Highland Seer

by Willa Blair

  She fought to keep her demeanor calm though her pulse pounded and tears gathered behind her eyes. She must not cry. If she must condemn her friend, she would do him the honor of behaving as laird. She could cry later.

  She cleared her throat. It was time to begin.

  “Do ye ken why ye’re here?” Even though she kept her voice low and calm, it nearly cracked.

  “Aye.” Most of the lads nodded. One shook his head, nay.

  “I must ask ye a difficult question,” she continued in answer to the one lad’s unspoken question, sitting straighter. “I expect a full and honest answer from each of ye. One at a time.”

  The lads nodded. Micheil kept his eyes front, focused somewhere over her shoulder. Ach, God. Not Micheil. Maybe no one had ordered the gates opened. Maybe the lads hadn’t understood how dire the situation had been and had opened the gate as they always did when travelers came calling. Maybe Micheil stood with them to take the blame for their mistake.

  Movement toward the back of the hall distracted her. Ah, the last stragglers. Cook and Sawney and a few more lads. They must’ve found the lads wandering the halls and brought them, as she’d ordered the entire clan to be here as witness to the laird’s justice.

  “Ye must tell yer laird and yer clan who ordered ye to open the gates the night before last. I’ll have the truth from each of ye. Who?”

  A low rumble of voices started in the hall. Ellie saw several of the late lads shift closer to the adults they’d arrived with. Worried for their friends, were they? So was she.

  “Who, lads?”

  Still they didn’t speak. Finally, Micheil tore his gaze from the wall behind her and turned to them. “Tell the laird, lads. Ye must. She deserves to ken the truth. ’Twas no’ yer fault.”

  Oh, nay. Micheil had ordered them to betray him. He had been the one. Ellie’s throat closed. Her heart breaking, she started to stand, but Donal shook his head. Wait.

  The oldest lad spoke first. “’Twas Sawney, Laird.”

  The breath gushed out of her lungs. Sawney? Not Micheil? For a moment, she didn’t understand what she’d heard. Then it hit her. Not Micheil. She inhaled and looked to the back of the room as the other lads repeated the word.

  “Sawney.”

  “Sawney.”

  “Sawney.”

  The crowd parted. The lads whom she’d thought gathered up and forced to the hall by her cook and steward were instead ushering Sawney forward, a phalanx around him he could not escape if he tried. Which he did not do. They kept him moving until they reached the rest of the lads and Micheil, then they stopped.

  Cook stood at the back of the hall, tears streaming down her face, shaking her head. Nay, she’d not known. But she and Sawney had worked together for years. This must pain her much as it did Ellie. Fergus looked on with his disgust plainly written on his face. Aye, Sawney’s treachery had harmed many more than Ellie.

  Micheil, as grim as she’d ever seen him, turned to confront the clan’s steward. Ellie allowed it. Sawney had subverted his watch that night. Micheil had the right to speak first.

  “Ye stand accused, Sawney MacKyrie, of betraying yer clan and yer laird by ordering these young watchstanders to open the keep’s gates to an invader. Do ye admit it?”

  Sawney drew himself up, oaken straight, stiff and hard as the glare on his face. For a moment, Ellie was sure he would deny it, despite having been named by each of the lads facing him. Then he crumpled. Micheil grabbed his arm to keep him from falling to his knees. Donal started to go to his aid, but Ellie raised a hand, holding him in place.

  Sawney must speak, aye or nay. She would hear it from him before anyone else moved.

  “Aye, lass,” Sawney whispered. “’Twas I.” Then he straightened and his voice strengthened. “Because I thought it the best for the MacKyries. We need a strong man as laird, like yer da and his before him. So things can get back to the way they were before Flodden. We were a proud clan. A prosperous clan. Now look at us.”

  Every word lashed her as surely as a whip to her back. He’d betrayed them to the MacDuff because she was too weak to protect them.

  Donal’s gaze bored into her as if to say, Ignore him. Ye have a strong man now. I’m here. His green eyes were narrowed, intense in their regard of her. Ye are laird. He said it without words, but his confidence in her gave her the strength she needed. Jamie also watched closely, nodding, lending his support. Her clan was silent, still, shocked.

  “Aye, Sawney,” she said, gathering herself and rising to her feet. He was wrong. “Look at us. We have allies, more than ever in the clan’s history. We have wise old men to guide us. Lads growing into strong young warriors. We have land, a strong keep, clean water. Cattle. And whisky.” She emphasized each word, her voice echoing from the back of the hall, then softened her tone. “Have ye forgotten?” She took a step toward him, but stopped as the old man blanched. “Did ye think on what we had before ye decided what we lacked was more important?”

  She took the steps necessary to stand in front of him. Micheil moved behind Sawney, ready to aid him, or prevent him from moving against his laird, should he be so foolish as to attempt it with Donal and Jamie also close at hand. Sawney kept his head down, refusing to meet her gaze.

  Her heart broke at his betrayal. This old man, among all the others, had been a key part of the clan since before she was born. But perhaps that gave her the excuse she needed to spare his life. She stepped closer and took his hand in hers. A sob at the back of the room echoed around the hall. She ignored it. She had to, or she’d be crying, too.

  “Yer motives were good, man,” Ellie continued. “I canna fault ye for acting for what ye thought was the good of the clan. Ye always have. Ye have served Clan MacKyrie well since the time of my grandsire. But Sawney, ’twas no’ true. Ye were wrong to think the MacDuff would be good for us. He wouldha broken up the clan, put MacDuffs in this hall. MacKyrie wouldha ceased to exist. He wouldha killed me eventually, if not by bearing his children, then by the knife or the sword or a tragic fall down the stairs. And these lasses ye see here, mothers and daughters, he wouldha taken them all, he and his men, used them most brutally, and made them slaves to MacDuffs. He was that kind of man. Is that what ye wanted for yer clan?”

  Gratified to see a tear roll down the old man’s cheek, Ellie pressed her lips together and swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. Ah, then, he wasn’t unredeemable. He did care what happened to his clan, his laird. She hoped that was true. She didn’t have the heart to condemn him to death for his misguided attempt to set things to rights—as he saw them. His next words might determine whether she’d be forced to or not.

  “Nay, ’tis no’ what I wanted for MacKyrie.” He dropped to one knee and tried to pull his hand from hers, but she held it fast. “I beg the laird’s mercy. I’m sorry for what I did, and for what I put ye through, Ellie...Laird MacKyrie. I regret the harm I caused. I do.”

  Ellie nodded, her mind already made up. She released his hand. “Verra well. Sawney MacKyrie, ye are relieved of yer duties as steward to Clan MacKyrie and banished to the village to live out yer life in peace. No one may accost ye. No one may harm ye or they’ll answer to me.” She looked out over the room and nodded. She saw tears on nearly every face. She supposed those were better than angry shouts. Even Jamie’s eyes glimmered. She dared not look at Donal. “Yer long and faithful service to the clan stands ye in good stead, Sawney. Be at peace. Now go.”

  The old man took her hands in his. “Ye’re a good laird, lass. I’m sorry I doubted ye.” He bent over her hands and touched his forehead to them, then stood and turned away. The crowd parted and allowed him to leave. A niece followed him out. Aye, he’d have a home and be well cared for in his declining years.

  Ellie turned to find a chair, her knees suddenly unable to bear her weight, when a clap startled her. Then another, then another, until the hall echoed with the sound of applause and cheers. Relief flooded her, letting her breathe for the first time since Sawney
had walked from the hall. She’d made the right decision, then. She looked at Donal and he granted her one of his rare smiles. Aye, the right decision, indeed.

  ****

  Donal stood at the front of the kirk, Jamie at his side. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the kirk’s high windows, sending shafts of brightness across the space, highlighting the benches on the east side. The MacClellan priest, Father Gregory, stood above them on the dais, watching as the kirk filled for the second time in two days with the people of Clan MacKyrie. Donal glanced around and spotted friar Tam standing by the door at the back of the kirk, smiling broadly. Micheil took a seat in the front row. Donal cocked an eyebrow. Micheil nodded and smiled. Ach, this union had his blessing then. Ellie would be relieved to know that, though likely she already did.

  She’d told him of Micheil’s behavior during the last ceremony in this kirk. He shuddered to think it had nearly gotten the foolish lad killed. Ellie would never have gotten over that. Donal had no doubt she would have found a way to avenge him even before she avenged the wrongs MacDuff did to her person. The man had been playing with fire.

  Finally the last clan member was seated. It was all Donal could do not to tap his foot, waiting for Ellie to appear. Instead, he drew in a deep breath. These nerves were a new experience for him, one he’d rather not repeat. She’d promised to be ready on time, even though her ladies were frantically stitching up a new dress for her. She refused ever again to wear the one she’d worn yesterday for the MacDuff. She told him she’d ordered it cut to pieces and placed in the rag bag out in the stables, ready to clean the shovels and pitchforks used to muck out the stalls. Donal surmised her disdain of anything that reminded her of Lachlan MacDuff would not abate any time soon.

  He glanced aside at his companion. Jamie appeared relaxed and in good humor. But that was normal for him. He’d still be smiling and relaxed on reckoning day, trying to make a deal for better accommodations while being judged. Jamie caught Donal’s glance and grinned.

  “Nervous?”

  “Aye,” Donal grumbled. “I’d rather face the MacDuff again than stand here much longer.”

  Jamie chuckled. “I see the fine hand of Providence at work here, my friend. Aileana would say that ye’re getting what ye deserve, though I think she’d mean it kindly.”

  “We made our peace, she and I, so aye, she might. I just wish your Providence would hurry this along.”

  “Another good reason, then, to hold this wedding today. Toran didna say why, but he wants me to return to the Aerie soon.”

  “Probably to send ye out after another signature on his treaty.” Donal crossed his arms over his chest. “Mayhap ye’ll be the groom after the next journey. This once is enough for me.”

  “Thank ye, nay. Though Toran and Aileana, and now ye and Ellie, are happy, I dinna believe I’m ready to take that step yet.”

  Donal clapped him on the shoulder. “Trust me, it’ll happen, ready or no’ and when ye least expect it.”

  “Cold feet, then?” Jamie chuckled.

  “Nay. Done with standing here.”

  The back door of the kirk opened and a shaft of sunlight streamed in.

  “I think yer wait is over,” Jamie told him.

  Ellie appeared, backlit for a moment until she moved out of the sun’s rays and into the kirk. Donal’s heart stopped beating. His breath froze in his throat. She walked toward him slowly, a hint of movement playing around the corners of her mouth as she locked her gaze with his. The rest of the people in the kirk might not have been there for all the notice he was capable of giving them at that moment. He had a vague impression of her dress, deep blue with white trim, her raven hair, twisted and coiled around her head, as she passed through sunlight and shadow on her way up the center aisle. Then she smiled and all the rest fell away.

  Donal held out his hand to her. She took it and paused for his inspection. “Will I do?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his composure, then opened them and touched her face with his other hand. “Ye’re more beautiful than anyone or anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “Then I guess that’s an ‘aye.’”

  He chuckled. “Aye, that’s an ‘aye.’”

  Father Gregory spoke then, stealing his attention from his bride. His bride. There was a phrase he’d never thought to have relate to him.

  “Are ye both here willingly?”

  “Aye,” Donal answered and Ellie echoed the word, loudly, with a wink at him. Donal only just contained his chuckle.

  “Then we’ll begin.” They knelt. Donal barely heard a word the priest said. All his senses were focused on the woman kneeling beside him. He’d never wanted anyone or anything in his life the way he wanted her. He came out of his fog a little as Father Gregory wound a strip of the MacKyrie tartan around their wrists, joining them in the old way, as was properly done here in the Highlands, then the priest resumed talking. Donal answered the priest’s questions and soaked in the sound of Ellie’s voice as she did the same. Strong, she sounded. Confident. And joyful. Donal’s heart swelled with the wonder of it. And with the priest’s final words, she became his. And he hers. Forever.

  Ellie turned to him. He stood, gathering her in his arms and kissing her gently as he helped her to her feet. “I’ll love ye forever,” he told her. “Of that, have nay doubt.”

  Ellie smiled at him. “Ye came to me first in a dream. And now my dream has come true. We were meant to be together.”

  “I regret that it took me so long to figure that out.”

  Ellie’s laughter rang to the rafters, causing many in the kirk to chuckle with her, though he doubted they’d heard what caused her mirth.

  “The important thing is ye did figure it out, my husband. The important thing is ye did.

  ****

  Donal picked Ellie up and carried her to the threshold of her chamber. Their chamber. No longer just hers. Aye, the laird’s chamber, shared by the laird and her consort. He liked the sound of that. Why had he fought this so long? If they’d wed when Ellie first suggested it, much would have been different. The MacDuff would still be alive, frustrated in his ambitions, but alive. Ach, now was not the time to be thinking of him.

  Donal filled his gaze with the woman in his arms. A raven-haired beauty, his wife. Not just handfasted the way Toran and Aileana had started out, though they’d married in the kirk as soon as the priest arrived. Nay, married for good and all, in the kirk. By the priest. A real one this time. Ellie was his, forever.

  Exultation coursed through Donal’s veins and he kissed her at the door to keep from laughing his joy out loud. She tunneled her fingers into his hair, destroying the queue he’d tied it into for the ceremony. A lock brushed his cheek, distracting him and reminding him where they were. Out in the hall was no place for this, not with half the clan following them up the stairs, not to mention Jamie and the other Lathans. The cheers and laughter were more than he’d bargained for. After the long celebratory dinner, he wanted to be alone with his wife.

  At her nod, he opened the door, carried her in, then slammed it shut behind them with his shoulder. He set Ellie on her feet with a quick kiss and barred it. There would be no bedding o’ the bride, not for his wife. The rest of the clan could stay out and mind their own business, or they’d answer to him for the disturbance. As it was, they were pounding on the door and laughing. Drunk off their arses, most of them. He was surprised they’d been able to stagger up the stairs. Well, a plague on them. He turned back to the door and yelled, “Shut it. I’ll no’ tell ye twice. Leave us be.”

  Ellie giggled, but his shout had the desired effect. After a few more fists to the door and cackles, the mob moved away. Donal suspected he had Jamie to thank for herding them back down the stairs, but he wasn’t going to open the door to find out. That invited disaster.

  Instead, he turned back to his wife. His wife. Ellie. Elspeth, Laird MacKyrie. Now also a MacNabb, though her station trumped his own. Not that he cared. He’d be a MacNab
b or a MacKyrie or no one at all, as long as he could do it by her side.

  “Ye ken ye’ve married a fool, aye?”

  A puzzled frown drew her eyebrows together. “Nay, I dinna ken that at all.”

  “Well, ye have. I shouldha agreed to this weeks ago. I was a stubborn fool. Ye ken I wanted ye. I ken ye wanted me.”

  “Aye, and came to love ye, my handsome fool.”

  “As I came to love ye. I willna go through this life without ye, Ellie. I regret the time we wasted.”

  She came to him then, and took his face in both her hands, locked her gaze with his and gave him a tremulous smile. “Nay, husband. We didna waste it. We learned to love each other. There’s no’ a better use of time, I believe, than that. I love ye, husband. Donal. I do. With everything in me.”

  “And that’s why ye are laird, my lovely wife. Ye’re wise beyond yer years, and wiser for sure than I will ever be.”

  “Nay, love. We each have gained our own wisdom through life. Mine may be different than yers, but no more, or less, useful. I need ye, husband. No’ just for yer strong arm.” She lightly touched the bandage there, then glanced down. “Or yer sword, much as I want it right now.”

  Donal growled and pulled her into his arms. “My arm is yers. And my sword, most definitely. Now?”

  “Aye, husband, now.”

  Donal wasted no time stripping her wedding finery from her. His followed even more quickly, while she watched, wide-eyed and smiling.

  “My handsome husband.”

  “Wants his wife, now.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying her gently on its surface, then pausing, despite his throbbing erection, to run his hands from her face, where she left a kiss on his fingertips, to her toes. “Beautiful.”

  “Take me, husband. I canna wait any longer.”

  Donal joined her on the bed, covered her with his length and nudged her legs apart to allow him access. “Are ye sure, lass? Ye mean the world to me, but now that we’ve been kirked, until we do this...”