ever since he’d let himself slip and open up to her, asking her about her dreams for the future. She had looked positively gleeful, but he couldn’t let her in. He couldn’t stray from his goal and his life purpose.
But right now, he felt safe in her unconscious presence, for when she would open her eyes, it was as if he would be pinned to the wall, her seeing everything about him and making him feel things he did not want to feel, things which he refused to feel if he wanted to keep himself on the right path. He sighed and said quietly, “Och, lass,” the longing building in his chest.
Ruth’s eyes slowly flickered open and pierced into Troy’s, their soft brown depths gazing up at him. A lazy smile spread across Ruth’s face as she took in Troy. His fingertips were still on the side of her face, and he didn’t remove them right away. She saw his rough beard and his beautiful green eyes that seemed to stand out even more with the closeness of his person. She could see tiny droplets of water that dripped from his wet, brown hair, down his cheeks, and onto his shoulders, his very broad, firm shoulders. She took in his whole form. The man was pure muscle. She thought maybe she was having a dream. It felt like a deep, delicious dream because Troy did not remove his eyes from hers as he had so often in the past.
A cleared throat from behind them surprised Troy into standing up. He turned to see William Fraser with his arms crossed. “And what are ye doing, lad?” He said with a smirk and one eyebrow raised.
Troy, slightly embarrassed, motioned to Ruth on the couch. William rushed over. “What’s happened, ye wild girl? Are ye all right?”
Ruth smiled and attempted to sit up, but then lay back again, laying a hand on her arm, a grimace on her face. “Ah, everything seems to hurt, I see. I fell off Emerald in the rain, and then, I don’t remember what happened.” She turned to Troy, her voice softening. “Why are you here?”
William laughed as he noted his sister’s demure expression, reserved only for Troy. “Och, sister, ye have a way with words. From what I gather, Troy is the one who rescued ye from yer dangerous adventure and brought ye back tae us. Is that right, Troy?”
Troy coughed. “Aye.” He looked at Ruth again, and she felt an enjoyable tingle at his repeated gaze. “I must apologize, Ruth, for I was walking in the rain, and my presence must have surprised Emerald.”
She waved a hand in response as if to say it was no matter. “All is well, Mr. Ferguson. I must thank you for rescuing me. I must look to be quite the damsel in distress, not the preferred role I’d like to play, but I have you to blame for that.” She smiled, and Troy smiled back.
Marianne had just returned and heard the end of her sentence. “Ruth! Can we not be kind to the minister?”
Troy chuckled. “I believe she is making a joke at my expense. That will teach me not to walk in the rain anymore.”
William stood to place a warm arm around Marianne. Marianne said, “The doctor has been fetched.”
Troy stepped forward again. “If ye both don’t mind, I’ve a bit of medical experience meself. I could take a look at the bone and can try tae set it. We dinnae want the swelling tae become too much.”
William smirked, and Marianne smiled. They glanced at each other briefly. “Of course, Troy. If you feel you have the expertise.”
Troy knelt down beside Ruth once again, and Ruth’s heart gave a little flutter. Troy was about to touch her. Again. She was afraid he would hear her heart pounding in her chest, and she did not want the embarrassment, but his voice and expression soothed her.
“Dinnae worry. I have done this many times before.” He turned to Ruth whose eyes were already on him. He reached out his hands. “May I, lass?” He said softly and tenderly, and Ruth had to will herself not to melt. This man had ignored her for months and suddenly he was being so kind, loving, and dare she say it, sensual?
“Of course,” she seemed to whisper back, and he grinned before taking her arm in his hands. He felt the bone of her lower arm and watched her face as she winced.
“I’m sorry tae hurt ye, but I’m tryin’ tae find the break.”
Ruth willed herself to not feel pain. She would not look womanly and weak in front of this man! She gritted her teeth and used her words instead of her expression to convey her pain. “There! That is where it hurts the most.”
He nodded. “Well, ye are a lucky one, no thanks tae me. The bone has not come loose from its path, but there may a slight crack in it. We will just need tae wrap it, and ye’ll need tae rest as ye’ve hurt yer head as well. How can I ever make amends?”
You could kiss me. The thought came to her unbidden, and her eyes opened wide at her own salaciousness. Troy drew back, surprised. “Have I said something wrong?”
She shook her head, “No, no.” She coughed. “Thank you.”
Marianne perked up. “I have an idea. Not that you need to make amends, Troy, but Ruth will be needing a little assistance now that she is injured. She is planning the May Day festival. Would you be interested in helping her out? I know you have your own part to play in it, but everyone else is busy.”
He stood up and moved his hand through his wet, brown hair. He paused for a moment. That would mean he’d need to spend more time with Ruth, and he was not sure he wanted to do that. Well, he wanted to, but he wasn’t sure he should.
“Aye…I could do that.”
Ruth’s eager face dimmed slightly at his hesitation, but she was grateful to Marianne for her brilliant idea. She knew that Marianne would not stand in the way of love! She would have to thank her later.
Ruth smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Ferguson. I would be most grateful for your assistance. Party planning is not quite my forte, as it were.”
He nodded, and then changed the subject. “Well, I will take my leave of ye all. Even though there is no break, I think ‘twould be best for the doctor tae examine her properly as well. I am no physician.”
He needed to go. He had now tied himself to working with this woman for the next few weeks, so he would need to think of a new plan of keeping his ideas and forbidden thoughts at bay while they worked closely together. Her smile and eager expression only strengthened his resolve to leave quickly. She was so endearing and sweet. He had never heard a woman speak as she did. Ever since the first night when she’d told him of her dream to travel, Troy had felt the desire to bring her into his arms; but that could not be. First of all, that was no way for a minister to act with a member of his congregation. And secondly, he couldn’t afford such behavior. That life was behind him now and everything that came with it: the bawdy women, the reckless behavior, the fighting, the overindulgence. He wasn’t that man anymore. He had to make up for his past, and so he edged towards the door, hopeful the family would let him leave without too much argument.
Marianne replied, “Oh, will ye not stay for tea? Or some wine? It is a long journey back in the rain and the cold! ‘Twould not be right of me to release you into the wilds.”
He chuckled nervously and brushed through his wet hair again before donning his wet cap. “Please dinnae worry about me, Marianne. I am a seasoned rain-walker, and I shall find my way well enough.”
Ruth sat up quickly and then winced again in pain. “Oh, and Emerald? Where is she? Is she all right?”
“Aye, she is well, lass. She rests in her stable, dry now. She hadn’t gone far. Poor thing, I think she felt a bit of guilt for kicking ye off her back.”
“Ahh, well I will go and see her as soon as I feel ready to, to let her know that everything is fine. But she’ll have to do her best to stay clear of you in future though.”
Troy smiled at her grin and felt a tinge of something. Was it desire? He didn’t want to explore that idea. This woman was trouble.
“And before you go, may I ask what makes a man wander about in the dark and the rain?” Ruth’s right eyebrow raised in question.
William joined in. “Aye, I’m curious as well. Ye’ve not said such a thing before tae us, lad.”
Troy searched around for a reason. Because I’ve spent many years aboard a pirate ship? No, that would not do. He centered upon an idea. “Och, I thought ‘twas the Scottish way. We’ve no respite from the rain for most of the year, so I took it upon meself to fight back against it.” He shrugged and pulled his wet coat back over his shoulders.
The family laughed at his answer, but Ruth had seen his hesitation and the concern in his eyes as he searched for an acceptable response.
“Goodnight tae ye all.” He nodded, grinning with that beautiful smile of his. “And I will hear about yer progress from William, I hope.” He looked at Ruth briefly.
“Aye,” William replied gruffly and turned back to see Ruth.
Marianne said, “Thank you again, Troy!”
“Yes, thank you…Troy. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Ruth stared at Troy across the room, willing him to stay and stop being so ridiculous, but he only bowed his head, and before giving her one last glance, slipped out into the night, shutting the heavy door behind him.
Ruth leaned back against the sofa, letting out a sigh. What was this man hiding? Well, she had all of the weeks preparing for the May Day festival to find out.
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Fraser could not have been happier, though marriage was not the end of the happy tale between Isla and himself. After the excitement of their wedding day, there came many more feasts and celebrations, and Fraser found himself the center of attention. It was quite overwhelming, and the humble blacksmith was amazed at how he was now feted by those around him.
“Hail to thee, Laird apparent,” they said, filing past him and bowing, much to Fraser’s embarrassment.
“Ye have much to live up to in the footsteps of yer father,” others said, but Fraser was content to find happiness in the present, at Isla’s side.
In his own mind, he was still the lowly village blacksmith, to whom people brought their horses for shodding and soldiers their swords for mending. It mattered not to Fraser whether he held title or not, so long as Isla was at his side.
He had many plans for the future and set about rebuilding the croft and being a faithful husband to Isla, whom he loved more than anything in the world.
“I shall see to it that ye are always taken care of, lass,” he told her as they walked hand in hand a few days after the feast.
“Ye have already taken care of me, Fraser,” she replied. “We shall care for one another,” and he smiled at her and kissed her.
***
Isla was happy at the croft, which had once belonged to her grandparents. Fraser had repaired it and made it strong and sturdy, and it was a happy place in which to raise a family. It was not long after their marriage that she gave birth to their first son and they named him Rory. He was a bonnie bairn and doted over by his grandparents and those around him, including his Godfather Sweeney, who was a regular visitor to the croft.
“Ye cannae keep away, can ye, Sweeney?” Isla said one day when Sweeney appeared at the door, bearing a sprig of heather in his hand.
“Well, ye made me Godfather, and I have responsibilities,” he replied, but Isla was more than happy to see him.
Over the years, he had been a good friend to them all, and she welcomed him inside, just as Fraser was returning from his work.
He was busy working on the ruined castle below, which, along with helpers from the village, he was working hard to restore.
“How goes the work?” Sweeney asked as Fraser settled himself at the table, bouncing baby Rory on his knee.
“Aye, it goes well, though it will be a few more winters before we move from this place to there,” he replied, as the child began to cry.
“Why we have to move to a drafty old castle when we have this lovely croft is quite beyond me,” Isla replied, for she was quite happy in her grandparents’ croft.
“Ye will nae say that when the English have regrouped and regained their strength,” Fraser said. “What news dae ye have from Kirklinton, Sweeney?”
“Much the same. Yer father and Lena are happy enough together. They seem closer by the day,” he replied.
“It would be nice if they were to marry? Dae ye nae think?” Isla said, smiling, as she took the bairn from Fraser.
“They are certainly close,” Sweeney replied.
Isla wanted her father to be happy, and since Lena’s arrival, the two had seemed to grow ever closer. He was getting older though and would not see many more winters on the borders. Lena had also had a hard life, and Isla wondered just how long it would be before her husband became Laird of Kirklinton.
“If it makes them happy,” Fraser said.
Isla was about to reply when suddenly she felt a twinge in her stomach. It happened several times before, and she rushed from the room to be sick.
“Are ye alright, Lena?” Fraser said, rushing after her as the bairn began to cry.
“Aye,” she said, smiling at him, “but I think I might be with child.”
***
Isla was with child, and some months later, she gave birth to another boy, who they named Owen. The croft now seemed very crowded, and Isla was more in favor of the renovated castle than she had been before. With two children, and perhaps more on the way, she knew that her growing family would soon outgrow her grandparents’ croft.
“‘Tis nearly finished,” Fraser told her, two years after she had given birth to Owen.
“How long, Fraser?” she asked. For now that Duncan was three years old and Owen two, they were becoming boisterous, and the croft was far from adequate
“By the winter, lass,” he replied, smiling at her as she rolled her eyes.
They were expecting a visit from Duncan, and as she looked out of the window across the heathers, she could see him ambling across the moor.
“Yer brother is here,” she said, scooping up the bairns in her arms.
Together, the family walked out to meet him, and the children were delighted to see their uncle, who always came bearing little gifts, He was dressed in his monks’ habit, and he embraced them all in turn, blessing the children as he always did.
“How was yer journey, brother?” Fraser asked,
“Aye, it was uneventful, which is how I always pray it to be,” he replied, laughing, for Duncan always laughed a lot.
Isla had noticed that in him recently. He seemed entirely happy and contented in his vocation, and she was glad that he too had found the happiness which they enjoyed themselves.
“What news dae ye have?” Duncan asked. “Are yer father and mother well?”
“Aye, they get along very well,” Fraser replied, laughing.
“They should be married. That is the proper thing,” Duncan replied, raising his eyebrow.
“Well, I shall leave ye to suggest that,” Fraser replied, as they walked up towards the croft.
“And ye, Isla, what happy news dae ye have for me?” Duncan said.
Isla was surprised by his words, for she had told no one except Fraser that she was expecting a bairn. She had realized only a few weeks ago, and it was far from apparent yet, except to herself.
“I … how?” she said, as she and Fraser turned to him in surprise.
“Oh, intuition, I suppose,” he replied and tapped his nose.
***
Isla was pleased when Lena announced she had given birth to a baby girl. Not that she would have minded either way, but a girl would be good company for her in later years, and she held the baby close to her breast and kissed her.
“What will ye call her?” Lena asked, for she had been present each time Isla had given birth and asked the same question.
“Evie,” Isla replied, for it was a name she had always loved.
Lena called her son into the room, and Fraser hurried in, stooping by the bed and smiling at Isla, who lay back in exhaustion.
“Well done,” he said, and Lena handed him the baby.
“A beautiful little girl for our family,” she said, as Fraser took the child gently in his arms.
“Hello there, ye are beautiful just as yer mother,” Fraser said, holding the baby close to him and placing a delicate kiss upon her forehead.
Isla knew that now her family was complete, and she delighted in seeing them grow. They were each so different. Rory took after his grandfather and was always getting into scrapes; Owen was like his father, quiet and ponderous; and Evie took after her mother, a brave little lass with a determined will.
Isla could not have been happier, and it was not long before the family moved into the castle, which had once belonged to her parents. It brought back many memories for Isla, and she often found herself sitting quietly in the Great Hall, remembering the Armstrongs and the family she had lost.
“What were they like, mother?” little Owen asked her one day.
“Well, why dinnae the three of ye sit down, and I shall tell ye the whole story,” she replied, as they settled by the fire.
***
It was now ten years after their wedding, and Fraser and Isla were walking on the heathers between Kirklinton and the Armstrong castle. They held hands, and above them, a hawk was circling. Just as it so often did when they walked together in this way, as though it were always keeping watch over them. In the distance, the three children were running and playing together on the moorlands, happy and carefree
“We have much to be thankful for, ye and I,” Fraser said, as they came to the ridge and looked down upon the castle.
“Aye, a great deal,” she replied, turning to him and resting her head upon his shoulder.
“I have never ceased to love ye, Isla, and day by day, my love for ye grows,” he said, and he turned and kissed her.
“And I feel the same for ye, my darling husband. I love ye so very much, and I couldnae imagine my life to be any other way,” she replied, and together they looked over the heathers as the hawk circled above.
“What dae ye think the future will hold for our bairns?” she asked, looking over at the children, who were holding hands as they ran across the moorlands.
“I dinnae know, but all I hope is that they will be as happy as we have become,” Fraser replied, and he turned again and kissed her, the future stretching on ahead, as a new generation came to the fore.
If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…
This is the tale of a Highlander entrapped by the sins of his father and a rebellious lass who must defy her family’s great legacy to find herself. Surrendering to a forbidden love that it was never meant to be, can these two escape their destinies without unleashing chaos to the Highlands?
