Leila’s Legacy

by Madeline Martin

  “So do we,” cried Joan and John together in unison. They had plumped up with good health from the thin, ill children Leila had first seen in the village when she feared they would die from the great pestilence.

  An elegant girl with curling brown hair walked swiftly to keep after them, obviously attempting to keep from running indoors as her cousins did. Cat’s eldest, Evelyn, tutted. “We mustn’t get in the way.”

  Leila caught Gavin by the arm and spun him playfully about as he passed. “The kitchens, you say?”

  His blue eyes sparkled. “Aye, Nan promised us a treat.”

  Even little Bonnie grinned excitedly at this. She and Brodie had settled easily into life at Werrick Castle.

  “If you go, you must stay out of the way,” Leila cautioned. “In to get them and straight back out again.”

  They all nodded solemnly at her.

  “If we’re good at the wedding, will you show us how to throw knives?” Blanche asked.

  Leila made a show of considering their request.

  Blanche fluttered her long lashes and gave a smile so endearing, it nearly crumbled Leila’s resolve. “Please, Aunt Leila.”

  “I’ll speak to your mothers about it.” It was as good an answer as Leila could muster under such endearing persuasion.

  “Off with you now, and mind you stay out of the way.” Leila tilted her head down the hall.

  They all ran off toward the kitchens for their promised pastries. Even Evelyn, though she did pause to tuck Eversham’s little hand into hers first.

  “We’ll have one of those soon.” Niall’s warm voice pulled Leila’s attention behind her. “Did the herbs Isla gave ye help at all?”

  “Aye, they did.” In fact, they’d minimized the nausea so well that Leila had asked her what was in it. Fortunately, it was absent any heifer’s piss. But then, Leila had sniffed it beforehand as a precaution. After so many years of working with Isla, Leila would have known the distinctly sharp odor at once.

  She grinned at him as Niall pulled her into his arms. “Do you think we’ll have a boy or a girl?”

  Niall set his hand to the small bump of Leila’s lower stomach and looked pensive. “Feels like…”

  Leila raised her brows in expectation. The babe had been an unexpected and wonderful surprise. She knew children were a possibility when they wed, of course. But after having spent her life thinking she would be slain early in life, never once had she considered she might have a child of her own. Now though, the idea was seeded deeply in her heart and she thanked God every day for the child growing in her womb.

  “Feels like a wee babe growing.” He shrugged. “I wasna ever good at knowing the future.”

  Leila laughed and kissed her husband. “Nor am I anymore.” She’d grown used to no longer having visions. Her sleep was deep and uninterrupted and the constant worry that had shrouded most of her life had finally lifted.

  “All of Werrick’s soldiers are prepared for the wedding celebration of a lifetime.” Niall winked. “Any attack would be thwarted immediately without any of us being the wiser.”

  She beamed up at her husband. He had excelled at his role as Captain of the Guard. Every one of his men respected him, first by his reputation and then by his treatment of them. He did not expect his men to do what he would not do himself.

  His experience with reivers in the chaotic world of Liddesdale brought an edge to fighting that Werrick’s soldiers had never implemented before. It made them all better, stronger, more confident. Aye, Werrick Castle was in good hands for such a grand wedding feast, especially with Brodie in charge of the men in Niall’s absence.

  “I remember our own wedding.” Niall nuzzled Leila’s face with his, his face scraped smooth. “And our wedding night.” His mouth found hers. “I love ye, mo chridhe.”

  “And I love you.” Leila kissed him again. And again. And again. “Nay.” She put a hand to his chest. “We don’t have time.”

  “But we will later.” He grinned.

  She kissed him once more and strode away. “I have to see to my father.”

  Niall winked at her and headed in the opposite direction to finalize his own preparations.

  Leila found her father walking out of Rose’s chamber, of all places. He opened his arms when he saw Leila.

  “Father, you aren’t supposed to see your bride before the ceremony.” She went into his arms and embraced him.

  He released her with a shrug. “I’m too old for convention, Daughter. And she sent a maid for me to come and offer my opinion on her hair. Who am I to deny the woman soon to be my bride?”

  “I’m so glad you’ve found such happiness,” Leila said earnestly. It had been a sweet thing to watch the love blossom between her father and Rose. What had come from Rose’s aid while she helped heal him had developed into a beautiful bond that left Rose’s cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling every time Lord Werrick was near.

  And likewise, Leila had not seen her father smile so readily in many, many years. One day she noted the sadness that lined his eyes had lightened and she knew it was all Rose’s doing.

  “Have you seen Joan and John?” Father asked. “The rapscallions have disappeared.”

  “Running about with your wild grandchildren and Bonnie in search of pastries,” Leila replied.

  Lord Werrick nodded and chuckled affectionately. “Aye, that sounds like them.”

  “Leila,” Cat cried out from down the hall. “Papa! Come quickly! She’s here!”

  Leila’s heart gave a leap of excitement. “Marin’s here,” she whispered eagerly. She had delivered a healthy baby boy nearly seven months ago. They’d all kept their distance as the last of the great pestilence died out for fear of bringing danger to their doorstep. After the years Marin and Bran had waited for their miracle, no one wanted to offer the least bit of risk.

  Now she was at Werrick Castle and they would meet the babe. Finally.

  Leila and her father made their way swiftly to the great hall to find Bran and Marin standing together, gazing down at a bundled babe sleeping in her arms. Anice, Ella and Cat were already there, quietly observing the baby.

  Marin had a soft smile on her lips, her attention fixed on her child. The contented joy of Leila’s eldest sister seemed to glow and fill the entire room.

  Tears immediately warmed Leila’s eyes.

  Marin looked up with the most beautiful smile Leila had ever seen. “Leila, this is your nephew, Nicholas.”

  The child in Marin’s arms was perfect. Chubby rosy cheeks, a mouth that puckered in mock nursing even as he slept and a fuzz of downy blond hair on his perfectly round head.

  “Oh, Marin,” Leila breathed. “He’s beautiful.”

  “I love him so much.” Marin’s voice broke and her eyes misted with tears of her own. “I am so grateful for him every day.”

  “I know.” Leila gently squeezed her sister’s shoulders.

  A black cat slinked from the shadows and trotted over to Bran to wind between his feet.

  “Ach, there ye are, Bixby.” Bran lifted the cat into his arms and a low vibrating purr filled the air. “I missed ye too, ye wee beast.”

  Bixby simply lifted his chin and squinted his eyes shut in pleasure.

  Niall entered the great hall and made his way toward them. “Ach, what a sweet wee bairn.” He gazed tenderly down at Marin’s new son and cast a secret glance in Leila’s direction.

  They were waiting to tell everyone their own good news until after the wedding. Today was for Marin to introduce her son, and for Rose and Father to celebrate their union.

  “I think all is ready,” Niall said. “Or at least, so says Bernard.” He turned his attention to Bran. “Yer timing is perfect. The servants can tend to yer things while we’re at the chapel.”

  “We would have arrived sooner, but someone made us stop every few moments.” Marin cast a teasing glance up at Bran.

  “I might be a bit of a worrier when it comes to my family.” He gave a roguish grin. “But
I’ll kick the arse of any man that dares call me that.”

  Marin chuckled and shook her head at her husband.

  Nan appeared in the doorway and put her hands to her mouth. “Ach, Lady Marin.” She rushed over to her, cooing over the sleeping Nicholas. “I was told to summon everyone to the chapel and look here at what I find.”

  Niall gallantly offered Leila his arm. “Can I walk ye to the chapel, my beautiful wife?”

  She accepted his offer and slipped her hand against the strong warmth of his arm. He led her to the chapel, where the pews quickly filled with family and friends close enough to be family themselves.

  Rose was beautiful in a pale pink gown with her red hair hanging in glossy waves down her back. Lord Werrick looked regal as he made his way down the aisle in a new doublet with gilt edging and a sparkle in his eyes that warmed Leila’s heart.

  And as they listened to the vows being spoken, Leila’s heart swelled to near-bursting. The border between Scotland and England was seldom one of joy or security and yet her family had found both. Even as their lives had been shadowed by sorrow for so many years, now happiness shone down upon them.

  The dangerous lands made for precarious living, and yet through it all, love found each and every one of them. And they would all, as Ella put it in her stories, live happily ever after.

  Thank you for reading LEILA’S LEGACY, the final book of my Borderland Ladies series! I hope you’ve enjoyed being part of the Barrington family as much as I have.

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  Please know that I read all of my reviews and would love to know how you enjoyed the story, so please do leave a review.

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  Not ready for the series to end yet? Me neither! Coming in 2020: Borderland Rebels!

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  Follow Drake Campbell and his three sisters, Faye, Clara and Kinsley, on the Scottish side of the border where life carries its own dangers and trials and, of course, passions.

  * * *

  Per-Order Faye’s Story Now!

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  Continue reading for a short backstory on Drake and his sisters to get to know them a little better. They can’t wait to meet you in 2020!

  June 1327

  Drake Campbell accepted the purse of coins with a stoicism that would have made his da proud. A lump formed in the back of his throat, thick and obtuse, but he swallowed it down. He was a man of twelve summers, not some lass tucked by her mother’s knee.

  He was on the path to become a knight. Well, after he became a squire, of course.

  He thanked the royal steward who had personally bestowed the costly gift upon him. It was an honor any page would have relished, were it not for the circumstances.

  “You do realize that with Sir Harold’s passing, you and your family can no longer remain on the land.” The steward spoke gently, but it did not temper the pain of his words.

  “The land will be escheated to the king.” Drake repeated the words that had been spoken to him once before by his da. Because he had wed a Scottish laird’s daughter, Sir Harold’s land could never be passed down to Drake and would instead be absorbed by the crown.

  At the time, Sir Harold, a knight never once defeated in battle, had laughed at the idea of his death.

  The jest had lost its mirth.

  Drake awkwardly held the weighty bundle of coins in his hands. “’Tis kind of ye to grant us this gift.” And indeed it was. Without land, without a home, they would need it. Even if it would not last long for a family of five.

  “Your father was a brave knight.” The royal steward removed his feathered cap and lowered his head so Drake could see his shiny pate. “One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’ll be a knight like him one day,” Drake vowed.

  The steward straightened and regarded Drake with a pained expression. “Not with that accent, my boy.” He shook his head. “Not with Scottish blood running in your veins.”

  The knot in Drake’s throat fisted tighter and rage fired hot in his veins. His father had died for this country and now it shunned him and his family with little more than a sack of coin to make their pillows cradle their heads more comfortably at night.

  “I dinna care what it takes,” Drake vowed, “I will become a knight someday.”

  “England would be the stronger for it, I believe,” the steward answered slowly. “I shall pray for your endeavors and for your father’s soul.”

  Drake nodded, unable to say another word. Emotions whipped through him, too wild to tame into a semblance of understanding. Anger that the English would cast him and his family out so easily. Disbelief at how quickly their fates had been cast. And the blatant, widening chasm of sorrow that split his chest with powerful loss.

  He returned home thus, weighted with the news he bore, the bag of guilt coin at his side and his father’s bound body in the wagon behind the destrier that had not been able to save him.

  When he approached, Drake’s mother ran out of the manor with his three young sisters. She took one look at the cart behind the large horse and let out a keening cry. The sharpness of it reverberated off the cold stone manor and raked into Drake’s heart until his own throat ached with his swallowed tears.

  The oldest of his sisters, wee Faye with her pale blonde hair and large dark eyes, immediately went to him.

  “Were ye in battle as well?” Her lower lip trembled. “Were ye injured, Brother?”

  Drake clenched his teeth and shook his head, unable to speak for fear of the tears welling over the dam he’d erected. He was the man of the house now, the one who would have to protect them all. The one who had to be strong.

  Their middle sister, Clara, had always had a tender heart. Too young to understand the implication of the cart and what it held, she instead curled herself around their mother, pressing her dark head against their mother’s red one.

  Then there was the youngest, little Kinsley, who had only seen four summers. She called to him in her confusion and he went to her at once, lifting her into his arms.

  She held his face between her chubby, warm palms and looked directly into his eyes, as brazen as ever. “Where’s Da?”

  Drake fought the knot in his throat and held her to him, nuzzling his face into the mass of her silky red hair. He had to be strong. For all of them.

  And he was. Even when they were removed from the manor and forced on the road to find new lodgings. Even as the English continued to withdraw their welcome as soon as they heard Drake’s accent. Even as they journeyed to the chaotic border between England and Scotland.

  It was said the border between the lands swelled and ebbed like the rolling tide. As a result, loyalties and nationalities muddied beneath the rise and fall, so people who were Scottish lived among those who were English with little issue between them.

  They could have returned to the Campbell clan, of course, but Drake’s mother refused to allow them succor with such a man. Drake didn’t understand her reasoning at first, especially after the coin was gone despite their rationing. And later, her stubbornness frustrated him further when she’d sold all her jewelry to pay for the meals in their gnawing bellies.

  It wasn’t until several years later that Drake understood, when he became something he never thought to be. Not an English knight on a valiant steed, but a reiver.

  It had been a slow descent into a life of sin that started with an invitation to partake in the spoils of a recent raid of the English Marches. The spoils being a cow whose meat had crisped with the lick of flames and whose fat hissed as it dripped into the embers.

  Drake, who hadn’t allowed himself to truly fill on a meal in several months, wanted to decline even as his feet pulled him toward the tender, succulent meat. It was then he met Bran Davidson, a reiver, aye, but a man whose morals only led him to a full belly and the safety of his sole remaining sister.

  Morals Drake could stand behind.

  Even as Drake had his reservations of living such a lifestyle, he found himself gradually relaxing as he
watched his mother and sisters thrive in a better life. One where his mother’s fingers did not bleed at the end of the night from mending and laundering for their neighbors. One where they all ate until they were full, every night.

  It was through Drake’s time as a reiver that he began to hear stories of the infamous Laird Campbell. The laird was said to be clever, his sharp mind plucking at delicate spots within one’s heart. If warriors wielded weapons, then rulers wielded people, and Laird Campbell was perhaps the greatest laird there ever was. None could manipulate a man with more skill.

  It was through these stories that Drake knew the man his grandfather truly was. And it was then Drake realized not only did he have to protect his mother and sisters from hunger and war, but also from the one man who could have saved them from it all: Laird Campbell.

  Drake devoted his life to that protection. He willingly sacrificed sleep at night when reiving was more easily done, and risked his life for the safety of his mother and his sisters.. And though he lived as best he could by the moral rules he’d learned as a page, he even set aside his dreams of becoming a knight like his da.

  For how could a reiver with English and Scottish blood clashing in his veins ever be awarded a knighthood?

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  Author’s Note

  Delving into the research on the Black Death from the 14th century was beyond fascinating. I knew I wanted Leila to be accused of witchcraft when I first started the Borderland Ladies and realized as I started to plot her book that the Black Death was the perfect opportunity to do this.