by Alisa Adams
“Aye, Mistress,” Annie replied tearfully. “I will miss ye.”
“And I you, my friend.” Eilidh drew Annie into a tight embrace, then quietly gathered her things and left through the servants’ back staircase.
She was known to use it quite a lot because it was near her bedroom and she was more interested in convenience than status, so no one thought anything of it when they saw her.
The stairs opened out onto the courtyard just across from the stables, so Eilidh was able to slip into them without attracting much attention, but when she went in, she was dismayed to find two of the stable hands. Andy and Mick were there, sweeping the floor. Her heart was pounding like crazy.
They were the kind of friendly, chatty fellows who would spend hours having long conversations about their families, the estate, who had recently gotten married, who was having a baby, and a million other inconsequential things. Usually Eilidh was happy to indulge the men, but today all she wanted was to get going and put a lot of distance between her and the loathsome creature to whom she had been betrothed against her will.
Eilidh ducked back into the shadows, realizing that she would have to enter the stables from the other side to avoid being seen. She bent double, looking around to make sure that no one would discover her, then made a dash across the front wall and emerged by the door on the other side, which was fortunately open.
She needed a nice quiet horse who was not disobedient and was not likely to be startled. She looked along the rows of long expectant faces peering over the top of each stall door till she saw the one she wanted.
Eilidh thought that horses were the most beautiful creatures in the world. She loved their big expressive eyes, their velvet noses, swishing tails, and the little whickering noises they made to greet her in the morning. Most of all she loved to watch them move, and see their graceful bodies flowing over the ground as they ran.
They were the pinnacle of creation, in her opinion. She knew that God’s plan put mankind first, but today she was not feeling particularly charitable towards her fellow human beings, especially Cormac McClure.
Which one will be my companion?
Eilidh smiled as she saw a sturdy chestnut mare. Her name was Lettie and she was almost twenty years old, still in prime condition, but not as fast as she had been before. She had been on the estate forever; indeed, Eilidh had grown up with her.
There were many such horses around the crofts and estates, jacks-of-all-trades who could be used for riding, occasionally ploughing, and pulling carts. Lettie would be perfect for all three, making her unremarkable and inconspicuous. And she loved Lettie, so she would feel safe with her.
She got close to Lettie, and approached her calmly. Lettie recognized her and Eilidh nodded for her to be quiet. Now the hardest part.
Please, dear Lord, help me.
She had to get her out without the two stable hands seeing her. She knew that her disappearance would be missed in a while, but she did not want the men rushing over to the castle and informing the Laird before she had managed to get away. She stood thinking for a moment. She had money with her. Should she bribe them and hope they kept their word? Or could she intimidate them by threatening them with dismissal? She discarded the second option at once; that sort of meanness and cruelty was simply not in her nature.
Then fortune smiled on her. A woman’s voice called to the two men from the kitchen telling them that their meal was ready. Eilidh sent up a prayer of thanks. This was a blessing for two reasons: now she would not have to hurry, and it would absolve Andy and Mick from blame. Her father was a fair man and he would expect his servants to have the comfort of a warm dry kitchen for their meals. Not having the two men there also meant that she did not have to hurry.
She gave Lettie an apple so she would stand quietly and wait as Eilidh put her saddle and bridle on and stowed her bag in the panniers. She tried to mount her and realized that her legs were shaking. But she managed to get on top of the horse.
* * *
She took a deep breath…and began for the forest.
2
Iain Jamieson had just downed his fourth tankard of ale as he left the Bull and Crown tavern in the village of Braefoot. He was the owner of the tavern and a shoemaking business in the little town, and it was thirsty work. Although he was no longer involved in the extremely heavy, dirty—no, filthy—side of the work he still had to be a laborer of sorts. Lifting the hide of an entire beast was not the job for a weakling, but fortunately, Iain Jamieson was not one of that breed, and even though he was now a journeyman cordwainer with some years of experience, he was not afraid to soil his hands now and again.
Lairds and barons sent their sons and daughters to have shoes made by Iain’s own hands, and he was called the “Shoe King of Scotland” for that reason. His craftsmanship was the best that anyone had ever seen, so much so that the King had sent a cast of his foot to Iain to have a pair of boots made for him.
Being the King, he would only accept ones with Iain’s personal crest stamped on them, a bull’s head with a crown on it, which had given the local tavern its unusual name. The workshop’s crest was merely a bull’s head, which was not nearly so prestigious, and Iain’s shoes commanded twice the price of those made by his experienced assistants. Apprentices learned their trades by making the shoes of ordinary working people, but Iain still insisted on high standards. The farmworkers were the suppliers of food for the village, and he never forgot it.
Now, Iain could add By Appointment to His Majesty underneath his crest, and this was no small achievement. He could have had the King’s shoes made by one of his assistants, all very skilled men, but he was a man of honor. The King was paying for Iain’s work, and that is what he would receive.
Iain was an attractive man, and every woman for miles around knew it. So did Iain himself, but he was not vain; he neither mentioned his good looks nor used them to his advantage. He stood six feet two inches tall in his bare feet, although, of course, he owned an exceptional pair of boots he had made himself.
He was impressively muscled, and it was said that he had once lifted a whole heifer, although there was no proof of that. His hair was shoulder-length, dark blond in the shadows but with a reddish tint in the sunlight; it matched his closely-shaved red beard, and many a young woman had become spellbound by his fascinating greenish-brown eyes. However, none of them had yet managed to catch him in the marriage net, since he was deliberately avoiding it. He had a mission to accomplish first.
He strode down the small main street of the village and entered his workshop where his cousin Campbell was cutting out a delicate piece of calfskin for a lady’s shoe. He was cut from the same mold as Iain—tall, strapping, and handsome, but he had dark hair and olive skin, which was most unusual amongst fair-haired Highlanders. Campbell too had his fair share of admirers!
“How is this day going?” Iain asked.
Campbell nodded to a pile of hides sitting at the end of his workbench. Both the assistants had a similar pile beside them and the four apprentices, who sat at the back of the shop, were also working frantically. Work was plentiful, and it seemed that Iain might have to expand and open another workshop further afield.
“Trade has fair picked up since ye made the boots for the King,” Campbell laughed. “They are callin’ you the King noo. The Shoe King o’ Scotland, nae less!” He gave his cousin a playful nudge and they laughed. Iain was twenty-five years old, three years older than Campbell, but they had always been more like brothers than cousins and had learned their trade together. Since Iain had been a little older, he had finished his apprenticeship first and opened his workshop, then employed Campbell. Since the beginning, they had prospered, and now Iain was ready to take the next step.
“I wid like tae open a shop in Ardisaig,” he declared suddenly. “It’s awfully busy here and we are needin’ more space. I think we could dae even better there. It is closer to Inverness.”
Campbell looked at him in disbelief. “Mair space!�
�� he shouted. “Iain, there’s space for two shops out there!” He pointed to the door at the back. “Build the place up an mak’ it bigger. You would be mad to move from here!”
Iain shook his head firmly. “We need to go to a place where people are willing tae buy really good shoes.” He ran his hand back through his hair in a gesture of agitation. “Dinnae get me wrang, Campbell—I am not complainin’, but we have too much work for a wee place like this, an’ fols is startin’ tae complain aboot the smell from the tannin’ an’ the mess in the water.”
Iain could not blame the people of the town for resenting the tanners. Even though the leather-making had brought much needed employment and prosperity to the little town, it was a smelly, dirty business that annoyed people and polluted the drinking water downstream. Iain wanted to open up a workshop where he would be close enough for people to get to, but far enough away not to bother them with the adverse effects of his trade.
Campbell thought quickly, his dark eyes boring into Iain’s. He stood up straight and folded his arms over his chest, frowning. “An’ who is goin’ tae run this place after you’re gone, ya eejit?” he demanded.
Iain stepped forward and tapped Campbell’s chest with rather more force than was needed. “You are!” he roared, then stood back and laughed at the stunned expression on Campbell’s face.
“But Iain, I’m no’ ready for that!” he protested, but Iain could see that he was pleased.
“Then get ready!” Iain advised. “I will be movin’ oot soon, an’ I want this place tae be in good nick when I leave.”
“Ye could hae given me a bit mair time tae think aboot it,” Campbell said, but he was laughing. Clearly the news had made him happy, even though he had complained.
“I needed tae make a move noo,” Iain went on. “There is a parcel o’ land I am after buyin’ for my Peigi. She needs a dowry if she wants tae make a good match, and land never goes down in value.”
“D’ye no think ye should take care o’ yer ain needs first, Iain?” Campbell asked. “Get married to a nice wife that will look after ye, then ye can help the lassies. Heavens, man, ye even have lairds flingin’ their daughters at ye! You—that used tae be a tanner and up tae yer elbows in muck!”
Iain laughed. “It wisnae quite like that, Cam,” he said. “It was only twa lairds, an’ I have nae business bein’ up there an’ breathin’ the same air as a’ thae snooty folk.” He shook his head. “I promised my mammy on her deathbed that I wid look after my sisters an’ I will keep my word.”
“But there are three o’ them!” Campbell went back to his cutting, but he was frowning. “How long is that gonna take, Iain? Maybe if you have a good wedding you will be more able to help them.”
Iain shrugged. “It will take’ as long as it takes Cam. And it will be only with my sweat, not with my wife’s dowry,” he replied.
“Ye’ll be well into your thirties by then, or more!” Campbell sounded horrified. “Nae lassie will wed ye then!”
Iain looked at his cousin with a sly sideways glance. “Will they no’?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “Men an’ women are different, Cam.”
“Oh, ye noticed that, did ye?” Campbell asked. “That took ye a while!” He laughed as he dodged a playful punch from his cousin.
“Ye knaw whit I mean,” Iain said, shaking his head ruefully. Sometimes Campbell could make him crack up with laughter even when he was trying to be serious. “Women have to be young for childbearin’. We don’t.”
“Thank God for that!” Campbell said, casting his eyes heavenward. “As long as we can still—”
“That’s enough!” Iain shushed him as a woman walked past the front door. “Have ye nae decency?”
Campbell shook his head, laughing, but then Iain became serious. “I wid love tae have you work with me, Cam,” he said, “but somebody has tae stay an’ look after my sisters. Katrine is only fourteen, an’ she needs a man tae look up tae, somebody that will protect her. There is an awfully lot o’ badness oot there.”
“Aye, that is true,” Campbell sighed. “I will dae that for ye wi’ pleasure, Iain. They are a’ grand lassies.”
Iain patted Campbell and they smiled at each other.
“Did I tell ye I got tenants for the farm on the wee bit land I bought?” Iain asked. “I am a laird!”
“An’ I’m the Goblin King!” Campbell replied, giving him a strange look but laughing nevertheless. “Well done, cousin. Got yer eye on a castle yet?”
“Naw, ya eejit!” Iain replied. “But I have my eye on another wee bit o’land, next tae the church in Ardisaig.”
Until that moment, Campbell had not realized the scale of Iain’s ambitions. Now he understood, even if Iain did not, that this was only the beginning, for the land he was talking about was the size of another small farm. Iain loved expanding and commanding people and he was amazing at it. And Campbell knew he would not stop even after providing enough for his sisters.
“I will send for ye a’ when the shop gets bigger,” Iain promised, “but I must work hard noo tae make sure the lassies have enough tae get started. They have tae be my main concern. I dinnae want them marryin’ blacksmiths or fishermen. I want them tae have good futures, an’ marry good men that will treat them right, and never tae knaw what it is tae want for anything.” His face was a study in determination as he said it, and he almost cut himself along with the leather he was working on.
“They are lucky to have you as a brother.” Campbell’s voice was soft.
Iain nodded. Shortly he would have to tell them the news, and he was not looking forward to it.
As he had expected, all three of them were distraught, especially Katrine, who regarded him almost as a father figure as both their parents were dead.
On the day of his departure they stood outside their sturdy little stone house in the village. First Morag, then Peigi, then Katrine hugged him. Katrine had to be pulled away by her sisters because she would not let her big strong brother go.
Katrine was the youngest only fourteen years old, still a child. Peigi was fifteen and Morag nineteen and soon to be married. They all loved Iain very much but Katherine adored him.
She clung desperately to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding on with all her strength. Presently, Campbell came and gently pulled her away. He was not her brother, but Katrine loved him almost as much.
“Will ye come an’ see us?” she asked tearfully. She had her mother’s round brown eyes, and they gazed helplessly into Iain’s, pleading with him to stay.
“Of course I will!” he replied, almost weeping himself. “I will no’ be far away, an’ Uncle Cam will be here tae look efter ye. I dinnae want tae go, but if I work hard we can get nice things an’ a bigger house and good husbands for ye a’.”
“Your heart is in the right place, Iain, but I would rather have ye here,” Morag said. Morag was eight years younger than him, and had had to become the mother of the house. “Haste ye back.” Then she hugged him once more.
“God go with ye, Iain,” said Peigi. “May ye find whit ye seek, and take a’ oor love wi’ ye.” She embraced him tightly and kissed him.
Last of all came Campbell. “Send us a message as soon as ye can an’ let us knaw ye are well, Iain.” His voice was husky with emotion, but there were no tears in his eyes.
Iain mounted his mare and took one last look at them. There was big dark Campbell, tall fair Peigi with her hazel eyes, small Morag with her blonde hair and deep brown ones, and little Katrine, reddish-blonde like Iain, still weeping bitterly. He waved and blew a kiss to them because his throat was so choked up he could not speak, then rode away to make their future brighter.
3
Eilidh was so tired she could hardly keep her eyes open. When she found herself dozing off in the saddle she knew it was time to stop, so she reined Lettie in beside a small burn that ran next to the road. She had a lantern, but it was not yet fully dark, and she did not want to light it till the dead of night when she a
bsolutely had to, so she made camp under the last rays of sunset, when she could still see a little. It was cold, but it had not yet become the bone-chilling freeze that was typical of a Highland night, so she thought she would be passably warm under her cloak and a blanket, with another doubled underneath her. She used the linen cloth as a makeshift tent, hooking it over a tree branch at the top and weighing it down with stones on the ground.
She thanked God for Annie, who had seemed to know everything about traveling and living outdoors, having had to do it herself for a while.
She knew that her absence would have been noticed by now. She could imagine the scene in her mind’s eye back at the castle the moment Fearchar and Malvina found out. All hell would have broken loose. She could imagine her father storming up to her room and then ordering a search of the castle, then finally realizing the truth. Then it would only be a matter of time before the pursuit began.
Eilidh sighed, then realized that her hands were shaking, and she suddenly remembered that she had not eaten since the day before. She was ravenous. Fortunately Annie, with her usual forethought and concern for Eilidh’s welfare, had packed her a huge bag of food. There were four earthenware flasks, one of ale, one of milk, a smaller one of honey and another of beetroot juice, half a dozen bannocks, a big wedge of cheese, and four large ripe apples. When Eilidh delved further into the bag she found a little pouch of walnuts, and she smiled. She loved walnuts.