Highlander’s Forbidden Desire: Wanting her was forbidden, having her was his ruin...

by Kendrick, Kenna

  * * *

  When she awoke, the sun was on her face, a bird singing in the tree above, its song echoing all around the clearing in which they had made camp. There was a chill in the breeze, the first signs of autumn approaching, and Elaine sat up, pulling Finlay’s cloak around her, as he began to stir.

  “Wake up,” she whispered, shaking him gently awake.

  “The hardness of the stone replaces dreams of a comfortable bed at Kilchurn,” he said, stretching out and yawning.

  “Perhaps soon it will not be so much a dream as the truth,” she replied, rising and rubbing her eyes.

  Murdoch and the other soldiers were already awake, the fire kindled into life, and the smell of cooking wafting over the camp. Elaine was hungry, and she gladly ate the porridge which was offered her and a hunk of bread torn from a small loaf, which she shared with Finlay.

  After washing in the stream, they were ready for the march, aiming south to avoid the treacherous pass at Sullivan’s Peak, a longer route but one less dangerous. Elaine rode behind Finlay, the horse now used to bearing two riders, and they made good progress during the day, meeting no one on the path.

  “It seems yer uncle has his people scared to even leave their crofts. I see nay a soul with the animals or farming their land,” Murdoch said, as they came in sight of a small settlement about a mile off to the east.

  “These are the first of my father’s lands, loyal men and women,” Finlay replied, and Murdoch shook his head.

  “Nay yer father’s lands, yers, Laird. Tis’ ye they look to now and ye who must command them. These are yer people, let us ride to them and see what we might learn,” he said.

  “And if they are hostile?” Finlay replied.

  “We shall make them see that their Laird is returned to them,” Murdoch replied. And he urged his horse on and beckoned the others to follow.

  “Should we nae ride to Kilchurn?” Elaine whispered, but Finlay shook his head.

  “It will nae take long, and Murdoch is right. We must know more of what has happened and what my uncle has done in my absence,” he said, urging on the horse.

  They soon came to the motley collection of crofts and farm buildings. Smoke was rising up from several of them and, as they approached, nervous faces glanced out from the doors and windows.

  “Ye see, Laird, ye have nothin’ to fear. These people are terrified,” Murdoch said, dismounting his horse and calling for the crofters to come forth.

  “Please, good sir, we have nothin’ to offer ye,” one man said, stepping out of his croft, his family watching nervously from behind.

  “We daenae come to take from ye, can ye nae see who tis’ that stands before ye?” Murdoch said, turning and pointing to Finlay.

  Elaine watched as the man’s face turned to horror and surprise, and he fell to his knees, mumbling something and begging for forgiveness. She could not help but feel sorry for these poor people, who seemed terrified, as though a terrible fate had befallen them.

  “Laird, we were told that ye were dead, that ye had perished in a huntin’ accident upon the moors, yer uncle …” the man said, as Finlay dismounted the horse and strode toward them.

  “My uncle has much to answer for,” Finlay replied, as several of the other crofters emerged to greet them.

  “Already yer uncle has placed fresh taxes upon us and the burden of tithes from our farms. We are to give an extra three heads of cattle this month alone along with grain and wheat,” the first man said.

  “Much injustice has been enacted against ye, but it will soon be put right,” Finlay said, “I am yer rightful Laird, and my uncle’s short imposition is over. I hereby set ye free from these obligations and promise that order is to be restored.”

  “We cannae thank ye enough, Laird. Ye daenae know what a terrible burden was placed upon us, we could never have met yer uncle’s demands, and we would be at his mercy, for he made many threats against us,” the man replied.

  “His threats are empty, there is only one rule, and that is mine. But now I ask this, that ye summon every able-bodied man to march with us to Kilchurn, I will have the support of my clan, and we will show that there is strength in number. But now, ye must tell me what other treachery my uncle has enacted in my absence. It has been but a short time, though I fear he has accomplished much wickedness already,” Finlay said.

  “Come to eat with us, Laird, ye and the mistress. We have little, but what we have, we shall gladly share with ye,” the man said, calling out for his wife.

  Finlay turned and beckoned to Elaine, who came forward, smiling as they were ushered inside the croft. There, they found half a dozen children sitting around a fire, a cooking pot suspended above it in which a stew was bubbling. A woman turned to welcome them, her husband insisting upon Finlay taking the first bowl full.

  “Word of yer death was quickly spread abroad. The whole clan knew of it and of yer uncle’s intention to make himself Laird,” the man said, once everyone had begun to eat.

  “And nay one challenged him nor questioned if I was still alive?” Finlay asked.

  “Threats were made, and there is rumor of crofts being burned in the east, for some of the peasants refused to accept yer uncle’s authority, believing ye to still be alive,” he said.

  “And what of Dougal MacCallum? Is there any word of him?” Finlay asked, and the man looked gravely at him and shook his head.

  “Dougal is yer uncle’s right-hand man. They were here but only yesterday, making their inspection. He rides a horse at yer uncle’s side, dressed in finery,” he replied, and Finlay cursed under his breath.

  “Treachery,” he said, turning to Elaine, who shook her head.

  “Tell me,” she said, “have ye heard any news of a woman named Carys?” and the man looked at her with a blank expression.

  “I know of nay such woman, mistress. Is she a friend of yers?” the crofter asked, and Elaine nodded, tears rising in her eyes.

  So much had happened to her since that last glimpse of Carys amidst the raid on Kilchurn. She had had so many of her own troubles to contend with that she had thought little of her dear friend’s plight. But now, she began to sob, imagining the very worst that might have happened to Carys after they were separated.

  “We will find her, I promise ye,” Finlay said, taking her by the hand and giving her a reassuring look.

  “But what if somethin’ terrible has happened to her, what if yer uncle has …” Elaine began, her words trailing off for it was too awful to comprehend.

  “That is why we must make all haste to Kilchurn,” Finlay said, laying aside his bowl and thanking the crofter and his wife for their hospitality.

  “Yer father was a good and wise man, much given over to helpin’ those in need. He took care of we crofters, and our loyalty is to ye. Thank God that ye have returned to us, Laird,” the crofter said, and Finlay placed his hand upon his shoulder.

  “And I will dae all I can to follow my father’s legacy. Ye and yer people will be kept safe, and ye shall keep yer cattle and yer wheat, yer tithes will be cut, and yer taxes lowered,” he said, as they stepped out into the sunlight.

  “Hail Finlay, Laird of the MacCallums and master of Kilchurn, God bless ye,” the man called out, as others joined the acclamation.

  Murdoch and his men were already in the saddle, and Finlay helped Elaine to mount their horse, climbing on in front of her and reining it in.

  “Gather together all those loyal to me and make yer way to the castle. We shall show my uncle what strength there is between us,” he called out, as a crowd of crofters gathered to wish them well.

  “God speed to ye and may ye be blessed,” came the cry, as they rode off across the moorlands towards Kilchurn.

  “Dae ye think we shall find Carys?” Elaine asked, her thoughts still preoccupied with what had happened to her friend.

  “There is much I think we shall find,” Finlay replied, his voice sounding grim and determined.

  “Then, we ride into the unknow
n?” Elaine said.

  “But in a righteous cause and with hope in our hearts,” he said.

  “I am sorry about Dougal,” Elaine said, but Finlay shook his head.

  “The traitor will always be outed,” he replied, and with that, they rode on in silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The news of Dougal’s betrayal had caused Finlay greater upset than he had allowed the others to see. His uncle had always desired power, and it had come as little surprise to Finlay that he should so quickly seek to gain it following the death of the Laird. But to think that his closest friend could be a collaborator was a betrayal that wounded Finlay deeply.

  As they rode on that day, he contemplated what would happen when they arrived at Kilchurn, wondering how easily his uncle might be forced from his usurpation. He would surely not give up easily, and Finlay feared for the bloodshed, which might ensue if they were forced to fight to regain control of the clan.

  “And there is Kilchurn, I have always said tis’ a fine castle,” Murdoch said, pointing out across the moorlands to where the castle lay before them.

  It was early evening now, and they had ridden all day. Finlay was tired, and he slipped down from the horse’s back, helping Elaine to the ground, and taking a few steps forward, examining the scene which lay ahead. The castle was around two miles away, and from their elevated position, Finlay could see the banners of the clan fluttering from the battlements.

  The sun was sinking low now, a great, red disc in the sky, shimmering across the heathers. There was no use in mounting an attack at night. Far better to wait until morning and make their challenge in daylight. Finlay had no wish to hide any longer, he was Laird, and all this was rightfully his. His quarrel was only with his uncle, and he would gladly fight him alone if it meant sparing others from violence. But would the rest of the clan rally to him when they saw that he was alive, or had his uncle already poisoned his memory and tightened his grip upon them all?

  “We make camp here tonight,” Finlay said, and Murdoch nodded.

  “And attack at first light?” he said.

  “We will go bearing arms, aye, but I wish to avoid bloodshed if I can. Tis’ my uncle who must be punished, nay one else. They believe that I am dead, and they have given their allegiance to my uncle. When tis’ discovered that I am alive, then I hope they shall return to my banner,” Finlay replied.

  They made camp amidst the heathers, setting a guard and watch lest they be seen by patrols from the castle. They lit no fire that night; instead, huddling together, Finlay and Elaine wrapped in Finlay’s cloak. It soon grew cold, and Finlay could feel Elaine shivering next to him.

  “A warm bed for ye tomorrow, lass,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close.

  “Ye seem very certain of that. Finlay,” she replied, and he nodded.

  “I am hopeful, but that does nae mean I am certain,” he replied.

  A hundred possibilities had played themselves out in his mind that day, and only some had led to the victory he hoped for. Once again, that thought that he and Elaine might simply disappear and never return crossed his mind. It certainly had its attractions, and he imagined them living the life of the crofters they had met that day, a simple life free from worries and cares.

  “And what will become of us?” she asked, as though reading his thoughts.

  “What would ye like to become of us?” he asked, and she wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head upon his chest.

  “A quieter life than has been so since my arrival at Kilchurn,” she said, and he laughed.

  “Does that mean that ye wish to stay with me here?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “I cannae imagine being anywhere else but here with ye,” she said, yawning and resting her head down on his lap to sleep.

  He stroked her hair, knowing that he too could not imagine life without her and allowing himself to imagine what might be if they could finally live in peace. He had fallen in love with her, that much was certain, and he longed now to ask the question which was burning in his heart. But now was not the time, and he knew that he must wait a little longer, hoping beyond hope that soon all would be well.

  “And I cannae imagine being with anyone but ye,” he said, and she looked up at him with a smile.

  “And there is nay one but ye I would wish to be with,” she said, sleepily, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips soft against his, her head then resting upon his chest, as he continued to stroke her hair.

  He sat there a while longer as Elaine fell asleep. The moon was high in the sky now, the stars twinkling up above, and the castle silhouetted over the darkened moorland. A single light burned in one of the upper windows, that which Finlay’s father once occupied as his own, and Finlay’s anger was roused at the thought of his uncle now lauding himself over the clan as its master.

  He barely slept that night, agitated and angered by what had happened and determined to set things right, but determined too to take care of Elaine, knowing that he had to protect her, owing it not only to her but to the memory of his father. He wanted so very much to be hers, though he wondered what others might say when their love was discovered. Would his father have given them his blessing in another time and place?

  No one came upon them during the night, and there was no disturbance, except in Finlay’s thoughts, the dawn breaking after an uneventful night. He had finally fallen asleep, awoken by Murdoch shaking his shoulders and rousing him to the task ahead, his arms still around Elaine, who had slept peacefully resting upon his chest all night. He had watched her for a while in the early morning light, peacefully sleeping, as beautiful at rest as she was in waking.

  “The Laird must be prepared for the fight, come now, I can offer ye only bread since we have nay fire, but ye must eat before we march to the gates of Kilchurn,” Murdoch said, as Finlay looked up at the battle-hardened soldier.

  Gentle, he shook Elaine awake, and she sat up, rubbing her eyes, and smiling at him. In the morning sun, she looked ever so beautiful, and he knew that day by day, he was falling ever more deeply in love with her.

  “I could have slept all day,” she said, stretching out and rising to her feet.

  “There is much that lies ahead of us. Come now, we must make ready,” Finlay said, anxious to soon be on their way.

  With Murdoch and the other soldiers having breakfasted, they now made ready for the march, Finlay, and Elaine saddling up their horse and preparing to ride across the moorlands.

  “I cannae help but worry, Finlay,” Elaine said, as they finished strapping up the saddlebags.

  “All will be well, lass, I promise ye,” he replied, and she shook her head.

  “And if it is nae so? What will become of us then?” she asked.

  “Daenae think such things,” he replied, “We have come through much together, ye and I, and I know that we will endure together, whatever happens,” and he turned to her and placed his arms around her.

  She looked up at him, their eyes locked together, and he kissed her upon the lips, their passions aroused. It was a moment of calm before the storm, a memory to savor in the midst of all to come, one he would cling to no matter what happened next.

  “I couldnae bear to lose ye,” she whispered, “it was so awful to believe that ye were dead. But it would break my heart to know it for certain.”

  “Then we must pray that nay blood is shed this day and that the clan sees the truth of what my uncle has done to us,” Finlay replied.

  “Come now, Laird, tis’ time to reclaim yer rightful place,” Murdoch said, clambering into his saddle and rallying the other soldiers.

  “Let it be known,” Finlay said, “that I am the rightful Laird of the MacCallums and master of Kilchurn. Tis’ my father’s legacy I fight for and the honor of my clan. We shall reclaim this castle and my inheritance so that peace might prevail.”

  “Never a truer word said, Laird,” Murdoch said, and together they rode off across the moorlands to face
their destiny.

  * * *

  A mist was hanging over the heathers that day, and it provided some cover as they rode toward Kilchurn. Finlay was growing anxious, and he wondered just what would happen when the first sighting of he and his men was seen from the castle. Would his uncle ride out in force to meet them? Would he parley with them, or would he make swift retribution?

  They were now riding along the path, which led to the castle, having emerged from the heathers after riding for a mile or so from their campsite of the night before. It wound its way toward Kilchurn, crossing a stream and rising onto the rocky outcrop upon which the mighty stronghold was built upon.