The seasons turned as the MacBride clan rebuilt their lives and strengthened their relationships with their allies.
News of the defeat of the Englishmen spread far and wide throughout Scotland, leading many more Lairds to lay fealty at the feet of Kieran’s clan and his allies. The Scottish stood in a position of strength and power that they had not known for generations. They were, at last, a formidable force to be reckoned with again.
The English in the areas closest to the clans who had allied themselves with Kieran began to remove their forces from the Highlands as quickly as they could. They, too, could not deny the strength of the Scots while they remained allied as one. It was only through their unification that the Highlanders could truly maintain peace and control of their lands – it was the best way that they could protect themselves from the ever-present threat of the English forces.
Kieran and Vivien spent their nights together, as husband and wife, continuously working together to ensure that the peace they had fought so hard to gain would remain in force long after they were gone.
While the pain of Bailey’s absence never quite abated, the MacBrides learned to live without him. Tilly never forgot him; she never let him go. If Kieran had asked her, she would have admitted that she still held out hope that he was alive and well, somewhere. Even if he did not remember her or know who the MacBrides were, that secret hope in her heart was what Tilly needed to keep moving through each day.
Kieran knew that Tilly had never seen Bailey the same way – she had never seemed to show anything stronger than friendship towards him. Kieran knew that Tilly would never admit that Bailey had been in love with her; the pain of that admission would be too much for her to bear. But Tilly was strong, and Kieran knew that she would grieve and move forward in her own way, at her own pace.
For his part, Kieran had never been happier than he had from the day that he could finally claim Vivien as his own, as his wife.
Their relationship continued to flourish as they stood side by side as equals. Kieran would never allow himself to dim her light that shone so powerfully once she came into herself again.
Vivien had proven to be an exceptionally strong woman; she was independent, fierce, kind, and compassionate. She was wise in her own way, he had found. She had a keen mind and a soft heart. She was finally truly accepted by his clansmen after their alliance had been formed with the other Lairds.
It was a year to the day after they had met on that fateful day in the forest that Kieran had decided to throw a feast. It was a celebration in many ways, and in some, a way of honoring those they had lost in that same forest as well as the life of his dearest friend.
The feast was a roaring success, as whisky flowed freely and the clansmen within the main hall tumbled about in laughter, jokes thrown around the room, the food streaming out of the kitchen – a sign of the prosperity the MacBride clan had come into after all of their trials and tribulations.
Kieran stood on the dais, watching his clan enjoying their evening, watching them laugh and cajole with each other. His sister, Tilly, sat among her own friends, and even though Kieran knew that she knew what the deeper meaning was behind the evening, she was still doing her best to enjoy herself. Kieran could see the grief in her eyes that she had learned to mask so well; there would never be true peace for her while she waited for Bailey to return to them, but she was alive, and that was something that Kieran was immensely grateful for.
He watched as a messenger approached Tilly, handing her a scrap of paper with a message written on it.
Her face changed from her forced joy to one of utter shock and disbelief as her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes began to widen. She read and reread the note in her hand multiple times, turning her head around several times in search of the messenger who had delivered the note.
She paled visibly, tilting slightly to the side as though she were about to collapse.
“I’ll be right back,” Kieran murmured in Vivien’s ear before he ran to his sister, placing his hand under her elbow just as her knees began to buckle under her. He helped her sit down gently and waited while she collected her breath.
Tilly’s hands were shaking as she tried to drink from her goblet, her face still ash white.
“What is it?” Kieran asked, kneeling before her, taking her hands in his, “Tilly? I need tae ken what has happened, ye look like ye have seen a ghost.”
She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath before looking him in the eye.
“It’s Bailey,” she whispered.
“What abou’ him?” Kieran frowned, unsure of what his sister could possibly mean.
“I just got a note from a messenger – I dinnae ken who he is. But… read it, Kieran,” she sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve as she passed the note to him.
Kieran stared down at the paper in his hand, feeling his jaw drop and the color drain from his own face.
“It cannae be,” he said, his own hands trembling as he reread the note.
“It has tae be,” Tilly insisted vehemently.
“It says he is alive, Tilly,” Kieran shook his head, even though he wanted nothing more than to believe the note, “I have his kilt – it was brought tae me as a sign o’ his death. Surely…”
“Dae ye really trust anything that Stone ever said tae ye?” Tilly asked, her voice shaking with suppressed emotion, “Dae ye not think that he might have lied? That maybe Bailey really is alive?”
“I dinnae ken, Tilly. Yer right, I dinnae trust a word that man spoke. But this, this is something else. If he is alive, dear God, ye need tae find him, Tilly.”
Tilly smiled, the first real smile Kieran had seen in months.
“Ye ken, I will. I willnae stop until I find him, Kieran. He is alive; I can feel it in my bones. Bailey is alive.”
Kieran nodded, hugged his sister close to him, and took his leave, returning to the dais where Vivien was standing. He told her what had happened, watching her face light up with joy at the prospect of Bailey still being alive.
“That is amazing news, Kieran,” she whispered, knowing without him saying anything that it was best to keep the news quiet until they could confirm it.
“Aye, it is,” he murmured, as he stood there on the dais beside his wife. Vivien looked resplendent in her own arasaid, her smile genuine, warm and happy as she looked at Tilly. Kieran turned to her, kissing her lightly on the cheek as he placed his hand on the swell of her belly. Their child kicked beneath his hand, as though it knew that it was him and knew that it was loved and treasured already.
“Bea,” Erskine adopted a warning tone, but still, the bairn looked back at him with defiance in her blue eyes. So like Laura in many ways, now the baby was growing a little, could sit straight and move about with more ease, she was already showing her knack for mischief. “Bea…daenae do that,” Erskine warned again as he walked toward her across the room, but Bea smiled, her chubby face lighting up, clearly knowing she was doing something wrong from his tone but reveling in it anyway. “Bea.”
She dropped the ham that had been clutched in her fingers onto the floor.
“Ha, what am I goin’ to do with ye, eh little one?” Erskine laughed as he dropped down at his bairn’s side on the rug. She was sat in the drawing-room of the castle, eating some ham they had given to her, yet she seemed to prefer the idea of making more of a mess than eating it. He bundled up the ham pieces she had deposited and placed them on a table nearby before sitting back down beside her. “If ye are already mischievous, what are ye goin’ to be like when ye are a little older, eh?”
He reached for his child and began to tickle her under her arms. She giggled, utterly delighted, her puffed-up cheeks turning pink as he swept her into his arms and held her in his lap, embracing her close.
Since Bea had been born, Erskine had found himself changing. Whereas before, the most important things in his life were Laura, his father, and his clan, now Bea was at the top of the list with them, and repeatedly he found himself making excuses to be with her. Not that he minded. He kissed her on the top of her head as she settled down from her laughter.
Not yet ready to stand, Bea was proving a handful already, and he loved that about her.
“Ye’re takin’ after yer maither already, arenae ye?” he murmured to her.
If yer maither is bold enough to dress up as a boy and travel from England to Scotland, I wonder what mischief ye will get up to when ye’re older? I’ll be gray before me time worryin’ after ye!
“Is she causing you trouble again?”
At the familiar voice, Erskine looked up to see Laura standing in the doorway. Erskine smiled as soon as his eyes found her. In the last two years, she had blossomed even more than when he had first met her. Now, she was leaning on the doorframe, wearing a pale cream dress cinched at the waist with long sleeves and a deep square neckline. Her hair was much longer these days, and today she wore it free about her shoulders.
“Nae as much as ye do,” Erskine teased just as Laura stepped away from the door and walked toward him across the room.
Erskine felt the love he had known now for the last two years swell as she came closer. It was always the same. Whenever she was near, he was desperate to have her in his arms. As she reached him, she plopped down on her knees and spoke animatedly to their daughter.
“Don’t you listen to him, Bea. Always be as mischievous as you like, and we will love you all the same.”
“Ye ken I will,” Erskine laughed, “it’s just takin’ after ye so much, I am just picturin’ the trouble she’ll get into when she’s older.”
“What kind of trouble?” Laura looked up to him with innocence.
“Have ye forgotten me chasin’ after ye across the south road tryin’ to get ye out of Lord Moore’s hands?”
“Ah, well, we will never promise Bea’s hand to such a man.”
“True, I wouldnae do that. But how about sneakin’ into me entourage dressed as a boy?” Erskine tickled Bea again, making her squirm and laugh on his lap.
“Give Bea enough freedom, and she won’t feel the need to run as I did,” Laura held his gaze with honesty in her blue eyes.
“I ken, love,” he smiled and lifted a hand to her. He gently took her chin and brought her toward him. She leaned toward him until their lips met in a gentle kiss. “I give ye me word,” he said as she sat back again, her smile so great that her cheeks had to ache, “Bea will have all the freedom she wants.”
“Thank you,” she said, just as Bea let out a little wail. “Oh, dear! Is someone gettin’ upset they daenae have enough attention?” she laughed and took Bea out of his arms, holding the child above her head and pulling faces at her until the bairn laughed again.
Seeing his wife and his daughter together, Erskine felt everything was complete.
Life is as it should be.
“How were Tam and Lennox?” he asked, pleased to see Laura had returned from her visit to them.
“Well, they have some news,” she smiled as she settled Bea in her arms. Suddenly sleepy, Bea rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, the smattering of dark auburn hair that was across her forehead flattened with the actions.
“Is it good news or bad news?” Erskine asked carefully.
“Oh, good news,” Laura gestured to Bea in her hold. “This kind of news.”
“What…” Erskine hesitated. “Lennox is with child?”
“Yes,” Laura nodded, “but it’s a great secret for now apparently, so you must tell no one.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Erskine nodded. He had seen often enough how Lennox looked at Bea and longed for her own child. As godmother, Lennox was always around to take care of Bea, but she was missing that love from her own life too. Tam would no doubt be delighted by the news too. Erskine could remember a particular conversation he and Tam had shared shortly after Bea was born, where Tam had talked of his wish to see Lennox with her own child in her arms.
A knock at the door disturbed Erskine’s peace, and he looked up to see Camden standing in the doorway. Camden was wearing a dark expression, though it cracked into a small smile when he laid eyes on Laura and Bea together.
“Camden,” Erskine called to him, “have ye come bearin’ news too?”
“That I have,” Camden nodded, his somber expression returning as he shifted between his feet.
“I am guessin’ it is bad news from the way ye are actin’….” Erskine gestured to him.
“It is nae good news,” Camden accepted quietly.
“Very well,” Erskine moved to his feet and kissed Laura on the forehead as he walked past her. In her arms, Bea’s eyes were now closed, and she was quickly on the way to the peaceful depths of sleep. As Erskine moved to Camden in the doorway, he was struggling to tear his eyes off the two women in his life he adored so much. Seeing Bea so peaceful in Laura’s hold reminded him of the night before and how he and Laura had slept in one another’s arms too.
It is the greatest peace I have ever ken.
Well, it had been peaceful until Erskine woke that morning and found Laura trying to get out of the bed, dressed only in a thin shift. It was a revealing dress indeed, showing off the slender curves of her body and the delicate curve of her neck as she let the tendrils of her hair fall over her shoulder.
Unable to stay still, he had drawn Laura back to the bed. Within minutes, their peace was lost to heat. He had made love to her with all the passion he had in him, first entering her from behind as she leaned forward on the bed, screwing up her hands in the pillows and muffling her moans of pleasure. Next, he had flipped the two of them over. With him sat up, she was straddling him, clutching to his shoulders as she rocked back and forth and sent him into the oblivion of passion.
“Erskine?” Camden’s voice brought him back to the moment.
He snapped his eyes away from the perfect image of Laura and Bea together toward Camden as he reached him in the doorway.
“If ye have come to disturb me happiness,” Erskine dropped his voice to a whisper, loathe to let Laura hear whatever bad news Camden had come to tell him, “ye can go away again just as quickly.”
“If only I could,” Camden sighed with a shake of his head. “Ye will want to ken this.”
“Oh? What?”
“Yer faither has received a letter this mornin’. It’s from Dearg,” Camden stressed the word as he handed over a piece of parchment.
Erskine said nothing at first, but he took the letter and read it quickly. Reading those words only left Erskine unsettled. Dearg had always possessed a talent for charm, and Erskine had only learned two years ago what could really lurk beneath that pretend charm he wore. The letter was full of so many apologies that Erskine found it difficult to believe it. He couldn’t help suspecting that Dearg’s apology was a lie in order to get what he wanted: to come home.
“What did me faither say about it? Does he believe it, or does he think he is lyin’?” Erskine kept his voice a whisper as he looked back over to Laura and Bea.
I willnae let me brother anywhere near them—Nae after what he tried to do to Laura.
“He’s nae sure. I think he wants to believe it,” Camden shrugged. “He mentions a meetin’ point.”
“Aye, so I see,” Erskine murmured as he folded the parchment back up. “I’m guessin’ me faither has already said he is happy to go ahead with the meetin’?”
“Aye,” Camden nodded, his expression holding the same reservations that Erskine felt. It had not missed Erskine’s notice recently that when he and his father spoke of Dearg, the Laird looked forward to having Dearg home again. He clearly hoped Dearg would be a transformed man, but for Erskine, the letter was clearly full of falseness.
I trust him now nay more than I did the day he left the clan.
“Camden, ye and Aiden go and meet him,” Erskine said quickly. “I think it’s best.”
“Nae fond of the idea?” Erskine smirked. “I thought ye dinnae shy away from any challenge.”
“It is nae that, it is just….” Camden’s eyes flicked toward Laura and Bea. “Perhaps I am ready for a different kind of challenge in me life.”
“Ah, I see,” Erskine smiled at the thought and leaned on the wall beside Camden. “Ye want to relax yer duties a little in order to find a wife of yer own?”
“Is that so bad?” Camden asked.
“I thought ye preferred a life of many women?”
“Nae anymore,” Camden shook his head. “I’m ready for a new life.”
“Then I hope the right woman comes along soon,” Erskine smiled and patted Camden’s shoulder in comfort. “Then I give ye me word, Camden. Go to this meetin’ place with Dearg, see what he offers as clemency to come back to the clan. After that, I promise ye can take a break from duties for a little while.”
“Thank ye, Erskine, I appreciate it,” Camden offered his hand, and Erskine shook it. Before releasing, though, Erskine held his grasp a little longer.
“Be careful, Camden. Me faither may be willin’ to forgive Dearg and believe he is a changed man, but I am nae so ready to believe it,” Erskine flicked his gaze back to Laura and Bea.
“Ye daenae think he would try to harm ye again? By doin’ somethin’ to them?” Camden asked, a note of panic in his voice.
“Let us hope nae. But keep yer eyes open me friend. Both for bein’ wary for Dearg and for any woman who may be yer future wife,” Erskine’s gentle jest brought a smile from Camden.
“I will. Good day, Erskine,” Camden nodded his head and left quickly out of the room.
Erskine looked back to Laura and Bea. With the bairn now sleeping peacefully, Laura was back on her feet, her beautiful smile faltering slightly as she walked toward him.
“Is something wrong, Erskine?” she asked, whispering so not to wake Bea.
“I daenae ken, Laura. I really daenae ken.”
He had to hope his gut instinct was wrong, but he really couldn’t be sure. He just passed Dearg’s letter to Laura. She adjusted her hold to grasp Bea with just one arm and opened the letter with her other hand. As she read the words, her bright blue eyes widened even more.
“He wants to come back.”
“So he does,” Erskine shifted between his feet. “There’s more to this than he portends. I’m sure of it.”
“What are ye workin’ on, Bram?” Kyla asked. She was cradling their youngest child in her arms in the library, and Bram was sitting at a nearby table, writing furiously.
“Och, I was writin’ a letter. It seems that we are soon tae be enterin’ a truce with England, but I doubt that will last for long. Nae with Wallace and Bruce at the helm of this country.”
Kyla could see that Bram’s expression was grim. It had been difficult over the last five years with the constant uprisings and battles that had followed the Battle of Dunbar. It seemed that there was no end to England’s desire for conquest of the wild Scottish Highlands. Her husband had grown more fatigued because of it. However, he had been no less loving. The comfort of his family had helped to soothe him.
“Father,” their oldest child, Robert, said, coming to slide into Bram’s lap. “Will ye teach me how tae write letters one day?”
Bram’s smile returned, and he laid a kiss atop his son’s head. “Aye, lad, of course, but I think ye will find that it is yer Mother who is the better teacher. Has she nae already outsmarted most of yer tutors?” Bram looked at Kyla and winked.
She rolled her eyes. “They were simply uninformed about the outside world. It is as if they have hardly read a word! I couldnae have Robert learnin’ from them. Nor would I ever plague Ruth with them either,” she said, glancing down at her baby. She stood up and wandered around to Bram’s side of the desk.
“Will ye come walk, m’love? It is a beautiful sunny day, and the English can wait. I think it time that we all get a bit of fresh air.”
“Quite right, quite right,” Bram replied, nodding his head as he stood up. “Thank ye, lass.”
Soon, the children were sent away with a very pregnant Mary; Bram and Kyla left the castle, hand in hand. “Tae the loch?” he asked, and she beamed, nodding her head.
“Of course. Where else?”
They spoke idly together as they wandered up the grassy hillside until they found the small valley between two hills in which the loch lay. The air was clean and fresh, and the loch sparkled like crystal under the sunlight.
“Do ye ever think of Clyde, Bram?”
Bram looked down. “I thought this was meant tae be a happy walk, Kyla.”
“I ken. I was only curious. This loch reminded me of him. It does sometimes and how Michael caught us here kissin’ one day.”
He grinned. “Aye, now that is a happy memory. I do think of Clyde, sometimes. I wonder how he fares in prison. I wonder if he ever thinks of me or his family. I wonder if he cares that he cannae be an uncle tae our children. But these thoughts bring me nae joy. They merely remind me of the ache in m’ heart for m’ old brither.”
Kyla held onto his hand tightly. “I ken. I cannae imagine what I would do if I lost Arla in such a way. I understand yer pain. I am sorry tae have brought it up.”
Bram took a breath and slid his arm around Kyla’s waist, looking out at the loch. “Nae, lass. It is a good thing tae discuss it. I wanted him gone but nae dead. He still lives; I can feel it in m’ heart. That does give me some comfort that I feel I did what was right. Besides, here, in this magical place, with ye at m’ side, I cannae imagine feelin’ any sort of sadness or pain.”
He turned to her with a wicked gleam in his eye and leaned down to kiss her. It had been five years since their marriage, and yet their desire for one another never quelled. Even more so, Kyla felt like butter in Bram’s strong arms. With a passionate kiss, Bram could make all her limbs weaken and her brain hazy that she thought of nothing else.
But this time, out in the sunshine by the blue water, this was more than a kiss. It had started out gently, but then it grew in heat as Bram’s mouth opened to hers and his tongue slid inside. At first, his hands had gripped her waist, but now they had moved behind her, grasping her buttocks. He pushed her against his hardening length, and in a moment, Kyla’s desire pooled hotly in her belly.
Now that they were married, there was no reason for them to hide their love or have to hurry away to secret alcoves to get a stolen kiss or tryst, but the idea of it was exciting. Kyla didn’t fight it as Bram began to pull at her gown and the pins in her hair. Her hair tumbled down her back and began to blow in the slight breeze.
She pulled at his shirt and worked at the ties on his breeches. Soon enough, the pair of them were bare and exposed. She thought nothing of it as Bram lowered her down to the ground. They hadn’t even spoken, so entranced they were by one another’s kiss. But once he was on top of her, his mouth roamed. Down her neck, over her shoulder. One hand grasped a large breast, and his mouth moved to the other, licking, suckling until Kyla felt ready to scream with the pleasure of it.
“I have never tired of these beauties, Kyla. Ye seem tae have grown even bonnier since we first met.”
He leaned up so that she could see him wink. She chuckled as she spread her legs and wrapped them around him. His brows lifted in surprise. “I see ye are eager.” His gaze darkened. “Good.”
“I am always eager for ye, Bram.” He entered her roughly, and even though it had happened so often, Kyla still gasped at the thrilling pleasure of it. Bram filling her until she couldn’t be filled anymore was true bliss. She lifted her hips slightly so that she could take him deeper.
Bram locked eyes with her, and he began to move, slowly, teasingly, but she wrapped her legs tighter so that he could enter her even more. She could see the muscles tighten in his neck as he felt his pleasure. She grabbed onto the backs of his arms as he rode her faster and faster, thrusting deeply until her nails bit into his skin and her voice lifted up to the sky.
He kept going, sweat forming on his brow, but soon enough, Bram growled out her own name, and then the two of them were lying entwined together in the cool, green grass. Their chests rose and fell, and Bram wrapped his arms about Kyla as they caught their breath.
Eventually, Bram grinned. “Ye surprise me every time, Lady Ewan, with just how enticin’ and bold ye can be.”
Kyla laughed and spread her hand on Bram’s strong chest. “Ye have taught me well just what gives ye the most pleasure, Laird Ewan.”
Her eyes moved down his chest until they looked at his length. She bit her lip. Bram followed her gaze and said, “As much as I would love nothin’ more than tae have yer lips wrapped around me tightly, I think I will have tae rest afore I can come tae life again.”
“Fair enough,” she said brightly. “We have the evenin’ tae look forward tae again.”
“That we do.” Bram stood and helped Kyla to her feet, and the two of them dressed, laughing about something that Robert had said earlier that morning.
They were just turning to leave the loch, hand in hand once more, when Liam rode up to them, a look of confused excitement on his face. “Laird and Lady,” he said with a grin. “I didnae wish tae make ye wait any longer, or rather yer guest didnae wish tae wait for yer return.”
“What is it, Liam?” Kyla asked. “Is everythin’ all right?”
“I think so, but I dinnae think that Arla does,” Liam added. “Here, ye take m’ horse. I shall walk back tae the castle. It is ye both that she wishes tae see.”
“Arla? But we were nae expectin’ her,” Kyla said with confusion. “How has she arrived?”
“Well, kennin’ the lass, I am certain that she will tell ye herself, but apparently, she escaped yer father’s castle and rode here on horseback. Alone.”
Kyla’s eyes widened, and Bram merely laughed. “Och, it seems that we are in for an adventure again, lass. Come. Let us go and see just what it is she has tae tell us.” Bram jumped onto the horse and reached down to lift Kyla tae sit in front of him.
As they rode back to the castle, Bram whispered, “Perhaps we need tae find a more secure place. Why, Liam could have arrived just as we were in the height of our pleasures.”
Kyla laughed, but her heart was still focused on what on earth Arla was doing there.
***
Arla McCormack, now a fiery twenty-two-year-old beauty, was pacing back and forth in her sister’s castle. She had just arrived and heard that they were out somewhere. Knowing them, they could be gone for hours, and Arla didn’t want to wait hours. She needed their help because she was certain that her father’s men were on her heels and could arrive any time, perhaps even that very day!
She shook her head. “I willnae marry that beast. I willnae!” She stomped back and forth in her heavy leather boots and riding trousers that she had stolen from one of the men back at her castle. Just as she was making her tenth turn about the hall, she heard a tiny voice call out to her.
“Aunt Arla?”
Arla turned to see Robert wandering down the steps, rubbing his eyes. Arla’s heart eased considerably at the sight of her sweet nephew. “Robert!” she cried and rushed to him, picking him up and laying a big kiss on his cheek. “Now, it looks like ye have just woken from a nap. What are ye doin’ out here alone? Where is Mary?”
“She is with Ruth, gettin’ her tae sleep. I didnae want tae sleep anymore. I heard the sounds down here and wanted tae see what it is. Father says I must always be ready for intruders intae the castle.”
Arla chuckled. “Ye will be a good laird one day, then, lad. I am sorry that ye thought I might be an intruder. But ye should nae wake up tae early, ye ken, for then later, ye might just be tae tired tae play games or even eat dinner.”
Robert’s eyes widened in fear at the thought of missing games and food. Arla laughed again. “What are ye doin’ here, Aunt Arla? Mother didnae say that ye were comin’. Why did she nae say?”
“Well, it is more of a surprise, Robert.” She put him down and knelt down to his height. “I wanted tae come and surprise ye,” she lied, and she tried her best to smile. “Do ye nae like surprises?”
Robert’s surprised look turned tae one of happiness. “Aye. I like surprises. Can we play that game ye taught me last time?”
“Of course, of course, but first, I need tae speak tae yer mother and father. I am waitin’ for them now.”
She stood up again, and Robert reached up to grasp her hand. Just then, Bram and Kyla entered the hall, and Kyla rushed forward to grasp Arla in a quick hug. She looked ever so slightly pale, and Arla felt a little guilty for making her sister worry. “Well, ye dinnae look sick or injured. That is a good thing.”
Bram smiled and hugged Arla as well. “Now, will ye tell us what is goin’ on? Ye are most welcome, of course, but we didnae ken that ye wished tae come. What is this emergency?”
Arla’s good mood at the sight of Robert was now spoiled. She began to pace again, and Robert returned to his mother’s side. He was grateful that they hadn’t noticed that he was without Mary in their surprise at his aunt’s arrival.
Arla threw up her hands in the air. “Well, we might as well sit.”
She sat down at one of the tables, and Bram and Kyla followed. Seeing the tense look in Arla’s eye, he called for wine to be brought.
Kyla leaned forward to try to grasp her sister’s trembling hand. “Tell us, Arla. What is it? Ye have escaped Father?’
“So, I have,” she said hotly, her eyes narrowing. She stood up again to pace. “I had tae leave, Kyla, and I came here because I thought that ye would be able tae help me.”
“We will do whatever we can, lass. Of course. Ye are family,” Bram said with confidence. The servant brought wine, and Arla waited as they poured it. She took the cup and drank a large gulp.
“I had tae leave Father because he is attemptin’ tae marry me off.”
Kyla frowned. “I kenned that this time would come. We both did. But surely ye didnae think that ye could avoid it. Is there somethin’ wrong with the man he has chosen?”
Arla almost screamed; she couldn’t believe her sister was almost defending her father’s actions. “Wrong? What is nae wrong with him? He is old, unseemly, and a menace! And I ken that the only reason Father is wantin’ us tae marry is that he owes the man a debt. I dinnae ken what kind of debt, but somethin’. Why else would he do this tae me? I could nae remain. I had tae leave, but I am certain his men will be here soon tae take me back. Will ye help me?”
Bram and Kyla looked at each other for a moment. Kyla turned to her sister and was about to reply when they were disturbed by Lucas, the second to Liam. He had entered the room, a strange look in his eye.
“Laird, it seems that the men on the battlements spotted a group of wagons comin’ this way.”
Arla’s heart was fluttering in her chest at the mention of carriages. “Ye see? He must be here already!” She turned to see the man who had been so rude to her all those years ago and Bram and Kyla’s wedding. Her mood worsened at the sight of Lucas, grinning once he spotted her.
Och, just what I needed.
Miriam had some news to tell Jamie, but she didn’t know how to do it.
She was sitting in the terraced gardens, watching as Jamie played with Caillen. The little girl squealed in delight as Jamie caught her under the arms and swung her up in the air. It was a game they loved to play; Caillen would demand to be shown what flying would be like, then she would run around the garden until her father caught her. Jamie would sometimes feign missing her before catching her for real and holding her up high in the air.
Miriam felt her smile get so wide that she was sure her cheeks would ache forevermore. Jamie turned in a circle, making Caillen laugh and giggle as she saw the world spin around them.
“Ye’ll make her sick again,” Miriam pointed out loudly as she reached for one of the drinks that had been set out for them.
“Sick? Nay,” Jamie swung Caillen up and placed her on his shoulders. “Caillen, if ye do feel sick. Do me a favor. Aim it behind me and not on me head.”
The little girl just laughed in response and buried her hands in her father’s hair, tugging at the light-brown strands. Miriam laughed too, remembering just how many times Caillen’s face had turned from delight to worry. No matter how many times she was sick, she demanded to play the game again, for she loved it so much.
“Come sit down here and have somethin’ to drink,” Miriam urged him.
He walked over hurriedly, but before he sat down, he bent and kissed her, lingering with his lips against hers.
Miriam was so lost in that kiss that the sharp tug on her hair surprised her.
“Caillen!” she called, the sound slightly muffled against Jamie’s lips.
Jamie laughed as he straightened up and reached up to Caillen on his shoulders.
“Ye playin’ with ma’s hair again?” he asked her.
“Aye,” Caillen said with a smile, clearly pleased with herself. “Da! The butterflies!” she was pointing off in the direction of the flowerbeds where two cabbage-white butterflies danced together, swirling around one another with little bobbed movements. “Make me fly again – like them.”
“Nae right now, lass,” Jamie pulled her off his shoulders and placed her back down on her feet. “Any more and ye may well be sick, and I need somethin’ to drink. Runnin’ after ye is harder work than ye think.” He tapped her softly on the back, and she ran off to the flowerbeds, pulling her little skirt up around her knees as she watched the butterflies.
“Daenae run off!” Miriam called after her.
“Aye, ma,” she clearly didn’t have much intention of doing so. She was jumping up and down, trying to catch the butterflies with her small hands. The white butterflies just hovered out of her reach.
Miriam smiled as Jamie came to take the seat beside her. Without warning, he kissed her again, passing a hand behind her head until his fingers were entwined in her black hair and pulling her toward him for the kiss. At the touch, Miriam could feel that heat that she now knew so well filling her up. When his hand slipped under the table to take hold of her hip, she squealed into his mouth and pulled away.
“Calm yerself,” she shook her head. “Or ye’ll make our daughter ask all sorts of questions she shouldnae yet ken the answers to.”
He laughed in response and sat back in his seat as she passed him a small beer.
“Forgive me. It is hard to keep me hands off ye,” he said as he sipped the drink, his eyes passing over Caillen as she danced. “She makes me happier than I thought I could be, ye ken.”
“Me too,” Miriam watched their daughter as she jumped up and down in the flowerbeds. Miriam was not afraid to say that the night of Caillen’s birth had not been an easy one. The labor had been long and what had made it doubly difficult was the fact that Jamie hadn’t been there.
As part of the retaliation with the war against the Sutherland Clan, Jamie had been off leading the soldiers. They had not expected Miriam to go into labor so early, and the moment she did, word was sent off to Jamie.
When he returned, sweaty and covered in dirt from the battle, Miriam had just given birth. She was holding Caillen in her hands with unshed tears in her eyes when he burst through the door, moving so quickly that he tripped over his own feet and completely fell over.
Miriam smiled at the memory.
Well, looks like we’ll be doin’ it all over again.
“Jamie,” she began slowly, uncertain how to tell him.
“Aye?” he turned his full attention to her.
“What do ye think of a little brother or sister for Caillen?” she gestured to their daughter. She had black hair like Miriam, but it curled around her ears, bearing resemblance to her father’s locks.
“I think let’s find someone to watch over Caillen, and we’ll go get started now,” he smiled and sat forward in his chair, prompting Miriam to laugh and reach out for his shoulders, pushing him back in his seat.
“That is nae necessary,” she said softly, waiting for him to understand. For a minute, he just frowned, not following her at all. Then, his face altered and his lips quirked into a small smile.
“Ye mean ye are…” he gestured down to her stomach.
“I am.”
“In the name of the wee man, this is fantastic news!” he leaned toward her and kissed her again, bringing her up to meet his lips.
“What did I say about Caillen, bampot?” Miriam leaned away and batted him around the arm.
“She is used to kissin’, this willnae make her ask questions,” he smiled. “So, we are to have a new member in our family.”
“We are,” Miriam circled her arms around Jamie’s neck. “And I think this time it will be a boy.”
“A boy? What makes ye so certain?”
Miriam looked down at her stomach, trying to explain it.
“A feelin’. That is all.”
“Then a boy it may well be,” he kissed her on the forehead. “Well, if we are to have as many problems namin’ this one as we had with Caillen, we best start our debate now.”
“We dinnae have that many problems,” Miriam rolled her eyes as she raised her head.
“We did,” Jamie pointed out. “For four days after her birth, we just called her lass!”
“I forgot about that,” Miriam chuckled. “Aye, very well. Any ideas of this boy’s name?”
At her words, Jamie placed a hand to her stomach and closed his eyes. For a minute, all was still as they listened to Caillen jumping in the flowerbeds.
“Feels like a Gawain to me.”
“Gawain?” she repeated as he opened his eyes. “I quite like that.”
“What? Nay debate? Nay argument?” he teased.
“Nay, I like Gawain.”
“Then, Gawain it is.” Jamie sat back in his chair and looped his arm around Miriam. She was pulled onto his chest where she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Me family,” she sighed with contentment. “Ye, me, Caillen and Gawain. How could I want for anythin’ more?”
“Daenae say that too quickly, lass. I want another after that.”
The Isle of Shadows lay in a mist, dark clouds circling menacingly above, as Christina steered the boat into the harbor, and Lyall leaped into the water with a splash to pull it into shore. They had been fishing on the loch and having caught a dozen large fish. They had returned to shore. It was six months since their return to the Isle of Shadows, and Christina and Lyall were living in the castle with Christina’s mother, their life now happy and settled.
“Help me there, Lyall, take this,” Christina said, passing over the basket of fish, some of which were still flapping their silvery fins in the final throes of life.
“Take my hand, lass, ye shall fall if ye stand up like that,” Lyall said, laughing, as Christina tried to catch her balance.
She grabbed hold of his hand, steadying herself, as the boat rocked back and forth, a wind catching the sail and sending it drifting back out into the open water. Lyall grabbed hold of the stern, wading into the water and hauling the boat back up to shore, as Christina leaped out to help him, the two of them now soaked through and laughing.
“I didnae intend to go for a swim today,” Christina said, taking up the basket, as Lyall secured the boat to one of the mooring posts and waded out of the water onto the rocky shore.
“We shall soon dry off. Come, let us get inside, quickly. The rain is comin’ up the loch now, chasin’ us,” he said, pointing to where the dreich was drifting over the waters, the view of the mountains now obscured by the coming rain.
“I would visit Isla for a moment,” Christina said, taking up the basket and hurrying off over the rocks to where Isla’s grave lay by the shore.
She liked to visit her every day, sharing her thoughts and feelings with the woman whose death had changed her life. She plucked a sprig of heather, tucking it carefully into the rocks of the cairn which made up Isla’s grave, as Lyall came to stand next to her.
“Tis’ a sad memory to stand here, but we owe her so much,” Lyall said, putting his arm around Christina, who leaned her head upon his shoulder, sighing, as she looked down at the grave.
“I miss her every day,” she said, the familiar tears now rising in her eyes.
She owed everything to Isla, for if it had not been for her death, then Christina would never have left the Isle of Shadows to follow Lyall.
“And she is lookin’ down on ye, lass, and smilin’ at all ye have done,” Lyall said, as the two of them turned to walk toward the castle, large drops of rain now falling around them and the wind whistling down the loch.
Christina was about to reply when a sharp pain ran through her, and her legs almost gave way beneath her. She let out a cry, clutching at Lyall, the basket of fish falling to the ground, as she did so.
“Lyall… oh, I… ah,” she cried, as once again the sharp pain went through her, a cramp which shot across her stomach, as Lyall caught her in his arms.
“What is wrong, lass? I will get help,” he cried, calling out toward the castle where sentries were posted upon the battlements high above.
Soon, a dozen of the women, accompanied by Ross, had hurried out to see what was wrong, and together they carried Christina back into the castle where she was laid upon her bed, and the Lairdess was summoned to her side.
“Fetch Maria Ruaidhrí. We must have the wise woman here, tell her to bring her herbs. Perhaps Christina has a fever,” her mother said, calling for something hot to be brought for Christina to drink and the fire to be stoked up.
Christina was wrapped in blankets, and Lyall and her mother stayed anxiously at her side until Maria could be found. She was an ancient woman, well versed in herb lore, and walked with a stick, bent over and wizened, though her eyes were bright and keen. She smiled down at Christina, laying her hand gently upon her forehead and whispering something to herself as she did so.
“Is it a fever, Maria?” Lyall asked, “tis’ my fault, I took her out to fish upon the loch, and she must have gotten cold.”
But Maria shook her head and smiled.
“Tis’ nay fever, but tis’ ye who are responsible for what ails her,” the old woman said, and Lyall looked at her aghast.
“I meant nae harm, I would never hurt Christina, I love her with all my heart,” he cried, rising from his place by the bed and backing away, but now Maria laughed.
“Nay, Lyall, tis’ nay doubtin’ that ye love Christina dearly. She is with child, lad. The pain she describes is merely the bairn inside her. The bonnie wee thing must have kicked, tis’ a cramp, that is all. She must rest, and ye must see she is well taken care of,” Maria said, as Christina looked up at her in astonishment.
“I am with child?” she asked, and Maria nodded.
“Aye, ye are to be a mother, and this line is to continue,” she said, glancing at Christina’s mother, who now stooped down and put her arms around Christina, as Lyall shook his head in astonishment.
“My darlin’ lass, ye have done well, and ye must rest now,” she said, kissing Christina on the forehead, as Lyall reached out to take her by the hand.
“What wonderful news this is, Christina, and what a relief, too,” he said, sighing and shaking his head.
“We must send word to yer father,” Christina replied, still unable to take in the words Maria had spoken.
She could not imagine herself as a mother, though the thought of it brought joy to her heart. When Maria and her mother had left, Christina and Lyall were alone, and he sat next to her on the bed, the fire crackling in the hearth. He put his arm around her, kissing her upon the forehead and sighing.
“I was so worried about ye,” he whispered, and she smiled up at him.
“But tis’ all right now, sorrow has turned to joy, and we are to be mother and father,” she said, as he shook his head.
“I can only hope that I shall be a better father than my own was,” he said, and Christina could hear a note of worry in his voice as though he was anxious at the prospect of fatherhood to come.
“Ye will be a good father, Lyall. Of course, ye shall. Ye are nothin’ like yer father, and ye shall learn from his mistakes. We shall both have a lot to learn,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his as he turned again to kiss her.
“I shall try,” he replied, “for I know the child shall have the very best of mothers.”
***
Three months later, Christina was delivered of a healthy boy named Robert after that great ancestor who had gone before them. Maria delivered the child, pronouncing him to be healthy, if a little early, and there was much rejoicing on the Isle of Shadows at the arrival of this new heir.
Lyall was at Christina’s side throughout the delivery, her hand clasped in his, her mother at her other side, as servants rushed back and forth, bringing hot water and towels. As the baby was born, its screams echoed around the castle, and the bell was tolled across the loch to announce that joyous day which now had come. Christina was exhausted, and she fell asleep in the aftermath of the birth, waking when the child did, Lyall keeping vigil at her side.
“Is he all right?” she asked, opening her eyes and struggling to sit up.
“He is fine, but ye need yer rest, Christina, let Maria see to him,” Lyall said, but Christina wanted to hold the baby in her arms, and Maria smiled, passing him to her and stepping proudly back.
“Ye have done well, lass,” she said, as Christina looked down at the baby in her arms.
He was perfect, his tiny features like a picture of Lyall in miniature, for it was clear that he took after his father.
“Robert Ruaidhrí Donald, rightful heir to the Bruce clan,” she whispered, glancing up at Lyall, who smiled and nodded.
“And perhaps he shall gain his inheritance. The king has made bar upon Edward’s successors inheritin’ the Lairdship. Perhaps it will be this child who finally brings peace to all of Scotland,” Lyall said, reaching out and gently placing his hand upon the baby’s head.
“Or perhaps he will be content with the Isle of Shadows as his inheritance, for what more could he want than what is here?” she asked, and Lyall smiled.
“My only wish is for him to grow up strong and healthy, knowin’ that he is loved and that he is free to dae as he pleases,” he said, and Christina nodded.
“Then he has a father who wants only the best for him. Hold him, Lyall,” she said, offering her husband the baby, who now squirmed and wriggled in his blankets.
“I… perhaps ye…” Lyall began, but Christina shook her head.
“Nay, Lyall. Ye are his father, and he must know ye as he knows his mother,” she said, as Lyall took Robert tentatively in his arms.
“Ye are very tiny,” Lyall said, rocking the baby back and forth.
“See, he likes ye already,” Christina said, as Robert now stopped crying and settled into Lyall’s arms to sleep.
“I promise ye I shall love ye and nae make the same mistakes as my father made with me,” Lyall whispered as he sat down on the edge of the bed, smiling down at the baby and glancing at Christina.
“Ye are nothin’ like yer father, Lyall. And I know ye shall love our child as much as ye love me,” she said, smiling up at him.
Together, they had brought new life into the world, and together they had made life better for so many others. Christina was happy, knowing that Lyall was at her side, the two of them surrounded by friends and family, their clans united as one. It was not the life that Christina had imagined for herself, but one far better. A life forged out of tragedy, but which now grew better by the day. She loved Lyall with all her heart, but now too there was room for another love there, the love they shared for the child she had born, and for the children to come, for surely Robert was not to be their last.
“Ross too is expectin’ a child,” Lyall said, and Christina laughed.
“Tis’ his wife that is expectin’, but I am sure he will be just as good a father as ye will be. The two of ye can share responsibility when we wives have had enough,” she said, and Lyall laughed.
“Gladly, for I daenae think I could ever grow tired of this lad,” he said, kissing Robert gently upon the forehead as he passed him back to Christina.
“Wait until he is screamin’ at some ungodly hour,” she said, laughing, as the baby opened his eyes and looked up at her.
“I shall nae mind, so long as ye are there, too,” Lyall replied, and Christina closed her eyes, delighting in that perfect moment with Lyall at her side and Robert in her arms.
There could be no greater happiness than this, and with a smile upon her face, she fell asleep, knowing that happiness was all that lay ahead.
Ceana paced the floor, waiting eagerly. He wasn’t supposed to be so late, was he? She knew that he had been summoned by the clan chief, but she knew nothing more, and it was awfully hard to wait. She had put two-year-old baby Torcall to sleep hours ago but could find no sleep herself. Since she and Torcall had married, she hadn’t had cause to sleep alone. Torcall remained a soldier for the Chief but would return home each night to her and their baby. He had kept his promises to her, and she had never once regretted risking her life for him.
The years had been peaceful, and Ceana knew that they were blessed. Sometimes, it seemed too good to be real, but it was. However, she could never hide the clawing doubts that were at the back of her mind. Torcall had been gracious about her worries too. Each night before they slept, he held her tight and whispered that he loved her. It was more than a declaration of love; it was also an assurance of safety. For months, she had had nightmares about Rannoch, but he never lost his patience with her. He had soothed her until they stopped happening to her anymore. She loved him more than life itself.
When Ceana was sure that it was past midnight, her patience ended, and she made her way to the bedroom to carry Torcall in her arms. She slipped a dagger into the sheath that Torcall had given her and tied it around her waist. She would take her baby to her parent’s house before making her way to the keep in search of her husband.
Just as she opened the front door, she came face to face with Torcall and relief washed over her.
“Where have ye been?” she asked him, worry evident in her voice.
“The meeting was a long one. I apologize, me love. Where are ye going?”
“To find ye!” she yelled and walked inside, slightly upset.
But Torcall stepped in after her and pulled her to him. He took their babe out of her hands and kissed his head. “I wasnae here, so ye decided to come in search of me at this time of the night,” he said, shaking his head almost fondly.
“Aye. Do nae give me that look–ye would have come looking for me, too!”
“Nay. I wouldnae have let ye go anywhere without me even,” he smirked.
They walked into the chamber and placed the baby down.
“I am upset,” she said.
“I ken,” he pulled her to him and held her tight. Then he kissed her. “I should have sent someone, me love. I am sorry. When Tam left, he said he would drop by here. I thought that would calm ye.”
“Tam is nae me husband,” she sulked.
“I ken,” he grinned, “and I am grateful for that.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “I was worried.”
“I realize that now but ye need nae fear for me. There is nae a man that can best me,” he boasted, “except he has ye. Ye are me weakness and strength. All in one.”
Ceana melted into his embrace, her previous anger forgotten. “I love ye.”
“I love ye more.”
“What was the meeting about?”
“The Clan Chief has asked me to be the Chief’s warrior.”
“Did ye accept it?”
“Nae at first! They mandated that I move into the castle, and I refused that. We like our house here, do we nae?”
“Aye,” Ceana smiled, happy that she and her husband agreed.
“Besides, I ken that ye love living so close to Alina. I want ye happy. Naught else matters.”
Ceana’s heart swelled, full of joy. “What will ye nae do for yer family,” she smiled, pulling him to herself.
“Nae a thin’,” he replied as he claimed her lips. “For ye and me son, I would walk to the ends of the earth with nae a complaint.”
Ceana beamed. “Yer duties are about to increase, me love,” she muttered to him.
“How so?”
“I am with child,” she whispered in excitement.
Torcall considered telling her that he had suspected, expected even, but he didn’t. Instead, he swept her into his arms and kissed her.
“Let us go to bed, me love,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Ye do nae have to ask twice,” she laughed and kissed him again.
Twenty-one years had passed since Eithne and Ivor were married, and now they were happier than ever. As well as Callum and their birth son, Killian – always known as Kil – who was born just after their wedding, they had three beautiful daughters of their own. Iona was eight-and-ten, Finola four-and-ten, and little Siobhan only ten.
Now Eithne was in her forties and her childbearing days were over, but such things hardly bothered her. She was a successful lady, raising her children to believe in their own power. She knew that her parents would be proud of the life she lived now.
“And who kens?” she mused out loud as she and Ivor sat together in the Laird’s study that afternoon. “Perhaps Callum will have some bairns of his own soon enough. Then we’ll be grandparents.”
“Grandparents!” Ivor chuckled. “Lord above, Eithne, give a man a break. I hardly feel old enough to be a faither and now yer already having poor Callum making bairns! He only just married last year. And even if he does, ye’ll never see his bairns.”
It was true. Callum and his new wife lived in the Lowlands now, down in Glasgow City, where Callum ran a successful business. Eithne missed him terribly, and she knew that Ivor did too. Perhaps that was why she was hoping so much for grandchildren. As Eithne’s children aged, she felt them all slowly slipping away.
“Maybe Kil, then,” Eithne said with a shrug. “He’ll inherit the Lairdship, after all. It’s about time he started working on an heir of his own.”
Ivor laughed. “Let the poor lad find a wife first.”
As if Ivor’s words had been a summoning, the door opened, and Eithne’s young lady-in-waiting entered. Eithne smiled. Caiomhe was around the same age as Kil, with long brown curls and lovely wide brown eyes. She was relatively short but busty and well-curved at the hips. She’d been Eithne’s companion for eight years, ever since she’d been taken in at twelve years old.
Eithne gave Ivor a look, and he responded by chuckling and shaking his head – not in disagreement, but in amusement. He knew her thoughts and arguments about how Caoimhe would be the perfect bride for Kil now that they were both old enough to marry; Eithne had undoubtedly spoken about it with him enough times.
Ivor has always made it very clear, though, that if that is to be the case, then Kil will have to make that discovery for himself.
Eithne agreed with him, of course. After all, she had ended up married to a simple mercenary because she’d been allowed to fall in love wherever her heart lay. She would grant her son the same courtesy.
“Caoimhe, dear, that is a lovely dress ye’re wearing,” she said pleasantly. “Are ye going somewhere nice today?”
“Nay, Me Lady,” Caoimhe said with a pretty blush. “It’s one of the old ones that yer lassies were finished with. They passed it onto me in their kindness, and I had it altered to more me size.”
“Well, it’s very fetching,” Eithne told her with a smile. “Would ye nae agree, Laird Husband?”
Ivor chuckled. “Aye, of course, though naebody is as radiant as ye, Wife,” he replied with a smile. “What are yer plans for the day?”
Eithne took a breath. She’d been preparing for this moment since Ivor had mentioned three days ago that he would meet with the Laird of Dunne. Dunne was contested land, and she knew that Ivor was going to do everything he could to prevent a war.
I also ken, however, that me beloved laird is still a warrior at heart. These delicate matters need a woman’s touch.
“I was hoping,” she said, “to accompany ye to the meeting with Laird Dunn. I ken ye’re running in with nae plans again.”
“I have plans,” Ivor said defensively. “If Dunne has a brain in his head, he’ll listen to what I have to say, fancy words or nae. Neither one of our clans can afford this to come to war.”
Eithne shook her head. “Dunne is young. Brash. He doesnae like being told what to do, and he wants to seem powerful compared to Ivor Sinclair, the Laird of MacDonnell, who rose to his seat from naught. He wants to prove that he’s better than ye are. Have ye prepared to work with that?”
Ivor frowned. “Usually, when I have such a problem, I just threaten it with me sword,” he admitted. “But it doesnae sound like ye think that the threat of a good stabbing will do much good this time.”
Behind them, Caoimhe covered her mouth as she stifled a surprised giggle.
Eithne glanced at her with a reassuring smile before looking back at Ivor. “Ye’re right. Ye ken that I’m nae opposed to that when needed, but we need to be more delicate here. Let me come and talk to Dunne. I grew up around people like this. I ken what they want and how they want to do things.”
Ivor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing under his beard. “Aye, Eithne, if ye think that’s for the best, then that’s what we shall do. Ye ken I value yer input more than most of me own men.”
It was true. Ivor didn’t have the pride that many Lairds did not allow their women to get involved. In fact, Ivor had always respected her opinion just as much, if not more than, his own. In the last twenty years, they had ruled Clan MacDonnell together, his strength and her wisdom coming together to grant them real power.
Between that and their allyship with Clan Kinnear and the lands that had once belonged to MacDuff, their family had accumulated a lot of influence. While that was good in that it let them help wherever they were needed, it had a bit of a downside in that other clans frequently saw them as threats. Both skill and wit were absolutely necessary to keep the peace – and so far, they had.
“It’s agreed then,” Eithne said, kissing his cheek. “Caoimhe, I ken we were supposed to be doing me rounds in the village today, but this is more important.”
The lady-in-waiting frowned but nodded. “I understand,” she said. “We need to prevent war. But, Me Lady, what of the people? They’re expecting ye. Shall I send out word that the castle’s visit is to be postponed this month?”
Eithne shook her head, drawing her face into a close of an approximation of innocence as she could muster. “Nay, nay, they’ll riot,” she chuckled. “Ye should take one of the lassies with ye.”
“She cannae,” Ivor said. He caught her eye, and Eithne saw the amusement there. He already saw what she was planning. “Siobhan is only ten, Finola’s off gallivanting God only kens where, and Iona’s got her archery lesson.”
“Och, aye,” Eithne said regretfully as if she’d forgotten. “Well, whatever will we do, then? Caoimhe is the only one with all of me information on the village folk. She was supposed to be helping me, bless her.”
Ivor stared at her, and Eithne smiled back. The look he gave her clearly asked if she was serious, so she nodded. Yes, she would make him be the one to suggest it. Ivor shook his head and grinned at her, then said, “Well, Miss Caoimhe, why dinnae ye ask young Kil to escort ye? He kens the way about the place, and I ken ye can keep him in line.”
To Eithne’s delight, the girl blushed again. “Oh…aye, aye, I suppose I could do that,” she said. “Are ye sure he willnae mind?”
“Very sure,” Eithne told her. “Off ye go.”
The lady-in-waiting curtseyed at both of them and hurried off. When she was gone, Ivor chuckled and gave Eithne a look. “Ye’re terrible.”
“I ken,” she replied, getting up and moving closer to him. She sat on his lap, her arms around his neck, and he ran his hands up her back. “But I also ken that’s how ye like it.”
His hand found her hair and tilted her head downward, pulling her into a deep kiss. Twenty years had passed, and every one of Ivor’s kisses still sent desire and need through every one of Eithne’s senses.
“I love ye, madwoman,” he breathed against her.
“And I ye, me mercenary Laird. And I ye.”
***
Caoimhe knew that Lady MacDonnell hoped that she would soon be engaged to Killian Sinclair. In fact, Caoimhe delighted in it – it made her own plans so much easier.
Since her mother had died eight years ago, Caoimhe had no place to go but here. She had nothing but the knowledge of her noble father and how he had been unjustly slain the same year that Caoimhe was born – just a few nights after her conception, in fact.
He loved me mither even though she was just a commoner. He came across as harsh, but he didnae mean a word of it. And when he died, he left her with her greatest reward – me.
That’s what Caoimhe’s mother had always said anyway. She’d raised Caoimhe alone until the sickness hit her, teaching her skills and tricks with hidden knives that most women could never dream of.
That was why she had come to MacDonnell. That was why she had fought and worked until she was the lady-in-waiting of Lady Eithne herself. Because she was here for her revenge. She’d honor her mother’s memory and avenge her father’s death.
Caoimhe knocked on the door to the laird’s son’s room. When he walked out and gave her his smile, she had to take a moment to reorient herself. He was a perfect blend of his parents – his father’s long red hair and muscular body, his mother’s strange crystal blue eyes. Sometimes, Caoimhe wondered what it could have been if she was a normal woman, able to love without deception. To be the wife of Kil Sinclair would undoubtedly be something.
But nay. Nay, I cannae do that. I cannae afford to think of such things. All he can ever be to me is a tool.
She explained to Kil why she was there. He nodded and said they could leave straight away.
Kil’s easygoing manner and jokes made it hard for Caoimhe to focus. When they were together like this, laughing and teasing, she almost felt like they were just an ordinary young couple, strolling into the village together.
“Are ye all right?” Kil asked her, breaking her out of her reverie as they strolled down the road toward the village. “Ye seem a wee bit lost.”
She blinked. “Just tired,” she assured Kil, slipping her hand into his. He didn’t pull away, and he smiled at her, both gestures making her heart beat faster. She truly longed to kiss him, just once, just to see what it felt like. She’d dreamed of it since they were both children.
Nay. Stop it, Caoimhe.
“Ye look fair bonny today,” Kil told her.
She thanked him, though a shiver of guilt ran through her. He was smitten with her; that much was clear. Perhaps he’d even propose to her soon. Caoimhe hoped so. She would wait until they were alone on their wedding night – or, failing that, she would seduce him.
Once he was naked before her, she’d take her knife and run it through his chest, watching his blood run down his chest and the light fade out of his crystal blue eyes.
It hurt her to think about it. She didn’t really want to hurt Kil, who she had come to care about. But what else was there for her to do at this point? In her twenty years of life, this had always been her only goal.
There was no choice. Caoimhe’s father had been cruelly slain by a mercenary and a woman who had pretended to love him, two who now pretended to be a proper Laird and Lady. Eithne had brutalized Caoimhe’s father, stabbing him until he was an unrecognizable mess. Eithne and Ivor seemed kind, but Caoimhe’s mother had told her the truth.
And that was why no matter how much she liked him, the day would come that Rory MacDuff’s unknown bastard daughter would be the one to end the life of Eithne and Ivor’s own son. Then, and only then, would her revenge be complete.
“She’s asked permission to take a leave of absence again, in case ye want to say something to her this time.”
Caillen had come into Emer’s dressing room. His wife was seated in front of the dresser; Lady Maclachlan’s maid was pinning her mistress’s hair into ringlets on top of her head. It was an intricate task: Emer’s hair reached past her hips and could nearly touch the back of her knees. She grew it long because her husband asked her to do so. Even after two years of marriage and two bonnie children, Laird Maclachlan could still be made to tremble with desire when his wife came into their bedchamber with her hair falling down around her shoulders, her perfume scenting the air.
Emer did not turn to look at her husband when he came in and spoke to her. She looked at his reflection in the mirror, saying, “So, it must be a regular place they meet because this is definitely the same time of year. When do ye think they first set up the rendezvous?”
Caillen moved around the room, opening her trinket boxes and pomanders, sniffing them, and then placing them back on the table.
“I have nae idea,” he replied, “She receives regular correspondence, so I think that’s how most of the meeting places are set up.”
Emer sighed, and after waiting patiently for the maid to finish, thanked the girl and then turned around on her satin-lined stool, “This is the third time. What happens if she falls with child?”
Caillen shrugged his shoulders, “What can I do, Em? Davina is nae me chattel whom I can order around. She’s the sister of the Lady Maclachlan! If she chose to become our housekeeper after Mistress Burroughs passed away instead of taking her rightful place beside ye, it was her decision to make.”
Emer thought back to how Davina had become wretchedly dejected after Gawain’s departure and banishment. Her sister had lost the bloom in her cheeks and seemed to fade before her eyes. After the wedding, if Emer looked for her sister around the castle, she would always know to find her in the kitchen, helping Cook to make pies and pasties. It was as if she somehow needed to punish herself for telling Gawain her sister had left the castle to visit Nethy.
But when Emer had asked her, Davinia had opened her eyes wide with surprise.
“What? That old memory. Whatever made ye think I care about what I did when I was so young and silly.”
And there, the conversation had ended.
Davinia was a doting aunt. She had endless time to play with the two youngest Maclachlan’s. Both had been born in time for their grandfather to hold them in his arms.
“There I am with me own sweet wife – that is to say, yer mither,” the old Laird had nodded toward Caillen, “and we struggle to have two boys in all the years we were together. And ye go havin’ two strapping bairns in as many years!”
The old Laird had passed away a few months later. His body twisted with the disease that had slowly taken his life, but his mind and heart were still straight standing. Over two thousand clan and Highlanders had attended the wake. Stories were still told about how their torches lit up the night sky so far, ships sailing into port were able to see it.
Pastor Dougal had come to the wake.
He made a low bow to Laird and Lady Maclachlan. If there was one thing Dougal Sutherland had learned from his brother’s mistakes, it was to never hold pride and hate above love and forgiveness.
“Pastor,” Emer had greeted him with much affection, “How goes it back up in Nethy? How is Ernest and the rest o’ me neighbors?”
Pastor Dougal stood back so he could appreciate Emer more.
“Losh, child, ye look radiant, albeit I am sad for yer loss – he was a great Laird and will find his place in heaven. Nethy is grand, I’m tellin’ ye, and so is Ernest – bless him. We hope to have a good harvest this year, so ye’ll be pleased ye kept those fields!”
“It’s lovely to hear Nethy is prospering – and nae small thanks to yer kind efforts, and I thank ye for yer condolences. Me husband will be greatly comforted by yer words, Pastor,” Emer said graciously, “we hear ye also suffered a loss,” she was unsure whether Dougal Sutherland would be willing to share details of how his brother died with him. A drayman had taken pity on the old man as he lay crawling on the road and had given him a lift to the manse.
“Och, lass, I mean, yer Ladyship, Donal Sutherland was unrepentant to the end. But ‘twas nae to be wondered at; his mind – and probably his soul too – was eaten away by the disease his wife passed onto him.”
Emer felt no remorse, but she was glad Pastor Dougal had taken in his brother after the Sutherland clan had kicked him out of the lodge.
“That brings me neatly around to another question,” Pastor Dougal said, “How does me niece? Is she still as prideful and loathsome as before?”
Caillen had joined his wife and heard the pastor’s enquiry, “She’s nae in the dungeons anymore, if that’s what’s on yer mind, Pastor. We’ve promoted her to one of the turrets – an’ I wish I could say it was for good behavior, but I’d be lyin’. She’s still under lock and key – a serpent being a serpent when all’s said an’ done.”
Pastor Dougal had promised them he would keep praying for his niece to see the light, but Emer and Caillen thought privately even if Flora showed herself remorseful, they would not believe her.
Now, in her dressing room, and with her husband’s keen eyes watching her closely, Emer knew she must find out where it was Davinia went once a year and who she was meeting. Davinia could be placing herself in danger if she was seen liaising with a known vagabond. Who knew what noisome tavern Gawain and Campbell might be living in?
She gave Caillen a soft smile and moved closer to him.
“If she is yearning for yer brither, can ye blame her? Ye Maclachlan men are entirely irresistible.”
Whenever they kissed, it was as if they were back in the bedchamber with the bronze door handle. The same heat and passion would always be lurking inside them, and all they had to do was kiss for it to flame into a fire of craving. Today, Caillen had his long hair loose and not tied back in its usual neat knot at the back of his head. She ran her fingers through it and then gave his hair a roguish tug.
“Could it be that ye are hoping to take me right here in me dressing room, me Laird?” she teased. He caught his breath; when Emer played with his urges and flirted with him, he was driven to the edge of distraction. It was as if this beautiful dark-haired woman was able to change from being a docile, polite wife into an exotic, enticing creature whenever she felt like it. No woman could compare to her in his eyes. When it came to bedchamber May games, Emer had been able to keep him guessing since their marriage. He never knew if he was going to bed with a demure lassie, shy and retiring, but then willing to open herself to his more experienced hand, or a wild, uninhibited woman who would ride him with her eyes closed in exhilaration.
Caillen could swear it had something to do with how Emer’s hair changed color. Russet and chestnut in the sunlight and he would know she would behave as sweetly as a maiden at her beddan; if her hair was raven dark in the shadows, he knew she would dominate the bedchamber and not rest until they were lying sweating and exhausted on the bedsheets. Truly, she was the woman of his dreams.
Emer placed a light kiss on his beard. She left her lips there for a long minute, allowing the sensation of how the hair pricked her mouth; the touch seemed to penetrate the hidden recesses between her thighs and make her breasts tighten. The gorgeous feeling of roughness always had the most interesting effect on her. Emer pressed herself closer, took a small section of his beard between her teeth, nibbling and tugging at the hair.
“Mmm, I want ye, husband, and cannae wait for tonight to come,” she whispered, all the time brushing her mouth softly across his ear and cheek. She loved inhaling Caillen’s musky scent. He always smelt so delightfully of leather and fresh linen. If she could capture his perfume in a bottle, Emer knew she would carry it everywhere with her.
She broke away from him, but not quickly enough. Caillen grabbed Emer and held her so close to him, she could feel the way she had excited him, throbbing under his kilt.
“Dinnae leave me so unfulfilled, love,” he groaned.
She gave him an enigmatic smile and left. Emer enjoyed controlling him in this way. When it came to the bedchamber, she was the master, and he was her slave. It had all worked out very conveniently for her in that regard! But now it was time to find out what was going on with Davinia.
Was she having an affair with Gawain, or not?
Emer found Davinia sitting with the two boisterous Maclachlan boys in the nursery.
“Are ye having a good day, Davi?” Emer asked with a smile, “I always ken ye’re having one when ye volunteer to take care of the wee bairns.”
Her sister turned around, “Aye, me new recipe came out brilliant. I were that pleased that I came here to give the boys a small sample.”
“Never mind the bairns,” Emer said, “Let me try!”
Emer took a bite of one of the small cakes her sister had baked. Davinia had worked out how to use the closed stove very quickly, and the results were always delicious.
“We’ll have to travel to Edinburgh to print ye a cookbook, Davi,” Emer said, “because these are divine.”
Davinia gave a small smile and then continued to feed small pieces of the cake to the youngest boy. His small teeth gnawed at the crumbs happily.
Emer thought this was as good a time as any.
“Davi,” she began, “I have to ken – do ye go to meet up with Gawain every year? Because if ye do, Caillen said to me in bed last night that Gawain can come back home, now that they auld Laird has passed away and his decree no longer stands inviolate.”
Davinia grew still for a long while, a gentle expression on her face. Could it be that she remembered the passionate girl who had been so in love, enough to drive her to do mad things and all for a man who had never returned her adoration?
Emer stayed silent, imagining how she, herself, would have behaved under the same circumstances if it had been Caillen luring her into a web of deception.
Davinia sighed, “I dinnae meet with Gawain, Em, if that’s what ye and Cai have been thinking. However, I do take great comfort in me yearly trips and would be heartsore if ye said I should nae go.”
Emer could not let things rest at that. She had to know more.
“But Davi, where do ye go? Who is writing ye the letters?”
Her sister gave a small laugh, “Aye, the letters are from Gawain. He wants to keep up with all the Highland news.”
“What?” Emer was interested and did not bother hiding it anymore, “is he nae able to follow the Highland news himself?”
Another soft chuckle came from Davinia, “Nay, sister, he is nae able to do that.”
“But why, where is he? Who do ye meet?”
Davina knew her sister, and she knew the questions would not stop until she had the truth.
“Gawain has gone to sea, of course, I’m surprised ye didnae guess that. He sends a messenger to meet me at the port every year. It’s nae much, but it’s better than nothing.”
Emer’s mouth dropped open, then she managed to say, “Gawain… at sea?”
“And from what I can gauge,” Davinia said, “he’s been fabulously successful.”
Wal’s parents had died two winters after his return to the village, but not before getting to meet their grandchildren. Three years had passed since then, and the twins – Abigail and Ruaridh – had grown hale and hearty. Wal was eternally proud of them. Both sported his red hair and their mother’s violet eyes, and at the age of four, they were already well-spoken and hard workers.
Now, though, they clung to their parent’s hands as they approached the keep that would be their new home. Wal had received word a week ago that the Laird had died, and the clan was his. He had been reluctant to leave his peaceful life on the farm, but Yvaine’s gentle encouragement had made him realize that it was time. So he sold the farm and moved the family to the castle town of Clan McEwen, where their new lives would begin.
Scott and Mirren waited for them in the keep, taking a break from the farm to welcome them to their new home. Scott’s daughter was excited to see the twins, and the children all ran off ahead to explore the castle, leaving the four adults alone.
“It’s strange to be back here,” Wal admitted, looking around the place. “Especially knowing that me faither is deid.”
“We should have a party,” Mirren suggested. “To brighten this place up a bit and celebrate the Laird and the Lady coming home.”
And so that was what happened. That very evening, a feast was thrown. Laird and Lady McEwen sat happily at the top of the table, holding hands and just as in love as they had been five years before. Everyone welcomed them back to the clan as though they’d never left, and Wal knew that he’d made the right choice in coming here.
“I thought they’d hold me responsible for me faither’s choices,” Yvaine admitted to him. “I’m glad they still consider me part of their family.”
“They’re all our family,” Wal reminded her. “And they’re our responsibility now. It’s time we did our best.”
There were dancing and drinking, and Wal began to feel very happy about everything. His story was closed, he knew, and a new one was opening where he and Yvaine ruled the clan together. He’d been nervous, to begin with, but now he was more than ready for it.
Approaching the end of the night, a young woman approached them. She was maybe two-and-twenty, certainly no older than Yvaine had been when they first met. Many people had come to welcome them or congratulate them throughout the day, so Wal was not surprised and greeted the young lady with a smile.
“I dinnae recognize ye,” Yvaine told the girl pleasantly. “Are ye new to the clan?”
“Aye, ye could say that,” the girl said. Wal noticed with a frown that she was too thin, her dark hair a little matted. He made a mental note to ensure that she was well-fed before she left this keep.
“Well, what’s yer name?” Yvaine asked her. “Welcome to Clan McEwen.”
“Thank ye, Me Lady,” she said, curtseying a little. She’d obviously grown up poor, but she was dressed well, and she was well-spoken. “But in truth, I came here to meet Laird McEwen.”
Yvaine looked at her with curiosity, then glanced at Wal. He shrugged – he had no idea who she was any more than she did. “What’s yer name?” he asked. “Do we ken each other?”
The girl – the woman, really, but she was just so slight that Wal kept forgetting – shook her head. “Nay, Me Laird,” she said courteously. “Me name is Runa.”
A Norse-Scots name. It means secret, not so different from me. What secret does this lass hide?
“Hail, Runa,” he said. “Me name is Wal, and this is Yvaine.”
“I ken who ye are,” Runa said. “May I tell ye a story?”
Wal frowned but nodded, examining the girl. She was very pretty, with deep blue eyes and long black hair. Her skin was tanned and freckled; she was obviously used to work. With a little cleaning up, she could look as fine as any court lady. He suddenly, inexplicably, felt very protective of her. “Tell yer story,” he said.
She looked around nervously. “Have ye got anywhere private we can go?”
Wal looked at Yvaine, but he could see the curiosity burning in her violet eyes. She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her speak anyway and how she thought they should just see what this girl had to say.
***
Wal and Yvaine led Runa to the little antechamber just outside the room where the children lay asleep. It was the quietest place in the castle, and Wal truly didn’t sense any threat from her. Besides, she wouldn’t actually be near the children – and one false move from her and guards would be here in a moment.
Runa sat down on the chair they offered and then began to speak. She didn’t meet their eyes, obviously having spent a long time preparing this speech. “Me name is Runa like I told ye. Me mother was a maid who used to work in this castle before she was chased out of the clan by General Torquil.”
Yvaine gasped, going pale. “Me Faither…” she said. “I dinnae…why would he do such a thing?”
“As far as I ken, he led everyone else to believe that she was deid,” Runa said. “And then told her to leave under threat of her bairn’s life.”
“Yers?” Wal asked, swallowing. Torquil must have been more of a monster than he ever thought.
“Nae, her first child,” Runa replied. “He was yer faither, Me Lady?”
“He was. But he betrayed the clan. And he betrayed me,” Yvaine told her. “He’s been dead many years now.”
“Good,” Runa said darkly. “Anyway, me mither raised me alone. She took jobs wherever she could, but it was always just her and me. Every man she met treated her badly, so she eventually gave up on all of them. She worked as a maid sometimes, and I’d work with her too. We’d get farm work. Sometimes we even sold…”
She trailed off, looking embarrassed, but Wal was filled with horror. He could very well guess what a young, beautiful woman and her single mother had sold to keep food on the table.
Nae woman should ever be driven to desperation, such as that.
“And me faither did this to ye?” Yvaine asked in horror. “Miss Runa, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything that I can do for ye, or for yer mither…”
“Me mither died a month ago,” Runa said with a sad smile. Wal opened his mouth, but Runa shook her head. “Dinnae. I dinnae need the sympathy. She was sick for a long time.”
Despite what she was saying, there were very obvious tears in her eyes. Wal respected her request for silence, though, and did not push.
“What do ye need from us?” Yvaine asked her again. “A job? A home?”
“Nay,” Runa said, and pride glistened in her eyes. “I can look after meself. But I had to come. Me mither never stopped loving the faither of her first child or hoping that she and the bairn would be reunited someday. And then, not long ago, we received word that the faither had died. Mither was already very, very sick by then, and she kent that she’d never meet her son, but she begged me to travel here in her place.”
Wal stared at her, and Yvaine gasped. They both could tell what she was about to say, and both could scarcely believe it.
“Ye see,” Runa explained. “I didnae come here to get apologies from Torquil’s kin. I came here to meet ye, Wal.”
“Me,” Wal repeated, spellbound by her words.
Is it true? Was she alive all this time? Did Torquil take that from me?
“Aye, ye,” Runa agreed. She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his, and said, “I came here to keep me promise to me Mam. For, Me Laird, I think I may be yer sister.”
It was six months later, and Phoebe and Bernard were skimming stones by the lochside. It was fall now, the leaves turning upon the trees and the glen taking on a golden, red hue, the woodlands flushed with vibrant colors before they gave up their beauty for the winter snows. Bernard had just bounced his stone a dozen times across the water’s surface, letting out a triumphant cheer, as Phoebe took aim.
“I’ll wager ye cannae bounce yers as far as I,” Bernard said, and Phoebe laughed.
“You just wait, Bernard Moncreiffe, I will show you. I have been practicing,” Phoebe said, and with a careful aim, she skimmed her stone so that it bounced as many times as Bernard’s before landing in the water with a great splash.
“Ye have been practicing. Did my father show ye how?” Bernard asked, and Phoebe laughed.
“Your father cannot skim stones, or if he can, he has never shown me. I have taught myself well enough, and it seems that you now have competition,” she said, smiling at him.
Bernard laughed, picking up another stone, just as the sound of horse’s hooves came from the road above. Phoebe looked up to see a cloud of dust as five horsemen rode past toward the castle gates, a horn blowing, as though they were to announce some important message.
“Who dae ye think they are?” Bernard asked, and Phoebe looked puzzled.
“I do not know. Was your father expecting messengers? They look like the King’s men. Perhaps it is some important business. The affairs of a Laird are never at an end,” she said, turning to look back out across the loch.
The day was clear, and she could see almost to the tops of the high mountains, which stretched their wooded slopes down to the shore, the heathers on the upper rocks now turning a deep purple with the changing of the season. She had fallen in love with Glen Taetnire almost as much as she had fallen in love with its Laird, the landscape, and the man entwined in her affections, inseparable in her thoughts.
“When I am Laird, I shall spend all my time huntin’ on the mountainside and fishin’ in the loch. I will let Stewart make the important decisions,” Bernard said, pulling off his tunic and jumping into the water below with a splash.
He struck out a few yards, treading water and turning, floating on his back, before diving below the surface and emerging with a cry of delight.
“Your father would not like to hear such talk, Bernard. Besides, I hope it will be a very long time before you are Laird, for your father has much life in him yet. And I am certain he shall outlive Stewart, whatever you might say to the contrary,” Phoebe said.
“I didnae mean it like that, but come now. The water is still warm from the last of the summer sun. Swim out to the islands with me,” Bernard called out.
Phoebe was about to join him in the water, for despite the coming of fall, it still looked inviting. But just then, there came a shout from behind them, and she looked up to see Leyla hurrying toward them, waving to attract their attention.
“Mistress, oh, mistress, daenae let the master swim out just now. The Laird wishes him to return to the castle. I am sent to bring ye both back,” she called.
“Come on, Phoebe, dae nae listen to Leyla, she will nae catch us in the water,” Bernard said, but there was something in Leyla’s tone of voice which made Phoebe curious, and she called out to Bernard, beckoning him back to the shore.
“You do not wish to anger your father, Bernard. Come now, show your obedience. We shall return to the castle. The loch will still be here when we have heard what your father has to say,” she said, as Bernard swam reluctantly to the shore.
“Ye are nay fun, Phoebe. I will push ye in next time,” he said, grinning at her as he pulled on his tunic.
Together, they followed Leyla back to the castle. The gates were open, and there was much milling around and excitement amongst the clansmen, the messenger’s horses standing patiently, as they were groomed by the stable boys.
“Hurry now,” Leyla said, “the Laird is waiting in the great hall.”
Phoebe and Bernard followed her inside, exchanging puzzled looks as they went. Diarmad had made no mention of any visitors, let alone ones delivering an important message which they both needed to hear. As they entered the great hall, Phoebe could see Diarmad standing by the fireplace, deep in conversation with the men who had ridden past them on the lochside a short while ago. Now, Diarmad turned, beckoning them over, as the five men turned and bowed.
“Lady Moncreiffe, Master Bernard, it is an honor to greet you in the name of his majesty,” one of the men said, removing his hat with a flourish.
The five of them were each young, dressed in colorful uniforms; swords slung at their sides. Each wore a beard, and Phoebe thought she recognised them from amongst those men who had come to their aid at the Ralstone castle all those months ago.
“Englishmen? It is an honor to welcome you to Glen Taetnire and to my husband’s hall,” Phoebe said, glancing at Diarmad, who nodded and indicated for her to be seated.
“We have received word from his majesty, Phoebe. Important news that ye must hear. But ‘tis news most especially for Bernard, and that is why I have called ye both here,” Diarmad said.
“Me? But what could the King want with me?” Bernard asked, glancing nervously at Phoebe, who looked as puzzled as he.
The man who had first spoken now reached into his tunic and drew out a parchment of paper, unfurling it with a flourish and glancing at Diarmad, as if seeking his permission to continue.
“Please, let the lad hear his happy fate,” Diarmad said, and the man began to read.
“His imperial majesty James, by divine providence and right King of England and Scotland, defender of the faith, Lord protector of his sovereign realms and territories, to our beloved in Christ Bernard Robert Taetnire Moncreiffe. We do hereby commend to you our most noble and good intention, that you, at the right coming of age, shall henceforth be known as Laird of Glen Roche, master of the Ralstone clan, its territories, and lands. From which you shall pay due right and obedience to us, your King and ruler. Furthermore, we entrust to your keeping the hereditary rights of the Moncreiffe clan that you and your sons to come shall be Laird in that place too and pay due right and obedience to us. Give and sealed at our court of Saint James, London, 1611 Anno Domini,” the man read, and gave a second bow, as he handed the parchment to Bernard for inspection.
Bernard looked astonished, and he turned to Phoebe, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“Is this true?” he asked, and Diarmad nodded.
“Of course, it is true, Bernard. By happy fault, ye are the grandson of Hamish Ralstone, who, havin’ nay children of his own, except yer mother, has forfeited his lands to his descendants. That is how such things work. The King is makin’ ye the Laird when ye come of age, and until that moment I shall act in yer stead, though I shall ensure that ye learn all that ye must know before the burden of responsibility is yers. His majesty also reminds us that one day ye shall be Laird of two glens, though I hope it will nae be for many years to come,” Diarmad said.
“But what of Hamish? The man who calls himself my grandfather. What has become of him?” Bernard asked.
Diarmad sighed, turning to the messengers and raising his eyebrow.
“Does the Laird still lay claim to his lands?” he asked.
“No, Laird, the King was emphatic upon that point, and Hamish Ralstone resides at his majesty’s pleasure in the gaol in Edinburgh. He will not trouble you or anyone else again. His supporters are scattered, and those clansmen who remain have sworn allegiance to the King and to the one appointed lawfully to oversee them,” the man said, turning to Bernard and bowing once again.
“Then I am to be Laird,” Bernard said, his voice sounding awfully small and timid.
“And you will be the very best of Lairds, of that I am certain,” Phoebe said, putting her arm around him.
Just as she did so, she felt a pain in her side, which caused her to wince and let out a groan. She staggered back as Diarmad rushed to her side, catching her before she fell.
“Phoebe, what is wrong? Are ye all right?” he asked, and again she clutched at her side, a terrible pain shooting through her.
“I … I cannot stand,” she said, collapsing onto a chair.
“Fetch Leyla. Tell the servants to have water heated and a fire stoked. We must get Phoebe to bed,” Diarmad cried, and Bernard ran off to see to his instructions.
“We shall ride to Drumkiel and bring one of the physicians from the garrison,” the messenger who had read the declaration said, and the five of them hurried from the great hall, just as Leyla came running.
“Oh, mistress, what is the matter?” she cried, as Phoebe again winced with pain and let out a cry.
With some difficulty, Diarmad, Leyla, and several of the servants carried Phoebe to Diarmad’s chambers. She was growing weak, and it seemed as though a fever were taking hold, her whole body wracked with sweats, the pain in her side almost unbearable. As she lay upon the bed, Leyla mopped her brow, soothing her with quiet words, a glass of wine brought to soothe her nerves, as the fire was stoked, and blankets brought.
“Phoebe, have ye some relief from yer pains?” Diarmad asked as he kept vigil at her side, the evening now drawing in.
“I think so, but it came so suddenly, and I cannot imagine what is wrong,” she said, as he took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Whatever is wrong, I am here, and I will nae leave yer side until ye are better,” he vowed, as Bernard entered the room and came to the bedside.
“I have brought some dried lavender. They say the scent has medicinal properties,” he said, as the sweet scent of the plant-filled the room.
“Thank you, Bernard. You are very kind,” Phoebe whispered, letting out a deep sigh and closing her eyes.
She felt overwhelmed by exhaustion, unable to understand the sheer force of the fever which had come upon her. It was unlike anything she had experienced before, though the pain had now subsided, and she felt as though she might sleep forever and never wish to wake, so great was her fatigue.
“Try to drink a little more; it will dae ye good,” Diarmad said, but Phoebe could only manage the tiniest of sips, her head falling back upon the pillow, as her waking thoughts turned to sleep.
***
It was the sound of the door opening and hurried footsteps approaching the bed, which woke her. For a moment, Phoebe was unsure of where she was, her whole-body aching, as she struggled to sit up. Gradually, her senses returned, and she blinked in the daylight streaming through the windows. How long had she slept, she wondered? A man now approached the bed, looking her up and down and smiling.
“Phoebe, this is the physician, one of the finest in the country,” Diarmad said, for he was sat by the bed, as though he had not moved since she had fallen asleep.
“How long have I slept?” she asked, and Diarmad smiled.
“‘Tis now the afternoon and ye were asleep by the evenin’ of yesterday,” he said, as the physician knelt at the bedside.
“My name is James Archibold. I am the King’s physician in Scotland, but his majesty is in the south at this moment, and so, by a happy chance, I was able to ride here when I received your husband’s message. Might I be permitted to examine you?” he asked, and Phoebe glanced at Diarmad.
“Ye may make any examinations ye see necessary,” Diarmad replied, and the doctor began his task.
Phoebe lay rigid, wondering what fate he would describe for her. Surely this was something serious, something from which she may not recover. It pained her deeply to think that the happiness she and Diarmad had come to experience might so cruelly be snatched away by the hand of fate. But, if she were to die, Phoebe knew that she would do so in the arms of the one she loved, a man whom she knew would stand by her until the bitter end.
As the physician concluded his examinations, he paused for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. Phoebe found herself praying, muttering familiar words from childhood, in a last vain effort at hope. But to her surprise, the man smiled, turning to Diarmad and nodding his head, as her husband looked at him with an equally puzzled expression upon his face.
“Whatever sad words ye are about to speak, make them quick,” Diarmad said, but the physician shook his head.
“Not sad words, Laird, but happy. Your wife is with child. The pain she experienced is quite normal in the early stages of maternity. It is that which has confined Lady Moncreiffe to her bed, nothing more. I should say another four months, and the baby will be born. There are further examinations to make, and it would be wise to seek the services of a midwife, a local woman wise in such matters, but I am confident that all will be well. Indeed, the Queen herself experienced such pains during her own term. You are in excellent company, Lady Moncreiffe,” he said, as Phoebe let out a cry of delight.
“But I had no idea. I was showing nothing,” she gasped. “Oh, Diarmad, we are to have a child. Oh, what a joyous day this is,” she said, as he threw his arms around her.
“I feared for the very worst,” Diarmad said, as he kissed her, placing his hands upon her stomach, a broad smiling spreading across his face.
“And now the worst is turned to the very best. Oh, we must tell Bernard the happy news. The whole clan will wish to hear it,” Phoebe said, and she attempted to struggle to her feet.
“It is not always obvious that a lady is with child, especially if she does not have experience of the signs in the early stages. But a moment, please, Lady Moncreiffe. You must rest, for the child will continue to kick, and you will no doubt experience these pains again. Caution must be observed in all things,” he said, and Phoebe nodded.
“Of course, I will do nothing to endanger the child, but I am overjoyed by this news, for I have always wished for a child, one to call my own … our own,” she said, looking up at Diarmad, who already appeared as the proudest of parents.
***
Four months later, the castle echoed with the cries of a child, the baby girl whom Phoebe had just given birth to. It had been a long and painful labor, attended by several clanswomen, but the child was healthy and strong, with a shock of black hair, unmistakably that of her father.
“‘Tis the proudest of days,” Diarmad said, as he cradled his newborn daughter in his arms, Bernard watching from the side of the bed, where Phoebe lay exhausted but happy.
“What will ye call her, Laird? Stewart asked, for he too had come to see the newborn child, and Diarmad looked at Phoebe, the two of them nodding to one another.
“She will be called Elizabeth, in memory of Bernard’s mother, so that their legacy might live on,” he said, and Stewart smiled.
“‘Tis a fine name, for a fine child. She looks just like a Moncreiffe,” Stewart said.
“Aye, but she shall know that her destiny is entwined with the history of both her clans and her mother’s family,” Diarmad said, as he laid the child gently in Phoebe’s arms.
Phoebe looked down at Elizabeth, smiling at the sight of the baby, now sleeping peacefully at her breast. She felt such love for her, as though nothing else in all the world now mattered except the family who surrounded her. How close she had come to never finding that happiness, to throwing it away on a fool’s errand, in the false belief that happiness lay elsewhere. But fate had had other ideas, and, as Phoebe lay surrounded by all those she loved, she looked up at Diarmad and smiled.
“She will grow up the happiest of children, with her big brother to watch over her and her father to protect her,” she said, and Diarmad nodded.
“And, I hope, to be just like her mother,” he said.
