The Highlander’s English Woman (The Stelton Legacy)

by Ruth A. Casie

  Surprise siphoned blood from Bryce’s face. “He always thought too highly of himself,” Bryce said in a biting tone. “Do you think it wise for a Scot to control Glen Kirk?”

  Wesley was a superb statesman. He kept things to himself. But Jamie noticed the brief flash of anger that lit his eyes.

  “As my son-in-law Jamie will provide support, but he has Cumgour. Surely you know the rules of succession. Lisbeth is my heir.”

  Bryce boldly met Lisbeth’s benign stare. He slapped his gloves against his thigh.

  “All is in good order here. I’ll leave you to your family.” Bryce gave Wesley a curt nod.

  “You’re not staying to celebrate with us?” Jamie asked. Bryce stiffened at the question.

  “No, Collins. I know my place.” Bryce, his captain at his side, turned on his heel and left the hall.

  “I’m not sure Bryce gave us a full story. Reeve could have fooled Bryce to remove him from the area. Enough. This is a celebration.” Wesley moved on.

  “Lady Laura Reynolds Maxwell Collins,” Jamie said his arms around her.

  “I like the way it sounds. I used to say it over and over when I was younger.”

  He crushed her close and kissed the top of her head.

  Laura tipped her chin up at him. “I’d like to go to the cemetery.”

  He took two bottle of ale from a passing steward. “I’ll lead the way.”

  They left the castle and walked to the cemetery. The afternoon waned and a chill penetrated the late October air. He helped her through the gate and led her to Richard’s grave site.

  He set the two ales on the tombstone and put his arm around her while she silently said her words to Richard. Her soft sobs tore at him.

  In the darkening shadows Jamie found Richard and his heart sank. He had done the calculations over and over. It had been nearly sixty days from the time Richard passed. His friend was doomed.

  Laura searched Jamie’s face and followed his stare. She gasped and took a step toward her brother.

  “Richard,” she cried and ran to him. He didn’t deny her, but rather took her in his arms and held her close.

  “If my heart still beat it would burst. You’ve shed enough tears. You’ll have the flowers growing on my grave if you don’t stop.”

  Her head popped up at the ridiculous image and she laughed.

  “That’s better.” Richard glanced at Jamie. “Take good care of her.”

  “Always.” He handed Richard the two ales.

  Laura twirled around to Jamie. “You knew Richard was...”

  “Don’t be angry. I don’t let everyone see me.”

  “Richard, it’s been more than thirty days. What will happen how?” Jamie stood helpless.

  “I can’t stay here,” Richard let out a heavy sign. “Tormented souls have a way of fouling the area, but it was worth it.”

  “Richard,” Darla and Lisbeth ran up the path. Wesley wasn’t far behind.

  “I didn’t want a family gathering.” He moved Laura away. “It will only make my leaving harder for you all.” Something in Richard’s tone overwhelmed Jamie and made him ache.

  “No, one more time to tell you I love you. To hold my boy and tell him how proud I am of all he did,” Darla rushed into her son’s arms. His father’s arms embraced them both.

  Lisbeth held back and waited. “I spoke to Richard earlier.”

  Everyone stared at her. “We spoke at the hunting lodge. But all is not lost. Today is Samhain when the veil between the underworld and ours is thinnest. We can help Richard, but we must hurry and complete the ritual at midnight. I’ve brought the candles and spices we need.”

  “Laura and I will help.” Darla grabbed Laura’s hand and followed Lisbeth.

  Wesley, Richard, and Jamie sat on the stone bench. Richard fidgeted.

  “I’m glad for the ale,” Richard said. Wesley let out a strained laugh. “I have so much inside me...” Richard touched his hand to his chest. “But I don’t know what to—”

  “The silence doesn’t have to be filled. I know what’s in your heart.” Wesley took his hand. It was a small action and one both men appreciated. “We’ll sit here and enjoy the time we have together.”

  In the distance, the bonfire burned. The villagers danced and celebrated their last harvest and the beginning of winter.

  The quiet unnerved Jamie. It was unreal sitting here waiting for the women to finish their preparations and the hour to be just right. How do you tell someone you love them and value their friendship? He glanced over at Wesley and Richard. Both sat silently next to each other and stared at the ground. The minutes dragged on. The silence was deafening until he couldn’t stand it another minute. He pulled on his tunic and Holger’s brooch flashed from inside.

  Richard touched the gem. “Where did you get this?”

  “I found the brooch. I’m looking for its owner.”

  Richard rubbed the gem between his fingers, then handed it back. “Owner? The brooch is yours.”

  Jamie’s mouth dropped open.

  “The brooch chose you for its champion. The brooch may be silent now, but when the time comes, the magic will tell you what to do. Keep it safe.”

  “Magic? You never believed in magic,” Jamie said.

  “It’s amazing what you learn.” A slow secret smile spread across Richard’s face. He put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

  Jamie gave him his full attention.

  “One other person is aware I’m here, Tom, Donald’s spy. He was one of Reeve’s soldiers. You can trust him. I had him lock Laura’s door last night to make sure Reeve didn’t disturb her. Take him to Cumgour. He will serve you well.”

  “Consider it done.” The words stuck in Jamie’s mouth and came out in a whisper.

  “It’s almost midnight,” Richard said and got to his feet. He and Wesley followed him to his grave. “Jamie, will you stand guard for me?”

  He nodded, the hot knot in his throat made it difficult to speak.

  Five lit candles formed a pentagram around Richard’s grave.

  “Richard, stand in the center.” Lisbeth gestured toward the pentagram her soft voice sounded is if it came from a long away.

  In silence, Richard hugged each one of them then stepped into the middle of the pentagram.

  Jamie took his place and stood guard to ensure Richard safe passing. The others made their petition.

  “Hail, Guardians of the East. I summon the power of the air.” Lisbeth said in a clear voice, faced east and began to set the wards.

  “Be with us now,” Laura and Darla replied. Lisbeth turned to the south.

  “Hail, Guardians of the South. I summon the power of fire.”

  “Be with us now,” the women refrained. Lisbeth turned to the west.

  “Hail, Guardians of the West. I summon the power of water.”

  “Be with us now,” filled the air. Lisbeth turned to the north.

  “Hail, Guardians of the North. I summon the power of the earth.”

  “Be with us now.” Darla placed oak branches in the middle.

  “To renew your soul and heal all wounds. From your mother’s heart. So mote it be.” Darla placed bay laurel on top of the branches.

  “To protect you on your journey. From your sister with devotion. So mote it be.” Lisbeth sprinkled the branches and leaves with rosemary.

  “To help you find your way. From you sister with love. So mote it be.” Lisbeth stood back and raised her arms to the heavens.

  “As above, so below. As within, so without. Four stars in this place be to open the door to eternity.” She lowered her arms and gazed at Richard. “So mote it be.” He could hardly hear her voice.

  Richard let out a deep breath. He gazed at each person with a silent farewell then closed his eyes. His deep baritone filled the air.

  “Watch over those I leave behind. Keep me close to their heart. Take me now. Take me now. I am ready to depart.”

  The evening mist gathere
d over the ground shrouding their offerings and candles. “Watch over those I leave behind. Keep me close to their heart. Take me now. Take me now. I am ready to depart.” The mist grew thicker. The tombstone was almost all consumed.

  “Watch over those I leave behind. Keep me close to their heart. Take me now. Take me now. I am ready to depart. So mote it be.” Richard opened his eyes, stared at Jamie, and raised his ale in a farewell salute.

  Jamie blinked the tears from his eyes. When he opened his eyes the candles were out. Richard was gone.

  “Thank you Great Mother for easing his passing,” Lisbeth said.

  “Come, we’ll go to the bonfire,” Wesley said. “We have much to celebrate.”

  Lisbeth, Darla, and Wesley covered the spices on the ground with dirt, gathered the candles and moved toward the bonfire.

  Laura stood next to Jamie. “You stood sentinel. He left us happy.”

  “He left us with a tankard of ale in his hand.”

  Laura gazed at him in disbelief then laughed. Jamie put the second tankard on Richard’s tombstone.

  “Come wife. I want to go home.” He put his arm around her.

  “To Cumgour?” she asked.

  “To Cumgour.”

  Other Stelton Legacy Stories

  The Guardian’s Witch

  England, 1290

  Lord Alex Stelton can't resist a challenge, especially one with a prize like this: protect a castle on the Scottish border for a year, and it's his. Desperate for land of his own, he'll do anything to win the estate—even enter a proxy marriage to Lady Lisbeth Reynolds, the rumored witch who lives there.

  Feared and scorned for her second sight, Lisbeth swore she'd never marry, but she is drawn to the handsome, confident Alex. She sees great love with him but fears what he would think of her gift and her visions of a traitor in their midst.

  Despite his own vow never to fall in love, Alex can't get the alluring Lisbeth out of his mind and is driven to protect her when attacks begin on the border. But as her visions of danger intensify, Lisbeth knows it is she who must protect him. Realizing they'll secure their future only by facing the threat together, she must choose between keeping her magic a secret and losing the man she loves.

  Chapter One

  Northumberland, England, 1290

  “You won the wager with His Majesty,” said Lord Bryce Mitchell astride his Arabian. He cantered down the forest trail with Alex Stelton, the newly minted Lord of Glen Kirk Castle.

  “The entire court placed odds on whether I would succeed.” The two men slowed their horses to a walk. Alex glanced at Bryce. “Did you lose much?” He refocused his attention on the trail ahead. “You should have put your coin on me. I only wager when I’m certain of the results.”

  “After one year of holding the old stones against the Scots, he actually gifted the castle and his ward to you.” Bryce shook his head.

  The ring of surprise in Bryce’s voice and evident disbelief on his face amused Alex. “His Majesty is a man of his word. Did you have any doubt?” asked Alex, his head cocked to the side with one eyebrow raised. His face split into a wide grin.

  “About the king being a man of his word or of you holding off the Scots?” Bryce colored his smooth retort with a smirk.

  The two friends looked at each other, exploded into laughter, and continued on until they reached the crossroads where they brought their horses to a halt. The tower of Glen Kirk Castle, bathed in the setting sun, peeked through the trees still some three miles to the north. Alex surveyed his new holding. His chest swelled with pride. Mine.

  “Though Edward did make you pay.”

  Alex was peeved by Bryce’s patronizing tone. He masked his emotions until they were as unreadable as stone.

  “Yes, you could say that.” Alex tried his best dismissive tone. Best he forget the king’s retribution for now. There would be time enough to deal with it later.

  “Could? Surely you knew if he lost the wager he would find some way to make you pay. He doesn’t lose gracefully at anything, but to actually marry you to his ward by proxy. I can still see the apoplectic look on your face.”

  “Yes, Bryce— what about the look on my face?” demanded Alex. His voice sounded strident even to him.

  Bryce turned all shades of purple trying to conceal his mirth but he said not one word more. Instead he diverted his attention and polished the gold clasp, embossed with the Mitchell coat of arms, on his cloak.

  Alex bristled at being the center of anyone’s jest. He didn’t take it well from his brothers, although the six of them only teased to vex him. Even though he was the youngest, his brothers deferred to him. They knew his worth and, it appeared, so did the king.

  His teeth clenched at the thought of his proxy wedding and his humiliation. He knew he had to take a wife. He had to make his own way in the world. The Stelton holdings were extensive but not enough to provide him with an income. He’d have done anything to prove himself worthy of a holding of his own. Maybe even marry. Perhaps even Lisbeth. He never thought he would marry on the whim of the king. He had tried to argue, but there was no arguing with Edward. Faith, the king all but patted him on his head and sent him off like a new page. A page. He raked his hand through his hair.

  With a nod of his head, Bryce motioned toward Glen Kirk in the distance. “Marrying Lisbeth does secure your claim to Glen Kirk.”

  Lisbeth. He had lived at Glen Kirk for a year and hardly saw her. The only way he knew she was near was the little charms she left or the serenity that surrounded them. She kept herself in the forsaken hunting lodge and managed to elude him at almost every turn.

  On odd twinge of disappointment hung round him. She hadn’t been like that years ago when they encountered each other at court. She had laughed and didn’t have a care in the world. Four years later he wouldn’t have known it was her if she hadn’t presented herself at the castle. The impish girl had grown into a poised beauty. Dark hair fell in long waves down her back. Her slender body was punctuated with soft curves that couldn’t remain hidden by the black mourning gown. Large green eyes stared at him from under a fan of long dark lashes. Even with her dour expression her full lips tempted him. He moved uncomfortably in his saddle. How things change. How people change.

  “You do know you’re the envy of everyone. Not because the king gave you Wesley’s treasured Glen Kirk or daughter.” Bryce turned serious. “You inherited Wesley’s brewer and ale recipe. That should give you some compensation. I understand it’s a long-held family secret. Wesley was all about family.”

  Family. He let his mind wonder. It landed on memories of his early days at court with his parents and siblings. He enjoyed the candor and tumult around the table in their assigned apartment. How he would appreciate that safety and security today in the midst of a court filled with politics and intrigue.

  “I intend to leverage our close friendship,” said Bryce, “I’ll sample each batch and make certain it retains its high standards.”

  Alex grinned at his friend’s declaration. Lord Wesley and Lady Darla Reynolds had been close friends of his parents. They didn’t bring their daughters to court often but Richard, their son, was always with them and became close to the tight-knit band of Stelton boys. Richard’s death on the Welsh battlefields had been a shock to them all. He and Wesley had spent a good deal of time together consoling each other over a good many tankards of ale.

  It was only a short time after Alex left for the Welsh Wars himself that he heard of Wesley and Darla’s fatal accident. He felt their loss deeply. Now in a twist of fate their beloved Glen Kirk and daughter were his.

  “Have you sent word to her?” Bryce’s question hung heavy in the air.

  Alex broke away from his musings. “No, I will tell her when the time comes.” Alex suppressed the annoyance in his voice. What if she didn’t want to be married to him? He had expected a warm welcome from her a year ago. She had made it obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. He’d have to find a way to approach the sub
ject, see how agreeable she was to the idea. A seventh son, he never thought the king would care who he married. The last thing he wanted was a political wife. He relaxed his death grip on his horse’s reins, let out a deep breath, and changed the subject. “I’ve heard your border farms were raided. How bad were the attacks?”

  Bryce took a bannock out of his saddlebag, broke off a piece and offered it to Alex. He leaned forward in his saddle, a conspiratorial tone in his voice. “And your Glen Kirk farmers?”

  Relieved to get Bryce off the subject of his new wife, Alex’s brows knit together at the mention of his farms. He took a bite of the cake and washed it down with some ale from the skin he carried. He passed the ale to Bryce. “No attacks on my farms.” He wiped the crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand. “I set up patrols before we left for London. Since our lands are adjacent I’m certain it’s only a matter of time before the Glen Kirk farms become targets.”

  “Yes, a good strategy. I’ll have my men patrol my border farms as well. That should give us a better chance of catching these men before they strike your farms.”

  Alex’s chest tightened at the insinuation that he couldn’t protect his people, although Bryce’s offer did make good military sense. The tactician in him knew the benefit of working both sides of the border. He moved back in his saddle. Yes, Bryce’s men would be helpful.

  “You still believe your Scots are blameless.” Bryce passed back the skin.

  “Bryce, this is more than a border raid and a few cows being taken—much more. And they are not ‘my’ Scots. Everyone at Glen Kirk has told me they have never had an incident with the border clans, so why now? You live here. Surely you know that to be true. But, if not the Scots, who? That is the question.”

  “You do know most everyone at court suspects the Scots.” Bryce straightened in his saddle.

  “I too heard the rumblings.”

  “You were quite outspoken. The debate you sparked was lively to say the least.”

  “You know where I stand on this issue. I clearly do not agree. The Scots are not involved in these raids.”