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

by Kenna Kendrick

  Now, she glanced from her chamber window, to see Rory and the soldiers returning. Should she go to him? Or would he be hurrying to see his father and tell the news of what had transpired? Had he encountered the English? Had there been a battle?

  The questions whirled around her mind, and she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, before making her way downstairs. She took the longer route past the library, having no desire to encounter Niall McCall on the stairs and came at last to a door into the courtyard, just as Rory was entering.

  “Margaret, I …” he began, blushing a little, wishing their encounter could be at a different time.

  “You have things to do, Rory, we will speak later,” she said, but he shook his head.

  “Nay lass, come and speak with me now, I have wanted to speak with ye,” he said, beckoning her to follow him.

  Now was the moment of decision, what should she tell him? How should she react? They walked in silence for a moment, as several soldiers hurried past them, and came at last to the library door. It was open; the books from the children’s lesson still spread out on the table.

  They stepped inside, and Rory closed the door behind them. She turned to him and smiled, feeling the awkwardness of the situation between them. The air felt heavy and tense, and she could tell that Rory had been brooding long and hard upon his words. But she knew what had to be done, despite the heartbreak of its contemplation.

  “Rory I …” she began, but he raised his hand.

  “Margaret, I am sorry for my behavior by the pool in the forest. I shouldnae have behaved as I did. I am sorry.”

  “I am far from blameless,” she replied, feeling her heart wrench as she spoke.

  “Nay, but … ye are a guest in this castle, and it was wrong of me to assume otherwise that ye may …” he began, his words faltering.

  “You do not have to apologize, Rory. I am sorry if you felt … well …” she said, unsure of herself. Margaret could not help but think of his love for Caitlin and the jealousy it aroused in her.

  Her feelings for him were strong, and the more time she spent with him, the more intense her feelings became. She longed for him, wanted him to take her in his arms, as he had done before. But if he knew the truth, the secret she held then surely he would cast her aside.

  “My mother is to hold a feast, has she told ye?” he asked, and Margaret nodded.

  “Yes, I am to sit with ye on the high table. She will invite nobles from the clans along the borders. It is to be a show of strength. Tell me, Rory, you were not in danger today, were you?” she asked, and he shook his head.

  “We saw nothin’ of the English, nae a sign of them. They are cowards; they hide and lurk away. They have nay honor,” he replied, his face growing suddenly angry.

  It seemed that neither of them could express the true feelings of their hearts. Margaret longed to tell him how she felt, and Rory too seemed to struggle to find the words. Instead, they talked of his journey to the McBrydes’ castle and finding the peasants with their burnt-out croft. He told her of Evie and Hamish and how he hoped his father would soon see sense.

  “These are dangerous times,” she said, and he nodded.

  “And that is why … well, perhaps why I behaved so foolishly. I realize I am nae the man that ye seek, Margaret and that it wasnae right for me to kiss ye when ye are still grievin’ for the loss of yer parents. I am sorry,” he said, glancing at her with a look of embarrassment.

  “Think nothin’ of it, you are a good man, Rory,” she said, reaching out her hand and taking his.

  She smiled at him, a shiver running through her.

  “You have done so much for me, but you are right. I am still grieving for the loss of my parents; the wounds of the past are still raw and open. Perhaps … well, perhaps…”

  She could not bring herself to dismiss him, to pretend that there was no love in her heart. She had never felt for a man as she did for Rory Elliott. But how could she tell him? How could she reveal the truth of her past? Her heart would break to hear his cruel words of dismissal and to feel his hatred if the truth were known.

  “Then ye shall be my guest at the feast?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “I will,” she replied, still nervous about the prospect, but knowing there was little choice but to accept.

  Together, they returned to the great hall, where the Laird and Niall McCall were deep in conversation. As they entered, the Laird looked up, angrily.

  “So, ye return, despite my instructions nae to leave Kirklinton,” he snarled at Rory, who stood his ground.

  “And had I nae done so more lives would have been in danger, father,” Rory replied, “I found burned crofts, terrified peasants and Hamish and Evie wonderin’ why ye didnae send help when it was needed.”

  “I took my counsel,” the Laird replied, glancing at Niall, who nodded.

  “Aye, and that counsel is of nay concern to me, father,” Rory said, “come, Margaret, I daenae have to listen to this stupidity.”

  “Ye will speak with me, Rory,” his father shouted after him, as he began to cough and splutter, but Rory paid no attention.

  Margaret glanced at Niall, his face set in a grimace. She loathed him and the power he held over her. How dare he take on the role of confidant to the Laird, pushing Rory aside as though he did not matter. She gave him a withering glance, before turning and following Rory outside.

  In the courtyard, he led Margaret towards the castle gardens, which lay through a gate in the curtain wall below the keep. They were fragrant in the afternoon sun, the smell of herbs and roses permeating the air, and together they sat on a seat beneath the ivy growing up the castle walls. It was Isla who tended the gardens, and Margaret felt enchanted by the beauty of her creation, sat amid the wilderness of the borderlands.

  Rory placed his head in his hands and breathed deeply. Margaret could see the strain on his face, and it pained her to see him so upset. He was a strong and noble, as far removed from Niall McCall, with his scraggy unkempt beard and wiry frame, as possible. Yet it was to Niall and not to Rory, whom the Laird turned to for counsel. How shameful that must feel to Rory, treated as second best. He was his father’s heir, but it seemed that his father preferred the company of a stranger to that of his son.

  “I am a fool, Margaret,” he said, shaking his head wearily.

  “You are no fool, Rory. Your father has been taken in by Niall McCall. The Laird is a great man, but has been manipulated by this man, and it’s clear that trouble lies ahead. Anyone can see that you were right to ride out this morning and to seek the English on your lands. That is what a Laird does, he protects his people,” she said, and for the second time that day took his hand in hers.

  “And when my father dies? Am I to be Laird, or will Niall McCall seek to challenge me? He already gives orders to the men. Will they follow him or me?” Rory said.

  “They will be loyal to you, I am certain,” Margaret replied, but Rory shook his head.

  “These are dangerous times, Margaret. Perhaps … perhaps tis’ better if ye were to leave,” he said, turning to her and sighing, his face sad and drawn.

  “And where would I go, Rory? I have nowhere, and you know that. No, I have made my choice, and as long as you will have me here, then I will stay. The children need their lessons and you … you need a friend,” she replied.

  He smiled and nodded, letting out a deep sigh once again, as together they sat in silence beneath the ivy-clad wall. The gardens were green and filled with life, but Margaret could not help but feel a sense of foreboding hanging over them. There was a tension in the air, and above them on the battlements, the soldiers watched and waited.

  Would it be an army of invaders? Would the Musgraves descend upon them with all the force they possessed? Or would life at Kirklinton continue, despite the threat of scouts and raiders? These were uncertain times, and Margaret was glad to be allowed to remain there. Whatever the secrets of her past, she knew that in Rory, she had the closest of friends. But, in he
r heart, she felt her feelings growing ever stronger, and wondered if the day would ever come when the kiss they had shared, that moment of delight, would ever be something more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A week went by, and the threat from the English appeared to subside. There were no further reports of English scouts crossing the borders, nor of farms and crofts of the peasants being burnt. Rory and his father seemed to come to a truce on the matter, and the Laird agreed to allow Rory to patrol the moorlands between Kirklinton and Lochrutton.

  Each day, Margaret watched as Rory and his men rode out to patrol. She would stand at her chamber window and follow their progress along the path leading to Lochrutton. There, she would wait, until he disappeared into the distance, before going to her duties, having him on her mind throughout the day.

  She had gathered several other children into her little band, and now there seven of them who made the walk from Lochrutton to attend her classes. She taught them several stories from the Bible by rote, and they knew something about the history of their clan and its noble deeds.

  The task kept her well occupied, and she barely had time to think of her situation. But, all the while, the impending English threat hung over Kirklinton, and she could see the strain under which the Laird now found himself. He was broody and argumentative, barely exchanging a few words during their meals together and showing little interest in anything except the castle’s defenses.

  All the while, Niall McCall was present in the background. Margaret knew that he was watching her, making her increasingly uncomfortable. But what could she do about it? If Rory could not get rid of the stranger in their midst, then she had no hope of doing so. She knew that Isla disliked him and the servants whispered insults behind his back.

  But Niall McCall was a powerful man, one whom it would be dangerous to cross. He influenced the Laird, and his words were taken to heart by the older man who depended heavily upon the cuckoo in the nest. To tell Isla of Niall’s advances, to make a scene and demand punishment would be to risk everything. She knew she had no choice but to keep quiet and endure the unpleasant proximity of the man she feared and longed to see banished from the castle.

  Margaret kept herself to herself, teaching the children and spending her evenings with Rory. It was now the day of the feast, and she watched as usual while Rory and his men rode out on patrol. There were no lessons that day, and instead, she agreed to help Isla with the final preparations for the feast.

  She was torn between her desire to attend and fear of who she might encounter. But to refuse would be an insult, and after all the kindness the Elliotts had shown her, Margaret felt she had little choice. Having dressed and made herself ready, she made her way down to the great hall, where Isla was already busy instructing the servants in their preparations.

  “Oh, there ye are, Margaret. I have been waitin’ for ye. There is much to dae. The first of the guests will arrive at noon,” Isla said, as the servants carried in a large barrel of ale.

  “I was just watching Rory ride out with the men,” Margaret said, and Isla smiled.

  “Ye watch him ride out every day, lass. Tis’ a kindness, one I am sure he appreciates.”

  “You have all been so kind to me,” Margaret said, as she and Isla began their tasks.

  “But ye and Rory … ye could be the closest of friends, more so,” Isla said, smiling at Margaret, who blushed.

  “Yes … but … it is … complicated,” Margaret replied.

  “But it does nae have to be. Love does nae have to be complicated. To love is simple when the two of ye are in love,” Isla said, causing Margaret to blush.

  She knew she was in love with Rory; her feelings grew stronger by the day. But alongside them came an ever-greater sense of foreboding and the knowledge that the pretense she was under could not last. Eventually, the truth would be discovered, and the deeper she became entwined with the lives of the Elliotts, the more devastating it would be.

  “Perhaps,” Margaret said, just as the doors to the great hall opened, and Niall McCall came striding in, glancing at Margaret with an odd expression on his face, and making the girl feel most uncomfortable.

  “Ah, there ye are,” he said to Isla, who shot him an angry look.

  “Ye are lookin’ for me, Niall?”

  “Aye, the Laird wants ye, come now,” he said.

  “The Laird is my husband. I shall go to him when I wish, and we have never been at one another’s command. Ours is a love that cannae be understood by someone like ye. I shall come to him, but nae at yer biddin’ nor his. I shall come because I wish to see him. I trust he is prepared for the feast tonight?” Isla said as she followed Niall from the great hall.

  Margaret felt the anger rising inside her once again. She hated Niall McCall and the terrible way in which he was driving a wedge between the family. How dare he speak to Isla in such a way? He was nothing but a little man, with power beyond his means, and the sooner he was gone, the better.

  Margaret spent the morning assisting with the preparations, and, by noon, when the first guests arrived, the great hall was ready for the feast. A long table was set lengthways and a high table erected in front of the fireplace. The banners and flags of the clan hung gaily, and barrels of ale and whiskey tapped in preparation. The castle filled with the smell of roasting meat and baking bread, and Margaret found herself looking forward to the feast, despite her misgivings.

  After a simple lunch of bread and cheese, she returned to her chambers. From there, she watched the arrival of the nobles, who traveled in retinue. She could see them coming along the track, which led from Kirklinton, and amongst them, she was delighted to see Rory’s uncle Duncan and his brother Owen. They dressed in their distinctive habits, and she hurried down to greet them, forgetting her reticence at being recognized by others.

  “Owen, Duncan,” she called out, “perhaps you do not recognize me?”

  But the two monks smiled broadly and nodded, as she embraced them both in turn.

  “How could we forget ye, lass?” Duncan replied, “ye saved my life and caused nay end of trouble for our dear infirmarians at Lanercost.”

  Margaret blushed, but she was pleased to see them, and the two monks were interested to hear of her time at Kirklinton since arriving there from Lanercost.

  “Old father McKilley will be cross,” Duncan said, laughing, “he has tried to teach those children for years. They never listen to him, but perhaps ye have a way about ye that makes them want to listen.”

  “I just tell them stories, teach them their letters. Children will listen when you speak to them as equals,” Margaret replied.

  “And what does Rory make of all this?” Owen asked, causing Margaret to blush.

  “He is entirely supportive. He even suggested we have the library at the castle opened for the clansmen to use,” Margaret replied, causing Owen to look at her in amazement.

  “And did my father agree to it?” he asked, and Margaret nodded.

  “He did, he was more than happy to agree,” she replied.

  Owen and Duncan exchanged knowing looks, just as the castle gates opened, and a party of soldiers, led by Rory, rode through.

  “Ah, here is my brother,” Owen said, hurrying over to greet him.

  Rory embraced Owen and Duncan in turn, explaining that he had just returned from a patrol of the marches on the moorlands above the castle.

  “We saw nay sign of the English on the road to Lanercost. We have nae been troubled by them of late, though rumors still abound. Tis’ said they plan to attack, though where and when nay one knows,” Owen said.

  “Rumours, brother. That is all they are. Daenae listen to rumors. We have received nay further reports of the English crossin’ the borders. None of the peasants have been threatened, and perhaps these early reports were exaggerated. Still, tis’ best to be cautious in such matters,” he said, leading his horse to the stables, as the others followed behind.

  “The monks at Lanercost are worried, Rory,” D
uncan said, “they fear that somethin’ will happen, that the English will come in the night and raid the monastery.”

  “A foolish thing to think, uncle. The English are Christians, are they nae? To attack holy monks is a sin, a grave sin. Nay, ye will be safe enough. Tis’ here at Kirklinton, where we must be on our guard. But tonight, the castle is filled with men, our brothers in arms, there is nothin’ to fear. Tonight, we feast,” Rory said, smiling at Margaret.

  He seemed in a relaxed and jovial mood, quite different from the troubles he had seemed beset within recent days. Margaret followed him as he made his way into the keep, talking animatedly with his brother and uncle. Around her, large numbers of clansmen gathered, and the castle came alive with the excitement of the feast.