Extended Epilogues

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.

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“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.”

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Five years later

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.”

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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.

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“Ghillie Dhu!” Abigall cried at the top of her voice, “How lovely to see ye again. Welcome Lady Naia, and thank ye for bringing yer bairns. Come here me poppets, let Nursie give ye all some sweeties.”

Naia and Kal’s three boisterous children ran to hug Abigall tightly and then search her pockets for sweetmeats. Naia followed the three little ones into the great hall of McCowan castle and left Kal in the courtyard to hand the reins of their horses over to old Eustace.

“How are ye, Eustace? Are the winters down here any kinder to yer bones?”

Eustace gave Kal a happy smile and replied, “Much better, thank ye, Laird. To think that I would live to see the day that me wee mistress was Lady to nae one, but two defensive castles!”

Kal patted the old man on his shoulder and smiled, “We will only return to live here after me mither is weary of ruling in me stead. But I’ll have ye ken that she has become very fond of giving me uncle orders!”

They laughed together, and then Kal went up the stone stairs leading to the great hall.

As he passed the maids and pageboys busy in the passages, Kal would nod his head and smile. They were preparing for the large banquet feast to be held in his uncle’s honor that evening. After many years of diplomacy and negotiations, peace had finally come to the lands below and around the Cairngorm mountains. McCain, McCowan, and MacAodha clans were united as one. All that was left of the warlike McKinney people were a few wandering men who went from castle to castle, begging for food. Kal did not feel any pity for them. They had been complicit in the murder of his brother, and more.

The banquet went off well that evening. After the feast, the traveling minstrels tuned their lutes and asked permission to sing the ballad about the golden-haired lady of iron mountain.

Laird McCain roared out loud, as he’d already had much mead to drink, “I be tired of that iron mine, nephew! It’s made our lands so rich that those dastardly Sassenachs will come calling to try and steal our gold any day now!”

Kal shouted back to his uncle across the banqueting table set up high on the dais, “Let them come try! We will give them such a beating. These are the Highlands, nae those soft folk from the south!”

Naia smiled lovingly at her husband and reached over for his arm, “Come, love, the festivities are becoming too loud for me. Will ye nae prefer to come to the bedchamber with me instead?”

Even after nearly seven years of marriage, his wife’s touch and the way she looked were still capable of making Kal as ravenous for her warmth as the first time he had seen her in the secret room next to her old bedchamber at the watchtower.

Without saying anything more, he laced his hand in her own small one, and they left the great banquet, already craving each other.

“Why did ye nae want to eat, drink, and make merry, Naia? Are ye nae feeling well?” Kal whispered into Naia’s ear as he untied the ribbon of her shift.

Naia gave a tiny laugh of joy. Her husband never ceased to thrill her with his caresses, “Nay, Kal,” she said huskily, “it’s only that we are expecting another bairn on the way.” She placed his hand on her stomach, and he could see her breasts swelling beneath her shift.

Kal kissed her hungrily and said, “Remind me to tell Ariel, the hawk, tomorrow.”

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Two Years Later…

They sat on a blanket on the shore of the loch behind the keep. The day was bright, sunny, and unseasonably warm, so Cináed had decided they needed to take advantage of it. He looked over to Agnes and smiled. She leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

He took her hand, and they watched their kids – twins, a boy and a girl named Colban and Patrice – playing in the sand near the water’s edge. They laughed and squealed together as they tossed sand up in the air. As Cináed looked at his family and reflected upon the journey they had taken to get to that point, he felt lucky. Blessed. He felt like the happiest and most fortunate man in the world.

Part of that journey was never addressed, though. Raibert continued to languish in the cells beneath the keep. Two years on and Cináed still didn’t know what to do with him. He could not exile him. If he let Raibert run free, Cináed had little doubt the man would plot and scheme and continue trying to find a way to usurp his Lairdship. At the same time, though, he could not bring himself to execute him for his treason. For all his faults and evil intentions, Raibert was still his blood.

And so, his uncle continued to call the cells his home. He was well fed and well treated, but Cináed did not know if he would ever feel comfortable allowing his uncle to walk free again.

“You are thinking about Raibert again, aren’t you?” Agnes asked.

A half grin pulled a corner of his mouth up. “So yer Sight allows ye tae read me mind?”

Agnes shook her head. “No. I just know you well enough to read you like a book.”

Cináed laughed and turned back to his children. Their plump little bodies were pale, their hair dark, and their delicate features already seeming to favor Agnes, something Cináed was grateful for.

“I daenae ken what tae dae about him,” Cináed said. “I often think about thae babies. About what sort of example I want tae set for them.”

“Mercy and compassion are never a bad example,” Agnes said softly.

“Nay. But if I let him out of that cage, they’ll never be safe. So long as that man can scheme, he will. Tis just who he is,” he told her. “But is forcin’ him tae live in that wee little cage actually mercy?”

“It is more merciful than cutting his head off,” Agnes said.

“Is it, though?”

She shrugs. “I think so,” she replied. “But I also think having him live in the cells teaches them that there are consequences to our actions. That, too, is an important lesson.”

Cináed smiled. “How did I get lucky enough tae find such a wise woman tae marry me?”

“I will never know,” she said with a laugh.

The sound of horses approaching quickly drew his attention. They were moving quickly, so Cináed got to his feet and picked up his sword. He held it by the sheath, waiting for the riders as Agnes moved over to the children.

He relaxed, though, when Eoghan and Caoimhe rode around the side of the keep and quickly dismounted a dozen paces away. Cináed could tell instantly that something was wrong. Apparently, Agnes picked up on it as well. She looked worried.

“Eoghan,” he said. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Caoimhe ran straight to Agnes and handed her a letter. Agnes exchanged a glance with Eoghan, whose face was tight with concern. The children continued to chirp and burble as they played in the sand, oblivious to the tension that suddenly crackled in the air around them.

“What is it, Agnes?” Cináed asked.

As she read the letter, her face paled. She quickly embraced Caoimhe, squeezing her tight. It felt like a heavy stone dropped into his stomach, and the longer nobody told him what was happening, the more concerned Cináed grew. He looked again at Eoghan, who moved over to Caoimhe and pulled her into a tight embrace as she cried. She pressed her face to his chest, trying to stifle her sobbing to not scare the children.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Raiders,” Agnes finally said. “They’ve attacked our sister Orla’s lands. She’s beggin’ for help.”

“I didnae ken ye had another sister,” Cináed said, then immediately felt stupid for it. This was not the time for that.

“How bad it is?” he asked.

“Bad,” she replied. “The raiders continue to come. Burning and destroying. She needs help.”

“What can I dae?” Cináed asked. “I daenae have an army, but-”

“She’s only asking to be rescued,” Agnes said. “She is trapped in a hold and can’t get out on her own. She needs somebody to come save her.”

Caoimhe sniffed loudly and looked at him. “Please, Cináed,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying. “Can you spare some men to—”

“Eoghan, I want you to lead a dozen men,” Cináed said. “Travel small and travel light, so there’s less of a chance you are found out. Also, I want ye tae take Dougal with ye. He’s turned intae a fine swordsman. Tis time for him tae be blooded.”

“Aye. I can dae that,” he replied.

“I want tae go,” Caoimhe said.

“Aye. As dae I,” Agnes added.

“Nay. Ye’re both stayin’ here,” Cináed ordered.

They started to protest, but he shook his head. “Eoghan’s trained for this,” he said. “He’ll save yer sister.”

Eoghan looked at both Agnes and Caoimhe. “Trust me. Me and me men will find her and bring her home tae ye.”

“Get what ye need together,” Cináed said. “Ye leave at dawn.”

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