They sat awhile together in the great hall, and Duncan and Owen regaled them with stories from the monastery and of life at Lanercost. The community was growing, and they had several novices about to make their final vows. They had come to the feast at the invitation of Isla but would return to Lanercost tomorrow, hoping that the path would remain safe for them to travel.
“Ye think the English threat exaggerated, brother?” Owen asked, and Rory nodded.
“We have seen nothin’ of them. For the past seven days, I have ridden out each day, and I have found nothin’ of any interest. But it was a show of strength which was needed, nae the weakness which …” he began, his words trailing off.
“Which?” his brother asked.
“We are subjected to a new regime here at Kirklinton. Tis’ nay longer our father who makes the decisions but rather his advisor, Niall McCall,” Rory replied, “tis’ him who ensured that our soldiers were nae sent out at the first sign of trouble. If they had been, then lives would have been saved, and we might have discovered more about the English intentions.”
“This man is certainly causin’ divisions,” Duncan replied.
“And ye will see it tonight, I am sure,” Rory replied, glancing at Margaret.
They stayed a while longer in the great hall, but soon it was time to make preparations for the feast. The servants were already bringing in platters of cold food, and the minstrels were preparing to play. Margaret returned to her chambers and made herself ready.
She wore a dress that belonged to Isla, a simple design, dyed in red with a sash tied around the waist. She looked down at herself and smiled. She felt pretty and looked forward to taking her place on the high table. So far, she had seen no one from her past, no one to arouse the uncomfortable feeling of familiarity. She knew she was amongst friends, and it now seemed she would be treated as part of the family, a familiar rather than a guest.
As evening came, she heard pipers in the courtyard below, and looking out, was pleased to see the arrival of Evie and Hamish. The Laird’s daughter looked so pretty, and she waved to Margaret, who smiled, as she watched the party dismount, the children at her side appearing sweet and delightful. Hamish was there too, a handsome man with noble looks, and she wondered whether he would recognize her or not.
I shall try to avoid him, she thought to herself, hoping that the passage of a year would have dulled his memory
Margaret was about to make her way to the great hall when there came a knock at the door. She paused, wondering if it were Niall McCall. He had been watching her during the day, and it angered her that he considered himself able to demand her attention whenever he wished. She had no intention of accompanying him to the feast and opening the door, prepared to dismiss him forcefully.
But it was not Niall McCall who stood there, but Rory. He blushed a little, as her harsh gaze turned to a smile. He looked very handsome in his tunic and cloak, a sprig of heather tucked into the clasp.
“Oh, Rory. I thought ye … I thought it was … it does not matter,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“Nay, he is already in the great hall with my father and mother. He takes the lower place of course, for this evenin’ tis’ my right to sit at my father’s right-hand side, and ye shall sit next to me,” he said, holding out his arm to her.
Margaret took his arm, and together, they made their way from her chambers to the feast. The great hall was busy with clansmen and nobles from across the borderlands. She recognized no one, a fact for which she was thankful, and, as the pipers played, the procession formed.
Rory’s father looked old and frail, his arm through that of Isla, but still had the look of a Laird and commanded respect and admiration from those gathered in the hall. Rory and Margaret walked behind them, with Evie and Hamish next. Last of all came Duncan and Owen, with Niall McCall.
Margaret chanced a glance at him, and his face appeared set in a grimace. He dressed in a long black cloak, with a tunic and clasp in the shape of an eagle. It made him look more menacing than ever, and his gaze sent a shiver through Margaret, who turned resolutely away from him.
“Tis’ lovely to see ye, Margaret,” Evie whispered, “we must speak later.”
Margaret smiled and nodded, just as the pipers began their tune, and the procession made its way towards the high table. Around her, the clansmen were bowing to the Laird, and a hushed atmosphere descended on the great hall. Rory led Margaret to her place, as the Laird prepared to address the assembly by raising his hands for quiet.
“Dear friends, brothers in arms, my fellow clansmen. I stand here before ye as a weak and elderly man, but one who still has the heart and soul of a Laird, the Laird of the Elliotts. To see ye all gathered here together gives me great hope for the future and knowledge that we have strength and courage when we are united. So, let us feast and make merry for we know nae what the future holds. The English surround us on every side, but we are Scots, and together we shall prevail, I have nay doubt of that,” he concluded, as a cheer went up around the great hall.
Margaret sat down next to Rory, and to her right sat Owen and Duncan. The servants began to bring in great platters of meat and fish, bread, pastries, and all manner of good food so that soon the tables groaned with the weight of the feast. Toasts were raised, and the whiskey and ale flowed freely as the clansmen celebrated together.
Margaret was interested in looking around her at the guests. Not only noblemen but many women were in attendance too, and it seemed that Isla had invited the prettiest of women to parade before her son. It puzzled Margaret why Isla should have asked these women when she had intimated that Margaret and Rory were well matched.
She noticed several of them watching Rory and smiling at him from a distance. The sight aroused a sense of jealousy in her, an unusual feeling, but there nonetheless. The food was cleared and replaced with further barrels of ale and whiskey. The tables were pushed back, and it would soon be time for the dancing to begin, as the minstrels prepared their pipes.
“Have ye enjoyed the feast?” Rory asked, leaning over to speak to her.
“Yes, I have, it is a grand occasion to see so many gathered here,” she replied, smiling at him.
“Aye, and now we are to dance,” he said, holding out his hand.
“We are?” she said, blushing a little.
“Or would ye prefer I danced with one of these women my mother has so kindly provided for me,” he replied, laughing, as several of the women on the tables below eyed him with interest.
“I … well, yes, I would like that,” she said, a pang of jealousy running through her as she thought of him dancing with another woman.
The Laird and Isla rose from their places, summoning others to join them.
“Tis’ time that the dancin’ began my friends,” the Laird declared, raising his hands, as the music began.
Evie and Hamish had already begun to dance, and Fraser and Isla soon joined them, as did others. The women eyeing Rory with interest now looked disappointed as he led Margaret into the fray. She had never learned to dance in such a way, and stumbled several times, as Rory led her.
“Did the priest only teach ye yer letters, lass? Nae to dance?” Rory teased, and Margaret shook her head.
“There was never an opportunity to dance. But now I am doing so, and I rather like it,” she said, smiling at him.
The pipers began a new tune, and the dancers formed into a line, ready for a jig. Rory bowed to Margaret, holding out his arm, as she watched Evie and followed her steps.
“Ye will soon have the hang of it,” Evie said, as Hamish twirled her around.
“I feel as though I will fall at any moment,” Margaret replied, as she stumbled into Rory’s arms with a scream.
“There we go, lass, ye are dancin’ now,” Rory said, laughing, as he brought her back to her feet.
“Goodness me,” she cried, breathless, as he held her in his arms.
“Shall we step out for a moment,” he said, pointing to the be
nches which now pushed to the side of the great hall.
Margaret nodded. She was exhausted from her exertions and watched, as Evie and Hamish continued to twirl and spin one another around the great hall. It seemed he did not recognize her, a fact for which she was thankful. Owen and Duncan did not dance, for it was not seemly for monks to take a partner into the fray, but they sat at the high table, flagons of ale in hand, and nodded to Margaret, as she glanced over at them.
“Ye shall make a fine dancer one day, but not this day, lass,” Duncan said, raising his glass to her and laughing.
She smiled, turning back to Rory, whose expression had suddenly changed. He was looking towards the doors of the great hall, and, as Margaret followed his gaze, she saw a woman standing there surveying the scene. She was stunning, tall and elegant, dressed in a long flowing dress, a gold necklace about her neck.
“Rory …?” Margaret began, just as Evie pushed through the crowd of dancers.
“Caitlin, how good to see ye,” she cried, running to embrace the woman.
“Oh … I …” Margaret replied, feeling that unwelcome pang of jealousy run through her once again.
“Tis’ Caitlin,” Rory said, “I should …”
A tear welled up in Margaret’s eye, and she looked around her in dismay. The pipers were still playing, and the guests were making merry. But suddenly, she felt apart from them, as though this intrusion was a reminder that she did not belong. The look on Rory’s face appeared confused, torn by emotions, and without another word, Margaret ran from the great hall.
“Margaret, wait?” Rory called out, but she was gone, rushing into the passageway and pushing through the throng of clansmen making merry.
I have been so foolish, she said to herself, brushing a tear from her eyes, it is she he wants, and I have surely lost him.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory was confused by Margaret’s sudden departure and at Caitlin’s unexpected arrival. He had not imagined her receiving an invitation, but was pleased enough to see her. His feelings for her had subsided, and he no longer felt awkward or embarrassed in her presence. She was a friend like any other, and more so of Evie, who rushed to greet her childhood friend.
“Evie, tis’ so good to see ye. Yer mother sent a message only today that we were to come if we could,” Caitlin said, turning to Rory with a smile.
“Tis’ good to see ye, Caitlin, and to see ye, too, Hector,” Rory said, turning to the man at Caitlin’s side.
There was a time when he had hated the red-haired man whom Caitlin had chosen over him. But, thanks to Margaret, he no longer felt that way. He shook his hand, placing his other on the man’s shoulder and looking him in the eye.
“Tis’ good to be here, we must all come together in these difficult times. We, too, have had our share of trouble on the high moorlands, and the English have been seen to the south of us in number,” he said, his expression turning angry.
“Aye, we must be united, only then will we see the English driven from our lands once and for all,” Rory said, “but now, ye must join the feast. We shall have some food brought for ye, and there is drink aplenty.”
“It wouldnae be an Elliott feast if there were not. I will always remember the feasts of our childhood,” Caitlin said, “dae ye remember when we were allowed to stay up for our first? How excited were we?”
“Aye, though Owen used it as an excuse to spend longer in the chapel, while we three joined in the dancin’ together,” Evie said, laughing.
“That is Owen,” Rory replied, “I am glad that my mother saw fit to invite ye here tonight.”
He nodded to them, before making his way from the great hall and out towards the courtyard. The clansmen were merry, and he was toasted by his father’s men and cheered by others as he made his way outside.
“Ye shall make a fine Laird,” one of the nobles said, raising his glass to Rory, who shook his head.
“Ye should drink my father’s health, Robert McKay, nae the health of one who has many years before him,” he replied.
“Ah come now, Rory, have yerself some fun,” Robert, a noble of some standing and long time friend of Rory’s said, putting his hand on Rory’s shoulder.
“I am havin’ enough fun, thank ye,” Rory replied, but his friend shook his head.
Several others had crowded around, and a drink was thrust into Rory’s hand, a glass of whiskey, as he was toasted.
“To our future Laird, may God bless him richly in his works and his life to come,” Robert said, his arm still around Rory’s shoulder.
“Ye are drunk, Robert, though sometimes ye make more sense drunk than sober, though I thank ye for yer words,” Rory said, laughing, as he extracted himself from the man’s embrace.
“Ah, but dae ye toast us back, Rory? Come now, ye have been actin’ as though the weight of the world were on yer shoulders,” Robert said, “we are yer friends, we have known ye all yer life, ye are nae alone, ye know that well enough.”
“How much of my father’s liquor have ye had this night, Robert?” Rory asked, and his friend began to laugh.
“Yer father has just tapped another barrel. Come now, drink our health, ye have hardly touched a drop,” he said, and began to sing.
Rory took another drink, raising his glass to the rest before taking his leave.
“I shall return and drink yer health shortly, I must find someone first,” Rory said, and the other began to laugh.
“Margaret, the mysterious Margaret,” they called out, and Rory shook his head.
“There is nothin’ mysterious about Margaret, I assure ye of that,” he replied.
“A better catch than Caitlin,” Robert replied, and Rory laughed.
“Daenae let her hear ye say that or ye shall find yerself in the castle ditch with a thick lip and a black eye,” he said, as his friend laughed and raised his glass again.
“It would be worth it to feel her touch,” he said, hiccoughing and almost falling over.
Rory shook his head and hurried off along the corridor and away from the merriment of the great hall. His thoughts were far from the celebrations, and he could think only of Margaret, wondering what it was that had caused her to flee. Despite what he said to his friends, there was something mysterious about her, something she was withholding from him. More so, did she believe him to still be in love with Caitlin and, even if she did, why did it matter? She was not his lover; their kiss had been fleeting, almost meaningless it seemed. Why should she now be jealous at the sight of a woman from Rory’s past?
But it had amazed Rory that his reaction to Caitlin had been so measured. It was not long since the very thought of her had aroused his passions and feelings. There was a time when the mere mention of her name had sent him into a deep depression, lamenting the loss of his adolescent dreams. But now, it seemed that he could treat Caitlin merely as a friend, one he no longer possessed a romantic attraction toward or felt the need to possess.
Outside, the night was dark, though the moon was high in the sky, partially obscured behind a cloud. All was still, except for the night watch upon the battlements and an owl hooting upon the moorland. Rory stood on the steps of the keep and looked around him. He could not see Margaret at first, but then it occurred where she might be, and hurrying across the courtyard, he opened a door in the curtain wall, leading to the gardens.
The scent of roses lay heavy in the air, the last warmth of the day still lingering in the sheltered spot. He saw her sitting on the seat beneath the ivy-clad wall, as he opened the garden door. She looked up before turning her face away, and he hurried over, coming to sit next to her and reaching out his hand to hers.
“Margaret, are ye all right?” he asked, and she turned to him.
Her face looked even more beautiful in the moonlight, but she had been crying and brushed at her eye, forcing a smile.
“Yes, I am quite all right. I … well, I just wished for a little fresh air. The great hall is stifling at times,” she replied.
“I came after ye because … well, I thought that ye were upset.”
“Upset? Why would I be? I am quite all right,” she said, but he shook his head and moved a little closer.
“Tis’ Caitlin’s arrival? She was there with her husband, Hector. He’s a good man, a farmer up on the high moorlands. It was my mother who invited them,” he said, looking into her eyes and pondering her thoughts.
“I am pleased to have seen her. The thought of her has … intrigued me,” Margaret replied.
“She would be a friend to ye, just like Evie is,” he said.
“Yes, well, perhaps …”
“Margaret, I am sorry if these words sound bold, but … is it fear of my feelin’ towards Caitlin that causes this upset in ye?”
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 13