by Alisa Adams
“The honor is mine,” said Alastair, bowing his head slightly. “I am actually Laird Alastair of the Clan Macleod, and this is my son, Brice of the Clan Macleod.”
He greeted the father and then kissed the hands belonging to the mother and daughter, who was only slightly younger than Brice. Alastair thought to himself that Margret was a pretty lass with her auburn hair and sweet freckles. She had a certain self-assuredness that he had only seen in very few women. He ultimately decided that she was a young lady that would not be easily forgotten.
Brice followed in his father’s example. He lingered for a moment too long when he grazed the back of Margret’s hand with his lips. It was obvious that he shared his father’s good taste in women.
“What shall we do with the prisoners?” asked Hadwin; he was the head of the men-at-arms at Leighton manor. He briefly introduced himself as such.
“As the temporary Lord Leighton, I think that is yer decision, Brice,” said Alastair, turning to his son.
Hadwin promptly apologized to Brice for not acting the part. At the same time, he couldn’t help but smile that there would be a new head of the house of Leighton.
Sir Thomas looked at Brice with even greater astonishment and calculation than before. The young man was truly the heir to the Leighton title as he had claimed. When he had said it to the Scottish thug, he had not believed him. A new head of Leighton Manor offered him so many opportunities. Sir Thomas furtively cast a glance at his daughter; when his gaze touched his wife’s, he immediately knew that she shared his mind and plans.
“We shall have to lock them up,” said Brice, eyeing the six prisoners.
“It would be my pleasure to take care of the matter,” said Sir Thomas, for the moment banishing his plans to the back of his mind. “They will be conveyed to Newcastle upon Tyne on the morrow. The magistrate there will decide their fate.”
Alastair scrunched his brow. Agreeing to that was a fate similar to death or at the very least a sojourn at Chillingham castle. He looked at Ramsey and his ilk more closely. They were all a foul bunch. If they were set free, he was certain they would pillage in the next village, and there would be hardly any protection for the inhabitants there. No matter how much he did not wish the fate of English captivity on any Scot, he could not have men such as these rape and plunder anywhere they pleased.
“Yes, Sir Peter, I agree. Ye ken yer way around these parts better than I do. It’s best ye take responsibility for the prisoners. If ye need any of my men to help ye escort them to Newcastle upon Tyne, I will place them at yer disposal.”
For a heartbeat, Sir Peter had trouble hiding his displeasure at the sound of Brice’s Scottish accent. “That is most kind, Lord Leighton, but I think we can manage with the likes of these rogues.” He bowed graciously. “Good – take them away.” Sir Peter’s face soon became amiable and hospitable again once the men that invaded the sanctuary of his home were removed from sight. “I would be delighted if you and your men would join me and my family for a small goblet of wine as a token of my appreciation.”
Alastair knew that his son wanted to return to Skye but to refuse such an offer was the height of bad form. Also, Alastair was exhausted after the long ride that day, but he willed for his son to make the right decision.
Reluctantly, Brice nodded. “Only for a short while, Sir Peter. I wouldn’t want my betrothed to worry too much. She has done enough of that as of late.”
Sir Peter’s face lit up. “Splendid.”
17
The Path Forks
* * *
Leighton Manor, Northern England, March, 1347
* * *
“This is our third week in this accursed place; I cannae stand it anymore. We have to get back to Diabaig. It’s our home… And what about the wedding? Ye want to do that here, eh? I don’t. It’s already nearly spring; I thought we would be back home preparing everything by now.” Skye started her pacing again after her brief interlude. She had been doing that for the better part of an hour before Brice had joined her outside. “Yer father needs to get back; he has responsibilities to the clan,” she added, twirling on her feet and heading back in the direction she had come.
“Don’t ye speak to me of my da’s responsibilities. He’s very much aware of them. If he thought that he couldn’t be here than he wouldn’t be. And the clan is in very good hands with Doogle, Callum, Mungo and Murtagh looking after it.” Brice placed his hands on his hips, glowering at his betrothed to counter his words. He should’ve known better. Skye was no pushover. She would fight for what she believed in, no matter the cost.
“Then there’s no need for ye to go back then,” hissed out Skye. “Ye can carry on playing the English lord of the manor just like ye have been doing all of this time.” She chuckled at the gallows humor that her mind produced. “Maybe ye might find a nice English lass to warm yer bed… that would be fitting for ye, wouldn’t it?” She snarled at Brice. “Like that little tart ye presented me to at that Ponsonby place the other day.”
Brice took a deep breath, exhaling over a few heartbeats. “She is Sir Thomas’ daughter; of course she would be there. They are an important family in this area. It is imperative to maintain ties with them.” He tried to banish the memory of that afternoon. It had been a disaster with Skye listing all of the atrocities the English committed on Scottish soil. Why couldn’t she just understand that there was nothing more important than to forge alliances, even if it was with the enemy?
Skye didn’t care about his English duties in the least, and she also didn’t care for his, to her mind, toadying to the local gentry. “I saw ye giving her the eye, Brice. And she… Well, the lassie would’ve taken ye round the back and offered ye her virginity in a heartbeat… That is if she even is a virgin, that’s how desperate she was to get under yer kilt.” Skye laughed falsely again. “Ye don’t even wear a bloody kilt anymore. Ye have become some weedy English talley-washer.” She shook her head in disgust. “What would Mungo and Murtagh think if they saw ye, eh?
Brice huffed and raised his hands in defeat; he knew that it was impossible to argue with her when she was like this. He remembered something Mungo had told him once about women: ‘When a lassie digs her heels in, there’s no use to fight her because she is far cleverer with words than ye’ll ever be.’
“Skye, I never thought of ye as the jealous type.”
“Jealous, am I? I’ll show ye jealous.” Skye feigned a step forward and swung her arm, forcing Brice to flinch. “See what I mean; this English air has even made ye soft and slow. Jealous… Hah!” She continued to mutter to herself as she restarted her pacing up and down. “Soon, ye’ll be sleeping in a tent when ye travel like some skiving Lowlander.”
Skye, I dinnae want to argue with ye, but ye have not been a supportive lass since we got here. All ye have been doing is moping around the grounds with a face like Murtagh after he’s been on the ale all night, or nagging like one of the ole, superstitious lasses back home… This behavior cannae continue. Ye are to be the wife of a laird…”
Letting the air rush out of her mouth, Skye looked up to the empyrean in the hope that God might answer her prayers – she had been praying every night that they might be delivered. They stood on one of the many fields surrounding the manor house. The sky was a clear blue for the first time in weeks. The frost now melted as the mornings gradually came to a close and became the afternoon. Soon spring would be upon them, and the fields would boast corncockles, daisies, kingcups and many more. Skye worried that they might still be stuck on English soil when that happened – she dreaded the prospect.
“And besides, Faîther and Maîther are going back to Diabaig on the morrow,” continued Brice. Seeing the thoughtful expression on Skye’s face, he was hopeful that she might relent and give him a chance to complete his plan and explain to her what he had in mind. He would be treading on dangerous ground for Skye was like a tempest in the Minch Sea, unpredictable and dangerous. “We will stay here and run things until I can make a decision as to wha
t to do regarding the Leighton title. It won’t be forever and I—”
Skye had not been listening to a word he had been saying the entire time, but some of those words somehow found their way through the impenetrable barriers that were her anxious thoughts. “What did ye say?”
“Da and Ma are leaving for home on the morrow,” repeated Brice.
“I dinnae ken that.” Skye lurched forward and hugged Brice. In moments, she started to pepper his face with kisses. “That is such wonderful news. I cannae believe it and after all of this time. I will finally see the beautiful hills and the loch of the Highlands again. Springtime at Diabaig is the most beautiful in the whole land.” Skye continued regaling Brice with all of the things he already knew about his home. Then, with a start, she pulled away to look into his eyes. “What?”
Brice swallowed deeply. “We are not going with them.”
Skye’s lips began to tremble. “And what will we be doing?” In her heart, she knew the answer, but she had to hear him say it out loud.
“I still have much work to do…”
Skye started shaking her head, her earlier display of emotion a mere momentary jinx. “No, no, no… What are ye on about?”
“As I was trying to say, I still have a lot to do here, and I am still very much undecided as to what my decision will be when it comes to my inheritance. I just cannae up sticks and leave all of this behind… not without proper thought on the matter at least.” Brice paused for a moment to catch his breath. Discussions such as this with Skye were more trying than fighting on the front line at the Battle of Neville’s Cross. He cleared his throat. “Da finally agrees with me. He said that to lose this land would be folly. We have to find a way of keeping it in the family.” Brice’s face lit up, but quickly collapsed when he saw the expression on Skye’s face.
Skye took a step back and glowered at her betrothed as if he was the vilest of beasts. “Ye never mentioned a word of this to me.” Her brow creased. “Ye and yer faîther knew this all along, and ye didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t tell ye because I knew ye would act like this,” said Brice, lifting his hands before Skye could wallop him in the face. She barely missed when she tried. “Be reasonable, my love. It is only for a while, and I would appreciate yer help. There is so much to be done and—”
“Don’t ye ‘my love’ me… Ye are the foulest walloper I ever encountered in my life. Staying here is bad enough, but the lying… Now that is something I cannae stand. I ken that all men like to distort the truth for their own benefit from time to time; they cannae help it for it is their way. But this is no minor white lie, but a radge dollop of shite thrown my way… And for weeks… For bloody weeks ye have been dragging me along like some silly lassie who has no mind of her own.” Skye advanced again, this time far faster than before. “Ye must think of me as some stupid lassie that is only good for one thing.” She swung with the flat of her palms… Left, right, left, right. This time, two of her hits got him right on the nose. They were violent enough to induce Brice’s nose to bleed.
“What did ye do that for?” he asked, holding his hands to his nose in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding.
“Why’d I do that? I’ll tell ye why… because ye damn well deserved it for lying to the woman ye allegedly love. If that’s what ye’ve got on offer for the rest of our lives, then I dinnae ken if I want any of it.”
“Whoa! Are ye off yer head, woman. Of course I love ye. I have since we were young.”
“My future husband to be has been keeping secrets from me – makes me wonder how many more there are since ye started saying sweet nothings to me.” Skye smacked him again. “Ye knew all along that ye were planning on staying here and yet ye said nothing to me. Everyone kens, except me. I feel like such a fool.” She clouted him again, but far softer than the first times. “Yer father never lies to yer mother,” continued Skye, her resolve weakening because of the sadness inside her.
“I dinnae lie…”
She threatened to slap him again with a slight lift of her hand. Seeing his suffering, Skye changed her mind. Brice was already bleeding. No matter how much she wanted to vent her rage, she held back.
“Ye lied like a husband caught cheating on his wife. I am beginning to think whether marrying ye is such a good idea. Ye’ll probably be seducing the lassies while I am lumbered with three bairns. And when I confront ye, ye’ll deny it all the way.”
Continuing to take steps back from his enraged woman, Brice said, “I had to—”
“I dinnae care what ye thought ye had to do.” Skye placed her hands on her hips and glowered at him. “All ye have to do, and that comes first before ye make any other decisions, is be honest with me… to the woman ye supposedly love.”
“I am sorry that I wasn’t forthright… I do love ye, Skye.”
Skye hacked out a laugh. “Forthright… Ye damn right lied to me. And as for loving me… we will have to see how ye behave from now on to be able to make that claim.” She stepped forward, making Brice flinch and take another step away from her. A small smile played on Skye’s face. “I ken ye all too well, Brice Macleod. If ye thought that ye were in the right, ye would never have let me strike ye like that. Now come on, we have to do something about that nose of yers. I dinnae want to marry a man that looks like Murtagh.”
Brice managed a small smile. He gratefully took her hand and let her guide him in the direction of the manor house. “Does that mean ye will be staying, Skye?”
“Oh, no, not at all. Ye lied to me, and now ye can sort yerself out. After that, ye will come to Diabaig to tell me in what direction yer mind goes. I am not spending another day in this foul land.” She shrugged. “But I might’ve done so had ye not lied to me for weeks.”
Brice froze on the spot. “Ye once said that ye loved me.”
“And I do, Brice Macleod. And ye said that ye loved me…” said Skye, staring at him with her customary withering gaze when she was incensed. “And that means that we both have to respect one another’s decisions. In this case, I dinnae care whether ye are the son of a laird. Ye want to ken why?”
“Why?” asked Brice, already dreading the way Skye’s mind was working.
“Because I am not yer wife yet. My father still presides over me.” She chuckled throatily. “And my mother presides over him. So ye see, Brice Macleod, ye dinnae have any clout over me, especially if my mother gets wind of yer behavior.”
“Why are ye doing this to me? Ye ken that I have to do this. It is my destiny. And besides, I have not made my mind up yet,” protested Brice.
“Good, then my absence might sway yer decision in the right direction.” With those words, Skye stalked toward the house. “Are ye coming?” she yelled.
“What happened?” asked Mary when Brice and Skye entered the Great Hall a few moments later.
Sitting next to her, Alastair had to stifle a laugh. He immediately knew what was going on. “Doesn’t that remind ye of something, Mary?” he asked, barely containing his mirth when he studied the damage done to his son’s nose.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She frowned at her husband. “How can you laugh when our son is obviously hurt?” Mary stepped off the plinth and hurried off to her son. “My dear boy,” she crooned. “Oh, my, the nose is broken. What happened, Brice?”
“So, ye found out, did ye?” asked Alastair when Skye approached the dais. He had a large smile on his face. “Dinnae worry too much, lassie. Man and woman fight. It’s just the way of things.”
“Aye, my Laird. I found out all right. I found out that the man I love has been lying to me for weeks.” She sat down with a grunt and poured herself a cup of wine.
“Aren’t ye going to water that down a little? It is only morning,” said Alastair.
Skye shrugged. “For the final day of my stay here, I want to be as pissed as Murtagh gets during a feast. At least that way I won’t have to experience another sober moment here.”
Alastair arched his eyebrows. “Ye
are not staying?” He too poured a cup of wine, also not diluting it either.
“No… not after yer son lied to me. And besides, this is something that he has to work out for himself. I will be of no use to him here. I am a true Highlander. I’d probably scare all of his English guests away.”
“Ye have a very good point,” said Alastair, winking at her. “But dinnae worry; I ken that my son loves ye. Know this, what he does here, he does for the good of the Clan Macleod.”
Skye nodded at him.
“Skye, how could you do this to him?” interjected Mary, as she placed her son in a chair. She promptly gave the order for some fresh cloths and some water to be brought by the servant standing nearby. She poured her son and herself some wine and sat down, glowering at her future daughter-in-law.
Skye told Mary everything that happened. The more she said, the angrier Mary got. It lasted long enough until Mary snapped at Skye. Before the latter could respond, Alastair intervened.
“Mary, ye do remember the time I lied to ye?” Alastair laughed deeply, the sound echoing in the hall. “Ye nearly killed me with a claymore.” He shook his head at the memory. “I was so in love with ye that I didn’t keep my end of the bargain, and I lied to ye.” He shrugged. “It’s what we men do to get and keep ye.” He sipped his wine calmly. “I am sure Brice will never do it again after today. He’s my son; I never lied to my wife after that sword incident.”
“I do remember, but in this case, Skye beat Brice for a far lesser wrongdoing—”
Alastair lifted his hand to stop his wife in midsentence. “Listen, lassie. Ye are being the mother now; I am certain yer father would have had my hide had he seen me whip ye. Now, that was what ye call a wrongdoing.” He lifted his hands. “And since when is lying a lesser wrong than anything else, eh?”
Mary winced. “Yes, he certainly would have.” Something she had long forgotten surfaced again. Alastair had disciplined her after defying him with the sword. She had received the lash like any Scots woman showing public disobedience to a man would. What happened behind closed doors was different. There, women often dominated. However, Mary had learned to live with it, and Alastair had never done that to her again.