A feud that lead to love, a love wounded by war...
Rhona was supposed to give birth to her first child with her husband by her side. When the noble Laird Iain Cameron is brutally killed by the sinister Murdoch Mackintosh, Rhona and her clan find themselves at his mercy. Filled with desire for her, Murdoch makes her his wife and claims her child as his own.
Stewart Mackintosh was forbidden to fall in love with his brother's wife. All he ever wanted, was for his clan to thrive and peace to be restored. Now he is losing himself to a woman he shouldn't desire. But to be with her, Stewart must make the ultimate sacrifice to save Rhona and the bloodline of Clan Cameron.
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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?
The rain persisted for three whole days. It was as though her grandfather’s death had left a cloud hanging over the borders. A mist hung in the air too, and there was a dank and dreary atmosphere about the place, such that it sent Evie into a deep depression. Her uncle had returned to the monastery at Lanercost, and her brothers returned to their work with her father, leaving Evie and her mother alone during the day.
She had not settled into life at Kirklinton and longed instead for the simpler life she had led at the castle across the heathers. There, she had been free to please herself and to go where she wished, when she wished to do so. Now, it seemed as though her life were regimented and ordered and there had already been any number of visitors to Kirklinton wishing to pay their respects to her father. It seemed she was no longer the free-spirited lass she once had been allowed to be. Now, her mother spoke of responsibility, and she had realized that life would now be very different. Not only for her but for them all.
“I am tired of the rain and bein’ confined to this place,” she said to her mother, as the two sat spinning wool on the third afternoon after her grandfather’s funeral.
“When I was a child, I was often confined here, yer grandfather always worried for my safety. Be grateful that ye had such freedoms as a child,” her mother replied, dexterously rolling the wool into balls, as Evie held it up for her.
“Aye, I know, but livin’ here feels so closed in. ‘Tis like we are always under scrutiny, always bein’ watched,” Evie replied.
“Aye, there is that. Yer father is nae enjoyin’ it either. He has never had any wish to be Laird. I remember him sayin’ as much when first we were married. He had nay desire for such a title, ye have to remember that he was a humble blacksmith until …” her mother said, and her words trailed off.
Evie knew the story well enough, but it still fascinated her. She had loved her grandfather dearly, but she still found it hard to think that he had kept that secret hidden for all those years. Never once revealing to anyone the true identity of his son nor wishing anything to do with him, it seemed so at odds with the man she knew, and in truth, she preferred not to think about it.
“This castle too, ‘tis nothin’ like home,” Evie said, and her mother sighed and nodded.
“Aye, Evie. It will become like home, and we shall still visit the old castle. It holds many memories for me too daenae forget,” her mother replied.
“What dae ye remember of it?” Evie asked, the wool running through her fingers, as her mother smiled.
“From my childhood? Oh, I remember a little. It was a lovely place back then, and I shall always be grateful to yer father for restorin’ it. When I was a child, my father, my blood father, would hold great feasts there, and I remember my mother singin’ to me as she bathed me. But I remember too the night we were forced to flee and lookin’ over my nurse maid’s shoulder at the castle burnin’ behind us. A dark day,” she said, shaking her head.
“And then ye came here?” Evie asked though she knew the answer well enough.
“Aye, that’s right. I came here, and I was happy here, as will ye be, though perhaps nae for long,” her mother replied.
“What dae ye mean? Are ye sendin’ me away?” Evie said, surprised by her mother’s words.
“Nay, of course, nae, Evie. Daenae be silly, but ye are twenty years old, soon ye shall have a husband and who knows where ye shall live then,” her mother replied.
Evie had not thought about it like that. The idea of a marriage or a husband had seemed remote and distant from her. Her two elder brothers were not yet married, though Rory was forever chasing women from the village, and it had not occurred to her that she would marry before them.
Evie was an attractive girl, possessed of long flowing red hair and deep green eyes. Her skin was soft and her complexion pretty, yet unassuming. She knew that men often looked at her with interest. But she had never felt ready to pursue such things, content instead to wait until her father and mother should decide the time was right.
“But I have nay thoughts of a husband yet, mother,” she replied, smiling and shaking her head.
“Aye, but in time ye might dae,” her mother replied, “and when ye dae ye shall live elsewhere, away from this castle, a different life to this.”
Evie had no desire for such a thing, she might not relish life at Kirklinton, but she certainly had no desire to leave her mother, father, and brothers behind. They were all she knew, and there was no desire in her heart for something different. She knew that marriage must one day come, but for now, she was content to help her mother with the spinning and to be a friend to her brothers. She had only one other friend, and that was Caitlin Macready, a girl of her own age who lived a few miles across the heathers with her mother in a croft on the moorlands.
They had been friends since they were children, and Evie had always confided in her and known her to be a loyal and close friend. She had not seen her since the day of her grandfather’s death, and the thought of her now put into Evie’s mind the desire to see her. Outside, the rain had grown lighter, a drizzle upon the moorlands rather than the deluge of the past few days, and far across the borderlands, the merest hint of sunlight was breaking through the clouds. Evie set aside the wool and crossed to the window, looking out across the heathers to where her father and brothers were working down on the track, which led to the village. They were building a dry-stone wall, in which to enclose the sheep which her father intended to keep for their wool and meat.
“I think I shall walk over to Caitlin’s croft and see her,” Evie said, turning to Isla, who smiled and nodded.
“Aye, it would dae ye good to see a friend, be back by nightfall though, Evie,” her mother said, and Evie nodded.
Her mother always said that, as though the arrival of the night brought with it untold danger and threat. In truth, Evie’s life had been peaceful, troubled only occasionally by an English raid or the rumors of robbers on the road east. She had never experienced that which her mother and father had lived through when the threat of an English attack was ever-present.
She took up a shawl and wrapped it around her and bidding her mother farewell, she clattered down the steps of the keep and out into the stable yard. Her horse was tethered up over by the stables, but she wished to walk, enjoying the fresh air and the coolness of the day. The rain had turned to mist by now, and she set off across the moorlands, passing her father and brothers as she went.
“And where are ye off to, Evie?” her father called out, as paused to watch them at work.
“To Caitlin’s, Father,” she replied, as Owen and Rory laid down their tools.
“Well, be back by nightfall, ye hear me,” he said, and she smiled, as both her brothers laughed.
“She is always back by nightfall, father,” Owen said, “if she were nae, then ye would have the whole clan out lookin’ for her.”
“I am only doin’ what any father would dae. When ye are a father, Owen then ye shall be just the same,” their father replied, and he returned to his work.
Rory walked across the heathers towards Evie and smiled.
“Will ye give my love to Caitlin?” he asked, blushing a little as he spoke.
“I always dae, Rory, but I am afraid the answer will always be the same,” she replied.
Her brother had always held a flame for Caitlin, ever since they were children. But she had always resisted, ever making this excuse and that for why she and Rory could not be together. Still, he was persistent, and every time that it was known that Evie was visiting her friend, he would send her with his love and a sprig of heather, which now he plucked from the ground below.
“And give her this if ye will,” he said, and she smiled and nodded.
“She will have a whole moor before long,” she replied, taking the sprig and tucking it into her tunic.
“I can only try,” he replied, for Evie knew that it pained him to suffer such rejection.
He had often confided in her, longing for just one chance to prove himself to Caitlin. But she was a beautiful girl and could have her pick of men on the borderlands. But like Evie, she had no interest in marriage just yet, at least that is how it seemed to Evie, the two girls knowing one another better than anyone else.
“I will tell her,” Evie replied, and with a nod to her brother and a wave to her father and Owen, she set off across the heathers.
It would take around an hour to reach Caitlin’s croft, which lay upon a hill about a mile from the castle in which Evie and her brothers had grown up. She would have to pass it to get there, and, as she came in sight of the familiar towers and the imposing keep, she sighed to herself and paused.
As for her mother, the castle held many happy memories. It was here that she had first come to realize the power of the family into which she had been born and the grave responsibility, which would one day rest upon her father. They had shared happy times and sad in this place, not least the news of her grandfather’s death, which had so altered life for them all. Above her, she could see the old croft where her great grandparents had once lived, up on the moors and where her parents first lived when they were married. The landscape held such memories for them all, and for a moment, she stood taking it all in, lost in thought.
The gates of the castle were open, for her father still kept servants there, and several of the clansmen still resided behind its walls. She could see soldiers on the battlements, and she waved to them, hurrying across the heathers towards the gate.
“Hail there, Evie,” the captain of the guards said, “we have missed yer bonnie face these past weeks.”
“And I have missed this place too,” she called back, standing to look up at the high walls above.
“How is life at Kirklinton? Are ye settlin’ in?” he called back, for all the soldiers had a soft heart for Evie.
“Tolerable,” she called back, “I am on my way to see the Macready’s. I have been confined to the castle these past days, and I couldnae bear it any longer.”
“Be careful on the heathers lass, keep yer wits about ye,” the old soldier called back, and he waved to her as she walked on.
Evie had no fear; she had known this landscape and its paths her whole life. Besides, she was the daughter of a Laird, and, like her mother, she was possessed of boldness and fearlessness such that no man would cross her.
The moorland path rose steeply upwards from the castle, which lay on the low heathers close to a gushing stream. The rains had caused it to swell, and she had to walk some way upstream before she could find a place to cross safely. The trees overhung the water’s edge at that point, and she looked up and down the torrent for bare rocks over which she could make her path.
I shall have to go higher, she thought to herself and continued to climb up through the trees, towards where she thought would be a safe crossing point. The path along the stream had almost disappeared, and she was now high above the castle, with still no place to cross. Growing frustrated, she decided to remove her shoes and hitch up her tunic to wade across. The water was not too deep there, and she would soon be on the other side. Caitlin’s mother always had a fire burning, and she could sit in front of that to dry herself off.
Evie paused, glancing up and down the stream for a final time, but there was no easy place to cross, and instead, she removed her shoes and stepped into the water. It was icy cold, and a shiver went through her body as she waded knee-deep into the gushing torrent. The current was stronger than she had imagined it to be, and she stretched out her hands to steady herself. It was not far to the other side, and she took another step further into the water.
Chapter II
I hope the fire is well stoked up, she thought to herself, wading on through the water. She pictured Caitlin’s snug croft and looked forward to the prospect of griddle scones, cooked in the embers of the fire, and a warm cup of something to raise her spirits.
But just as she was close to the other side, where trees hung down low over the bank, a surge of water caused her to unbalance. With a cry, Evie slipped into the cold water and was caught up in the torrent. It sent her down the stream with such force that she went under several times, flailing in the murky depths, as she gasped and struggled to catch her breath.
She screamed, trying desperately to swim against the current, but to no avail. The water was gushing around her, carrying her downstream, and despite striking out with all her might, she found herself unable to swim or catch her footing. The water was far more treacherous than she had imagined, freezing cold too, and she was helpless against the force pulling her along. With a final effort, she cried out again as a fresh surge of water overwhelmed her, and she went hurtling down the stream. There were falls further down, and if she could not get to the bank, then she would be swept over and dashed upon the rocks. Desperately she tried to swim, but the water was unforgiving, sweeping her along in its torrent. She could hardly breathe, gasping for breath, as the water hurled her up and out of the current, before pulling her back down. The rain lashed at her face, and the water swirled about her as she felt herself drifting out of consciousness.
“Help me,” she cried out as her head went beneath the water again.
It seemed there was no hope, and with a final gasp, she tried to swim again, her hand reaching out when all of sudden another hand took hold of hers. With great strength, she was pulled through the waters, her head emerging from the depths, as she gasped for breath.
‘I have ye, daenae worry,” came a voice, “ye will be all right, here we go,” and with another heave, she was dragged up onto the side of the bank.
Evie was coughing and spluttering, her whole body shaking with the chill of the water, and for a moment, she had no idea what had just occurred. It had all happened so fast, and she was almost delirious as she began to babble senselessly.
“I … oh … please …” she cried, but the stranger pulled her further up the bank until she lay panting and breathless on the heathers above the water.
“All right, ye are safe now. But I daenae advise ye to cross the waters like that again. The stream is treacherous after the rains, and ye clearly have nay skill at swimming,” he said, laughing a little.
Evie coughed and spluttered, her mouth and nose filled with water as she struggled to draw breath.
“I cannae …” she began.
“All right, easy now, ye have had a shock,” the stranger replied, and Evie rubbed her eyes, shivering with cold as she lay bedraggled upon the bank.
As she recovered a little more, she looked her rescuer in the face. He was a man whom she had never seen before, not a member of her father’s clan or an ally, nor a peasant from Lochrutton, the village which lay below her father’s castle. He was tall and well built, dressed in a red tunic, which was itself now soaked through. His face, which was clean-shaven and handsome, bore a smile. But she flinched back in terror as he reached out his hand, for he was a stranger, and she knew not of his intentions.
“I … I …” she gasped, coughing and spluttering with the water that filled her mouth and nose.
“I am nae goin’ to hurt ye. My name is Hamish, Hamish … MacBryde,” he said, a name which caused a wave of horror to run through her.
The name of MacBryde had long been feared by her family. The MacBrydes had long ago sided with the English against their own countrymen across the border. Her father called them traitors and would shake his head in anger at the name. They were allies of the Musgraves, and she knew that it was a Musgrave who had imprisoned her mother and held her grandmother as a slave for years before her father had rescued them both. She had never encountered a MacBryde before, and she was terrified as to what he might do. She had heard so many stories of their atrocities over the years, and she knew that they could not be trusted.
“What … what are ye doin’ here?” she asked, finally recovering enough to speak, her hands now blue with cold and her body beginning to numb.
She felt vulnerable and at his mercies, knowing that the chill running through her would prevent her from running away.
“I often come here, I like to sit up here and look across the borders and the moorlands. Ye are the first person I have ever encountered,” he said, taking off his cloak, “now, ye are shiverin’, place this around ye, it will help to warm ye up. If I had not seen ye thrashing about in the water, then ye would surely have drowned. What is yer name?”
“Ev … Evie, Evie … Elliott,” she mumbled as he placed the cloak around her shoulders, and she wrapped it close to her.
“An Elliott,” he said, as though recalling some past memory, “yer father is …”
“The Laird,” she replied, hoping perhaps that the name might scare him off and watching him cautiously.
She was frightened, for, despite his kindness, she knew not to trust a MacBryde, and she was suspicious as to why a man such as this should be here in the heart of her father’s territory, alone and watching. Was he a spy? What were his intentions? She was beginning to recover herself a little, and she edged away from him, watching him all the time. But he simply smiled and nodded.
“The daughter of the Laird, goodness me. I am honored. And what are ye doin’ crossin’ over the stream here and wanderin’ through the heathers all alone?” he asked, looking her up and down with curiosity.
“My father’s land, and I shall walk where I choose. And … and why are ye here?” she replied, trying to sound braver than she felt.
She wished that one of her brothers was there, or her father or one of the soldiers. They would soon chase this curious MacBryde away and see her safely home. But out here she was alone, and she knew she must make her escape as soon as possible. But the chill was setting in, and Evie continued to sit shivering as Hamish watched her.
“I walk this way at times. ‘Tis an escape from the castle, though I know it to be a dangerous one. If yer father knew …” he began.
“My father will know. Ye are a MacBryde and are nae to be trusted,” she replied, but he simply laughed once more and shook his head.
“A fine way to repay a man who has just saved yer life. I would hate to know how ye treat yer enemies,” he replied, laughing and moving closer towards her.
Evie felt disarmed by his comment. But she looked at him defiantly, trying to stand up and failing, the chill running through her bones.
“I … I will be all right, thank ye,” she replied.
She wanted him to leave her alone, though she knew she owed this man her life. But to trust a MacBryde? Evie knew what her father would say if he knew she was talking to a man of the clan who he and her family had sworn as enemies. No MacBryde was to be trusted, not even one who had rescued her from the torrent of the stream.
“And where is it that ye are goin’ to now, lass?” Hamish asked, “ye cannae walk soaked to the skin in the rain. Let me help ye.”
“Nay, I daenae need yer help. I have friends nearby, ye should go. If my father catches ye here then …” Evie said, but Hamish just smiled.
“Yer father has never caught me before. I have watched him and the other clansmen on the hunt, I fancy I have even seen ye at times, lass. When I pulled ye from the water, I recognized yer face. Ye have brothers too, daenae ye?” he said.
“Aye, and if they knew a MacBryde was here, then they would …” Evie began, struggling to her feet.
She was shaking with cold, and she knew she could not remain outside much longer, lest the chill would go to her bones. Hamish stood up too, looking around him at that lonely spot, as the rain continued to fall.
“Come now, lass. Can we nae be friends ye and I? These old quarrels are between our parents. Why must we be caught up in them?” he asked, holding out his hands.
“My quarrel is with anyone who would betray their fellow countrymen,” Evie said.
The MacBrydes had long had a pact with the English, selling their loyalty across the border. No MacBryde could be trusted. They were friends of the enemy, and it was rumored that an attack by their combined forces was imminent. Evie knew too the stories of the past and of how her poor grandmother was subjected to years of harsh treatment at the hands of the Musgraves. She had no intention of offering the hand of friendship, however kind this man might have been to her, and she watched him warily as he stood between her and the moorland path above.
“I daenae have time for such quarrels, I am nay enemy of yours,” Hamish replied.
“Then ye shall seek peace with my father? Are ye to be Laird upon the death of yer father?” Evie asked, and Hamish nodded.
“I am. And when I am, I shall forget the past and pursue peace,” he replied, an air of confidence about him.
Evie was not convinced. She had heard such tales before when the Elliotts and the MacBrydes had been at peace. It was promises such as this that had led to betrayal, and she could hear her mother’s words ringing in her ears.
“Never a trust a MacBryde, for they shall stab ye in the back,” she used to say.
“Well, Laird to be, I thank ye for helpin’ me, and now I must be on my way,” Evie said, pulling his cloak tightly around her.
“And I presume ye shall take my cloak with ye too?” he asked, smiling at her and laughing.
“I … nay, of course not. Here,” she said, handing him back the cloak, as an icy wind whipped along the course of the stream.
“Ye need it more than I, lass. Go on, be away with ye. It seems I cannae persuade ye to sit awhile with me and talk. Besides, ye are cold and need the warmth of a hearth to warm ye. I should be on my way too, I wouldnae wish to run into yer brothers or yer father as I make my way home,” Hamish replied.
“Ye risk a lot by comin’ here,” Evie said.
“What is life if nae without a little risk?” he replied, and she nodded, stepping past him and glancing back.
“I … thank ye …” she said and hurried off up the path leading to the heathers above.
“Will I see ye again?” he called back, but Evie made no reply.
On the brow above, she turned and saw him still watching her. How lucky it had been to encounter him, but Evie had no desire to forge a friendship with the enemy. Hamish MacBryde had been kind, but she knew not to trust him. She was her father’s daughter, the daughter of Lairds and warriors. This man was the enemy, and even to speak with him felt like a betrayal. But despite that fact, she could not help but feel grateful. After all, he had saved her life, when she too was an enemy to him. Were his words really sincere?
Evie watched him for a moment, before turning back to look across the heathers. The clouds were clearing now, the merest hint of blue sky against the dark clouds. A rainbow hung in the distance, and the sun had caught the purple of the heathers over on the hills beyond. When she glanced back, he was gone, disappearing as readily as he had appeared. A stranger on the heathers, an enemy at large. She pulled his cloak around her more tightly, glancing back again as she hurried over the heathers. It had certainly been an eventful day, and Evie would be glad of a fire and a friendly face.
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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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