“Ah, Rory. I shall escort yer sister home this mornin’, but I need ye to see to the men here,” his father added.
“I am walkin’ out with Margaret just now, father. But I will dae,” Rory replied.
“Ye should dae as yer father tells ye,” Niall McCall said, and Rory looked at him angrily.
“I will dae as necessary,” he replied.
“Peace now,” his father said, “see to the lass, Rory, and make sure that ye see to the men too.”
Rory nodded, scowling at Niall, just as Evie emerged from the keep.
“Margaret is comin’ now. She is wearin’ some of my clothes. There is a whole chest of them upstairs which she may have,” Evie said.
“Come now, Evie. Let us get ye away home else Hamish shall worry,” their father said, as Evie mounted her horse.
“Goodbye, Rory, come and visit me soon and take good care of Margaret,” she said.
“I will dae. Take care and send my greetin’ to Hamish, will ye?” Rory replied.
Evie nodded, and she and the others set off through the gates. Rory watched them go, despising Niall even more. How dare he question his actions and speak to him as though he were his father’s equal. Niall McCall was gaining far too much influence at Kirklinton, and Rory was worried that his father showed no signs of standing up to him.
He shouldnae talk to me like that, Rory thought to himself, just as Margaret emerged from the keep.
She looked so pretty in Evie’s dress, her long hair now tied back and a look of excitement on her face. Rory could not help but feel a tingle of excitement run through him as he looked at her, she seemed so lovely in Evie’s long flowing dress, her hair blowing in the breeze and her cheeks rosy and full of color.
“How pleased I am to be out in the fresh air,” she declared, taking in a deep breath.
“Tis’ a glorious day, would ye like to see over the castle first?” Rory asked, smiling at her. He wished only to take her by the hand and even embrace her, so strong were his feelings now aroused, for she had entirely enchanted him.
“No, I would like to walk out across the moorlands and feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my cheeks,” she replied, walking off towards the open gates.
Rory followed after her, and they emerged onto the track, which led off towards Lochrutton. He would gladly have followed her anywhere, eager to be at her side and hanging on her every word.
“Let me show ye the castle where I grew up, tis’ across the heathers this way,” Rory said, pointing towards Armstrong castle.
Margaret nodded and took his arm, much to his amazement, as the two of them walked over the moorlands. Rory felt pleased to be in her company. Since her arrival at Kirklinton, they had grown close, his feelings growing stronger by the day.
But there was still much he had yet to discover, and her past remained a mystery. There were questions he wished to ask, though for now, he was happy in her company, as he pointed out the sights of his childhood and the land which he loved so much.
“And now, ye can see Armstrong castle,” Rory said, pointing down towards his former home.
“It is a beautiful place,” Margaret said, and Rory nodded, thinking that her beauty far surpassed anything nature had to offer.
“Aye, I was happy here as a child,” he said.
“And you moved to Kirklinton when your grandfather died, and your father inherited the title of Laird?” she asked.
“Aye, but I always missed this place. My father keeps a garrison here, but when I inherit, I dream of returnin’ here. Kirklinton is nae my home; it has never been,” he said.
He blushed at the thought, reminding himself how little he knew of her. But he could not help his mind filling with such ideas, and the more he resisted, the more they arose.
Rory had never felt comfortable at Kirklinton. It was a place he had little affection for. A grim castle set upon the moorlands, a scene of misery over the years, and a place he would rather leave behind. However, his father insisted that the clan resided at Kirklinton, and there would be no changing his mind on the matter.
“And who lives there?” Margaret said, pointing to a croft some way up the hillside.
Rory sighed, looking up at the croft, which held such mixed memories for him. It was there that Caitlin Macready and her mother had lived when she was younger, and it was there that Rory had first felt the awakening of the feelings he’d long harbored for the woman now so far away.
“A friend of Evie’s once lived there,” Rory replied, “Her name is Caitlin, Caitlin Macready,” and Margaret nodded.
The mention of Caitlin caused his heart to skip a beat, but he realized in the company of Margaret, the pain of those memories lessened. His feelings were growing, and as they did, he found himself thinking less of Caitlin and more of Margaret.
“Your sister was so kind to me this past week. You all have been. I love being at Kirklinton, though I can see why you would want to live there,” Margaret said a few moments later, pointing to the Armstrong castle below.
It was a beautiful place, the river meandering through the valley - the bleak moorlands giving way to woods and paddock as far as the eye could see. In the sunshine, there was surely no more beautiful place than the countryside around Armstrong castle, and it was a place Rory loved dearly and always returned to when he needed to think and be alone with his thoughts.
“Tell me more about yer life on the farm? What was it like?” Rory asked as they began to walk back to Kirklinton.
“I was happy there,” she replied, “my parents were the kindest of souls, and I lived a wonderful life with them.”
Rory nodded. He had been wondering about her past, curious to find a simple farm girl with such ways about her. She was nothing like the peasants who inhabited his father’s crofts, and there was something noble about her.
Perhaps her father had been a gentleman farmer of the sort that existed south of the border, the type of men with wealth and estate, with others running the farm, while they enjoyed the luxuries of its bounty. Whoever he was, he had been lucky in his daughter, though Rory felt a pang of guilt at mentioning Margaret’s parents knowing the pain in her eyes at their memory.
“Yer father must have been wealthy. Tis’ rare for brigands to attack the crofters for they have little to offer them,” Rory replied.
She made no immediate answer but pointed instead to a hawk circling overhead.
“Such freedom. I always imagine myself as a bird flying off into the distance. To see the landscape laid out before you, to know you could fly anywhere and rise and soar above any danger,” she said, as they watched the hawk dive down for its prey.
“There is much ye would have to sacrifice,” he replied, smiling at her.
“ I think I would happily do it, though,” she replied.
They walked on, Rory pointing out the path towards the McBryde castle and promising they would visit Evie soon.
“Can I remain at Kirklinton?” she asked, “I feel as though I have already impinged upon your hospitality so much. You must tell me when I am to leave.”
“Ye will stay as long as ye wish. Ye said yerself that ye have nay place else to go to,” Rory replied, eager for her to remain.
“You are very kind, you all are,” she said, smiling at him.
As they arrived back at Kirklinton, they could see the distant figures of the Laird and Niall McCall riding towards them along the track from Lochrutton. The gates swung open, and Rory’s father reined in his horse, as the two men rode into the courtyard.
“Well now, did ye enjoy yer walk, lass,” he said, and Margaret nodded.
“It was lovely; thank you. I saw Armstrong castle and the woodland and meadows. The moorlands are beautiful with the heather. I’ve never been in such a beautiful place,” she replied.
“And ye are welcome here,” he replied, as he and Niall McCall dismounted.
He had a strange expression upon his face, one that made Rory feel nervous. He looked Margaret up and do
wn, a smile playing across his lips.
“I am pleased to meet ye, Margaret. Rory here has kept ye locked away this past week, and ye and I havenae been introduced. My name is Niall McCall, a close friend of the Laird,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Close friend indeed …” Rory muttered.
“A … a pleasure to meet ye,” Margaret replied, glancing nervously at Rory.
“I am sure we shall get to know one another better in the comin’ days,” he said, before following the Laird towards the stables.
“What a strange man,” Margaret said, as she and Rory made their way inside.
“A strange man indeed, though I hope harmless enough,” Rory replied, jealous of his father’s insistence on keeping Niall close at hand, his influence growing by the day.
Chapter Seven
Margaret was exploring the castle. It was raining outside, the warm summer days giving way to the first signs of autumn. She had risen early that morning and taken her breakfast before any of the family had got up. Rory was to ride out with his father and Niall McCall that day, and Margaret had decided that it would be an excellent opportunity to see more of the castle.
She was grateful for some time of solitude. She enjoyed Rory’s company a great deal, and it distracted her thoughts, which often turned to the past. She hated their questions and the interest in her history. It was well-meant, of course, but Margaret wanted only to forget her past sorrows and look to the future. Now, as she wandered through the castle, she felt better in her own company, knowing she did not have to guard her thoughts, lest her tongue betray her.
It was an old place, filled with winding passageways and dusty rooms. There were parts of it that she wondered whether anyone had visited in years. She found closed doors and stairways ending abruptly where surely a room or corridor should have been. Spiral staircases led into forgotten turrets, or long galleries hung with faded tapestries.
She had come to the castle’s east wing, where Isla had told her that the castle chapel was situated. Making her way along a passageway from which opened many doors into empty rooms, another doorway caught her eye.
It was different from the others, arched at the top with a coat of arms carved into the stone. The door was made of ancient oak, studded with bolts, with a large handle hanging from its center. Curiosity getting the better of her, Margaret turned the creaky handle to reveal an astonishing room beyond.
It was lined with books, similar to those found in a religious house or monastery. They were old and weighty tomes, covered with the dust of many years neglect. Margaret smiled to herself, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. A pale grey light came from the window, against which the rain continued to fall, and she looked around her with interest at the books, wondering to whom they belonged.
It was a delightful find and a further distraction for Margaret, who had always loved to read and to study. In the past, it had been her way to find solace, for, in the pages of a book, one could forget one’s troubles and feel free. How grateful she was to have stumbled upon such a collection, and she gazed around in joy.
They were mainly religious texts, illuminated bibles, and liturgical works. But amongst them were several histories and documents relating to the clan. She pulled a couple from the shelves, sending up great clouds of dust and opened one on the table, which stood at the center of the room. It was an ancient bible, illuminated beautifully by a skilled hand. She turned the pages carefully, finding the familiar stories and delighting in the illustrations.
“How terrible these are not read or studied,” she said out loud, closing the book and opening another.
This one was a history of the Elliott clan, and she read with interest the Lairds’ ancient names and their deeds and valor in battle.
A history of violence and warfare, she said to herself.
She closed the book and replaced the volumes on the shelves, being careful to leave everything as she had found it. She would ask Rory’s permission to come here and read, the little library a wonderful find amidst the lonely passageways and rooms of that ancient castle.
From the library, she stepped into the chapel, simply furnished, with a picture of the crucifixion above the altar. She stood there for a while, offering up a silent prayer and thanking God for her safe deliverance.
What solace she found there, opening her heart to God, who knew the secrets contained therein. There was a sense of unburdening, as she offered up the troubles and woes of the past, in a place she felt certain had seen many Elliotts on their knees before God.
As she was praying, a noise behind startled her, and she turned to find Rory standing in the doorway.
“Oh … I am sorry, I was just looking and …” she began, but he laughed and stepped into the chapel.
“Ye may look all ye wish, lass,” he said, coming to stand before the altar and bowing his head towards the crucifix.
“I’m not intruding, am I?” she asked, worried in case she had angered him.
“Nae at all. Ye are our guest, more than our guest, ye are like family, ye are welcome here, and anywhere ye wish,” he replied.
“I found the castle library too,” she said, eager to ask if she might spend time there reading.
He looked at her curiously, and she blushed, knowing that her interest in the books must appear strange.
“Ye may read all ye wish, lass, though ye would be the first woman to set foot in that library in many a year. Tis’ rare to find a woman who can read the manuscripts,” he replied.
“I … I like to read, a priest in a nearby village taught me to read when I was younger,” she replied, hoping he would not ask too many further questions.
“Then read all ye wish. I am nae goin’ to stop ye. The library is yers, and ye may wander the castle as much as ye wish,” he said, “but come now, tis’ time to eat. Can ye nae smell the aroma of bread bakin’?” he answered, holding out his arm.
Margaret smiled and took his arm, allowing him to lead her back to the great hall. He was so kind, and she felt guilty for keeping back so much from him. But it was hard to know whom she could she trust, though it seemed Rory was entirely trustworthy. Her fear came from others, from the past and the present, particularly Niall McCall, who had seemed curiously interested in her since the very first moment they had met.
In the great hall, they found Isla and the Laird already eating and Niall McCall just entering to join them. He smiled at Margaret, an unpleasant smile that sent a shiver running through her. He seemed always to be watching her, and she wondered if he knew more than he was letting on. She did not like others knowing more about her than she cared for and was guarded with her words, even though she knew it aroused the curiosity of others. It was an unpleasant feeling to have him watching her, and she knew that Rory was jealous of him.
“They say that a croft was burned on the high marshes last night,” Niall said, as he came to sit down next to the Laird.
Margaret noticed Rory flinch, his eyes darting angrily towards Niall, who seemed daily to take on further responsibility and laud himself as the Laird’s equal.
“I can deal with it,” Rory said, but Niall waved his hand dismissively.
“Tis’ nae for ye to see to, lad. Yer father and I will deal with this,” he said, reaching out for a piece of bread.
“I am quite capable of lookin’ after our own,” Rory replied, scowling at Niall, who laughed.
“Let us handle it, lad. Besides, ye have yer own responsibilities to see to here,” he replied, glancing at Margaret.
She made no reply, turning instead to Rory, who had an angry look upon his face.
“Perhaps we shall walk out to Armstrong castle this afternoon,” she said, trying to settle the situation, but Rory shook his head.
“Nay, lass. I have things to see to,” he replied, and the rest of the meal passed over in silence.
Later that day, Margaret took a walk across the moorlands. Autumn was beginning, and the leaves on the distant trees were ju
st turning. Rory had warned her to be careful walking out alone, for the dangers of the English lay all around, perils that she knew all too well. It was good to be alone with her thoughts again, though she knew that soon the happiness she felt here with Rory and the Elliotts would come to an end. How much longer could she hide here at Kirklinton, away from those who had so wished her harm.
She walked along the path which led towards the village of Lochrutton. Isla had told her that it was here that Fraser once lived with his brother Duncan, working as the smithy in the blacksmith’s workshop. She had been fascinated to hear these tales and the story of how Isla and Fraser had married.
There were many tales about the Elliotts, and she was looking forward to spending time in the library to learn more about the clan. It felt strange to be so welcome and find herself under the protection of the Elliotts. They were good folk, and nothing like their fearsome reputation suggested, a reputation she had heard as a child and had terrified her.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 6