Extended Epilogues

7 years later

Isabelle Wilson never thought it was too early to teach her child and her niece how to fight. Rose had taught them the beginning skills of using a sword, but now that she was busy as a newly pregnant mother and feeling a little too ill to spend much time on her feet, Isabelle had taken over the lessons lately and was focusing on archery. She would line up apples or acorns on far stumps, and the two girls would practice for hours, squinting their eyes and sticking out their cute little tongues as they tried to focus on their targets.

“Use your mouth as a guide. Hold tight to your bows.” She stood behind the two cousins and laid her hands gently on their backs. She whispered, “fire,” and the beautiful sound of whooshing arrows was sent through the air, and they landed perfectly in each of their targets.

Isabelle clapped with delight. “Beautiful, my girls!” She hugged her daughter, Orla, and squeezed her niece Shana’s shoulder. “You have learned so much. I am so proud!”

“Mommy, when will we be able to practice again? I know that Shana has to go back and help Auntie Rose today.”

Isabelle knelt down so that she was on a level with the pair of 7-year-olds. “Well, that is very nice of Shana. You can go to help too, Orla. Auntie Rose needs a lot of help right now, but do not worry. We can practice again tomorrow and every day after that if you so wish it.” The two little girls both smiled and wrapped their arms around Isabelle’s neck. She felt a warm happiness tingle through her belly. Not only did she have her own beautiful child, but a lovely niece as well.

They were so alike in spirit and appearance, one would often think they were twins. “Now, can you tell me where your dad and your uncle is?”

Shana pointed away towards the field of corn off in the distance. “He is with my daddy right now. I think they are arguing about some sort of farming.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes and laughed. “Of course they are. One would think they had no other interesting topics to discuss!” The girls giggled, and Isabelle sent them on their way back to the village, and she smiled after them and watched as they skipped home, hand in hand, both carrying their bows in the other.

Isabelle leaned down to pick up the quiver and the arrows that remained from their practice. Slinging them over her shoulder, she wandered towards the field, enjoying the feel of the hot sunshine on her face. This village was absolute bliss. For the last seven years, she and Eamon had enjoyed contentment and happiness that she had never expected. It was so overwhelming at first, to be surrounded by such love and care, but it was what her heart had so greatly needed. She was happy that her daughter Orla had such a happy, loving home, where her parents truly loved each other, and her father treated her with such affection.

As she approached the field, she heard Sean and Eamon discussing how best to harvest the corn this year. “I think we could preserve manpower if ye would bloody get a plow and a few more animals.”

Sean said back, “I thought we wanted tae get away from the world, and ye are always trying tae modernize.”

“Gentlemen,” Isabelle said after clearing her throat. She came upon them and put her hands on her hips. “You know, if an outsider was to see the two of you right now, arguing over proper farming techniques, then I do not think they would ever know what brazen warriors you were in the past. You two are like a pair of old men now.” She stifled a giggle at their aghast faces.

Eamon replied, “Now, Sassenach, ye think that we have forgotten all our sword skills, but of course we havenae. We can fight just as we used tae.”

Isabelle nodded. “Of course, and Sean, do ye agree?”

“Of course. We could prove it.”

“Well, I am certain that both Rose and I would enjoy that scene greatly. We might hear a few extra sounds as well, you know, like the popping of joints and the pulling of muscles.”

She laughed and was just about to leave when Eamon grabbed her. “Now, ye cannae say rubbish like that and get away with it, lass.”

“I have work to do, Eamon Wilson, I cannot spend all day deriding you both in the cornfields.” Eamon was about to protest when she turned to Sean. “Shana is coming along nicely with the archery. She has rushed home like a dutiful daughter to help Rose in the house. Is she well today?”

Sean nodded. “Aye, but she still feels sick now and again. She never can predict when it will happen, so Shana has been a big help tae her. I think I will go and check on her now and leave ye two lovebirds tae sort out yer differences.” With a smirk, Sean left the two of them on the edge of the cornfield, bathed in a lovely golden light.

Eamon nodded. “That is right. As a husband, I ought tae punish ye for such bold behavior, woman.” Isabelle grinned and wrapped her arms about his neck, looking lovingly into his eyes. Eamon had aged, of course, but it was more like a lovely ripening which matured his face and made him look both kinder and stronger. He had tiny flecks of gray at his temples, and a few lines as well. She bore her own lines too from the birth of their beautiful daughter, but not one day had her love for him dampened. It only grew and grew, like she knew that it would.

“You would never think of punishing me, Eamon, for you know that I would come after you with a fiery vengeance.”

He chuckled, leaning closer to her, wrapping his rough hands around her waist. “Aye, yer too right, lass. I would never survive.”

Isabelle sighed contentedly. “I have never been as happy as I have been here, my love. I hope you know that.”

“So I do. But you must know that I have also never been so happy. I much prefer arguing over farming like an old man, rather than having to save my wife from the brink of execution.”

Isabelle smiled. “Yes, I do not think I would wish to revisit that part of our lives, although I am glad we never received any renewed visits from the English forces.”

“Aye, well, after the King heard about the fire and the massacre and all of Cutler’s extreme actions, he decided tae let his vengeance be, did he nae?”

“It was good of him. A surprise reaction.” She leaned up to kiss Eamon lightly on the lips. “You are just as handsome as the first time I saw you.”

“Now, that is nae fair, when ye have grown more beautiful each day I have known ye.”

Isabelle wrapped her arm in his, and they began to walk towards the village. “Is that so? I must be a lucky woman.”

“That ye are, lass, that ye are.” Growling, he hoisted her up into his arms, laughing, and when they reached the door to their hut, they pushed inside together. “I shall show ye just how lucky ye are, my love.”

Isabelle sighed with delight and let him do just that.

***

Shana Wilson sighed with boredom as she shot an arrow towards the nearby stump and heard the satisfying squelch as it landed squarely in an apple’s red flesh. She had done this time and time again ever since she could remember. The practice was growing dull. Once she pulled it out and bit into the apple, she slung the bow over her shoulder and decided to head to the village’s small library. It was one of the great aspects of the village of The Scots she called her home. Her aunt Isabelle had begun gathering books whenever she could, while she was off collecting supplies, and bringing them back so that the schoolchildren could use them to learn, and adults could while away any free hours. It was where Shana had learned about the excitement of the outside world, and it had ignited a desire for adventure in her. The more she read, the more she knew she wanted, no, needed, to see the world for herself.

She had heard her aunt speak of England, and her parents speak of Loch Ness and its shining waters and a smoking fort that stood on its bank. All of them had had so many adventures, like when her father and her aunt were on the brink of execution, and her uncle saved him. One of her father’s friends, Donovan, had missing fingers to prove what kind of danger they had all been in. So, Shana had begun to read whatever she could about England, and that day she was reading about the history of its kings, with all their mysteries, scandals, and secret deaths. Once inside the hut, which contained the books, she found her well-used copy, and instead of staying within the dim walls, she decided to take it to the border of the woods, where she and her cousin Orla would often walk.

The border of the village was as close as she had ever come to leaving the village, and it gave her a thrill to be so close to the edge. Sadly, today, Orla was not with her. She had rejected Shana’s invitation to practice archery and had run off to meet Robert, a boy who was wooing her day in and day out.

Pushing her brown hair out of her eyes and squinting into the sun, Shana traced her steps along the usual walking path underneath the trees. She threw the apple core into the woods, hearing the crunch of sticks and grass as it landed. One day she would leave, and her parents would just have to understand. She could come back one day, but right now, Shana knew that she wanted to get away for as long as she could.

A new crunching sounded in the forest. She turned around, expecting to see a curious deer or rabbit coming to see who was tramping through their beloved woods. Instead, she saw a glimpse of the colors of a different Scottish clan kilt moving behind a tree. Slowly, gingerly, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and placed it into her bow, holding it taut, using her mouth as a guide. “Who is there?” she called out to the tree, trying not to let her hands tremble too much.

A man stepped out, holding his hands high. “Lass, I dinnae wish tae scare ye.”

“Who are ye?” Her brows twisted as she stared at him. He was a young man, well-built, with long, reddish-brown hair tied behind his neck. He wasn’t carrying anything, and it seemed so odd to see him out on his own. She had never seen anyone new visit the village before, and it intrigued her. His white shirt was ripped, and Shana could see the smooth, muscled skin underneath. It made her focus wander dangerously.

“I am from another clan, far away. I only seek these woods for refuge, I swear. I wouldnae think tae harm ye in any way, even though ye are quite bonny.” He tried to smile.

Shana scoffed, trying to ignore the pleasure of hearing herself called bonny. None of the other boys in the village had ever called her that. “Ye would get an arrow pierced straight through yer heart before ye could even try tae do that.”

She kept the arrow tight, but the man looked so eager that she slowly lowered her weapon. He was far enough away that if he decided to lunge toward her, she still had enough time to aim and shoot at his chest.

“Now that ye have seen me, I wonder if ye might give me help. I only need tae spend a few nights here, and I need a bit of food.” He took a step forward, and Shana could feel her grasp tighten on her bow once again.

Shana pursed her lips in thought. Her parents would never approve of her helping a strange man without their knowledge, but after her original wave of panic and fear had passed, she felt a thrill at having a sort of new adventure fall into her lap. “All ye need is food? And then ye will go away?”

He nodded. “Aye. I need tae stay a few nights in hiding, and then I will be off tae my next place. Some bread and a bit of meat will be what I need.”

Shana pulled an extra apple out of the bag hanging at her side and threw it to him. “Ye can start with this, but I shall get ye what ye need. I may return tae this place?”

The man nodded and smiled. For a moment, Shana was surprised at how handsome the man looked when he smiled. It transformed his pained demeanor entirely. He was boyish and intriguing. “Thank ye, lass. Aye. I shall wait for ye.”

“If I see ye coming intae the village, stealing, or out tae set ruin tae any of us, ye shall receive that arrow tae the heart.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

She was about to turn to go when she said, “What are ye running from? What is yer name?”

“Logan. I am running away from something. Someone has died, and the English officers are after me, but I am innocent. I swear tae ye!”

He held his hands up again, as if he was in court, pleading his case. “Someone was killed?” She knew her voice held a note of interest, but she couldn’t help it. He nodded, and she scrutinized him. He didn’t look like a murderer to her, but how did one know what a murderer looked like? Surely a murderer would not be as handsome as this.

“I see. Well, ye must be gone tomorrow or the next day. Ye cannae bring the soldiers tae this land. It is a secret village, of a sort.”

“I shall do naething tae harm my beautiful rescuer.” He smiled that handsome smile of his, and, satisfied, Shana turned around, her imagination spinning with what this man’s story was. She snuck into the village, trying to avoid her parents, her aunt, and uncle, and Orla if she could. She thanked God when she arrived at her family’s home and, peering inside, saw no one. But that could change at any moment, for she had two younger brothers. She rushed in, grabbed some salted pork and a loaf of bread from the pantry. Pushing the items, she hurried back to the woods, her heart beating wildly in her chest.

This was the most exciting thing she had ever done. Coming back to the border of the woods, she moved slowly, calling out Logan’s name softly. He appeared before her so soundlessly that she jumped a little in surprise. He was a lot closer this time, and she clenched her fist to realize that she had left her bow and arrow in the house. How could she have been so clumsy? This man could be dangerous!

Her heart told her he was not, but she did not want to risk anything. She held out the bag before her, saying, “I have brought you a few things. I do not know how long they will last, but here you go.” He moved forward, closing the space between them even more, and Shana could feel the heat from his body. His hand brushed against her own as he took the bag from her.

“Thank ye, lass.” He opened the bag and smiled. “How can I show ye my gratitude?” He looked up at her, watching her with a piercing green gaze. She was close enough that she could see flecks of brown in his eyes. She took a breath. None of the boys in her village ever looked at her this way. She saw the way her father looked at her mother, and it was a little like this. To have such a gaze directed at her felt strange, yet pleasurable.

“Ye will leave our village.” Her voice was soft. She had lost the edge from before. He placed the bag down, stepped a little closer, and looking into her eyes for a moment, he pulled her to him, and he kissed her.

Shana tensed as her body registered what was happening, but then she felt weak at the knees as she felt the delicious warmth of his lips on her own, firm yet gentle. The smell of him was strong, earthy, and manly. He pulled away and went to grab his bag again. “Thank ye, again, lass. I thought that was the only way tae thank a beautiful woman.”

Shana touched her lips. “The only way to…” Anger flashed in her mind. While she had enjoyed the kiss, he seemed all too confident that his kiss would provide enjoyment. She clenched her teeth to his apparent amusement. “I suppose ye think every girl wants a kiss from ye, lad. Well, good day tae ye. If ye are nae gone by the time I come tae the woods taemorrow, then ye shall find that arrow in yer chest.”

Logan chuckled, his fear and eagerness for help gone now. “Next time, in order tae do so, ye shall have tae bring the bow and arrow.” Shana opened her mouth to reply but instead stomped off back to the village. How dare the man be so impertinent? She could hear his laughter as she left the woods, and she hoped she would never see him again. Never before was she so embarrassed at how easily she had fallen for his handsome charms. Perhaps he truly was a dangerous man and could not be trusted to leave their village?

Walking further down the path, for she was not yet ready to return to the village, Shana pondered what had happened in her mind. In one way, the heavens had heard her cries for adventure. She met a handsome stranger with a mysterious past, and she had her first kiss, which was blissful. But now, it was almost as if the heavens wanted to teach her a lesson. She had been rightly punished for her over-excitement at the opportunity for adventure by a selfish, cocky Highlander who only used her to get what he wanted. She would go back to the woods tomorrow to make sure the man had fled the border. And next time, she would not forget her bow and arrow.

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Emma ran her hands ran over the thick leather binding with reverence. The brittle pages beneath her fingertips brought her back in time. Seeing her great-grandmother’s handwriting connected her with a world of romance and adventure in a way that was personal—that made her feel as if it were her story within the pages. She read by the candlelight for at least the hundredth times, the words that inspired her with more dreams than a whole library of books and scrolls and letters.

Errol made me this diary to keep a record for our bairns, so they might know us and our story for all that we are. It’s beautiful. I cannot imagine how much time he spent working on it. That’s how he is, though. That’s how he’s always been. He’d do anything to make me smile, and I him.

We’ve carved quite the life out here on Skye. One I would have never imagined before him. It’s a simple life, but one I am grateful for every day. I’m watching him now from the porch. He’s teaching Lyla how to milk the goats. She’s crying, and it melts my heart to see how gentle he is with her. She’ll be five years in spring. How she’s grown this last year. I can hear her now fussing up a storm, and I hope she reads this one day and remembers how scared she was of hurting her goat friends by milking them.
It’s been three years since I’ve visited my childhood home. With my uncle passed now, there’s no reason to make the trip, not with four bairns in tow.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s Fiona’s home now. There’s nothing left for me there ‘cept bad memories. Maybe one of my bairns will change that—make it their own and bless its halls with the laughter and joy it deserves.

It brings me comfort knowing it’s still there—though I doubt we’ll visit again. I worry about the cold and Errol. Already his hands seem to tense up. I can tell the weather by his bones these days. It makes me grateful for each morning as I watch our youth fade.

“Emma?”

The young woman slammed the book closed and blew out the candle. She could hear the screeching cry of the hinges as her door pushed open, and a draft from the rest of the house washed over the room. She could smell the wick of her freshly snuffed candle smoking.

“I ken yer still awake.”

Emma sighed and rolled over, “What do ye want?”

“Can I sleep with you? I’m scared.”

Emma looked at her little sister. Her hair was a mess from tossing and turning. Emma gave out a vanquished sigh and opened the sheets to invite her in. The small girl clambered eagerly into the warmth and embrace of her older sister, snuggling close. The wind howled, shaking the roof with its mighty gusts. Emma rolled over and re-lit her candle.

“Pa’s not home.” The little girl looked up with saucer eyes, “Ye can read as much as ye’d like.”
Emma smiled and wrapped her arm around her young sister, “Ye ken, someday, I’m goin’ tae go here,” she patted the leather journal with love and affection.

“What happened to them?”

“They grew old together.” Emma opened the book at random, not even reading the pages, just admiring the neat scrawl of penmanship and replaying its many stories in her mind, “They loved each other more than anyone else in the whole world, Charlotte. When she got sick, she couldn’t leave her bed for three weeks, an’ he brought her wildflowers every day to make her smile.”
Charlotte let out a heavy sigh, “How romantic.”

“Aye,” Emma felt her heart rate rise as she thought about some of the steamier bits unfit for her child sister. The kisses and sweet nothings whispered between true loves, “Someday, I want what they have. Can ye imagine? Wondering and adventuring over the countryside with yer perfect match.

Listen to this,” Emma flipped through the pages quickly until she found the spot, and then read out loud, “Never were there two people who love each other more than Errol and I. Each day I fear to wake and find it all a dream. When I muster the courage to open my eyes, I turn to him and seeing him lying there, I no longer fear death. My body aches from time and weather and circumstance, but my heart—oh, how he keeps my heart young. This, these moments, is heaven. I know God because I see him every day. My heart knows peace and serenity, renewed with each laugh, with each breath,” and then Emma silenced and read the last bit to herself with each loving touch. A prickling sensation ran over her arms and neck as such insinuations awakened her imagination to the love that only a husband and wife could know.

“Lovely,” Charlotte yawned. “Someday, I want tae be a lady.”

“It doesn’t work like that. Don’t be silly.” Emma closed the book.

“Grandmama was—why can’t I?” Charlotte scowled in defense.

“Ye better get to sleep now. Pa’ll ream us both if he finds out I let ye stay up all night.”

“Why can’t I be a lady?” The little girl demanded.

“’Cause Gale’s uncle couldn’t take away the estate—that was hers—but he were so mad at them out smartin’ him like that, he stripped the inheritance from her title.”

“What a mean man,” Charlotte fumed, “We should both be ladies.” Emma heard the little girl’s stomach growl and felt a deep pang in her heart.

“Emma, I’m hungry.”

“I ken.” She pushed the brown curls from the child’s face and planted a kiss on the pale forehead, “Me too.”

“What if Pa doesn’t come back this time?” She asked.

Emma could hear the sincere worry in her sister’s voice. She bit her tongue for a moment. Her knee-jerk response was to tell her how great that would be as she recalled the last time they saw their father. Emma held these thoughts in, knowing Charlotte was still filled with the desire and naivety to crave their father’s presence and hope for better times—like the ones they used to have before their mother died.

“He’ll be back soon,” she said, hoping to ease the young girl’s mind. “He always comes back.”

“I ken,” Charlotte sat up and looked her sister hard in the eyes, “But what if he doesn’t? What then, Emma?”
Emma looked at the book in her hand. “I suppose we’ll go on an adventure then,” she said.

“To the fairy pools?”

“Aye.”

“Ye think we’ll find husbands there?”

Emma let out a sigh and leaned back against the headboard, “Wouldn’t that be nice.”
It was easy for Emma to escape into the fantasies the journal provided. She and Charlotte seemed to only know pain and hardship over their last years. She imagined what it might be like to flee with Charlotte—away from it all and into a land imagined full of magic and romance in the North.

Emma opened the book and read randomly from its pages.

“Lyla is sixteen this year.”

“Grandma?” Charlotte asked.

“Mhm, now shush if ye want me to keep reading.”

“Lyla is sixteen this year. She looks just like I did except with her father’s dimples and eyes. She’s sweet on a boy from the village. Errol can’t stand him.

It makes me laugh to think about it. The only reason Errol doesn’t like him is that he dotes on Lyla so. He follows her around almost everywhere. Right now, Errol’s out there testing the poor boy. I’ve been watching him work that bairn into the ground, trying to drive the young lad away. I already know Errol’s going to cave. That young man is meeting Errol’s every demand, burdening it, and struggling his hardest to gain Errol’s approval. I give it two months before he changes his mind and realizes Lyla is lucky to find someone so devoted. She’s giddy and bright. I see her watching them, eager and nervous Errol will say no. It’s taken all my power to keep her in my sight. I’m not a fool. I know what will happen if those two are alone together. It makes me blush to think of when Errol and I were young. It seems like it was just yesterday. My, how the time flies. I feel old watching Lyla. Errol decided he’s done fishing and fine by me. Last year I could hardly breathe when he was out. He’s not as young as he thinks he is. Our boys are old enough to do the work themselves. Although he hasn’t said anything, I know he’s taking the transition hard. I see the way he stares out at the ocean….”

Emma could hear Charlotte snoring on her chest fast asleep. She held the book open, but her eyes turned up to the ceiling beams. She thought about what Charlotte said. A part of her wished their Pa wouldn’t return this time. It was frightening to think of what could happen if it were just the two of them, but at least Emma would have one less mouth to feed. Unlike Charlotte, she’d given up hope on their father ever returning to the man he used to be. It angered her to know Charlotte went to sleep hungry each night while he managed to scavenge up enough money to get drunk at the taverns.

If ever she had the chance, Emma decided then they would set off for the Highlands. They did not belong where they were, Scots stranded amongst the English. Emma let out a heavy sigh and traipsed her fingers over her forehead as she thought. She was grateful her mother taught her how to read despite her father’s wishes. Reading about Errol always sparked Emma’s thirst for someone that supportive in her life. He encouraged Gale’s intelligence and thirst for adventure instead of seeing it as something intimidating and to be snuffed out.

Someday she would meet someone who admired her mind instead of punished it. Someday she would be able to run amongst the glens and mountains, free from the burdens of modern civilization. It was difficult to believe she even made it to the turn of the century. Part of her believed she would have died before seeing the year 1600. Now, all she hoped for was not seeing 1601 from under the same roof.

Emma played with the chestnut curls tangling over Charlotte’s head. It frightened her to think of traveling with Charlotte—if anything happened to her, she would die. But she knew this place was nowhere for Charlotte to grow up. The air was polluted with peat smoke. Charlotte drew in a breath, and Emma could hear it rattle in her chest. She knew the little girl’s breathing would only get worse within the city. She needed fresh air.
Scotland. Emma closed her eyes. What a dream. And that night, Emma and Charlotte both dreamed of Romance and gypsies and wild mountains filled with tall Highland warriors. They dreamed of love and the smell of the ocean—of keeping all that they worked for. They dreamed of feeling safe and loved and laughing in the land of their maternal ancestors. Not the cold drafts, nor aching bellies, or screaming wind could rock them from the pleasant hopes of a future in the Highlands.

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Kirklinton, Twenty Years Later

 There was a huge splash, and Margaret let out a shriek, as Rory plunged into the woodland pool from above, spraying her with water, as she sat at the edge by the waterfall.

“Rory, you are like the children, even they are old enough now not to leap into the pool in such a way,” she said, laughing, as he emerged, his hair streaked down around his ears, dripping wet as he climbed out onto the bank.

He shook himself, spraying her with water and causing her to shriek and run from the side of the pool as he chased her.

“Then ye must jump in too, Margaret. Tis’ a hot day, come now, ye need to cool off,” he cried, as she ran from his embrace.

“I have no desire to get any wetter than I already am,” she cried, but it was too late, and now he had her in his arms, carrying her back to the water’s edge.

“I shall dae it, I shall dae it,” he cried, holding her over the water, as she let out a scream.

“And I shall never speak to you again, you awful brute,” she cried, as he pulled her back and brought her into his embrace.

“Would I dae such a thing?” he asked, and she laughed.

“Not if you valued your life, you would not,” she said, and he kissed her.

“Another day, perhaps,” he said, smiling as he set her down carefully on the ground.

“How nice to be alone,” she said, laying back in the sun and smiling up at him.

“Just as we used to. Dae ye remember the walks we would take out here after we were married, the days we would spend here by the pool,” he said, and she nodded.

“Without care or worry to our name,” she replied, and he nodded.

“And we are still blessed with few worries to this day,” he said, coming to lie down in the sun next to her.

“Oh, you are still wet, Rory, I hope the sun will dry you before we walk back to Kirklinton,” she said, and rolled over and kissed him again.

“Well, now that ye are wet, why nae join me for a swim,” he said, looking at her mischievously.

“No, besides, we had best get home. Otherwise, Evie and Hamish shall be at Kirklinton before us,” Margaret said, rising to her feet and stretching out in the sun.

It was the height of summer, the sun casting dappled shadows through the canopy of trees above and the birds singing all around. Together, Margaret and Rory walked hand in hand through the forest, speaking of old times and remembering the past.

“I wonder what tales we shall hear from the children,” Rory said, and Margaret laughed.

“They are hardly children, Bryce and Hanna are grown up and are almost of age. They are growin’ up fast,” Margaret replied, as they came to a fork in the forest path.

“Perhaps we shall gather some mushrooms to take back with us. There was a dampness in the air last night, and now this heat from the sun. There are bound to be mushrooms aplenty beneath the shade,” Rory said, pointing along the path.

“Well, we must be quick, the sun is well past its midpoint, and we still have an hour or so to walk back to Kirklinton,” Margaret said.

“We shall look over here, come now and … oh,” Rory said, as they entered a little clearing, only to find a little old woman, bent double and picking mushrooms from beneath a tree.

She looked up as they approached and nodded to them.

“The Laird honors us with his presence, God bless ye, sir,” she said, bowing to him.

“Good woman, ye daenae need to bow to me. How did ye know I was the Laird, have I met with ye before?” he asked, and the old woman smiled.

“There is nay mistakin’ ye for the Laird and this yer fair and beautiful wife. May there be much blessin’ for ye to come in this life and the next,” she said.

“We had hoped to gather mushrooms to take back to Kirklinton, but ye need them more than we,” Rory said, nodding to her and smiling.

“There are plenty of mushrooms for us all, sir. The forests are yers, and ye have kept the peace here these many years past. The earth can spare mushrooms for us both, here take a few of mine,” she said, offering the ones she had picked.

“Good woman, nay, ye are too kind,” Rory said, but the old woman insisted, thrusting them into Margaret’s hands and fixing her with a smile.

“Aye, and ye have been the blessin’ that he sought, that which he knew nae,” she said, as though talking to herself.

“What dae ye mean?” Rory asked, but the old woman only smiled and tutted to herself.

“Only the words of an old woman who has seen much of life, sir. But I know that now yer life will be blessed, I am certain of that,” she said, and she waved them off, as she made her way from the forest clearing, waving to them as she went and beginning to sing.

“What a curious creature,” Margaret said, looking down at the mushrooms and back at Rory, who shrugged his shoulders.

“The woodlands are full of such strange people,” he replied, taking her by the hand as they walked together out onto the moorlands.

The afternoon sun had turned the heathers a rich and beautiful golden purple, the moorlands stretching out in front towards rolling hills in the north. Margaret breathed in the fresh scent of the breeze, which seemed sweet and invigorating after the closeness of the forest.

Together, they walked towards Kirklinton, eager to return and see Evie and Hamish. The sun was at its afternoon point, and tonight there would be a feast to celebrate their reunion, for it had been a month since last they had seen one another.

As they approached the turning to Lochrutton, they paused by the graves of Isla and Fraser, now buried together after Isla’s death some ten years previously. Margaret stopped and picked a posy of flowers from the wayside; the two of them entered the graveyard, laying the flowers and pausing for a moment to pay their respects.

“I often wonder what my father would make of these long years of peace,” Rory said, sighing and looking out across the moorlands.

“He would be proud of his son for all that ye have done to make that peace work,” Margaret said, slipping her arm through Rory’s.

“He would be astonished to think that the Musgraves have given us nay trouble in all these years,” Rory replied, shaking his head.

They set off along the track towards Kirklinton, the castle appearing particularly beautiful in the late afternoon sun with the banner of the Elliotts fluttering above.

“On days like this, I almost like the old place, though I should still prefer to reside in Armstrong castle,” Rory said, as they came to the gates.

“And you would be miserable there, for you would never receive a single visitor or hear anything from anyone,” Margaret said, smiling at Rory, who laughed.

“Aye, perhaps ye are right,” he said, as they came into the courtyard.

It seemed that their guests had beaten them, their horses just being stabled. A moment later, there came a call from the steps of the keep, and Evie and Hamish hurried down to greet them.

“We thought we were late in arrivin’, but it seems our hosts lingered in the forest,” Evie said, embracing Margaret and Rory in turn.

“Someone wanted me to swim with him,” Margaret said, shaking her head.

“Ah, well, we called in on Caitlin too, she is well,” Evie said, and Margaret smiled.

“She is always a good friend to us, we see her often with Hector as they drive their sheep upon the moorlands,” Rory said, as the four of them made their way inside.

“Tis’ good to be back at Kirklinton. I may nae have called it home these many years past, but it shall always be so,” Evie said, as they entered the great hall, with its long tables and the Elliott coat of arms hanging proudly upon the wall.

“The scene of much happiness and heartache, that is what I always say,” Rory said, settling himself down by the hearth.

Margaret sat next to him, and Evie and Hamish sat opposite.

“What of Grant and Ailsa, will we see them while we are here?” Evie asked, and Margaret smiled.

“Elsa is away visitin’ with Owen at Lanercost, she loves to see her uncle, or so she says,” Margaret replied, shaking her head.

“And Grant?” Hamish asked.

“Away down in Lochrutton today, though he shall be back by nightfall. Tis’ strange how they call upon him when someone is sick, he is just like our father,” Rory said, and Evie smiled.

“Those healin’ hands,” she said, and the others nodded.

“And what of your children? Though they can hardly be called children any longer, just like our own. How quickly they grow up. It is twenty years this month that we were married,” Margaret said, glancing at Rory, who smiled.

“Bryce is headstrong like his father, Hanna is a gentle creature, shy and timid. She spends most of her time upon the moorlands, it would dae her good to see her cousins, she and Elsa have always got on,” Evie said, and Margaret nodded.

“But enough of the youngsters, for now, we should drink a toast to these past twenty years,” Hamish said, and Evie nodded.

“Aye, a toast to the Laird of the Elliotts and to his wife, a true Elliott if ever there was one,” she said, as Rory called to the servants for whiskey to be brought.

“I have not felt like an English woman in many a year, I have not set foot below the border in twenty years, though my accent continues to betray me,” Margaret said, as glasses were handed around.

“An honorary Scot but a true Elliott,” Evie said, raising her glass.

“Then let the toast be to peace and prosperity, to thanksgiving and to good health and long life,” Hamish said.

“And for ye and yer clan too, Hamish,” Rory said, raising his glass.

“Two names and yet one true family and friendship. For twenty years, we have enjoyed that peace, and may it last another twenty years, for so long as we have breath, we shall make it so,” Hamish replied, and they clinked their glasses together and drank.

“And let us toast the happiness of marriage too,” Evie said, smiling at Margaret.

“And the strength of us women for putting up with these two for so long,” Margaret said, laughing as she turned to Rory and smiled.

“I shall remember that lass, and I shall remember to be less merciful the next time ye beg me nae to throw ye in the pool,” he said, and leaning forward he kissed her, as they toasted the happiness of marriage and the hope of a future yet to come.

If you want to know what lies ahead in our story, you may want to get the sequel…

Owen Elliott’s attempt to save Charlotte from danger results in despair and anguish. But when their paths cross again years later, neither knows who is standing in front of them. And yet love always comes unexpectedly and takes refuge in their hearts, ignoring that one should never fall for the enemy… At least if you don’t want to have your heart broken once again.

A Highlander Bound by Oath

Julia and Calum walked together by the shore of the Sound, Julia’s arm in Calum’s. Uncle Andrew was gone now, and both Julia and Calum had settled into a comfortable life together, free from his poisonous presence.

Julia sighed with contentment and caught Calum’s eye. “I have never been happier, Calum. I hope you know that.”

Calum smiled. “Aye, lass, that I do, but I’m still glad tae hear it from ye now and again. Are ye sad that Charlotte will be leaving us soon?”

Julia nodded. “Yes, I will miss her terribly. She has been like a balm to help me heal from all those years under Uncle Andrew’s thumb. But I am glad she won’t be far. Of course, we must soon go to London for the trial.”

They had received word from the lawyers that their presence would be required in a few weeks. Calum said, “Aye, but we willnae be in London long, Julia. I think ‘twill be a quick and easy trial. There are many witnesses against yer Uncle, I am sure.”

Julia sighed. “Yes, you’re right. I just hate to leave Charlotte alone. She has been to Scotland before, but now it will be for a much longer time, and there will be hardly any other women at the barracks. Unless there is another General coming with his wife.”

Calum winked. “I’m sure Angus will take care of the lass. He’s had his hands full with her already.”

Julia turned to him, a smile on her face. “Yes, what is going on? I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it, and she avoids the subject as well. He’s always telling her what to do or fighting against her ideas. It seems that stoic Angus is back. It’s quite entertaining. But, I thought they’d get on well, and they’re always arguing. Or Charlotte’s yelling at him, and he looks solemn and grim.”

Calum laughed. “Angus has said naught tae me except tae complain about her strong-headedness. He feels ‘tis his duty or something tae watch over her as a guest of yorn. But there is more than meets the eye. Of that, I am sure. I’ve not seen my brother get so angry about anything for years. I think she’s getting tae him.”

Julia put her arms about Calum’s neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I hope so. How lovely would it be if they were tae fall in love?”

Calum said, “I doubt that, but we shall see. I think other matters are on my mind at the moment if we could forget my brother and Charlotte.” He leaned down to kiss her, but Julia pulled away and pointed away towards the hill.

“Look! Angus and Charlotte on the hill together.” She laughed, “It appears she is once again giving him a piece of her mind.”

Calum sighed with disappointment at the interruption of his amorous thoughts. But he couldn’t help but chuckle at the verbal beating Angus was getting. “That cousin of yorn has quite the tongue.”

Julia smiled. “That she does. And I admire her for it. Keeps a man on his toes.”  She looked at Calum with a lifted eyebrow.

“I have done naught. Dinnae turn her acid tongue ontae me!”

Julia laughed and kissed Calum once again, feeling like life could not get any better.

***

Charlotte Andrews was frustrated. She was used to getting her way, her father was like putty in her hands, and now someone kept fighting against her with his superior air and grim attitude: Angus MacLean. Ever since she had struggled to keep Uncle Andrew from the brink of death, he had fought her every suggestion and defied her instruction.

He was a man who did not like to be bossed around, but if she was the smarter one in certain areas, like medicine, then why would he not oblige? She was still frustrated about the time when Angus and Calum went without her to Fort William, not allowing her to take part in the plan to save Julia from harm.

It had been my idea, and they did it without me. Men, always thinking that they are better than women in every area. Who needs them? 

Even though it had been explained that it was for the sake of her safety, she still couldn’t help be angry. But what annoyed her, even more, was the way that Angus looked at her whenever they were all together. He was stiff, stoic, and grim in his body language, but he always watched her, and his eyes told a different story.

It made Charlotte frustrated that she found him so handsome, the most handsome man she had ever met, and she had met quite a few at the balls in London. Most men were usually falling over themselves to speak to her.

But why should she even care about what he thought? It wasn’t as if she was going to marry him. Charlotte Andrews, a well-known lady in the high society of London, marry a Highlander? Albeit a ruggedly handsome, magnificently well-formed one?

She had stayed on the Isle of Mull to assist in Uncle Andrew’s health and would soon be returning to her father, who had just been transferred to Fort William to be General there. He helped in John Campbell’s case, and at her urging, and his conscience, he freed the man, wrote a judgment letter for General Whiteman, and packed Andrew away to London for his trial.

She wanted to savor every last minute of her time at Duart Castle before she had to go and live at the barracks. She hated to leave Julia just as they’d been so gloriously reunited, but it would be unseemly if she continued to stay there. She enjoyed the freshness of the beautiful isle, and the walk allowed her time to breathe and think all by herself, without someone getting in the way.

She decided to climb the nearby hills to get a better view of the water. “Bloody skirts,” she yelled to the air as she struggled to climb freely, attempting to avoid tripping. The wind was no help either, as the higher she climbed, the stronger it blew so that she felt like she was almost falling backward.

She took another step as she crested the hill, and cried out, “Oh!” as a giant gust of wind pushed her backward, and she began to fall. But then, strong hands grabbed her around the waist and held her steady.

“Ye all right, lass?” she heard over the gust of wind. The voice was all too familiar, and she looked down to see the workworn hands holding her waist tightly. The feeling gave her too much pleasure, and she hurriedly pushed them away and turned to face her rescuer.

“I am very well; thank you. I would have been just fine. ‘Tis simply the wind. I am perfectly able to climb a hill by myself. What are you doing here? Come to instruct me in the ways of climbing?”

Angus was looking up at her angry expression, red curls swirling about her face, their strands whipping across her pink lips.

Charlotte tried to stay angry and show it, but it was growing harder to do so, with Angus’ beautiful light brown eyes looking through her. She lifted her chin slightly, and Angus responded.

“‘Tis a fool’s errand tae climb in such a gale. Ye might fall tae yer death, lass.”

“There you go again, telling me what to do, and enjoying it tremendously, no doubt. There is no end to your admonishments.” She threw up her hands and nearly fell again, but Angus’s hand was there once more to catch her. She looked up and thought she saw a flicker of mirth in his eyes, but it went away just as quickly.

She huffed and began to walk down the hill, Angus following after. “I was only trying tae help the cousin of my sister-in-law from breaking her bloody neck,” he said once they reached the bottom, the noise of the strong wind softening.

Charlotte looked forward. “Your interventions are unnecessary, Mr. MacLean. I do not need any bloody assistance. I’m certain it bothers you very much to put yourself out in this way.”

“Does yer cousin know ye swear like an angry Highlander fighting a boar?”

Charlotte tried not to smile at such a line. She wouldn’t let him see that she thought him funny.  “Yes, she knows very well. I care nothing about what society thinks of me. I shall do as I please.”

Angus walked faster and moved around so that he could face her. Seeing him in her way, Charlotte put her hands on her hips and stopped. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes when standing on flat ground.

Angus continued, his jaw clenched. “Aye, I know ye will do as ye like. Ye often do. But dinnae get yerself killed in the process, or Lady MacLean will have my head.” He then turned his back to her and walked towards the castle.

Charlotte yelled back. “Are you no longer my protector then? Good riddance!”

She watched his back for a moment and then turned the opposite way. “Infuriating man! How dare he? No English gentleman would speak to a lady in such a way!”

Good thing she was leaving soon so that she could escape Angus MacLean as quickly as possible.

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Three Years Later…

Fin was off his horse before it even stopped running. He ran across the bailey, his boots thundering hard across the wooden bridge that connected the yard to the keep proper. He dashed into the entry hall and stopped, looking around. At one end of the building was a large hearth, the fire blazing inside of it, cutting the chill in the air.

A young man who served as Col’s squire approached him, his face ashen, his expression grave. He stopped, and Fin was sure he could see tears standing in the boy’s eyes.

“What has happened?” Fin asked.

“The… the Lady has been poisoned,” the young man said.

Fin’s eyes widened, and his belly churned. He had gotten word while out hunting that something had happened, and he needed to return to Westmarch Hall immediately. He had ridden with all haste to get back to the keep, fear and anxiety fueling his flight.

“And Baron Lennox?” Fin asked.

“Is fine,” he said. “He is with Lady Gillian now.”

“Take me.”

The page turned and led Fin down a corridor, their footsteps thumping hard on the stone. They turned into a passage that ended at the door to Col’s bedchamber. The page gave him a slight bow and peeled off, leaving Fin on his own. He headed for the door but was intercepted by a voice echoing off the walls behind him.

“Captain Begbie, please wait.”

Fin turned and found Col’s physician, an older man of wide girth named Dougal, approaching him. He waited for the physician to catch up to him. The older man stopped, his face flushed, his breath quickened.

“What happened?” Fin asked.

“Somebody slipped some poison intae the Lady’s wine,” Dougal said. “But we ken it was meant for the Baron.”

“Is she alright?”

Dougal nodded. “She will be,” he replied. “Thank God she didnae ingest much. Right now, she just needs some rest.”

“Thank God,” Fin said, a wave of relief washing through him. “I need tae see Col, and I need tae see him now.”

“He’s with the Lady right now, and she shouldnae be disturbed,” Dougal said. “I’ll tell him to find ye.”

Fin grumbled under his breath. As the Captain of Col’s personal guard, it would fall to him to find the poisoner. Which meant he needed to gather as many pertinent details as quickly as he could. For all they knew, the poisoner was on horseback and galloping away from Westmarch as they stood there dickering. Every moment they lost could be another mile the poisoner got further away.

“Tell him tae find me now, Dougal,” Fin ordered. “I need tae see him right away.”

“Aye, Captain Begbie.”

As the physician hustled for the door, Fin watched him go for a moment, disbelief over this turn of events washing through him. With a low growl, he turned and walked away down the corridor, his heavy footfalls echoing all around him. He found a pair of soldiers on duty and ordered them to stand watch outside Gillian’s door. Nobody in and nobody out, save for the physician.

Feeling helpless and powerless, Fin stalked the halls of the keep. After their reunion and reconciliation, Gillian’s father had a castle built for them on the border of the Western March – halfway between York and his home village. Col had told him it was meant as a symbolic gesture, a blending of their two people.

And shortly after they had moved in, Col had appointed him to head up his personal guard. At first, Fin had thought it was a joke. But Col assured him it was not. He’d told Fin that he believed in him and trusted him with not just his life, but the lives of his family as well. It had meant the world to Fin, and he liked to think that he had grown into his position. His men were loyal and would follow him to the gates of Hell if he asked. And Fin knew that every one of them would lay down their life to protect Col and his family.

Fin also knew there were some in the Highlands that resented Col for his alliance with the English, and saw Westmarch Hall as a symbol of betrayal. They saw it as a selling out of the Scottish people in favor of Col’s personal enrichment and argued their alliance came at the cost of their freedom. It wasn’t true as far as Fin was concerned. He was as sensitive to the Scottish independence as anybody, but Col made sure his people were well taken care of, and his people never went without. And yet, his alliance and bond with the Duke angered them.

Fin should have gone to check on the children. He’d been so worried about Gillian that he had not stopped to think. Col and Gillian had two children – James the firstborn, and their daughter Freya, who was two years old. But Fin knew they would be with Jane as they often were. Given the circumstances, it was probably the best and safest place for them. Jane cared for them like they were her own, and in Fin’s state, he would probably just scare them anyway.

Fin found his way up to the ramparts on the outer curtain wall of the castle. It was where he went when he needed to think and clear his head. The night was darker than pitch, and the torches flickered, casting eerie shadows that writhed upon the stone parapets. The clouds overhead were thick and dark, and a drizzle had started to fall over the land. It suited Fin’s mood perfectly.

Fin needed to find the person responsible for poisoning Gillian. But until he could talk to Col, he felt utterly powerless. Fin was a man who did not like feeling out of control of a situation. And this was a situation he had zero control over, which left him feeling awkward and frustrated. All he could do was keep pacing the ramparts, trying to calm himself down, and gather his wits about him. He knew he was going to need all of them.

Fin stopped and looked out into the vast sea of darkness before him – the Western March. As the Captain of Col’s household guard, it had been his job, his responsibility to keep Col, Gillian, and their children safe. It was his duty to protect them and make sure nothing happened to them. And he had failed in his duty. Gillian lay in bed, possibly dying of poison, while he’d been out hunting. His failure could have cost an old friend, and his Lady, their lives.

Fin let those thoughts trail away, knowing the rabbit hole they would inevitably lead down. It was a warren of self-doubt and personal recriminations. And right now, he needed to keep a clear head. He could not afford to pity himself. He needed to find out who tried to poison Gillian. And he needed to kill that person.

“Fin.”

He turned to see Col striding up to him. His expression was grim, and his face pinched, clouded with a whole host of dark, negative emotions. But more than anything, his cousin and oldest friend looked scared. Nothing scared Col and seeing the fear on his face, left Fin feeling rattled right down to his core.

“How is she?” Fin asked.

“Dougal says she’ll be fine,” he replied. “Says that with some rest, she’ll be right as rain soon.”

“That’s good. That’s real good,” Fin said. “Dae ye have a suspect yet?”

Col shook his head. “No. But there is no shortage of people who want me dead – Scottish and English alike.”

“Aye, that’s true.”

Col flashed him a wry grin. “Yer an arse.”

“Aye. But ye love me anyway.”

“Aye. I suppose I do,” Col said. “Now, what are we gonna dae about this?”

Fin sighed. He’d been pondering the answer to that question since he found out Gillian had fallen ill. But he was no closer to an answer now than he was then.

“I need ye tae look into this for me, Fin,” Col said.

“Of course I will,” Fin replied. “Dae ye even need tae ask?”

Col nodded. “Good. I want ye tae turn over every rock ye need tae turn over. But find the man who did this. The man who tried to murder me wife.

“Every rock. Aye,” he said. “I will nae let ye down.”

“I know ye won’t.”

Col clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a nod. He turned and walked away quickly, no doubt going back to Gillian’s bedside. Fin was left standing alone on the ramparts. His mind and heart churned wildly, and his entire body stirred with anger. That somebody came into the keep he was charged with protecting and nearly killed Gillian – tried to kill Col – filled him with a deep, abiding rage.

Fin vowed silently to himself that he would find the man responsible and would take his life. More than that, Fin knew he would enjoy it. It was merely a matter of finding the person who did this foul deed.

And when he did, they would spend the rest of their short life paying for it.

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