She had given the Abbess her thanks and had left Hild three days ago, hell-bent on seeing John being taken by surprise and then being carted off to prison. His trial would be closed but his sentence would be death. “An eye for an eye.”
They turned into the lane that led to the Crompton house as her anticipation and anger grew. The house came into view and the familiar look of the home she had lived in for over two decades did not give her any sort of comfort. She came upon the first gate and the guard that came forward was unknown to her. It would not surprise her if John had replaced all the servants she had once had.
“May I—?”
“I am Larie Crompton, Lady Keswick,” she said icily. “This is my home.”
He frowned, “My Lady, My Lord has given me orders to stop you from entering these premises.”
“He has, has he?” Larie snapped. “Well, please tell Your Lord to come to me instead.”
The sentry looked over to the guards behind her and paled a little but nodded and hurried off to the house. She sat as the anger inside her built and doubled inside her spirit. She dismounted the horse and stood right in front waiting for John to show his duplicitous self.
He did not come out and neither did the sentry. She motioned for one of the guards to come with her and she strode down the short road to the entrance. The door was closed and she stepped away for the guard to kick it down.
The clatter ran hollow in the entrance room and as she stepped in, John came around the corner, his expression cool. His eyes flicked to the broken door and then back to her. “A little unnecessary, don’t you think?”
“Stop trying to play the fool card,” Larie hissed. “I know what you did, John! For the sake of God, Brandon was your brother. Did you have to kill him?”
“I did no such thing,” John said coolly but she could see the panic in his eyes. “You’ve been misled.”
“I don’t think so,” Larie said, as she shoved the letter from the King into his hands. “His Majesty would not lie to me.”
“T-this is not….” John stuttered, “Not—”
“What you were hoping for?” Lady Keswick filled in for him. “Did you expect to have this crime against man and God go unresolved? Did you think my prayers were for naught?”
John’s face took a white sheen and Larie turned to the royal guards, “Take him away.”
“Larie!” He called, even as he was being apprehended. “I did this for the good of all of us. My brother was going against all that was sensible and he was kicking against the natural order! King first!”
“No,” Larie snapped. “You did this for you! I knew you were always jealous of your brother, John, but to take it this far is just wicked. You will find yourself in a place where there is no redemption from your sins. Men, take him away!”
“There’s a letter!” he called. “From Magdalene. It’s in my study and—”
She didn’t bother hearing what he said as she hurried off to find the letter, resting on John’s desk. “I must remind myself to burn all his things,” she muttered as she picked up the opened letter and read the short passages quickly. “Come to my wedding? What in the world?”
Under his great kilt, Angus was sweating though his long léine, but thankfully the layers of cloth did not show proof of his anxiety. He was standing with Magdalene, his mother, and the rest of his family as a carriage, English in making, climbed the hill. His love’s mother was coming to their wedding that would take place tomorrow.
He could have easily married Magdalene without any trouble but he was not going to disrespect the memory of his father, who taught him to be a gentleman, his mother, Magdalene, or her mother by being a selfish lout. Magdalene had told him how her mother was—that she was a lot like his mother in body—tiny, petite and humble, but had a core of iron and a look that could peel pigment off a canvas.
“But don’t worry,” she kissed him that morning. “She’ll respect my wishes, and when you show her you’re a gentleman, she’ll love you, too.”
“I wasnae gentle, last night, was I?” Angus had grinned impishly as he kissed her naked shoulder.
“If I start increasing before our marriage, then she’ll skewer you in half,” Magdalene smiled lightly.
That had him worried. The carriage came to a halt at the foot of the steps and Angus nodded to a squire to go over and open the door. A woman, fitting the same description Magdalene had given him, came out and looked around warily.
Her traveling coat was dark but even darker green showed under it. Her hair was darker than Magdalene’s but still fair and her eyes were icy- blue. With a small squeeze of his hand, Magdalene went forward, hugged and kissed her mother. The older woman’s face showed her relief. They spoke quietly but then both of their eyes were on him.
Angus stepped forward and bowed, “Welcome to me home, Lady Keswick.”
Her eyes arrested him on the spot and now Angus knew what Magdalene had said about peeling pigment from canvas. She dropped Magdalene’s hand and came very close to him, her gaze suspicious and searching. “You were the one who rescued my daughter?”
“Aye,” Angus said.
“And now you are marrying her,” Lady Larie pressed.
“I am,” Angus added, “I love her.”
Lady Larie’s narrow-eyed look dug into his skin, and the wordless examination seemed to stretch on into eternity before she said, “I’d have appreciated it more if you had married her before you seduced my daughter into your bed.”
Angus nearly fell backward over his feet and his jaw dropped. Behind he could hear snickers coming from Malcolm and his sister, so he spun to glare at them. Malcolm kept laughing unrepentantly. He then looked helplessly at Magdalene who only shrugged.
“If I may interject,” Lady Isobel said, as she came to her son’s rescue. “I’d have run him through with his father’s sword meself if he had not treated lovely Magdalene with the respect she deserved. I’m Isobel, Angus’ mother.”
A slow smile tugged at Lady Larie’s lips. “I believe you.”
“Ye have the soul of a fighter but ye dinnae use a sword to harm, dae ye?” Lady Isobel’s head tilted to the side.
“My prayers are sharp enough,” Lady Larie smiled. “Ye seem to know something about that.”
“I dae,” Lady Isobel added and looked over to Angus. “It took me a lot of prayer not to run his faither through when he tested me.”
A delightful laugh left Lady Larie as she took Isobel’s hand and clasped it with hers. “Come, let’s talk.”
Tugging Magdalene close, Angus watched the two women walk into the castle, chatting like old friends, and muttered under his breath, “Good God, what have we done?”
Dinner had finished and they—Magdalene, her mother, and Angus’ family—had retreated to a cozy sitting room where Magdalene and Angus took turns in explaining what had happened with Perse, the woman Lady Larie had believed a Christian woman. As they had different sides to the story, it varied, but all pieces fit, and what they told painted a rather gruesome picture, one no one would have liked to hear before a wedding.
Angus told her about O’Hagan’s direction to Edina, and the revelation he got from Father Buchanan and how he had slipped her name to Magdalene. She then took up the story about how she had run off to Perse to get her to clear her name and had nearly died as a result.
“Angus rescued me, Mother,” Magdalene said repentantly. “It is three times he has saved my life now.”
“I ken what Rhona said to me is true,” Angus mused. “‘For the many roads ye take, the many fights ye make, secrets kept by those in the dark will come to light. Fire calls for blood and blood for rebirth. The key to victory lies in the eyes of the one where the spheres of heaven touched earth.’ Magdalene's eyes are a lovely mix of blue, spheres of heaven, and green, earth. Perse used fire and tried to use her blood for rebirth. All her secrets came to light, too.”
“Who is this Rhona?” Lady Larie asked.
Angus ducked his hea
d, a bit ashamed, “In me desperation for help with the witch, I went to a Druid, and she gave me that prophecy.”
“And she said ‘secrets kept by those in the dark will come to light’,” Lady Larie laughed quietly. “She told you more than you would know, she told you something that pertained to me, too.”
“Like what?” Magdalene asked.
“It was not until I petitioned the King that I got my answer. Your Uncle John,” Larie said icily. “He was the one who killed your father.”
“What!” Magdalene nearly launched out of her seat but Angus held her back. Her chest was heaving. “That…traitor!”
“And he’s getting exactly what traitors get,” Larie said profoundly. “Execution.”
Angus looked between them but rested his gaze on Magdalene, “Is this the same Uncle who tried to marry ye off?”
“The one and the same,” Magdalene spat bitterly. “I hope he rots in hell.”
Larie came to sit beside her, took her hand and patted it. Magdalene rested her head on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Magdalene, God worked it out for us all. The agents of the devil are paying their price and we have nothing but good times to look forward to. Chin up, daughter, all is well now. You’re happy and you’re getting married and that’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Magdalene kissed her cheek, then turned to Angus. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Nae,” Angus said honestly. “But I am ready for the loving ye for the rest of my life.”
A calm blue sky of Scotland’s autumn did not quiet the riot inside his stomach. It was his wedding day and he was waiting outside the great hall for Magdalene to appear. Malcolm, dressed similarly to him in a great kilt had the reins of the horse she was going to ride to the kirk in his hand.
For the thousandth time, he shifted on his feet. What in God’s name is taking so long? How long did it take to put on a bloody gown? Did they not consider his anxiety at all? Then, the door opened and he nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of his beautiful bride-to-be.
Her gown was dark blue, molding to every dip and curve of her body, so flattering and entreating that Angus wanted to throw a cloak over her and stop eyes from looking at her. There were tiny flowers and ribbons woven through the golden tresses cascading down her back and over her shoulder, as she walked with the gait of a queen.
She came near and Malcolm bowed to her, but he was so rooted in his place, he forgot his manners. Their gazed locked and Angus briefly wondered if it would be frowned upon if he took her into his arms and carried her back to their bedchamber, skipping fully over the trifling thing called a marriage ceremony.
“Angus?” she asked.
Malcolm looked at him and grinned, “Congratulations, lass, yer the first one in history who has rendered Angus speechless.”
Ignoring his brother’s snide comment, he came forward and gently brushed his knuckles on her cheek. She leaned into his touch for a moment and smiled, then the spell broke.
“I’m unworthy of ye…are ye sure ye want to marry me?” He asked quietly.
“Well, when you put it that way…” Magdalene teased.
Grinning, he helped her to her horse, whispered his love for her, took her hand and kissed the back of it. He then mounted his horse, turned and looked at the woman who had stolen his heart and mended it twice.
She was glorious under the sunlight and her beauty made his heart stutter. Miss Magdalene Crompton, soon to be Lady Magdalene Williamson. What more of a gift could I have asked for?
The circumstances back when he spoke to Faither Buchanan had been dire, but thank God for the day he had gone to Edina or he wouldn’t have met the other half of his soul.
The End?
Extended Epilogue
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Preview: Lusting for the Highlander
Chapter 1
Henwen, 1544
The old woman, Tily, looked down her long nose at the pretty young redhead who stood at her door. It was obvious that she was tired and dirty and a bit too thin. Despite her ragged appearance though, the woman radiated beauty. Her wild, fiery, copper hair framed her creamy complexion and emphasized blue eyes. Eyes so blue, Tily wondered if they were human or of faery folk.
Wisps were known to lurk in Scottish woods, she remembered her mother had told her so as a wee lass. But this woman was real, of that she was sure. Obviously not of Scottish blood though, which piqued the old woman’s interest even more. Tily poked her head around the woman to see what she had with her and her eyes bulged.
The woman had nothing with her but a large pack on her back, an old leather bow case, and a rather large, muscular black dog that looked more horse than canine. The beast was astonishingly quiet. She hadn’t even realized he had been there. Despite his size, he appeared rather obedient to his mistress. Another mystery.
“Ye what?” she asked again gruffly.
“I would like to stay in the cottage on the far east end of your property,” the woman replied, her accent undeniably English.
Aha! Not Scottish at all.
“And why would ye want to do that, lass?” she asked, shaking her head. “Naught much out there but field and wood. No people at all.”
“That’s what I want,” the lass replied earnestly. “I’ll pay for what is fair, and I’m tidy and quiet.”
“Ye married?” Tily McDougal asked, her Henwen brogue thick in her words.
“No,” the young woman replied sharply, her bright eyes glittering steadily back into Tily’s dark brown ones.
Well, at least there wouldn’t be a man traipsing around trying to tell her what to do, as if he could. Still, Tily preferred her privacy. It had been her late husband’s place of work, tool shed, animal rescue, and whatever else he had needed it to be. After he had passed, Tily had soon forgotten it because it was so far away from anything. Which meant that the only way the lass could have known about it was if she was travelling through the wood herself and found it. There were no clans to the east that she knew of, which told Tily the girl had been traveling alone for a long time.
She needs rest. Her heart softened, if only slightly. Tily straightened her back, and thought of what to ask next. After all, if she was going to take on the girl as a tenant then she should know her a little.
Tily realized that an unmarried woman living alone would most likely have trouble paying rent on the property. She was curious to know how the lass was going to pay her way.
“What do ye do for money, lass?” she asked, eyeing her up. “Ye got a trade proper? Not one of these hoors, are ye? I’m nae judging, but I cannae be having that on me property. I run a respectable farm and plan on keeping it that way, ye understand?”
The young woman nodded her head calmly, seemingly not at all affected by Tily’s brashness.
“I make herbal medicines and I help people,” the redhead explained.
“I do have enough coin for now to cover the months I need in advance to get my garden started, madam, and the wood by the cottage is thick with all the necessities to start on simple remedies immediately. When my crops are ready, I’ll harvest and produce my stronger medicines, and then I’ll sell them to make my earnings.”
Well, certainly not what a hoor would do.
“Medicines ye say?” Tily asked, still contemplating. She thought of her wrists, and how they ached constantly when she worked. And her back too. After only a couple of hours in
the field it would hurt so bad that she’d have to stop for several hours and rest. Perhaps having a gifted healer living on her property wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Ye a doctor?”
For the first time the young woman smiled, a little flit of a thing that passed just for a second over her full lips before they set into a calm line again.
“Nowhere near as impressive as that, I’m afraid,” she replied softly, “I’m good with herbs, but I can’t set a bone, or perform a surgery. I have been getting better at my diagnoses though.”
Tily grunted. “Eh? What’s that be?”
In a patient voice the woman explained that she was able to listen to people’s ailments and help them determine what herbs they needed for treatment. Tily found her tale fascinating, if not odd. Men were doctors. Not women. Although she technically wasn’t a doctor.
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