“Aye, I told Hamish I would dae anyway, the children will be fine without me for one night,” she replied.
“Then tis’ settled,” their mother said, calling for the servants, as she hurried out of the room.
Rory and Evie were left alone with the woman, who now lay peacefully upon the bed, her eyes closed, breathing gently.
“And ye say ye daenae even know her name?” Evie asked, and Rory shook his head.
“She has barely spoken ten words,” he replied.
“Then how dae ye know she is English?” Evie said.
“I … well, her accent sounded so,” he said, and his sister nodded.
“Well, English or nae, tis’ clear she has helped ye. We will revive her, daenae worry,” Evie said.
Rory nodded. He had always liked his sister, though in the past she had been wayward. Things had turned out well in the end, though, and she was happy in her marriage to Hamish McBryde. Their mother returned shortly, accompanied by several of the servants who brought wood for the fire and a bowl of steaming soup.
“Come now, Rory, ye go and rest. We shall see to the lass,” Isla said as a maid kindled the fire, and she brought a bowl of soup to the woman’s side.
“She is fast asleep, I have a bottle of ointment here, given me by the monks at Lanercost. They say it may help to revive her,” Rory said.
“Then I shall administer it to her in due course. Now, go and get some rest, Rory. There is nothin’ more ye can dae here,” his mother said.
Reluctantly, Rory left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He could hear his mother fussing over the woman inside and wondered how long it would be before she was revived. He hoped to speak with her before his father’s return, to see her open her eyes and gaze upon him as she had done when they first encountered her upon the road. There had been something piercing in her look, and Rory could only hope that she would soon revive so that he might look upon her as she truly was, and experience that captivating gaze again.
He will nae like it, he told himself, imagining his father’s surprise at learning of the English woman in their midst, as he settled himself down in the great hall.
Rory awoke with a start as his mother called out for him to come quickly.
“Now, Rory, ye are wanted,” Isla called out.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes; it was growing dark outside, and he must have slept for several hours.
“Why … what?” he began.
“Ye have been asleep, Rory. We left ye alone, but the lass is awake now. Come quickly,” his mother replied.
Rory jumped up and hurried from the great hall, following his mother upstairs to the woman’s chambers. He was eager to meet her and discover more about her, yet he also felt a sense of nervous anticipation. She was propped up in bed, and Evie was at her side, holding the bottle of ointment in one hand and a fresh bowl of soup in the other.
“She has just awoken,” Evie said, turning to Rory and smiling.
“The poor lass looks exhausted,” Isla said, shaking her head.
Rory approached the bed slowly, smiling at the woman, who still seemed somewhat confused.
“Where … where am I?” she asked.
“In the castle at Kirklinton, with the Elliott clan,” Rory replied, pulling a chair up to the woman’s bedside.
For a moment, she looked fearful. As though the name of Elliott were one to avoid. But Rory smiled at her, as Evie held out the bowl of soup and their mother patted her hand.
“Tis’ all right, lass. Nay one will hurt ye. My son tells me we owe ye a debt of gratitude and our thanks for savin’ his life and that of his uncle,” Isla said.
The woman seemed to relax visibly, and she took the bowl of soup, taking a spoonful and letting out a sigh.
“What is yer name?” Rory asked, unable to take his eyes off the woman who seemed even more beautiful.
There was something in her face, a spirit of determination and resolve, and an elegant look which he could not help but find attractive and alluring.
“My … my name is Margaret,” she said, and in her accent, Rory heard something of the Scot.
She did not speak with a broad accent, and he wondered whether he had been right to think of her as English or if she was indeed a Scot and had rescued them not from her own kind but the enemy.
“Where are ye from? Ye are English?” he asked, and Margaret shook her head.
“No, but I have lived my life close to the borders, on the lowlands. I suppose I must sound different to you,” she said, and Rory nodded.
“Tis’ all right, whoever ye are ye have done me a great service, and I am in yer debt. After ye saved us from the English soldiers, ye became delirious. Perhaps ye daenae even remember us takin’ ye to the monastery at Lanercost? We thought ye were English and the monks were wary of ye remainin’ there and so I brought ye here. We will look after ye,” Rory said, placing his hand gently on Margaret’s arm.
She nodded, taking another spoonful of soup and looking around her with interest.
“I have heard of Kirklinton. It is a beautiful place,” she said.
“And ye shall see more of it when ye are strong enough,” Isla said, “but where have ye come from? Why were ye on the road to Lanercost?”
A sudden look of fear came across Margaret’s face, and she flinched, as though remembering some painful memory.
“I … forgive me, it is … sorrowful for me,” she began.
“Take yer time, lass,” Rory said, glancing at his mother, who squeezed Margaret’s hand.
“Aye, ye must nae worry, lass. Ye are safe here,” she said, and Margaret nodded.
“I am the daughter of crofters, farmers to the west. We lived a peaceful and happy life until … some days ago brigands attacked the farm. They burned our buildings, scattered our livestock and … and they killed my parents,” she said, bursting into tears.
“Oh, what wickedness,” Isla cried out, putting her arms around Margaret, who now sobbed uncontrollably.
“I have heard reports of such things away on the border,” Rory said, shaking his head.
“Aye, and Hamish has had such things occur on his land too,” Evie said, “he has sent soldiers out, but the brigands are long gone before anythin’ can be done about them.”
“I … I hid from them,” Margaret said, wiping her eyes, “I hid in the woods nearby. The farm sits in a dell, surrounded by the forest, and we had always thought ourselves safe there. My father employed several farmhands, and we were prosperous enough. But now … all that is gone,” she said, beginning to cry once more.
“When my husband returns, we shall see if anythin’ can be found of these men. They will be brought to justice for their crimes,” Isla said.
“But how did ye escape?” Rory asked, amazed by Margaret’s courage and determination.
“I ran. As soon as the fire started, I ran. I am ashamed of it because I didn’t even return to my parents. But my father told me to hide and so that is what I did. I ran and ran through the forest for two days, not even stopping at night. The last thing I remember is seeing you and your uncle on the road. I was about to ask you for help when I saw the English soldiers. When they attacked you, I knew I had to help. I have some skill with the sword and the dagger; my father made sure of that. But I …” she said, shaking her head sadly.
“Ye did us a great service, lass. Tis’ nay wonder that ye collapsed from exhaustion after what ye have been through,” Rory replied.
Margaret was silent, lost in thought, and Rory felt his heart go out to her. There was such pain in her eyes, a deep and sorrowful burden which she would surely carry for the rest of her days.
“Ye are safe here,” Isla repeated, “these walls are thick and our clansmen brave. Ye will nae be troubled here.”
“I cannot stay here, you have already been too kind,” Margaret said, looking up at them.
“Dae ye have somewhere else to go?” Evie asked, and Margaret shook her head.
“No, I
have no family now or place to go. I suppose I must make my own way in the world now,” she replied.
“And we will nae here of such a thing. Ye shall stay here,” Isla said, just as the sound of horses hooves came echoing up from the courtyard below.
“Tis’ father and Niall McCall,” Evie said, going to the window.
Rory rose from his chair; his eyes still fixed on Margaret, who looked around her nervously.
“Will he be angry with me?” she asked, and Isla laughed.
“Nay lass, what have ye done to anger him? Come now, Rory, go and greet yer father and tell him of this news,” she said.
Chapter Six
Rory made his way downstairs and out into the courtyard. It was dark now, the moon high above the castle, and torches lit around the battlements. It was a cloudless night and the stars twinkling in a great canopy across the sky, flickering like a thousand candles.
His father and Niall McCall were just unsaddling their horses, the rest of the retinue milling around and discussing their ride from the north. Rory approached his father, nervously. He was always wary of his opinion and wanted to please him. His father could be harsh at times, but the two respected one another, and Rory was confident that his father would not merely turn Margaret out into the night when he learned of what had happened.
“Ah, Rory, lad, what news dae ye have for me? Ye have managed well enough without me here?” he asked, and Rory nodded.
He wanted to speak with his father without Niall McCall at their side. But the man was always close by nowadays, he had his father’s ear, and it seemed that the Laird relied as much on his counsel as he did on that of his son. Niall McCall stood listening, making no move to step back and give Rory the privacy he desired. He was a tall, wiry man, a few years older than Rory, with a shock of ginger hair which hung scraggily down to his shoulders and an unkempt beard. His face was weather-beaten, and, in the moonlight, it looked almost ghostly as he stood to the Laird’s side.
“I have news for ye, father, aye,” Rory said, eyeing Niall warily.
“Then spit it out lad, let us hear it,” his father replied.
“We have a visitor, father. A lass from the borderlands,” Rory replied.
“And how did she come to be here?” his father asked.
Rory now proceeded to recount the tale of Margaret’s arrival, and his father listened, nodding and asking questions as he went. When Rory had finished, he turned to Niall McCall and shook his head.
“It sounds a nasty business,” he said, and the other nodded.
“Aye, brigands are everywhere, or so it seems,” Niall replied, “nay one is safe.”
“But what were ye doin’ on the road to Lanercost?” his father asked.
“I was escortin’ uncle Duncan home. I was tired of bein’ here and wanted to see Owen, too,” Rory replied, unapologetic for his actions.
His father made no further comment, but nodded, and began to make his way inside.
“She may stay here as long as she wishes,” his father replied, “and ye, Rory will be responsible for her.”
Rory nodded and followed his father through the doors of the keep. He was secretly rather pleased to think that Margaret would be staying at Kirklinton for some time to come. He wanted to know her better and to learn more about her life. She had saved his life, and now, Rory was determined to do what he could to help her recover. But more than that, she fascinated him, and he knew that his mind would not be at ease until he knew more of her.
As they entered the keep, his mother came to meet them, embracing her husband and nodding to Niall McCall.
“Rory tells me that we have a visitor,” Fraser said.
“Aye, and she is to stay with us for as long as she needs to,” Isla said, as Evie appeared behind her.
“And it seems our whole family is gathered this night, and I’m sure Owen is with us in his prayers. Is he well?” Fraser asked.
“Aye,” Rory replied, “as pious as ever, but well all the same.”
His father laughed.
“Ye always were jealous of him,” he said, slapping Rory on the back.
“I am nae jealous of a monk,” Rory replied, angered by his father’s words.
“Enough argument now,” Isla said, “the lass is asleep, and we shall have our supper and then go to bed.”
The family sat down to eat, joined by Niall McCall. Fraser recounted their journey north to Klinross and told of the dangers they had encountered upon the road. But Rory was only half-listening, eager to see Margaret again before he went to bed. It was a strange sensation, one that had crept upon him that day. He felt attracted to her, though he could not discern why. She was beautiful, but so were many women. There was something else about her, something different from all the rest. A bold spirit and bravery which he admired. To have escaped from brigands and journeyed through the forest and then to have rescued them from the English was a feat indeed, and it was clear that Margaret possessed a brave and noble soul.
Later, he excused himself and bid the rest of his family a goodnight. But he did not go immediately to his chambers but instead made his way to where Margaret was sleeping. Outside the door, he paused, listening for any sound of movement. He could hear nothing coming from within, and no chink of light from a candle shone through the keyhole.
Gently, he pushed open the door and looked cautiously inside. She was fast asleep on the bed, a shaft of moonlight falling through the window. He felt embarrassed to gaze upon her; his thoughts betraying him as he blushed at what his mind was portraying. She looked peaceful. He was fascinated by her, and would gladly have sat at her side all night. But instead, he closed the door gently behind him and offered up a silent prayer for her safety and recovery.
I shall enjoy havin’ her here, he said to himself, as he made his way to bed, excited by the prospect of getting to know Margaret better and discovering more about the mysterious woman who had saved his life.
It did not take long for Margaret to recover from her ordeal. She was well looked after by Isla and Evie, who remained a few days longer at Kirklinton, having sent a message to Hamish telling him what had occurred.
“He will nae mind me stayin’ longer,” she said, “besides, the lass needs company.”
The whole family was diligent in taking care of Margaret, and she had everything she needed and more. Rory was her constant companion and would sit at her bedside each day, delighting in her company.
It was a week since she had arrived at Kirklinton, and when Rory knocked and entered her chambers that day, she looked up at him and smiled.
“I am feeling quite better today,” she said, as he set down a tray of porridge and honey for her.
“Then perhaps tis’ time ye rose?” he said, and Margaret nodded.
“You have all been so kind to me this week. I don’t know how I could ever repay you,” she said.
“Tis’ we who must repay ye. Surely my uncle and I would have perished if it were nae for ye, and there would be nay heir to Kirklinton,” Rory replied as he set the tray down next to her. “It is a funny thought to think of you as Laird one day,” she said, smiling at him.
“And why is that?” he asked.
“Oh, you just seem so young for such responsibility. In my mind, a Laird is always an old man, with a long beard and a weather-beaten face, just like …” she began.
“My father,” Rory said, laughing, as Margaret blushed.
“Yes, I suppose so. But you are … quite different,” she replied.
He smiled at her, sitting himself down as she began to eat.
“Perhaps a walk today upon the heathers. Dae ye feel strong enough for that?” he asked.
“I think so, I should like to try at least,” she replied, eating hungrily.
“Then I shall ask Evie to come and help ye dress then meet ye in the courtyard,” he replied.
Downstairs in the great hall, he found his sister finishing her breakfast. She would depart that day for the McBryde castle, es
corted by their father, but she happily agreed to help Margaret dress, pleased to hear that she now felt well enough to walk out onto the moorlands.
“Daenae exhaust the poor lass though,” their mother said, tutting at Rory.
“Come now, mother. She has been in bed for a week, she is quite recovered and tis’ she who wants to see over the castle and the moorlands,” he replied.
“Then ye must look after her, Rory,” Isla replied.
Evie went to help Margaret dress, and Rory made his way to the courtyard where his father and Niall McCall were saddling their horses.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 5