Moy Hall, Inverness. Two weeks earlier…
There was nothing in the world that could stop Kathleen Mackintosh from getting what she wanted—nothing, perhaps, other than her parents’ stubbornness.
How long had she spent in that room fighting with them? How many times had they gone through the same thing, circling the topic again and again? By now, she was exhausted, desperate to find a solution, but while she was trying to work on one, her parents simply refused to even listen.
“Fenella is me best friend!” she reminded them, not for the first time that day. It was a point she had repeated time and time again ever since the very start of their argument, only to be ignored every single time. “If I dinnae go tae her weddin’, then who will?”
“Her other friends,” her father said, entirely unaffected by Kathleen’s ceaseless pleas. Those who knew them both often liked to joke that she had inherited not only her father’s looks, with her blue eyes and pale complexion, but also his obstinacy and his single-minded desire to do as he pleased. “Surely, the lass has other friends than ye.”
Of course, she did. Fenella was a lovely young woman, kind and full of warmth, so people flocked to her, just like Kathleen had. And yet, none of them were as close to her as Kathleen and none of them could be there for her like she could at such a difficult time.
Because it was a tragedy. Never before in her life had Kathleen felt the ripples of another’s despair as much as when she read Fenella’s letter inviting her and her family to her wedding. The first piece of paper she had unfolded was nothing but an invitation. It was lavish and written in a loopy script, just as one would expect from the daughter of Laird Stewart of Appin. The second paper, tucked carefully among the folds, was a letter addressed to her, telling Kathleen of Fenella’s feelings regarding this marriage alliance—and they were anything but positive.
Kathleen wanted to be there for her; she was going to do anything it took to make it to Castle Stalker.
If only me parents would understand!
Her father’s small study felt suffocating as she paced back and forth, her footsteps dampened by the plush carpet under her feet. As the advisor of his brother, Laird Alec Mackintosh, her father spent most of his time in that cramped room, behind his large oak desk. Kathleen, too, had spent many of her days there as a child. She used to spend her evenings buried in the stacks of books even when she couldn’t read them. And later, once she could, she did not care for their contents, as most of them had to do with war and clan matters. Sometimes, she would sit by his feet and listen idly as he and her uncle discussed their days over a cup of wine.
But those days were long gone. Now, at twenty-three years of age, it had been almost a decade since she had stopped sitting by his feet and had started to stand before him, arms crossed, arguing with him instead.
Why must we always argue? This is such a simple thing!
Even if they didn’t want to attend the wedding, then surely, they could send Kathleen. If anything, that would be the proper thing to do; someone from Clan Mackintosh had to be there, considering that the Stewarts were their close allies.
“Kathleen, be reasonable,” her mother, Ilyssa, said from where she stood by her father’s side like a sentinel. Her hand rested on the back of her father’s chair in that way it always did when they were trying to present a united front to her. “We are at war. We cannae simply leave the castle when we are at war. And ye most certainly cannae go on yer own. The Campbells willnae hesitate tae have ye hanged if ye fall in their hands. Ye ken they crave tae solidify the Campbells as the most powerful clan in the Highlands.”
“We’re nae at war,” Kathleen said with a roll of her eyes.
“We very well could be soon,” her father said and the serious tone he assumed was enough to make her snap her mouth shut.
Kathleen had never experienced war in her lifetime. Skirmishes, yes, and conflicts that seemed like they could lead to war if the clans involved did not proceed with care, but never a war. She had seen other clans ravaged by it, though. She had seen the effects it could have, even if she had never experienced it herself.
And she knew it was no laughing matter.
“Our forces are risin’, but that only means our enemies are more eager than ever tae strike,” her father continued, tone dripping with bitterness. “The Campbells want tae eradicate Jacobite influence. I cannae explain tae ye the danger ye will face if ye leave these walls. It’s safe here, in the castle. Nay one in the family will go anywhere. All o’ us are stayin’ right where we are whether ye like it or nae, lass, an’ I willnae hear another word on the matter!”
“But—”
“I said nae another word!”
“But Faither—”
“Quiet!”
“Nay!” Kathleen shouted, louder than her father so that she would be heard over him even if he continued to try and silence her. “Why will ye nae even listen tae me? I understand! I understand it is dangerous but Fenella needs me! Here! See fer yerself.”
As she spoke, she tossed the bunched-up letter, which had remained crumpled in her hand ever since she had read it, onto her father’s desk. With a sigh, her father reached for it and read it silently, her mother doing the same over his shoulder.
When he placed it back down, he rubbed a hand wearily over his face and then up his short, golden hair. Her mother sighed, shaking her head ever so slightly, the movement almost imperceptible.
“Poor lass,” she said. “Alas, she isnae the first or the last, but at least she has her family. Dinnae fash, Kathleen. Fenella will be fine.”
“Ye dinnae ken that,” said Kathleen through gritted teeth. Her mother had been lucky enough to wed a man like her father, but not everyone had the same luck. While she didn’t know the man Fenella was about to wed, she also wouldn’t be surprised if he was unkind or even cruel to her.
Drawing in a deep breath, Kathleen made her way to the small window by her father’s desk and gazed outside at the Mackintosh lands that stretched under the hill where the castle stood. The frost had not yet begun to thaw and the sky was the steel gray of a sword, the chilly air as sharp as its blade. It was as if the war her parents feared so terribly was being foretold. It was as if the land itself was preparing for it.
“I’m nae askin’ ye tae go alone,” Kathleen said, her gaze never leaving the sprawling valley outside. “If anythin’, I expected that everyone would wish tae come. The Stewarts are our allies. Why would ye nae wish tae come with me?”
“We cannae leave the castle unprotected,” her father pointed out. “The Stewarts are our allies, aye, but they also understand that, if it truly comes to war, one cannae abandon one’s home.”
“Kieran an’ Devon, then,” said Kathleen in an attempt to bargain with her father. “They could accompany me.”
Her cousins were capable warriors and she had no doubt they could protect her from any harm that could befall her on their way. They would be an important asset to the clan in case of war, but surely, her father and her uncle could spare them for a few days. Just long enough for them to head to Clan Stewart, attend the wedding, and come back.
“Dae ye nae listen tae anythin’ I am sayin’?” her father demanded, his head falling back as his hand curled into a tight fist where it rested on the desk among a mess of documents. “Alec willnae let his lads go anywhere when the clan is under threat. An’ I willnae let ye leave this castle anyway. Even if fer now there are only threats, and nay serious actions are being taken. I’m nae takin’ any chances.”
“It is only fer two weeks!” Kathleen said, her head whipping around to stare at her father in disbelief. “An’ most o’ those days, I’ll be in Castle Stalker, well away from harm!”
There was no safer place for her to be than Castle Stalker. From her previous visits there, Kathleen had seen the natural fortification of the keep, which stood on a tidal islet. When the tide was high, no invading army could cross—not without boats, at least, and no one would be foolish enough to do such a thing. Not only that, but the Stewarts had a strong army, just as strong as Clan Mackintosh’. Her parents’ concerns were not unfounded, but they were, in her opinion, exaggerated to say the least.
“The travel tae Castle Stalker is three, four days,” her father said. He was red-faced now, the blood rushing to his head with every passing moment, the volume of his voice rising along with it. “That is plenty o’ time fer ye tae encounter someone from Clan Campbell an’ if ye dae, then ye’re dead. They ken who we are. One look at ye an’ they’ll ken ye’re me daughter.”
“Bran,” her mother said, the hand that rested on the back of the chair now moving to her father’s shoulder. “Calm yerself.”
“How can I calm meself?” her father demanded. “She’s just like ye, Ilyssa. Too… too free-spirited!”
“Ach, but ye like that about me,” her mother said with a small smile, one her father easily returned, only for Kathleen to roll her eyes at them.
“So it is fine fer maither tae be like this, but nae fer me?”
In Kathleen’s mind, that was a fair question, but it didn’t seem to be so for her father. He gave her an unimpressed look, one that only served to infuriate her even more, while her mother took on that air of wisdom—only to say the one thing Kathleen was tired of hearing.
“Ye’re our daughter,” her mother said softly, leaving her father’s side to walk around the desk and approach her. She wrapped her fingers around her arm and pulled her into an embrace, one Kathleen returned reluctantly. “Once ye have yer own bairns, ye will understand why we fear fer ye so.”
She didn’t have children and so she could not argue with that logic, but she knew it to be false. It was one thing to care about one’s child, to want to keep it safe, and it was another to hold it imprisoned in a keep out of fear.
Kathleen couldn’t argue with either of them any longer, though. Sooner or later, her parents would put an end to the conversation, even if it remained unresolved. They had never listened, and she doubted that they would start to listen now.
With a deep sigh, Kathleen sagged in her mother’s arms, letting her eyes fall shut. “Alright,” she said. “Alright, I will write tae Fenella.”
But nae tae tell her I willnae be attendin’ the weddin’. They can say what they want. I will be by her side.
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