by Nicole Locke
‘Do you want war?’
‘Never, but we can’t stop bloodshed even with Lochmores controlling the land. Why is the land important for you?’
‘Watercress. Mint. Thyme. The water’s important. McCrieff healers have been planting there for centuries.’
‘So not land, but herbs for healing. That’s not an argument I’m going to make before the Lochmore council or my father.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’ll be labelled a fool.’
She raised her hand as if to slap him and he grabbed it. ‘Won’t do much damage without your shears.’
‘It’ll still sting.’
Chuckling, he studied their hands. Like this, their differences were acute, but still she curled her hand until it held his. He welcomed that warmth, but not for the first time Ailsa’s brow was furrowed, her thoughts elsewhere. ‘What is it?’
‘Will we still be able to use the land?’ she asked.
‘There is no denying the King’s decree. Ultimately, my father is Chief. He will listen to opinions, but in the end he will decide. I’m married to you, however, and, despite rumour, he is a fair man. But I don’t have a say in the matter for your water basil, dear wife. Despite our marriage, we are still Lochmores and McCrieffs.’
‘Hmmm,’ Ailsa said.
Rory waited for her to continue. He knew her well enough to know she had more on her mind. He didn’t have long to wait.
‘Rory, do you ever...do you ever wonder if you were named because of the Great Feud?’
Strange conversation. ‘I know I was... You looked shocked.’
‘I am. I didn’t think the Lochmores would ever use that name. Why would you be named after McCrieff’s baby who died?’
If she said she could heal the dead, he could not be more shocked. Keeping their hands linked, he sat in the bed, leaning against the back frame. ‘It’s McCrieffs who believe the baby was a McCrieff’s. For Lochmores, that baby had no name. It died along with its mother. Thereby, I was named after the nephew who attempted to stop the fighting.’
Ailsa adjusted herself around him, but she, too, kept their hands linked. ‘More differences. Tell me the story as you know it.’
‘It’s a tragedy, Ailsa. I’d rather not talk of tragedies right now.’
‘A tragedy?’
‘The Lochmore lass rejected the McCrieff Chief, and married Lochmore’s. In childbirth, she and the Lochmore baby died. When the McCrieff heard of her death, he stormed our castle. He did it out of pride for being spurned. At sword point he threatened our Chief. Thinking he could protect him, Lochmore’s nephew, Rory, interceded and died by the McCrieff’s hand. McCrieffs yanked their Chief away. As for my clan, the Lochmores were already mourning and now there was another death.’
‘The story from our side was the mother was pregnant with McCrieffs’ babe and died in childbirth, but not before she named her son Rory.’
‘More differences between Lochmores and McCrieffs,’ he said.
‘It appears so.’
Ailsa gripped his hand. ‘It is tragic the nephew’s death escalated the strained relations even though McCrieff killing him was an accident.’
‘Not if you look at the fact McCrieffs’ Chief shouldn’t have been there at all. If he hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have killed the Lochmore nephew named Rory.’
Ailsa wasn’t silent at his words, instead she did that low humming sound she made when she was deep in thought.
He gave that to her. There was much to think about. From Paiden’s recovery and Hamish not waking. His family’s brooches, his obvious disappointment, her comforting him after everything. Him unable to express what she was beginning to mean to him.
To this... More revelations.
‘Rory, do Lochmores have written records?’ she asked.
It had never occurred to him to search records before because the Great Feud was so well known. ‘We have them, but... Was that what you were doing in that room, searching records about the feud?’
A hesitation before she answered. ‘Mostly I was there to search for remedies.’
She was a good wife and far more intelligent than him. Brave, too. To set herself in amid all the conflict to try to heal the present and the past.
His family might not acknowledge his marriage or his wife, but he refused to let this continue. She was a healer. If she could be so brave, so could he. ‘Ailsa, I want you to meet my family.’
Chapter Sixteen
Ailsa had never spent much time on the border between Lochmore and McCrieffs. As a child, her father warned her of the dangers. As she grew older, she and Rhona planted and picked water herbs and quickly left. Often, she wondered if Lochmore’s children were also warned not to approach the stream, for she never saw another soul on the other side.
Now she would cross this border which was rather unremarkable for such a contested piece of land. No brambles or briars. Certainly, no arrows shot or battle cries. It was merely Rory and herself, a few McCrieffs and Lochmores leisurely riding towards the stream.
All very uneventful. Perhaps it had to do with the King’s decree. Perhaps it had to do with her father taking care of the Clan, or the missive Rory had sent ahead to his family.
Whatever the reason, they were here now. As for the land, she intended to talk to Lochmore’s Chief on whether McCrieffs could use it. It had taken years to cultivate some of the plantings and she’d be grateful to not have to start again.
They weren’t half across the water when Lochmores emerged from the trees. One man was in the centre of it all.
‘My father,’ Rory said low for her ears. ‘Lochmore’s Chief.’
The man held authority tightly to him and his clothes were as fine as she’d ever been witness to. Yet there was no resemblance to her husband, not in stature or in colour. Whatever misgivings Ailsa had to Rory’s parentage were rapidly becoming truth. With the surety of each steady beat of the horses’ hooves, she felt the need and the burden of telling him. But after all the betrayal he’d experienced since arriving on McCrieffs’ land, what would he think of her withholding the information.
Would Rory be angry or shocked? They had discussed the origins of his name. He hadn’t appeared angry, but he didn’t know they talked of him.
Were Rhona’s words pain-filled ramblings or truth? She wasn’t certain they were true. They’d see the records first and then, no matter what they found or what she said, Rory would want to talk to his mother. The burgeoning trust they shared because of the marriage and the efforts to end Hamish’s ill deeds was too fragile. The little time they’d shared in this marriage meant that she couldn’t, shouldn’t, bluntly step forward and tell him what her thoughts were. For once, she wouldn’t be direct or straightforward. For once she’d be patient and wait. For if she was wrong? She could hurt the man she was beginning to—
Love. Did she love him in so short a time? She feared it was true. They approached matters differently, but they also shared much. And if what she did feel was love, her withholding Rhona’s last words might harm any chance of a true marriage.
Her horse’s steps along the stream bed were uneven and slippery and Ailsa concentrated on that rather than the approaching confrontations. She was on Lochmore land now. As far as everyone was concerned, she was married to Lochmore’s son.
All her life she’d thought only as a healer, a McCrieff healer. Now her path was different, being here was different. Except being here didn’t feel different. Though everything in her knew it should be, the land on this side of the stream felt the same as on McCrieff land. The Lochmore men rode their horses the same as the McCrieffs. The wariness, the locked gazes. All similar.
But Rory stopping his horse in front of Lochmore’s Chief wasn’t the same at all.
She and her father had never been separated before, but often their days would be filled with t
asks and they wouldn’t see each other until evening meal. Even with so short an absence, there would be warm greetings between them. There would be banter about their day and she was always pleased to see her father.
Rory and Finley sat proud upon their steeds, facing each other. Neither spoke nor smiled. Instead, Rory merely nodded his head in acknowledgment to his father. If she hadn’t been watching so closely, even that would have been missed.
The years hadn’t been kind to Lochmore’s Chief. Time and weather grooved his face and the extra weight softened what once had been a warrior’s form. Still, she saw a proud man who ruled his clan, but who also looked and felt the years he lived and the few seasons he had left.
Her father, though aged, had kept his vitality. Lochmore’s Chief was indeed older. But it wasn’t only his health, she noticed. She also saw a father surreptitiously observe his son who rode beside him.
Just a slight tilting of his head, not enough to be obvious to Rory, who didn’t look pleased to be returning home. If anything, her husband’s bearing was even more rigid, his expression impenetrable.
Adjusting the reins in her hands for the umpteenth time, she loosened her grip once more. It wasn’t her lack of riding experience that caused her unease with the horse. It was that she shouldn’t be witness to anything this private. Except there was nowhere else she could ride without causing more scrutiny. Enough wondering eyes were on her as it was. Even Rory spared her a glance.
Did he gauge to see about her welfare or if she turned to retreat? They’d shared intimacies and some of their past; they were married, but she still didn’t fully understand her husband though she wanted to. He was a man who was loyal to his friend, to his clan. And there were moments it seemed he was loyal to her. Allowing her to use the information and heal Paiden. To confront Mary, to accept her judgement.
Last night he’d held her. The drumming of his fingers along her shoulder blades after they’d made love told her that he’d found some contentedness in what they were creating.
Now there was no hint of the Rory she was beginning to know. Fearsome. Daunting. He hadn’t even been this formidable or cold when he’d first entered the McCrieff courtyard. Except for that one moment in their bedroom when he’d opened the box, he’d given no indication that this was the man he was at his home.
He said his family was complicated; this was more than complications. Her heart ached to see Rory like this. Among his family once again, he looked alone. She received no answers as to why from their surroundings either.
Lochmores and McCrieffs together. Though there was still a firm divide, a few attempted conversing. Tentative. Wariness. But this was so much more than what was possible a mere fortnight ago.
Such a turn of events. She hadn’t believed, after what Hamish had attempted, that the McCrieffs and the Lochmores would ever ally with each other. Some of the animosity had also been eased by Paiden’s recovery and easy manner.
So true as well, Hamish’s lack of recovery took the sting out of revenge. The Chief was ravaged with the illness now. There was nothing left to take of him. As for Mary, she had been manipulated in Hamish’s games and was forgiven, but even so...
Even with Ailsa’s marriage and Rory and her father holding council together, there was an underlying animosity that lingered. Old bitter memories and Hamish’s plots had made true cuts in her clan.
It hurt her in a way she didn’t think possible. Her clan...wasn’t her clan. If they didn’t accept Rory as her husband as she was beginning to accept him, then what would be their future or their children’s?
Because as much opposition as Rory incurred on McCrieff land, it didn’t appear as if Rory was accepted by his family on Lochmore land either. She didn’t dare guess what his life had been like before now. Rory and his father barely spoke. And for her?
Chief Lochmore hadn’t acknowledged her until Rory almost demanded him to. Not overtly, and the words exchanged were outwardly polite, but there was a rigidity between the father and son she didn’t understand. It was as if Rory expected Finley to criticise or disparage her. He hadn’t. Rory’s father only nodded his head, as she had seen Rory do to him, then ignored her.
As a child, she’d been told of the Great Feud. She mourned, as a child would mourn, for the baby who died. If that child had lived, he might have changed the fate of the clans. Changed the fate of her and Rory. Now they were married, but in a clan that might be divided for ever.
And yet if they hadn’t taken the step to marry, there’d be no chance at all for the clans to make amends, to stop the skirmishes and reeving and killing.
It seemed that Rory was of the same mind. Yet, while she wanted to improve clan relations because she was a healer, Rory wanted to repair clan relations as if he had something to prove.
Which hadn’t made any sense at all until now. What did he, a born leader, have to prove? Once the shock of Hamish’s deceit had sunk in, he’d risen to the challenge and worked tirelessly with her father. People naturally followed him.
Seeing how deep McCrieff deceit went, he could have just thrown it all aside. Left her and her clan to return to Lochmores. Being married to his enemy clan didn’t mean he would be loyal and yet he had stayed. He had spent time with her father, with the McCrieffs. Spent time with Mary until she was certain of his forgiveness.
Spent time with her. Over the past fortnight, she’d shared with him her herbal plantings. She’d brought Rhona’s journals up to their room to show him the beautiful illustrations. Her sisters were no longer kept away from him and, no matter what tricks were played, he still could tell them apart.
With Paiden recovering, his humour shining through, she saw a different side to Rory. He laughed more and sometimes seemed content with her family. Her father’s good nature, her sisters’ constant chatter, the fact she now willingly went in to his arms.
How could she not, when he revealed more every day? Which made her ask herself again, could she love him? And was it possible Rory cared for her?
Too soon to ask such questions, not with her secret still being kept. Yet, as much guilt as she felt for not telling him of Rhona’s story she also felt that Rory, too, held something back, something she didn’t quite understand, something dark that drove him.
She wondered what it was. Now following the two Lochmores through the sparse line of trees and seeing the village and Lochmore Castle loom over the next hill, she was beginning to understand. Beginning to know her husband and it broke her heart. His wasn’t a cheerful home.
On and on they wove through the village; greetings were called out and sheep scattered. The village was immaculate. Not a roof needed thatching, the roads were well gravelled and cobbled. Ditches ran along the side for refuse and run off. She’d longed for such industry and efficiency for McCrieff, but Hamish’s greed and missed opportunities depleted coffers that would have been better spent on the Clan than on one bitter man who was never satisfied.
Adjusting her skirts from the saddle, she gazed at the dark flock of birds dotting the clear blue sky. Here she was riding to her husband’s home to visit with his family and she was wishing a man on his death bed ill will. If the Fates could hear her now, they’d heap more mischief upon her. She carried enough grief and burden without welcoming any more and she crossed herself to ward off any ill omens heading their way.
Closer to the castle’s gates and the roads narrowed. Rory no longer rode side by side with his father, who surged on ahead to visit with tenants who ran up to greet him. It allowed her to move closer to Rory since her own palfrey was so much smaller.
‘Are you well?’ Rory asked.
The ride across their lands had been brief; Rory couldn’t mean her physical health, but she wasn’t prepared to tell him her turbulent thoughts and worries. ‘Your home is very impressive, Rory.’
The gentle light in his gaze dimmed and he turned his head to look at everything but his
home. ‘It’s a...fine roof and walls. My mother ensured it so.’
The immense stone castle and stronghold ahead was more than stone and mortar. It had been built to impress and intimidate. She knew his parents’ marriage had been arranged for political and financial gain. Perhaps those types of alliances were what created such lofty residences. Her own parents had married for love.
It was not lost on her that her own marriage had been arranged and, though she had done it from her heart, Rory had, in truth, done it for political gain. Seeing Lochmore’s castle, she wondered if he would want his own home to intimidate and impress. Perhaps he envisaged no warmth between himself and the children she prayed they’d have.
After all this time, she had shared her past and they had addressed the present, but by some tacit agreement they had not talked of the future. Maybe she was cowardly; maybe they both knew how tenuous their future was.
Maybe he didn’t imagine a future. She didn’t know. Her husband was complex and intriguing, and just when she thought she understood him, she realised she didn’t. ‘You must have spent hours playing hide and seek in such rooms.’
Foolish remark. Rory was an only child. While no castle room could be truly empty, he didn’t have what she had with her own siblings—
‘Not so much hide and seek,’ he said, his tone contemplative. ‘Among us boys, it was more hide and hide some more. Paiden was a handful even then, forever stealing loaves of bread or, if it was available, dried fruit from the kitchens. You’d think on such lands, we’d easily get lost.’
‘Except you were clever.’
‘We had some good places. Behind the chapel, the crypt, the...passageway to the water. But I think he liked getting caught.’
‘That’s because he liked bragging of his prowess. Does no good to steal precious dessert when he can’t take credit for it.’
A laugh burst through Rory’s clenched lips ‘So true! It all makes sense now why I couldn’t talk him into any place else to hide.’