The Highlander’s English Woman
Ruth A. Casie
Contents
Introduction
The History
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Other Stelton Legacy Stories
The Guardian’s Witch
About the Author
Ruth’s Booklist
Traitors, deception, murders and ghosts run rampant at Lord Herbert Maxwell’s, Caerlaverock Castle. Jamie Maxwell Collins serves Lord Herbert in exchange for a farm of his own. Laura Reynolds, Lord Herbert's distant cousin and Jamie’s longtime friend, comes to the castle determined to solve the murders and put the ghost to rest. When Laura becomes the murderer’s next target and Lord Herbert is forced to sacrifice her in a political marriage, Jamie finds their friendship has turned to love and he’s more a warrior then he thought. He’ll use anything to save Laura—ghosts, swords or fists.
This full-length novel is a continuation of the novella, The Maxwell Ghost, previously published by Ruth A. Casie in Once Upon a Haunted Castle, September, 2016.
To Paul – for his encouragement, support, and understanding of what it takes to get a book written.
To Eliza Knight – for her support and encouragement.
To DM Comfort – who makes my words sing – I really miss our coffee time together on the East Coast.
To Emma Kaye – I wish I had her eagle eyes! She’s the best copy editor EVER.
The History
“It pulls at my heart with its beauty and purpose. It represents all I hold dear in a person, if that’s possible, heart, soul, and strength.” Laura Reynolds, The Maxwell Ghost
I knew I found the right setting for my medieval ghost story when I saw a picture of Caerlaverock Castle.
Reading Caerlaverock’s history I understood why the Maxwell family fought to hold it and why their enemies had to destroy it.
Caerlaverock Castle is a moated castle on the southern coast of Scotland in the Dumfries. The unique equilateral triangular design and beauty of the castle, from the way it’s sited to its rich history, made Caerlaverock the perfect setting for my stories, The Maxwell Ghost and The Highlander’s English Woman.
There were several original fortifications that preceded the current castle, a Roman fort on Ward Law Hill and a British hill fort that was used until 950.
The earliest mention of Caerlaverock is the 1160s, when the lands were granted to the monks of Holm Cultram Abbey. Sixty years later, in 1220 the lands were granted to Sir John Maxwell by Alexander II of Scotland.
The Maxwell family has owned the Caerlaverock Castle ever since, but not without some intrigue and adventure. The clan leader changed allegiances from Scotland to England several times which resulted in sieges, destruction and rebuilding.
John Maxwell began construction of the first castle at Caerlaverock. A traditional square design with a moat and a north facing bridge, the building was one of the earliest stone castles built in Scotland. Archeologists believe that this castle was never completed when it was abandoned. This castle was built close to the Solway Firth. Built on clay the wood pilings were not able to bear the weight of the structure. In addition, the structure couldn’t be kept dry or comfortable. Today, the foundations and part of a wooden enclosure around it is all that remains.
Work began on the new castle, six hundred feet south of the abandoned structure in 1260.
Construction on the new (present) castle, on a solid rock outcropping and was completed in the 1270s. The castle’s first occupant was Herbert Maxwell, nephew of Sir John Maxwell.
Caerlaverock was the Maxwell family’s stronghold from the 13th to the 17th centuries. It underwent several sieges over the centuries and was finally abandoned in 1640. The castle has been destroyed and rebuilt several times, but retained its triangular plan.
In 1299, Maxwell forces from Caerlaverock Castle attached the English-held Lochmaben Castle. Edward I retaliated in July 1300 and attacked Caerlaverock with 87 knights and 3,000 men. Eustace Maxwell, the clan chief repelled the English several times. In the end, the garrison surrendered. King Edward was astounded that only sixty men held his army off.
Caerlaverock Castle remained in English hands until 1312 when the castle was returned to Sir Eustace Maxwell who pledged allegiance to the English king, Edward II. Later, Eustace switched his support to Robert the Bruce and the castle was unsuccessfully attacked by the English.
Because of Caerlaverock’s prime position on the England-Scottish border and the fear it could fall into the hands of the English who would have a strong command of the district, Sir Eustace dismantled the fortress, a sacrifice rewarded by Robert the Bruce.
In 1337 the castle was once again inhabited and once again the Eustace changed sides. About 1355 the castle was captured by the Scots.
The Maxwells regained Caerlaverock after the Wars of Independence in the mid-14th century. Between 1373 and 1410, Robert Maxwell rebuilt much of the castle. His efforts were continued by Robert II in the mid-15th century.
In 1567, the Maxwells supported Mary, Queen of Scots and Caerlaverock was once again under siege by the English in 1570. The Earl of Sussex led the English forces and demolished part of the castle.
In 1593, Lord John Maxwell repaired the castle for defense against the Johnstones of Annandale with whom he was feuding.
The Wars for Independence were replaced by wars of religion. In 1634, religious turmoil turned against the Catholic Maxwells. In 1640 the Protestant Covenanter army attacked Caerlaverock for thirteen weeks forcing the castle to surrender. The south wall and tower were demolished and the castle was never repaired or reoccupied.
The castle passed by inheritance to the Herries family and to the Duke of Norforlk. While currently owned by Lady Mary Mumford’s sister Baroness Herries, since 1946 the castle has been operated and managed by Historic Scotland. The castle remains the ancestral home of the Maxwell family.
Chapter One
A dour faced James Maxwell Collins, in full regalia, rode atop his destrier, sixteen of his best men with him. They cantered through the forest, the metal tack on their mounts’ harnesses tapped out a rhythmic beat. Jamie breathed in the heady aroma of damp leather, musty moss, and fallen leaves. The rain-drenched landscape turned the rutted trail into mud and forced his column onto higher ground. Just as well. While he preferred to take his time and walk the woods between his home at Cumgour and his Reynold cousin’s at Glen Kirk Castle at the edge of the Northumberland Forest, today he chose a more dangerous and faster route. His men would suffer bad weather no matter which track they took, and speed was of the essence.
Richard Reynolds was dead, killed on a Welsh battlefield serving his English king. The idea of him gone was still unreal. Richard was too young, too brave, too good to leave this world. His loss came in waves of awareness. Jamie would never see his friend again.
For eighteen months Jamie and his men served The Maxwell, Lord Herbert, his father’s older brother at Caerlaverock Castle.
Everyone was stunned when the news of Richard’s death arrived. His small group left immedia
tely, and after three days of hard riding, reached Cumgour and stopped long enough to change horses.
Lord Wesley and Lady Darla buried their only son before news had reached Caerlaverock. No time for Jamie to say a final good-bye to the man he knew from childhood, a distant relative and closer friend.
“No other person could represent me better,” The Maxwell said.
“Why? Because I’m fourth in line to lead the clan?”
His uncle’s laugh was low and throaty.“You’re not only a distant relative like me. You fostered with Wesley and are close to the family. I would go, however, with my obligations to the Parliament in Scone, the uproar here concerning spoiled grain and this… this ghost, I can’t possibly leave now. People and their superstitions drive me senseless, but I must stay. Instead of going with me, you’ll go for me. I can’t send a better man.”
“I completed my year of service six months ago. After delivering your message, I’d like to return to my Cumgour and farm my land.” Jamie was tired of asking. It had gotten him nowhere. He was still here. But he kept asking.
“The harvest is over. There’s no pressing need for you to return.” No pressing need. His family. His life. He was a farmer, not a warrior. He let out a deep breath. He would keep reminding The Maxwell his service duty was completed until he released him.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to return home, but not now. Not with our problems with the grain and now this damned ghost. Go to Wesley and Darla while I go to Parliament. You’ll have to return to me in a week.” The Maxwell held up his hand to ward off Jamie’s objections. “That will give you one day with family and I’m sorry you can’t stay longer. Once this problem is solved, you can return home and be a farmer, although it is a waste of a good fighting man.” The Maxwell relaxed, an affectionate smile spread across his face. “You’ve served me well and earned your farm.”
The Maxwell let out a long breath. “Too bad you can’t bring Darla to us when you return. With her special gifts, she would put this ghost to rest.”
Magic. He didn’t believe in spells and charms, but he would believe in the devil himself if that would help make things right at Caerlaverock so he could go home.
He and his men came through the forest onto the Marsh, a few yards from the English border. He slowed his horse to a walk.
“Sean, I’ll take four men and go on. You and the others wait here. We’ll be back by morning.” His captain inclined his head and signaled his troop to move on.
Twelve of Jamie’s men peeled away and rode toward the cliff where a dry cave would provide shelter while they waited. Jamie was sensitive to Wesley and the situation. Tensions at the border were high and he was a Scotsman on English soil. A larger traveling party could be... misinterpreted.
Jamie and his remaining four men navigated across Bells Burn, the stream separating Scotland and England, then headed up a rocky pass through the dense Northumberland Forest.
Richard had been one of the best soldiers he knew. Intuitive, resourceful, and loyal. No one could stop him. Jamie gave a bitter laugh. He understood his friend’s capability better than most, as many times as they sparred when boys. Neither one held anything back. Every bout ended the same, no matter the winner, with laughter and a draft of Wesley’s fine ale.
What did that matter now? Richard lay cold in the ground. Jamie blew out a strangled breath around the knot in his chest. At least Richard hadn’t been left to rot on some forgotten battlefield as so many others. For all the man’s faults, Bryce Mitchell did the decent thing and brought Richard home.
He snapped a low hanging branch as he passed, wishing he held the neck of the man who killed Richard. Over and over again, Jamie berated himself. He should have been with Richard, protected his back. Except his allegiance lay with Scotland, not the English or their king. Jamie pulled his wool around him to ward off the building breeze, and adjusted the Maxwell crest. At least the light drizzle that added to his misery had ended. His small party trudged on.
He stopped at the forest’s edge. Glen Kirk Castle beckoned tall and welcoming across the broad meadow. He stole a glance to his right. The stone wall of Glen Kirk’s cemetery was a few yards away.
A numbness blanketed him. He was no stranger to death. He let out a deep breath. The reality of this final good-bye tore at him. He pulled the reins to the right and nudged his horse forward.
At the cemetery wall, he dismounted, his back to the gate. He steeled himself, turned on his heel, and walked into the sacred ground. Richard’s newly dug grave overshadowed the others, demanded his attention. A small smile played on his lips. Just like Richard to be in control.
Jamie weaved through old gravestones and finally stopped at Richard’s side. Silence. The rustling of dried leaves caught in a sudden gust skidded across hard stones. Silent and still, he looked down at the grave. His chest heaved as he worked to ease the knot in his throat. One deep breath, then another.
“I’m angry at you for even going to Wales. I’m angry at you for not taking care.” His chin quivered, his eyes dampened. After a few moments of silence, he blew out a painful hot breath and knelt next to his friend. “But more than that, I’m angry at you for dying,” he said, his voice fading to a whisper.
He laid his hand on the damp flower petals that covered the grave. “Rest in peace, my friend. Know that I will care for your family as I would my own.” He pulled the Maxwell crest he wore with pride from his wool and buried the amulet with Richard, next to a charm Lisbeth must have added to his grave. “On my honor as a Maxwell, so do I swear.”
Forged by grief and tempered with love, Jamie rose with a new sense of purpose. He walked to his men and mounted his horse. The five turned and rode in silence toward Glen Kirk.
Jamie gave a signal to the tower guard, then trotted across the field and through the gate. The hollow clop of their horses’ hooves on wet cobblestones echoed through an empty bailey. No rousing greetings. A somber mood permeated the grounds. Even the castle dogs that ran to greet him stayed in the barn. If not for three horses equipped for a long journey tied nearby, he would have thought Glen Kirk was deserted. Jamie dismounted. The stable boy took his horse’s reins.
“Jamie. The guard told me you arrived.” Lord Wesley’s captain came out of the gatehouse.
“Gareth.” His somber mood lightened at the sight of his old mentor.
Weathered with thinning salt and pepper hair, he remained tall and straight, his eyes clear and wise. This was the old warrior who instructed young squires in soldiering. Five aspiring knights trained together. Richard, Jamie, Bryce Mitchell and his cousins, Reeve and Harmon Gaulter. They practiced and battled while Richard’s sisters, Laura and Lisbeth, cheered them on. That was before Bryce’s taunting created a rift between the two of them that became intolerable.
Jamie gave Gareth his hand. The old soldier threw his other arm around him and pulled him close.
“You’ve been away too long. I must be getting old. I actually miss you and your rowdy ways.” Gareth shook his head. “I sent a message warning the village women that you’re back. Now that I think of it, I may have done you a favor.”
A flush rushed up Jamie’s neck. “It’s a burden I have to bear. They seem to be drawn to my... many attributes and who am I to disagree?” The fact he and Richard listened attentively, especially to women who always appeared to be around them, left them both with reputations. Jamie had the advantage of not being the Lord’s son and well, perhaps he did more than listen on occasion, but not as indiscriminately as everyone would believe.
“I swear you’re taller than a tree. And here I worried you would be the runt of the litter. There must be Viking blood in your family line.” Gareth eyed him from his toes to his head. “You’re bigger than the others.” He placed his hands on either shoulder as if measuring the expanse. “And you’re definitely the broadest of the three. Yes, you turned out well, for the runt.” Months of absence melted away as they renewed their easy camaraderie.
“You
think I’m brawn, you should see my wee sister,” Jamie teased slipping into a burr that sent Gareth into peals of laughter.
“You forget I know your wee sister. She may be five feet and a slip of a thing, but she certainly knows how to keep you in your place. It amazes me to watch how she tames you.”
Gareth glanced toward the Keep and the smile faded from his face. “In truth, I’m glad you are here. They can use your company.”
“I wish I returned for happier reasons rather than this untimely duty.” Jamie started for the Keep. “You coming along?”
“Not right now. I’m here to see Alex Stelton and his men off. You go on. I’ll settle your men at the barracks.” Jamie nodded and made his way across the bailey.
“Good day, Ann.” The housekeeper held the door wide when he reached the top step. “Still as beautiful as ever.”
“You save your sweet talk for those ninnies who don’t know any better.” Ann’s severe expression didn’t fool him. Her attitude was the same one she used when as boys he and Richard filched freshly baked tarts off her cooling rack.
“Sweet Ann, you’re the only one for me.” He raised his eyebrows in an over exaggerated ardent expression and clutched a hand to his heart.
The housekeeper swatted his arm and chuckled. He bent and kissed her forehead.
“How are they?” Jamie took on a somber tone and glanced toward the hall as he removed his cloak and gloves, then gave both to her.
“As good as one can expect. The family will be glad you’re here. You go on. You know the way.” Ann padded off.
He stepped to the entrance of the great hall, a place as familiar and comfortable as his own. Servants on the far side of the room busily prepared the raised dais table for the afternoon meal. Trestle tables and benches were pulled away from walls and ready for others in the castle. The family sat at the hearth, their favorite gathering place.
The Highlander’s English Woman (The Stelton Legacy) Page 1