“Aye, so many lasses wantin’ to dance with ye, Rory and ye spurned them all,” Evie said, laughing and shaking her head.
“I wished only to dance with one, sister,” Rory replied.
“Ye mean, Margaret? She was away to her bed far earlier than she should have been,” Isla replied, tutting.
“I am lookin’ for her now. Have ye seen her?” Rory asked, but his mother shook her head.
“Nay, nae this mornin’ I have nae. Perhaps in the library? She intends to teach the children tomorrow. Perhaps ye will find here there or in the gardens,” Isla said.
“She will nae have gone far,” Hamish said, which seemed an odd thing to say, but before Rory could reply, the three of them were gone.
He wandered through the castle corridors, looking for Margaret as he went. She was not in the chapel, and he pushed open the door to the library to find it empty, books laid open, and parchments unrolled upon the table.
“Margaret?” he called out, but there was no reply.
There was no sign of her. She was not at her breakfast, nor reading in any of the nooks and crannies around the castle. He could find no sign of her, and so he went up to her chambers, pausing outside to listen for signs of movement.
He imagined her inside, perhaps still lying in her bed, and he pictured himself next to her, his arms wrapped around her. How he desired to know her, as imagined in his dreams.
Tentatively, he knocked, hoping for a reply. But there came none, and he knocked again, a little louder this time. But still, no sound came, and with a sigh, he made his way back downstairs.
As he came to the door of the keep, he was annoyed to find Niall McCall laughing and joking with several of his father’s soldiers. As Rory approached, he turned and smirked at him, a look of disdain passing over his face. For all the world, he looked as though he believed himself the Laird. A man with such arrogant self-confidence and self-belief made Rory angry merely to be in his presence.
“And what are ye doin’ now?” he asked, as Rory stepped past him.
“Tis’ nay business of yers what I am doin’, but I am lookin’ for Margaret, if ye have seen her,” Rory replied.
“Aye, I have seen her. She left the castle early this mornin’ to walk across the moorlands. I heard her tell old Sweeney that she would walk in the forest,” Niall replied, pointing out of the door.
Rory nodded. He was unsure whether to believe Niall or not, but he would go and ask Sweeney for the truth.
“Very well then,” Rory replied.
“Yer father is in his bed now, lad. The feast has taken its toll upon him,” Niall continued, blocking Rory’s path.
“My father is entitled to take to his bed if he so wishes. He has the strength of an ox. He will rise later, I am sure,” Rory replied.
“He is an old man, Rory, and nae long for this world,” Niall continued.
“And what business is that of yers? He is my father, and when his appointed time comes, then the good Lord shall take him,” Rory replied, and he pushed past Niall and out into the courtyard.
His fists clenched, and his heart started to beat fast with anger. He hated how Niall McCall behaved; it made him seethe to see his smug and self-satisfied expression and hear him speak as though he had power. Any pretense of humility was gone. He thought himself as powerful as the Laird, a challenger to Rory’s authority. He cursed him under his breath, his body tense and stiff with rage, as he crossed the courtyard to the stables where Sweeney was brushing down one of the horses.
“Ah, Rory. Is it a horse ye be wantin’ to take out?” Sweeney asked, and Rory shook his head.
“Nay, tis’ only a word of truth I wish to know, Sweeney. Did Margaret take herself off to walk in the forest today?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulder to find Niall watching him from the door of the keep.
“Aye, she did, lad. Nae more than an hour ago or so. She told me she wanted to walk in the trees by the pool. The pool where ye and the others used to swim when ye were young,” Sweeney said, and Rory nodded.
“Aye, very good then. I shall follow after her,” he said, patting the horse’s mane and bidding Sweeney a good day.
He made his way through the castle gates and onto the wide-open moorlands beyond. A cool breeze was blowing, though the sun still had some warmth in it. The forest would be cool and shady, the colors of the trees beginning to fade and the animals preparing for the long winter ahead. These were the last vestiges of summer, the seasons changing in their ever-circling way.
He breathed in the cold, fresh air and set off quickly across the heathers. The path led him above Armstrong castle, his father’s banners fluttering in the breeze below, and happy memories of his childhood came as he walked. Rory loved the solitude of the moorlands, which seemed to stretch endlessly into a purple haze, far off mountains rising majestically, as behind him lay the rolling hills of the borderlands.
The woodlands began about a half-hour walk from Kirklinton, the trees extending for many miles to the north and west. As a boy, Rory had wondered if they ever ended or whether it was possible to walk forever within its shady dells and long-forgotten paths. These days, he knew better and took to the familiar track, which led towards the pool.
The forest extended for ten miles in each direction, still home to any number of folks, forest dwellers who kept themselves to themselves. But there was one childhood fancy which Rory could never forget, and that was the prophecy of the old woman. Her words still seemed as fresh as though spoken yesterday, and Rory would always remember the words she uttered to him in that very place.
Still, it seemed that perhaps now he had moved beyond the misfortune of her predictions. In Margaret, he had found the woman he could truly love, and be happy. He wanted her to be his wife, for she would surely make a fine and loyal clanswoman, worthy to stand in place of his mother as mistress of the clan. She was strong and determined, with a fine mind and desire to do all she could for the clan. He had never known such attributes in a woman and knew she would make a fine wife.
This was not some boyish flight of fancy, some fleeting charm, but instead, the realization that at last Rory had found the love he had been looking for. He had spent his life living in the shadow of his brother and sister, both of whom had found the love their hearts desired. Owen had given his life to God, and Evie had given her heart to Hamish. They were happy, and it was happiness that Rory wanted.
In Margaret, he had found that woman. He had found the happiness he longed for, no longer living in the shadows of self-doubt but with renewed hope for the future, a future in which he would be strong enough to lead his clan and live up to his father’s legacy. With her, the feelings and sorrows of the past where he had loved only Caitlin, were gone. Now, his only passion was for Margaret and the desire to make her his wife. He had thought about it long and hard, and now he knew that it was she and she alone who would truly make him happy.
He had walked for around an hour, taking the familiar path towards the pools. It was fresh in the forest, the sunlight casting dappled shadows through the trees. He was humming to himself, a little tune his father used to sing when he was a boy and would carry him on his shoulders from the Armstrong castle to Kirklinton to see their grandfather.
As he came towards the pool, he saw Margaret sitting there, gazing into the water. He paused a moment, not wishing to startle her, but watching her, as she sat in the sunlight coming through the canopy above. How beautiful she looked, with her long flowing hair and soft, supple skin, her hands clasped together and a reflective look upon her face. She was lost in thought, as though she had come here for the solitude and stillness of that beautiful place.
It felt wrong to disturb her. But his heart was so filled with longing and expectation that he wished only to be at her side. He stepped forward, the cracking of a twig causing her to startle and turn around. He smiled at her, pausing beneath the trees, as she smiled back and beckoned him to join her by the pool.
“How did you find me?”
she asked, as he came to sit next to her.
“Old Sweeney told me ye had desired to walk in the forest by the pools. I hoped we might walk here together,” he said, reaching out to take her hand.
“I wanted to be alone, but I am glad you have come. I was hoping you would,” she said, the slightest blush appearing on her face.
“And I am glad that I did. I have thought of nothing else, but ye since the moment we shared in the garden last night. I wish ye had returned to the dancin’ for I had nay eyes for any other woman, but ye, Margaret,” he said, longing to take her in his arms.
“You did not speak to Hamish then?” she asked, and he looked at her in puzzlement.
“Why would I have spoken to Hamish?. They will return to the castle of the McBryde's today. Is there somethin’ he must say to me?” Rory asked, confused why Margaret should be concerned with his brother in law.
“No … if he has not spoken to you, then you must not trouble him. I only thought …. that, well,” she said, her words trailing off.
“I daenae need to speak with Hamish, Margaret. Daenae trouble yerself. Are ye worried what my family will think if ye and I …” he began, struggling to find the words to express his feelings for her.
“No, it is not that. Your family have shown me nothing but kindness and generosity. They have welcomed me to Kirklinton and made me feel like one of the family. I am so very grateful to them,” she replied.
“Then there is nay barrier to what I will say now, Margaret. I have thought long and hard about this and tis’ all I want. Until last night, I was unsure if ye yerself would want it, but now I hope ye will. The two of us have become close these past weeks, closer than I have been to any woman before. My feelin’s for ye have grown by the day, and my heart aches when we are nae together. I love ye, Margaret. I have nay other words for it than this. I love ye, and I will always love ye, and I want for nothin’ else but for ye to be my wife,” Rory said, taking Margaret’s hand and gazing longingly into her eyes.
Was there a hint of hesitation there? Had she changed her mind about their kiss and no longer wished to take it further? He was about to sigh and turn away, imagining himself to have made a fool of himself, but she smiled and shook her head.
“I … I have been wary of the thought, for I knew not what your family would think of me. I am … I am the daughter of peasants, and the thought of marrying a man who will one day be Laird of Kirklinton is quite astounding. But I cannot help the love I feel for you, for it grows in my heart each day, just as the love you have for me seems to grow each day too. When we shared that kiss, I felt entirely overwhelmed, but how it filled me with such love and joy as to be unforgettable. I love you too,” she said, and leaning forward, she kissed him once again.
Margaret’s heart was racing, for she knew she had made her intentions clear. That morning, she had wrestled with her feelings for Rory, imagining him hearing Hamish’s sorry words and discovering the truth. She had thought of telling him her story of trying her best to explain to him the reasons for her deception, but every thought raised fresh despair in her heart.
She could think of no way in which Rory’s anger would be appeased. To learn that she was a Musgrave would surely cause him to have only one choice, and that would be to rid himself of her immediately. She would be banished from the castle or punished in the dungeons, and worse still, Rory would despise and want nothing to do with her. All hope of love would be gone, and she was so in love that such a thought filled her with dread.
When he chanced upon her, she had been deep in thought, imagining her life with Rory if she were not the woman she was. How happy they could be and how she longed for that happiness. At his appearance by the poolside, she had turned with delight to find that noble, handsome, and most attractive of men standing before her. The smile upon his face told her that he did not know the truth. He was as in love with her as she was with him, and, at that moment, she could not bear to break his heart by telling him what she dreaded him knowing.
As their lips parted, she let out a deep sigh and smiled. How safe she felt in his arms, how filled with the joy of being close to him. She could happily have remained there forever by the forest pool, where nothing else seemed to matter, only the knowledge that she was loved and that in turn, she loved him too.
“Rory, I want you to know how much I have come to love you,” she said, the secrets of her heart so close, and yet she had to press them far down within herself.
“And I have felt the same. Ye must realize that, lass. Ye must know how much I love ye and that there is nay other woman I long for, but ye. We will tell the others we are to be married, and there will be great rejoicin’ I am certain. Ye and Evie already are such friends, my mother dotes upon ye, my brother prays for ye, my uncle owes ye his life, and my father will take delight in knowin’ that I am to be married and that an heir will surely come to Kirklinton,” Rory said.
His voice was full of hope and expectation, filled with loving joy and the delights of newfound happiness. How could she possibly take that away from him? To tell him the truth would be like a dagger to his heart, yet she was terrified of Hamish and knew it would be only a matter of time before he told Rory the truth. But she could not bear to do it, and so, despite herself and all the misgivings she felt, she pushed her fears aside and smiled at him as he leaned forward again to kiss her.
“With you and the others, I have found the family I have always longed for,” she said, for that much was true, at least.
His arms were strong around her, and he drew her close into his embrace. As their lips met, she let out another sigh, her heart racing at the thought of what might be. In her innocence, she had never known the touch of a man. Their kiss had been passionate, but now he moved his lips to her neck and kissed her, his hands searching her body.
With his passion aroused, she felt his touch and his lips upon her breasts, as he pulled back her shawl. His hands grasped at her body, and she lost herself in the ecstasy of the moment.
“Dae ye want this?” he whispered, and she nodded, their eyes meeting as she saw the fire of his desire.
“Ye will have to show me,” she replied, breathlessly, as once more he began to kiss her breasts, her hands now going to his chest, as she let out a cry of delight at the new and unfamiliar sensations coursing through her body.
The sun was warm upon her body and the rock by the pool where they lay. He pulled off his tunic as her dress fell open. Laying her gently back, he lay upon her, his body now entwined with hers. She let out a gasp as he pushed further towards her, a sensation she had never imagined or felt before.
“Gently, lass,” he said, kissing her upon the neck, as she relaxed her body and allowed the sensation to flow through her.
He let out another sigh, arching his back over her and kissing her breasts once more. Their bodies were as one now, the pain of the first movement now giving way to pleasure and a sensation that rose to ever greater heights. She had never known such delights could be hers, how she loved him and wanted to know more of him, clasping at his body and kissing his chest, as he arched over her and let out a sudden cry.
His whole body became tense, a shudder running through his body. She too let out a gasp, feeling him within as he clutched at her body and pulled her close. They were breathless, lying back together upon the warm rock, and she could feel him subsiding, the sensation of him retreating as he moved gently to the side.
“How beautiful ye are, Margaret,” he whispered, his arms around her, as they lay together on the sun-warmed rock.
“I have never felt such a thing before,” she said, still in amazement at the feelings he’d aroused within her.
“And ye would wish it again?” he asked, his hand gently stroking across her breast as he kissed her softly.
“Yes,” she whispered, resting her head upon his chest.
They lay together for a few moments longer, the sun upon their skin, though the breeze was now cold. She sat up, pulling her discarded shawl
around her and smiling as he lay basking in the sunshine.
“A swim perhaps?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“The water will be cold,” she said.
“Nae too cold, lass,” he said, and with quick and agile movements, was on his feet, taking her in his arms and charging towards the pool.
She let out a scream, laughing, as he leaped into the deep, crystal blue waters below. It was cold as she imagined it to be, yet refreshing all the same, and they emerged together from the depths, splashing and spluttering in delight.
“You wicked, terrible man,” she cried, catching hold of him and plunging him beneath the waters.
“Ah, tis’ only a ploy to have ye in my arms again,” he said, as he caught hold of her and twirled her around in the water, their bodies pressed close together.
Despite the cold, she could feel his arousal once again, and he kissed her lips, his hands upon her breast.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 16