With a cry, he charged through the gates leading a band of his father’s men, determined to route out the English and drive them back across the borders.
“To where are we headin’ now, sir?” one of the soldiers called out, as they rode along the track towards Lochrutton.
“Keep yer eyes on the lookout for any English soldiers. We will take the path to the McBryde castle; I must see Hamish and Evie. They may have further news for us,” Rory called out as they raced across the moorlands.
There was a mist lying over the heathers, and the air was crisp. The first rays of the sun were breaking over the horizon, and the slightest breeze blew across the heathers. Rory kept his wits about him as they rode, knowing that ambush could come at any moment. The path to the McBryde castle was a familiar one, but it was narrow in places, and the horses forced to ride in a single file. Rory led the way, calling back to the men encouragingly and reminding them of their duty.
He was angry with his father for how easily he capitulated to Niall’s decisions. What right did the impostor have to impose his will upon the clan? His father was growing feeble, unable to make decisions. It felt as though Rory had no choice but to defy his father for the good of the clan.
It made him uncomfortable to do so, but what choice did he have? Lives were at stake, and if English soldiers were roaming boldly upon their land, then it was up to Rory to put a stop to it. He would soon prove who was right in their decision, and, as they rode on, he kept an eye on both sides of the path, ready to draw his sword at the faintest sign of trouble.
“Smoke, sir?” one of the soldiers called out, pointing up ahead.
The man was right, through the mist, there rose a billow of black smoke. It came from a croft, its roof all but gone, and the walls blackened and charred. Several peasants gathered around, and they looked fearfully at the approaching horses.
“Tis’ all right, tis’ I, Rory Elliott. Are ye McBryde’s?” Rory asked, for they were now in the territory belonging to Hamish.
“Aye, sir,” one of them said, stepping forward and removing his cloth cap, “it was the English who did this, a raid across the border. We have seen nay trouble these years past. But all of a sudden, they came.”
The women were crying, one was nursing a baby, and a young boy was sitting shaking with fear by a little fire, kindled at what remained of the front of the croft. Rory dismounted from his horse, reaching into the saddlebag and drawing out some bread and a purse of coins.
“I didnae expect to find such sufferin’ else I would have brought more. I will tell yer Laird what I have seen, and I am sure that he and my sister will see ye well provided. We will have revenge for this, I promise,” Rory said.
“The Musgraves are a wicked family, the English are barbarians,” the man said, spitting to the ground as he took the bread and coins.
“Ye speak the truth,” Rory replied, climbing back onto his horse, “come now, men, we ride on.”
They continued along the path, leaving the peasants to try and salvage something of their broken lives. Rory was shocked by the barbarity of the English. He hated them, and his heart set upon revenge. There was no time for weakness or cowardice. He would not stay hidden behind the walls of his father’s castle, waiting for the inevitability of attack.
If that is what Niall McCall wishes for then so be it, he said to himself, as they crossed the brow of the hill looking down to the McBryde castle below.
“The English wouldnae attack the McBryde’s, would they?” one of the soldiers asked.
Rory shook his head.
“They are a strong clan, but remember yer history. The McBryde’s were once our sworn enemies, and the English were their allies. Of all the Scottish Lairds tis’ Hamish McBryde they hate the most, followed closely by us. Our alliance has brought peace to the borders through our strength, but at the cost of making us hated by every English tongue for a hundred miles each way from here,” Rory said.
His childhood had been fraught with the danger of the Musgraves. They were an idle threat that his mother would use when he and his siblings were misbehaving, and it was a name to be feared on his father’s lips. The story of his parent’s escape from the castle of Sir Percy Musgrave and his sister’s brush with death at the hands of Isabella Musgrave had meant that Rory always possessed a healthy fear of the wicked family that lived south of the border.
He had no desire for war with the Musgraves, for he knew such a thing would lead only to death and defeat. The Elliotts were not strong enough to fight an all-out war. But they had the advantage of their alliances and the geography of the borders. Raiding parties could be ambushed in the woodlands and on the moorlands and armies could be set upon from craggy rocks on high and in mountainous passes. The English, with their discipline and arrogant self-belief, were nothing compared to the fearless and noble warriors of the Scots, a fact that kept peace upon the border.
“I can see one of the patrols comin’ back now, sir,” the soldier said, pointing down to the McBryde castle, where ten or so riders were galloping along the track which led south.
“And I am sure that my brother in law is amongst them,” Rory said, as he led his men down the side of the hill towards the castle.
As they approached the gates, Rory could see Hamish and several of his men deep in conversation. They looked up when the call of the approaching Elliotts came, and Rory saw the grim look on Hamish’s face.
“Ah, tis’ good to see ye. This is a troublin’ thing and make nay mistake,” Hamish said, “The English have burned several crofts on the south path. I havenae seen them so bold in a long time.”
“We passed a family whose croft had been burned. I told them I would make ye aware,” Rory said.
“Aye, I shall ride up there later on. I’m surprised that yer father has nae ridden out with ye, or is his health failin’ once again? Evie believes he’s nae long for this world,” Hamish said, shaking his head.
“The Laird has taken counsel from other quarters,” Rory said, shaking his head.
“Niall McCall? Aye, tis’ a name we hear more and more often and one I would wish never to hear again,” Hamish added, angrily.
“He has the Laird’s ear,” Rory said.
“Ye talk about yer father as though he were nae yer father at all,” Hamish said, and Rory sighed.
“I wonder sometimes. Every day he grows more under the spell of a man about whom we know nothin’. He’s come from nowhere and is suddenly everythin’ to us,” Rory replied.
They made their way through the castle gates, where a small detachment of soldiers was preparing to ride out. The castle’s defenses had been improved in recent years, with a high wall running around the farmhouse with a lookout tower above.
Animals were scratching the dirt, and a blacksmith was shoeing several horses in the corner of the courtyard. It appeared that Hamish was preparing for the worst, quite unlike the preparations at Kirklinton, which seemed tantamount to surrender.
A few moments later, the door to the farmhouse opened, and Evie came running out to greet her brother. She had one of the children in her arms, and her face looked worried and tear-stained.
“Rory, thank goodness ye have come. We were worried for news of Kirklinton. Hamish sent riders there earlier on, but we have heard nothin’ until ye came,” she said, as he embraced her.
“Father has decided to defend the keep rather than to ride out and fight,” Rory said, and Evie looked at him in surprise.
“We expected a detachment of men. If the Musgraves attack, then it will be here first,” she said, clutching the child tightly to her and looking nervously towards the gates.
“Father even wished to prevent me from ridin’ out this mornin’, but I came anyway,” Rory said, explaining the events surrounding their father and Niall McCall.
“These are testin’ times, Rory and make nay mistake,” Evie replied, “we must be vigilant if we are to prevent the English from takin’ a foothold in our territory. We cannae allow th
em to dictate their terms to us. The Musgraves cannae be trusted; they are wicked people. We have all known that to our peril.”
Rory agreed. He would see the English sent back over the borders, and their defenses increased if only his father would approve. There could be any number of English soldiers across the border, and he thought how close he had been to death on the road to Lanercost.
“If it had nae been for Margaret, then I would have perished at their hands. Father doesnae seem to understand that,” Rory said, shaking his head.
“Then ye must make him understand. Forget Niall McCall. He is nae to be Laird, ye are. Tis’ ye who are to inherit and ye who are to be responsible for the clan. Niall McCall will disappear when that day comes,” Evie said, and Hamish nodded in agreement.
They talked a while longer, and Rory shared a simple breakfast with them, assuring Hamish that he would persuade his father to send soldiers to reinforce the road south. He was glad to have seen Evie too, and when he was ready to leave, she stepped out with him into the courtyard, where the horses were ready to depart, and the soldiers standing idly in the sunshine.
“What of Margaret? Will ye send her my love? I trust that her lessons with the children are goin’ well?” Evie asked, and Rory nodded.
“She is well, though … well, I daenae know what to make of her,” he said, as his sister looked at him in surprise.
“What dae ye mean? She is a good and kindly person. The two of ye are well-matched, well-suited.”
“And what dae ye mean by that?” Rory asked, blushing a little and turning away.
“Come now, Rory. Ye spent enough time at her bedside when she was recoverin’, and there is nay sign of her departin’ from Kirklinton anytime soon. There is nothin’ wrong with ye bein’ attracted to her. Tis’ good for ye, it will take yer mind off Caitlin,” Evie said, slipping her arm through Rory’s, as they made their way towards the horses.
“Margaret is … a puzzle. I hardly know her. There is somethin’ she is keepin’ from me, somethin’ she hasnae told me,” Rory replied.
“We all have things we would rather nae tell others, Rory. Think of Hamish and me. I tried my best to hide who I was from him, as he did from me. I wanted him to fall in love with me, nae be scared away by my name and whose daughter I was. Mother and father, too, they were kept apart for a secret, the secret of who our father truly was. We all keep secrets, Rory. Margaret is a good and kindly person. She saved yer life, and now she is tryin’ to educate the children. What else could ye ask of her?”
“I … there was an incident,” Rory said, blushing deeply.
“What did ye dae, Rory? Did ye declare yer love for her like ye did with Caitlin and try to kiss her?” Evie asked, and Rory nodded.
“Aye, in the forest by the pool where we used to swim when we were children.”
“And she spurned ye?”
“For a moment, nay. But then it seemed she changed her mind. We kissed, and then she ran from me. That was yesterday, and I havenae spoken with her since,” Rory replied.
“Then speak with her again. Explain yer feelin’s for her, but daenae try and force the issue. There may be things she hasnae told ye. But if what she says is true, then she has lived through trauma. The English burnt her family’s croft, they killed her parents, and would have killed her too if she hadnae fled from them. Perhaps she simply needs some time to grieve and come to terms with such an awful thing.”
Rory knew his sister was right. She had always been a wise counselor, and even in her younger days, when her temper was fiery and her ways wayward, she had always been a friend to him. He trusted her advice and knew that her words were true. Margaret had secrets, just like anyone else, and it would be up to her when she revealed them.
He wanted to speak with her there and then, and bid his sister goodbye, mounting his horse and rallying the soldiers for their return to Kirklinton. The sun was nearing its noon point, and a breeze blew tufts of white cloud across the moorlands.
On such a day, it was hard to imagine an English threat lurked below the borders, but, as they rode back to Kirklinton, passing the burnt-out croft once again, Rory knew the threat was ever-present. They saw no signs of the English, not even a scout in the distance on horseback, and Rory wondered how great the danger was. But Hamish and Evie seemed worried, and he was determined to be on his guard, lest the English take the opportunity to attack.
“Nothin’ for miles around, sir,” one of the soldiers said, as they came within sight of the castle.
“The English are cowards, their scouts wouldnae attack us in numbers such as these,” he said, remembering back to his ambush on the way to Lanercost.
“Still, I will feel better back inside the walls of Kirklinton,” the soldier said.
“Walls daenae always protect ye, nae when the danger lurks within as well as out,” Rory replied, as they rode towards the gates.
He would go at once to find Margaret. He knew he must speak and make her understand his feelings. But how would she react? Would she even see him, let alone discuss such a matter? It worried him to think what might have happened in his absence, had Niall McCall spoken with her? Had he turned her against him?
As they rode through the gates, Rory’s heart was heavy. He felt the burden of duty, both to his clan and to Margaret. Would she accept his words, let alone his apology?
There was no sign of his father or Niall McCall in the courtyard, and the gates were closed. A strong guard watched from the walls, but there had been no sight of English soldiers. The day had been quiet, and it seemed the danger was past.
But Rory heeded his words to the soldier. It was not only on the moorlands and across the borders where danger lurked. It lay waiting here, in the form of a man who had too much power and influence over his father. If Rory had distrusted Niall McCall before, he did so even more now, and, as he entered the keep, he could not help but wonder what fresh treachery he might find or subtle attempt to manipulate his father.
I willnae stand for it any longer, he told himself, pausing to look back across the courtyard and up to the battlements.
Kirklinton was to be his, and he, not Niall McCall, would decide its fate.
Chapter Twelve
Margaret remained inside the walls of Kirklinton for much of the day. Isla warned her against going out, despite her desire to see the children in Lochrutton.
She decided to continue teaching the scriptures, and it helped to occupy her mind after the worries of the previous day. The young woman watched as Rory rode out that morning and discovered later from Isla that English scouts had been seen north of the border.
It worried her to think that the English were abroad, concerned about what their intentions might be. Would they mount an assault upon Kirklinton, or would they be content with terrorizing the peasants and burning their crofts? Suddenly, it seemed that life was uncertain and dangerous once again. If the English soldiers recognized her, then it would be the worse for her, she knew what would happen if they captured her and the fate awaiting her south of the border. It would mean certain death, and she could not help but wonder if the Elliotts could protect her from a fate that was surely hers.
She had behaved foolishly with Rory, and now it seemed the castle was under threat. Thoughts about leaving occupied her mind, packing a bag, and slipping from the castle while the Laird and the Elliotts held their war council. But once again, the question remained, where would she go? It was far safer here, keeping secrets, than risking her life outside of the walls at the hands of the English.
It was the afternoon when she heard the sound of horses below in the courtyard. She had remained in her chambers for much of the day, not wishing to court Niall McCall’s advances, who skulked around the castle and eyed her unpleasantly. She had kept the door locked for fear of his intrusion, going downstairs only to eat and pass the time with Isla.
The Laird’s wife had told her that she was planning a feast in the coming weeks. It would be a gathering of the clansmen
along the border and a show of strength at a difficult time. Isla had promised Margaret that she would be amongst the honored guests and would sit on the high table close to Rory.
“We need somethin’ to cheer us in dark times,” Isla said, as Margaret finished her midday meal, “I often feel like a helpless woman. I cannae fight, I cannae ride out, I am stuck here in this castle. But there are small things which I can dae, and this is one of them. I will send out riders when the way is clear, and ye shall see the castle come alive when the clans gather here.”
Margaret had little desire for such an occasion. She did not know who would be in attendance and what expectations placed upon her. If anything, the news of such a feast caused her to think of fleeing all the more. But she knew how saddened Rory would be if she did and how she would also feel the pain of separation. Despite the secrets, her heart still yearned for Rory, and she cursed herself for having been so foolish as to flee from his embrace.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 11