A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3)

by Kenna Kendrick

  She had heard such tales from the others of the Laird’s strength in times gone by, of the battles he had fought, and the victories he had won. But now, he seemed almost a shadow of those stories, and it was clear that his strength was failing.

  All the while, Niall McCall seemed to be hovering in the background, Margaret had no trust in him. She disliked him and hated the way he looked at her. It was as though he were always suspicious of her, questioning her and trying to catch her out. She was determined to avoid him as much as possible, but in the confines of the castle, that was no easy task.

  “Ah, Margaret, dear. Rory tells me that the plans for the schoolin’ of the children are goin’ well and that ye are to have yer first lesson soon,” Isla said, laying aside her ball of wool.

  “The Laird has kindly agreed to allow me to use the library for my lessons,” she replied, “we will begin tomorrow. I will go to Lochrutton and bring the children here.”

  “And perhaps they would like somethin’ to eat while they are here?” Isla asked, “I can see to that. Tis’ too long since the castle rang with the sound of children’s voices.”

  “That would be very kind, thank you,” Margaret said, smiling at Isla.

  She liked her very much; she liked all of the Elliotts, the noble Laird, his kindly wife, the gentle Caitlin, and the holy Owen. But foremost in her mind was Rory, the man she was growing fonder of by the day. Despite her best efforts to push her feelings deep down and to ignore the growing ache in her heart, it felt confusing, what were these feelings? Surely she wasn’t falling in love?

  “There now, all is prepared,” Rory said, as the two of them stepped out into the courtyard a few moments later.

  “Yes, I just hope it is a success. I am sure it will be,” she replied.

  Margaret bid Rory goodbye shortly after breakfast the next day. She had hardly slept the night before and was worried about the day ahead. The more she thought of it, the more doubts crept into her mind, and she wondered if she was truly capable of teaching the children as she believed.

  It had always been her dream, and, as she made her way along the track towards Lochrutton, she offered up a prayer of hope for all that was to come. Rory had been encouraging, but once again, Niall had sneered at her attempts and laughed when she had told him she intended to do her very best for the children.

  He had followed her out into the courtyard, but she had been thankful that Rory had come to bid her goodbye and that Niall had had no chance to offer further discouragement. Instead, he had watched her leave, a sneer on his face. Now, she walked alone towards the village, where the bell of the kirk was tolling for Mass.

  As she passed the blacksmith, he waved to her, and several of the peasants greeted her too. She had become known in the village over the past few days, and, as she came to the kirk, she found only Elsa and two of her brothers there, playing with sticks by the well.

  “Elsa? Where are your friends and your sisters? Were they not to join us for our lessons?” Margaret had been diligent in informing the priest and others of her intentions.

  They had promised to tell the children, but it seemed that none of the others had come, and with only three children to teach, Margaret felt somewhat disappointed.

  “They have their chores to dae,” Elsa replied, shrugging her shoulders.

  “But I promised to teach them all,” Margaret said, just as the door to the kirk opened and the elderly priest appeared.

  “I told ye, lass, ye cannae teach these children,” he said, shaking his head and laughing.

  It angered Margaret to hear his words, and her sorrow was replaced by a determination to prove him wrong.

  “I will begin with the children here, we shall have a fine time, come now,” she said, holding out her hand to Elsa.

  The two younger boys were named Callum and Byrne, and brothers to Elsa, and they happily followed as Margaret led them through the village.

  “What will we learn?” Elsa said, scuffing her well-worn shoes in the mud as they walked.

  “Firstly, the Bible, stories, and tales from the faith, history too, and all manner of things. I can teach you a great deal,” she replied, smiling at them all.

  They paused several times on the walk back to Kirklinton. Margaret pointed up to a hawk flying above, explaining to the children how it would dive for its prey and telling them to imagine themselves as birds looking down upon the landscape.

  “I would fly to England,” Callum said, opening his arms and swooshing across the heathers.

  “You are far better off here,” Margaret said, laughing at the sight of the little boy with his arms outstretched.

  “What is England like?” he asked, “our mother says tis’ a wicked place, filled with sinful men and women.”

  “She would not be so wrong about that,” Margaret replied, sighing, and thinking back to her memories of life below the border, an unhappy thought to entertain, “come now, we must be getting back to the castle. You are to have a hot meal after your lessons and bread to take home with you.”

  The mention of the food seemed to hurry the children along, and they soon arrived at the gates of Kirklinton, where Rory was waiting to greet them.

  “Rory, Rory, I was a hawk,” Callum called out, running to greet the Laird to be, his arms open in flight once again.

  “Where ye now, my wee lad, then ye should be flyin’ over the castle walls, nae comin’ through the gate,” Rory said, taking the little boy in his arms and carrying him across the courtyard.

  Margaret followed with Elsa and Byrne, and they were soon making their way through the castle corridors to the library. A fire had been kindled, and the books lay open on the table. The children looked around in amazement, and Margaret smiled to see the delight on their faces.

  “The old priest said I should not have bothered with only three,” Margaret said, as she and Rory stood watching the children’s fascination.

  “He is always a naysayer and never happy,” Rory replied, shaking his head.

  “I will make do with what we have. Three children are better than none, and if each goes back to Lochrutton a little wiser today, then I shall have done my duty,” she replied.

  “Then I will return when their food is ready,” Rory said, smiling at her, “goodbye, children, ye be good for Margaret now.”

  The children waved Rory goodbye, and Margaret smiled as she watched him leave. He was such a good and kind man, patient to the last, and she found herself distracted by thoughts of him as the children sat around the table, opening one of the Bibles to the story of King Solomon.

  I wish I didn’t have to keep these secrets from him, she thought to herself, wanting so badly to tell him the truth but knowing she couldn’t

  “Now, children, what stories can you tell me, I have a special one for you to learn today,” she began.

  Chapter Nine

  Rory smiled to himself as he closed the library door behind him. Margaret was certainly a force to be reckoned with, and it seemed that when she set her mind to something, she accomplished it without fail.

  As the days went by, he found himself falling further under her charms, his thoughts betraying him more and more. He thought of her first thing each morning and the last thing at night, beguiled by her beauty and the mystery surrounding her.

  She was something of a puzzle to him, her sudden appearance on the path to Lanercost, her soft and almost English accent, how she avoided speaking of the past. He believed her story, but there seemed to be something she was hiding from him. Something dark buried deep within her.

  On the surface, she seemed happy and contented. But several times in the past days, he’d caught her gazing wistfully into the distance or seen a tear in her eyes. She always shrugged such things off, dismissed them as grieving over her parents, from whose death her emotions were still raw. But there was more to this mystery than what she told him, and, as the days went by, he found himself dwelling further upon the secret of who she truly was.

  Th
e children would be about their lessons for the next few hours, and he decided to pay a visit to his father, hoping to find him alone and without the company of Niall McCall. He had become something of a constant presence in their lives, another mystery, for it was uncertain where he came from and what his purpose was. Rory knew that his father trusted Niall, but for what reason?

  He sighed, making his way up the narrow spiral staircase, which led to his father’s chambers. The Laird had taken to resting more often of late and, where once he would have been the first to ride out each day, he was now spending more and more time at Kirklinton, the affairs of the clan left untended.

  As Rory arrived at the door to his father’s chambers, he could hear voices coming from inside, and with anger, he realized that Niall McCall was already there. He paused, listening at the door, trying to listen to what was said.

  “Tis’ the only way ye shall dae it,” Niall was saying, “higher taxes will secure the clan for a generation.”

  “But I cannae tax these good folks further. They already pay their dues for my protection, and to ask more seems unfair,” Rory’s father replied.

  “But there are threats on every side, Laird,” Niall replied, and Rory could hear the anger growing in his voice.

  “And threats cannae be prevented simply by money, Niall,” his father answered.

  Rory smiled. He was glad to hear his father standing up to Niall. It had seemed so often as though the old man was capitulating to the impostor, but Rory knew his father’s strength, and though his body might be weakening, it seemed his soul was not. But still, Rory did not know why his father simply did not send the man away, thanking him for his services and trusting in Rory instead.

  “Tis’ a mistake, Laird,” Rory heard Niall say, and he shrank back against the wall, as footsteps crossed his father’s chambers.

  The door was flung open, and Niall stomped down the stairs, slamming the door behind him - without seeing Rory, who now paused before he knocked. Why was Niall so concerned about taxing the clansmen? His father was right; it would only cause anger and division amongst the clan, hardly a wise decision given the threats which lay on all sides. Rory waited a few moments before knocking at the door and listening for his father’s bidding.

  “Ah, Rory,” his father said as Rory opened the door and stepped inside.

  His father’s chambers were furnished with exquisite pieces of furniture and tapestries hung upon the walls, and the window looked out across the moorlands towards Lochrutton. The older man sat by the fire, his legs stretched out, with his hands resting on his stomach. He looked old, his hair greying, and his expression weary. But he still had that same twinkle in his eye, which Rory remembered from childhood, and he knew that his father’s heart was still that of a mighty Laird, even if his body was growing weaker with age.

  “I am nae distrubin’ ye, am I father?” Rory asked, and the older man shook his head.

  “Nay, Rory, though I am ashamed to say that I am tired, even at this early hour in the day,” his father replied, sitting up in his chair.

  “I saw Niall just now, descendin’ the stairs,” Rory said, and his father nodded.

  “Aye, tryin’ to have me raise taxes for the peasants. I will nae dae it, Rory, and I urge ye when ye are Laird to take care of the folks and nae cause them hardship.”

  “Why is Niall here, father? He does nothin’ but cause trouble and division amongst the clan. The soldiers mutter against him, he knows nothin’ of wise governance, and he … he does nae take his eyes from Margaret,” Rory said, his anger rising.

  But his father simply laughed and shook his head.

  “Tis’ yer jealousy that makes ye see more in Niall than is there. He saved my life, and I find him a good and faithful counsel in these difficult times,” his father added.

  “But am I nae yer counsel, father?” Rory replied, trying to control his temper at the thought of how close Niall and the Laird had grown.

  “Aye, and my heir, but it seems ye are jealous of Niall, nae because he is a loyal servant of mine but because he has an eye on Margaret. Am I right?” his father asked.

  Rory blushed. He had seen too often how Niall looked at Margaret. It was a look of desire, of need, and a want to possess. It was not the look of affection or love, but the look of one who covets and intends to have what he wants, whether the other wishes it or not. It was unpleasant, a look that presented a danger and which Rory was determined to protect Margaret from at all costs.

  “I am attracted to Margaret, and any man would be father,” Rory replied, embarrassed at admitting the thoughts which had been rising in his heart.

  “Then ye have yer answer then. Ye find fault in Niall nae for anythin’ he has done to usurp yer position, one which is assured, but because ye see him a threat to yer desire for the lass ye have brought into our midst. Jealousy is unbecomin’ Rory, and ye would dae well to guard yerself against it.”

  Rory scowled. He hated to be the brunt of his father’s displeasure and sought to please him in all things. Was the Laird right? Was it his jealousy of Niall’s desire for Margaret, which was clouding his judgment? But there was more to it than that. There was more to Niall McCall than his father realized, and Rory was determined to be vigilant against his threat.

  “Tis’ nae just that, father. We daenae know anythin’ about Niall, who he is or where he comes from. How can we trust him?” Rory said, but his father simply shook his head.

  “Rory, I am wearied of such talk. Leave me now, I am tired,” he said, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes.

  Rory made no reply, turning on his heels and heading for the door. But, on the threshold, he paused and turned to his father again.

  “I am to be Laird, father, and when I am the first person to leave this castle will be Niall McCall, ye mark my words,” Rory said, and for the second time that day, the door to his father’s chambers slammed shut.

  Rory stalked through the castle corridors, his mind filled with murderous thoughts against Niall. How dare he make advances towards Margaret and look at her in such a way? It was terrible wickedness, and Rory feared for Margaret’s safety if he were not there to protect her.

  He made his way into the great hall, where he found his mother and several of the servants making preparations for the children’s meal. She smiled at him, though the look on his face caused her to pause, a questioning glance in her eyes.

  “Is all well, Rory? The children are happy?” she asked, and Rory nodded.

  “Aye, mother, the children are with Margaret in the library and about their lessons. Tis’ father I worry about,” Rory replied.

  “Yer father is nae a well man, Rory. Whatever he claims to the contrary. His strength is givin’ way, and soon he will fail,” his mother replied, a shadow passing over her face.

  “And then we shall have Niall McCall to deal with,” Rory said, shaking his head.

  “A bridge we shall cross when it comes,” his mother replied.

  “So, ye see it too?” Rory asked, and his mother sighed.

  “I see an ambitious man, a man who believes he can find the power behind the throne, and a man whom we would dae well to keep our eyes on,” she said, “but a danger? Nay, Rory. Just a man, amongst others. Tis’ ye who are to be Laird and daenae let Niall McCall worry ye. Now, we have the children to see to,” his mother said, and she began to bustle around the tables, just as the servants brought a large cauldron of soup to warm over the fire.

  Rory made his way from the great hall and down to the courtyard. He could see old Sweeney tending to the horses in the stables and his father’s guard making their patrol of the battlements. He breathed deeply, imagining the time when all this would be his. It was an awesome responsibility, one which he both longed for and feared. His father’s death was drawing near; he could see it in his eyes and how he’d become withdrawn and restless. Death was coming to Kirklinton, and with death, there would be change, dramatic change.

  It worried Rory to think of
it. He could remember the death of his grandfather and the sudden responsibility it had placed upon his father’s shoulders. That day had been a dark one for his father, and he knew it would be a dark day for him too. He tried to push the thought aside and bury it, but try as he might, it remained.

  He wondered how he would bear the responsibility of being Laird, though he knew himself to be healthy and ready for the burden, which would be his. There was still much he needed to learn, but much which couldn’t be taught either. It would only be when the responsibility was his that he would come to know the full weight of the Laird’s task and become master of his destiny.

  He returned inside, just as the sounds of hysterical laughter came from the corridor leading to the library and chapel. He waited as Elsa, and her two brothers came running happily towards him, followed by Margaret, who appeared somewhat exhausted.