Fate of a Highlander

by Baker, Katy

  Fate of a Highlander

  Katy Baker

  Published by Katy Baker, 2019.

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  FATE OF A HIGHLANDER

  First edition. May 3, 2019.

  Copyright © 2019 Katy Baker.

  Written by Katy Baker.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Fate of a Highlander

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

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  Chapter 1

  “Honestly, Doc,” Mr Roberts said with a wide-eyed look of innocence. “I dunno why it’s got worse. I did everything you told me.”

  Eleanor Stevenson glanced at the red, swollen foot and sighed. Straightening from where she knelt by Mr Roberts, she pulled off her latex gloves and took a seat behind the desk, resting her palms flat on the smooth wooden surface.

  “How many drinks have you had today, Mr Roberts?”

  “None!” he cried indignantly. “Well, maybe a tiny dram this morning, just to keep out the cold.”

  He blinked bleary eyes at her and scratched at his scraggly beard. Eleanor could smell the rum from here. A tiny dram? More like a whole bottle!

  “And have you been keeping to the diet we talked about? Cutting out fried food?”

  Mr Roberts nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! Nothing but greens and roughage for me, Doc.”

  Mr Roberts was a long-term patient and seemed determined to do all in his power to thwart Eleanor’s attempts to help him. What did they say about a horse and water?

  “Mr Roberts,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. “Your gout won’t improve whilst you’re still drinking heavily and eating the wrong things. We’ve talked about this. I’m going to make a referral to the dietician who will talk to you about your alcohol and calorie intake.”

  Mr Roberts looked horrified. His bushy eyebrows all but disappeared into his hairline. “There’s no need for that, Doc! Just give me a couple of pills!”

  “I’ll prescribe some anti-inflammatories but you’ll be receiving a call from the dietician later this week.” She fixed him with a determined stare.

  Mr Roberts swallowed. “Oh. Okay. Right you are, Doc. Can I go now?” He sounded like a naughty child desperate to escape the headmistress’s office.

  Eleanor nodded. “Yes, Mr Roberts. That will be all for now.”

  He scrambled up with a sprightliness that belied his advancing age, put his shoe back on, and hurried out the door before Eleanor could utter another word.

  She leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath. The clock on the wall read 5.30. Home time. Her eyes strayed to the window. It was raining again. Through the rivulets running down the panes Eleanor saw the glare of headlights as the traffic outside began to form its usual rush hour traffic jam. Her eyes slid closed and she took the time to enjoy a moment’s rest.

  “My, ye look like ye need yer bed, my dear,” said a voice suddenly.

  Eleanor bolted upright with a small cry of surprise. An old woman was sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk, smiling at her brightly. Damn! This must be a last minute appointment the reception staff hadn’t had the chance to tell her about.

  “Sorry,” Eleanor muttered. “I was just...you know...um...”

  Oh, hell! Talk about appearing unprofessional!

  “I know, dearie,” the woman said. “Gets me like that sometimes too.”

  Eleanor cleared her throat and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “What can I do for you, Mrs....?”

  “MacAskill,” the woman supplied. “Irene MacAskill.”

  She beamed at Eleanor, her cheeks rosy and her eyes sparkling. She reminded Eleanor of an elderly cherub. She was so short her feet dangled from the chair and her iron-gray hair was pulled back into a bun. Black eyes peered out from a nest of wrinkles and she looked like she laughed a lot. Despite her age, she had a sprightly, vigorous air about her.

  “Very nice to meet you, Mrs MacAskill—”

  “Pah!” the old woman said, waving a hand, “Call me Irene. All my friends do.”

  “Okay, Irene. What’s the problem?”

  “With me? Naught at all, dear. I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  Eleanor frowned. “You’re not ill?”

  “Ill? Why ever would ye think such a thing? I’ve never felt better in all my life!” The woman spoke with a thick Scottish accent that Eleanor found difficult to keep up with.

  “So what is it you want?” she asked, puzzled. “A certificate?”

  “A certywhat?”

  Eleanor pressed her lips into a flat line and schooled herself to patience. “Mrs MacAskill, why don’t you tell me how I can help you?”

  Irene MacAskill leaned forward and tapped her nose conspiratorially. “Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, lass. Ye are starting to ask the right questions. What can ye help me with? Naught much, only restoring the balance of the universe, is all.”

  The woman fixed her with an unblinking gaze and Eleanor was suddenly struck by how dark her eyes were, like chips of obsidian.

  “Do ye believe in fate, Doctor Stevenson?”

  Thrown off guard by the sudden change in topic, Eleanor blinked. “Fate? You mean the kind of stuff fairground fortune tellers tout? Hardly. If that was real I’d be married to a tall, dark handsome man who’d swept me off my feet. Isn’t that the destiny every girl is supposed to dream of?” She laughed, trying to lighten the mood but Irene stared right at her, a serious expression on her face.

  “Nay, lass. That isnae destiny at all, that’s a cheap trick. True destiny means finding the right path, the one ye were meant to walk and the person who was meant to walk it by yer side. Sometimes we are born many miles and many years away from those souls who are meant to share our path. When that happens the balance is thrown out of kilter. My job is to preserve that balance. So. Will ye help me do that?”

  Oh great. As if Mr Roberts hadn’t been trying enough, now she had the ramblings of an eccentric old woman to deal with! Eleanor rubbed her temples where a headache was starting to form. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a large glass of wine right now!

  “I’m sorry, Mrs MacAskill, but I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now if you would just—”

  “Dinna ye?” Irene interrupted. “Are ye sure about that?” She cocked her head and the gaze she fixed on Eleanor seemed to pin her to the spot.

  Jeez, the woman had a stare like Eleanor’s old gym instructor! She tried to think of something to say but found that all her words had flown right out of her head. Under that stern, penetrating gaze she suddenly felt uneasy.

  “Ye seem tired,” Irene said gently, her smile returning.

  “Do I?” Eleanor muttered. “I guess I do. Night shifts will do that to you.”

  Irene nodded. “Aye, they will. But have ye asked yerself why ye push yerself to the limits of yer endurance,
always busy, always exhausted?”

  Because I’m trying to make amends. The thought flared in Eleanor’s head before she could stop it. I’m trying to make up for my failure.

  She shifted uneasily in her chair. She didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. Why was the old woman asking these questions? “Because I’m needed,” she replied, hearing the defensiveness in her tone. “There are always so many patients to see.”

  “A noble reason,” Irene replied, clasping her hands together and leaning on the table. “But only partly true. Ye do it because ye are trying to prove that ye are good enough. To yer colleagues, yer patients. But mostly to yerself. I see the restlessness in yer soul, lass. I see ye striving for something and never finding it.” Her gaze softened, full of something Eleanor couldn’t quite place. “Ye willnae find what ye are looking for, my dear. Do ye know why?”

  Despite herself, Eleanor found herself shrinking back from the old woman’s impenetrable gaze. Who was this woman? And why did she stare at Eleanor as though she saw right into her soul?

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “Because the answers canna be found where ye are searching. Yer true path lies somewhere else entirely. I know ye have been considering leaving medicine, unable to reconcile yer one mistake, nay matter how hard ye work. But that isnae the answer either. Listen to yer heart—and ignore that voice of self-doubt that forever whispers in yer ear. Only by listening to yer heart, and blocking out all else, will ye find yer true path. Can ye do that Doctor Stevenson?”

  “I...um...I,” Eleanor murmured.

  Irene reached across the desk and patted Eleanor’s hand fondly. “Think on my words, lass. Yer destiny is calling and ye have a choice. Make that decision ye have been wrestling with. I hope ye make the right one.”

  With that Irene hopped down from the chair and crossed to the door. She paused as she opened it, looked back at Eleanor, gave her a wink and a grin, then exited the room and pulled the door closed behind her. For a moment Eleanor sat staring at the closed door, too stunned and too unsettled to move.

  What the hell had just happened? Who was that woman to come wandering into Eleanor’s office talking like she knew her? She’d never met the dratted woman before!

  And yet she seemed to know so much about me, Eleanor thought. How could she have known about the decision I’ve been trying to make? How could she have known how I feel so torn between duty and what my heart is telling me?

  She leaned forward and pressed the intercom on her desk.

  “Hi, Eleanor,” came the cheerful voice of Angela on reception. “Everything okay?”

  “Who was that patient I’ve just seen?” Eleanor asked. “And when was the appointment made?”

  “You mean Mr Roberts?” Angela said incredulously. “I reckon you know him better than any of us!”

  “No, not him. The one after him, an old lady by the name of Irene MacAskill.”

  “Hmm, don’t recognize the name. Hang on, I’ll check the records.” There was a pause and Eleanor heard the tapping of a keyboard. “No, there’s no record of an Irene MacAskill booked in today. In fact, we don’t have any records of an Irene MacAskill registered here at all. Are you sure that’s the name?”

  “Positive,” Eleanor murmured. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

  “Are you okay? You sound a little...strange.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t have any more patients today do I?”

  “No, you’re good,” Angela replied. “Listen, I can do some more digging on this Irene if you like, see if we can turn something up. There must be a record of her somewhere.”

  “No, that’s okay,” Eleanor said. Without understanding why, she was suddenly sure that no amount of digging would turn up information on Irene MacAskill.

  She cut off the intercom and leaned back in her chair. Outside her window it was getting dark and through the rivulets of rain the tail lights of the traffic jam gleamed like coals.

  She sighed then opened her laptop, looking at the job application open on the screen. Irene had been right. She did have a decision to make, had been wrestling with it for weeks. Did she leave medicine altogether and cease striving to correct a mistake that could never, ever, be corrected? Did she learn to live with what she’d done? Or did she try somewhere else? Find another place where she might make a difference? Another place where she might finally find some peace?

  She scanned the application. The post was for a locum doctor in a remote area of the Scottish Highlands, on the far side of the Atlantic and a million miles away from this busy city.

  True destiny means finding the right path, the one ye were meant to walk and the person who was meant to walk it by yer side.

  Outside, the rain was getting heavier and people were hurrying along the busy street clutching umbrellas, hunched against the harsh weather. The blaring of car horns sounded loud, even inside the room. Eleanor sighed. What was she waiting for? What was she afraid of?

  Everything, she answered herself. Of failing. Of never making things right.

  Irene's words suddenly came back to her. Listen to yer heart.

  Her eyes slid to the application on the screen. All she had to do was click 'send' and that would be that. Listen to yer heart. Almost involuntarily her hand moved to the mouse, the cursor hovering over the 'send' button.

  Find the path ye were meant to tread.

  With a deep breath, Eleanor pressed the button.

  FINLAY MACAULEY COULDN't remember a day as splendid as this one. Spring had finally come to the Highlands of Scotland. The birds were nesting, the insects were waking up, and the leaves were the bright, fresh green of new life. He stopped walking for a moment and paused to take it all in. Around him spread the undulating foothills that bordered the mountains. They were carpeted in lush spring grass with yellow flowers poking through. Aye, it was a grand day. A day of color and light and hope.

  It was only a pity his mission was such a dark one.

  Shaking himself, he focussed his attention on what he was here to do. Directly ahead of him two roads met. One led east towards the sea, the other north into the mountains. The two roads formed the border of his lord's land and were the cause of much strife. Right now, the area appeared peaceful, with not a soul in sight. There was only Finlay and the glorious Highland morning. For now. But soon there would be chaos, the clash of weapons, the stink of fear, the senseless slaughter of good men.

  Dropping to one knee, he scanned the ground and his tracker's eyes soon found what he was looking for. Hoof prints marked the soft grass, two sets of them, spaced far apart which indicated the riders had been galloping in a hurry. He frowned. The tracks came from the north and then veered onto the eastern road, heading into the territory of his lord's enemies.

  Finlay straightened, glancing around. The gentle breeze stirred his dark hair. There was no sign of the riders now and from the look of the tracks they'd been made some time yesterday.

  Scouts at a guess, sent to spy on his lord's preparations for war and they'd galloped back to their masters with their news. He squinted into the distance but all he saw was the line of the hills. Were enemies gathering in those hills right now? Were they preparing to march? To bring war and destruction?

  He hesitated, battling with indecision. His orders were to scout this area and bring news of any tracks he found. He was not ordered to cross the border and scout any further. But he longed to know what his lord's enemies were up to. He longed to know if the rumors were true.

  He took a step down the eastern road and then another. It would be so easy to keep walking, to retrace the steps he'd once walked when he'd left his old life for this new one. But he could not. He'd made a bargain and there was no way out of it. He halted.

  Slinging his pack over one shoulder, his bow over the other, he turned his back on the eastern road and cut across country. He travelled on foot rather than by horse, the better to slip close to enemy lines, and left the roads altogether, striking out into the
wilderness to the northwest.

  He soon found himself passing into a wooded valley with a river meandering along its bottom. Kingfishers darted in and out of the stream like brightly colored arrows and a family of otters looked up in alarm as he passed and then went back to their play when they realized he was no threat. Finlay picked his way carefully down to the river's edge and crouched to splash water on his face. He paused as he caught sight of his reflection.

  His dark hair, so like that of his father and eldest brother, framed a face he barely recognized. Finlay had been little more than a boy when he and his two brothers had made their fateful bargain but the face staring back at him was that of a man, a careworn man whose eyes had seen too much.

  What have I become? he thought suddenly. Why am I doing this?

  In a flash of annoyance he slapped the water, shattering his reflection. He was about to continue his journey when he noticed a set of footprints in the soft ground at the water's edge. The footprints were small, either those of a child or a woman. There was only one set and they led along the river bank towards a stand of willows.

  Finlay's frown deepened. What would a woman or a child be doing out here alone? It was many miles to the nearest road or settlement and Finlay had believed he was the only one who knew of this valley. He usually came out here to be alone. Now, it seemed, he wasn't.

  He began edging along the river bank, following the tracks. They led unerringly towards where the branches of two huge weeping willows hung down over the river, creating a curtain through which he couldn't see. He paused, going still, and listened, all his senses straining for any clue as to who might be about.

  He heard nothing but the gurgle of the river and the calls of birds. Even so, the back of his neck prickled and he felt sure he was being watched. It wasn't a feeling he liked. As an expert tracker, Finlay was usually the one doing the watching.

  Ye are being daft, he told himself. It's probably some shepherd boy who's gotten himself lost.