by Amanda Scott
As the twins prepared for bed that night in their chamber, Katy said, “Do you think Da is right about that prediction, Clydie, that it is just daft?”
“He usually is right about such things,” Clydia said. “Brother Julian seems sensible, too. In any event, I will not disturb myself about it without more evidence than the word of two Lowlanders. What are you going to do about Gilli Roy?”
“I have not decided,” Katy said, unwilling to declare again to her twin that she did not intend ever to marry Gilli. She would say so only after she had formed a plan to persuade her parents that she should not marry him.
In bed, with the candle snuffed out, after a few minutes of silence, Clydia said, “I mean to walk up the south hillside tomorrow and gather some new herbs to replant in the garden. Do you want to come with me?”
“I would, but I think that Gilli and I should show at least some evidence of trying to know each other better. He has shown no interest yet in doing so.”
“Did you ask him where he went today?”
“Aye, sure, but he said only that he likes the solitude of the woods for thinking. He knows as well as I do, though, that Da will not let him keep wandering about, nor is he likely to let us wander off together.”
Clydia chuckled. “You are right about that,” she said. “I’ll wager that Gil hopes Brother Julian will stay for at least a sennight.”
Katy chuckled, aware that she would welcome any distraction that kept her father from pressing them to marry. However, Wednesday morning, while the family and their guests were breaking their fast, Brother Julian thanked Fin for his hospitality and said he would be on his way as soon as they rose from the table.
“So soon, Brother?” Catriona said, leaning forward to speak across her husband. “You are welcome to rest here for as long as you like.”
“I thank ye kindly, m’lady, but I have promised to visit Nairn and travel on into the mountains to the west to perform a wedding. Sithee, a couple has married by declaration there, but her parents insist that there must be a kirk ceremony, too.”
“Marriage by declaration?” Gilli Roy said, staring at the friar. “I have heard of such, but I do not know exactly what it means or how it is done.”
Astonished that he would express interest in such a thing, Katy wanted to shake him for extending talk of marriage at all.
“’Tis an ancient and legal form of wedding in Scotland,” Brother Julian said. “’Tis gey rare, though, to hear of it amongst nobles and others of higher society, who view marriage as a religious sacrament after parental negotiation and consent. However, Scottish law predates the Kirk in a number of areas and, I believe, has always allowed one member of a couple to declare before witnesses that the two are married. Unless the other party denies it, they are thereafter legally wedded.”
“Sakes,” Gilli Roy said, “I had not heard that. Does it happen often?”
“In many areas, aye,” Brother Julian said. “Although the Kirk does frown on such unions and prefers that priests or chaplains perform all marriages, in kirk when possible. Many communities lack priests, though, and winters, especially Highland ones, can be long, with travel difficult. So it oft becomes a matter of convenience, even necessity,” he added with a wry smile.
“I think it sounds dreadful,” Katy said. “I want all of my friends and family at hand to see me married, with a proper celebration cèilidh and lots of music.”
“I do, too,” Clydia said.
Gilli Roy was silent.
Chapter 5
That same Wednesday morning, Will followed the ridge of hills southward, obeying de Raite’s orders to make certain that naught was occurring to indicate Clan Chattan’s having somehow learned of de Raite’s intent to seize the castle stronghold of Nairn.
He would do it, too, Will thought. His father always did what he said he would do. The seizure of Comyn lands, though it occurred over a century before, gnawed at the man as if it had happened just days ago and before his very eyes.
The only excitement that day, though, occurred on Will’s return when his sister, wide-eyed, informed him that some priest had predicted the end of the world.
“What do you mean by prating such a thing, Aly?” he demanded with a grin.
“’Tis true, Will. A mendicant friar from Blackfriars Monastery in Perth took his midday meal with us today, because he’d heard we have a chapel and desired tae see it and meet Father’s chaplain. He was going tae Nairn and then tae Cawdor and southwestward intae the high mountains, but he told us that a fearful plague has spread from France all the way tae Scotland and that’s what is causing the world tae end. A Border wise woman even predicted the date, just a fortnight from now!”
“Come, come, Alyssa,” Will said. “No one can predict such a thing.”
“But she did, Will! A friar is like a priest. He would not lie. You just hope it does not happen,” she added. “’Tis easier tae hope than tae worry or even tae pray hard that it does not, Will, and you often take the easy ways!”
Realizing she was distraught, Will tried to reassure her but feared his efforts were useless. Although she admitted that this Brother Julian had given them all the same assurances, she still seemed worried that the world’s days were numbered.
Following de Raite’s orders, he spent Thursday on the ridge but saw no sign of Katy or aught to suggest that the residents of Finlagh suspected any impending trouble in Nairn. The fact remained, though, that they were strong allies of Cawdor.
Will had known the Thane of Cawdor’s son, Wilkin, in Inverness, where Cawdor had a house. Wilkin was three years older than Will and lived primarily at Cawdor, but they had met when Will was ten and had enjoyed fishing and hunting together whenever Wilkin stayed in Inverness, until Will returned to Raitt. Learning then that de Raite despised the Thane, Will had not seen Wilkin again. Nor had he visited Cawdor, although it was just a few miles west of Raitt on the Inverness road. He wished now that he could warn them of de Raite’s intent, but he could not do so without drawing the enmity of every man in his family, and likely Aly’s, too.
It occurred to him that she might deem both decisions the “easy way” for him, but a good clansman supported his own people, whether he liked them all or not.
Friday, having awakened betimes from a dream of shapely legs, he took his usual route but followed a barely discernible track well below the ridgetop, taking care to leave no sign of his passage for others to detect.
In the years he had lived with Granduncle Thomas and his Inverness-shire cousins, along with reading, writing, and numbers, they had taught him much of swordsmanship, archery, other weaponry, tracking both game and humans, and how to conceal himself as he traveled through woodland in enemy country.
Even as a child before his mother’s death, he had learned that, in the Highlands, a friend in April could be an enemy by May. It was wise, Thomas had said, always to look after oneself and prepare for the worst.
Returning to Raitt as a young warrior of one-and-twenty, having fought Islesmen in protection of Inverness before and after the Battle of Lochaber, where his brother Rab had died, Will had expected his four older brothers to boast skills similar to his own but had not expected them to be so eager to prove that their abilities outmatched his. Fortunately, his granduncle and cousins had taught him well enough to hold his own with the brothers he scarcely knew, and he continued to hone his skills with regular practice.
His return to Raitt had preceded the Battle of Inverlochy, but no one at Raitt had fought there, because de Raite had decided to stay and protect the castle, lest the Mackintoshes take advantage of their absence to seize Raitt, just as de Raite had done when Sir Fin and many of his men left Raitt to fight in the Battle of Harlaw.
Not long after the defeat at Inverlochy, an incident occurred involving Sir Àdham MacFinlagh that caused de Raite to send Hew to live with Cousin Dae’s family. Accordin
g to the others, de Raite had refused to speak Hew’s name and his temper was utterly unpredictable then, likely to ignite in a breath. Its volatility had not lessened with Hew’s return, although he had been home now for a year.
Their cousin Dae had been visiting them at the time of the incident and had returned to Raitt a fortnight ago for his second visit.
Soon, birdsong, squirrels’ chatter, and the brief sight of a slinking wildcat cheered Will’s thoughts, but he paid no less heed to his surroundings and eased silently into the shrubbery when he heard voices ahead. When the two men, unaware of his presence, passed him lower on the hillside, he delighted in his ability to watch and listen to their aimless conversation as they went.
They would also be keeping watch, he knew, but he was nearly certain by then that they were the only Mackintosh or Finlagh watchers nearby. He had likewise seen no travelers about, lone or otherwise, so unless a woodland creature surprised him with unusual behavior, he expected to enjoy an uneventful day.
“I vow, cousin, you ha’ the fiend’s luck with dice,” Gilli Roy complained after Katy made her cast across the table in the solar and beat his throw again.
They were alone but had left the door to the landing wide open.
“My luck holds only because we are playing for pebbles,” Katy assured him. “I beat everyone at dice unless we play for something I care about.”
“Well, we canna play for more than pebbles without rousing your da’s ire,” he said as he gathered up his few pebbles and her many more. “Come to that, I’d liefer be out in the fresh air than in this chamber or any other.”
“We’re supposed to be learning more about each other,” Katy reminded him, which instantly flung Will’s image into her mind again. Her thoughts of him and how comfortable she felt with him had kept her awake much of the previous night.
“Faith,” Gilli said, “we ken each other fine enough tae ken we shouldna wed, and this play-acting be tedious. I’d liefer walk in the woods or go wi’ ye whilst ye take things from Clydia’s garden tae Granny Rosel and them in the wester forest.”
Katy wrinkled her nose and Will’s image vanished. “Clydia and I did that yesterday, so I have no excuse to go again so soon. Clydia would not want to go, either, because she says the weeds are taking over her garden rows. She would welcome our aid pulling them out, though, if you do want to go outside.”
“I dinna want tae pull weeds,” Gilli Roy said petulantly. “Nor do I want tae stroll about yon wee courtyard again wi’ ye. People who ha’ shown nae interest in our doings afore stare at us now. I vow, Kate, your father’s captain o’ the guard and his chief assistant, that MacNab, never take their eyes off us.”
Katy grinned. “The two Bruces, we call them. But their taking such interest suggests that our Bridgett must have told Lochan that you offered for me. That likely means everyone else knows it, too.”
“Why would she prate o’ your affairs, and mine, tae Lochan?”
“Because she likely thinks he would make her a good husband,” Katy said. “She talks about him often but never says a word to him when I am nearby.”
“Does he pay heed tae her?”
Katy shrugged, amused. “She says he is daft, but sometimes, she admits, he sends strange thrills all through her by just looking at her. But, she says, he is shy.”
“Shy!” Gilli rolled his eyes. “How could Lochan ever ha’ become captain o’ the guard for Sir Fin if the man be so diffident a mere female thinks him shy?”
“Bridgett is not mere, though I expect I should have said Lochan is shy only around females. He rules men with an iron hand, and Da says he does a fine job.”
“It sounds as if your Bridgett talks nobbut blethers,” Gilli said severely.
“Well, do not let her hear you say that,” Katy said, grinning. “She says what she thinks, so I doubt she would suffer criticism from you without replying in kind.”
“Then, I wish she would marry Lochan. He’d soon put a stop tae that.”
When Katy continued grinning, he shook his head at her and said, “See here, Kate, I need tae get outside these walls. Methinks I’ll walk tae yon pool your da created on the hillside above us. D’ye want tae come wi’ me.”
“Da might dislike it,” she said, certain that Gilli would rather be alone, because he had managed to take solitary walks every day since his arrival as he said he did at Loch Moigh, and had not suggested before that she go along.
“I’ll walk out with you, though,” she added. “’Tis a fine spring day, and I can help Clydia with her weeding.”
Deciding by midafternoon that he had gone far enough without seeing aught of interest to de Raite, Will turned toward Castle Finlagh and home. An hour later, when Finlagh’s tower came into view, he studied its ramparts and saw only one guard who seemed to be eyeing the wooded slope further north.
Motion below on the hillside drew Will’s attention when what appeared to be a pale blue skirt whisked through the woods near the bottom of the slope.
Standing still, imagining fine, shapely legs beneath that skirt, he watched, hoping he was right and wondering how far she meant to walk. Noting long wheat-colored hair tied back with a white kerchief and a slender body that he recognized easily, he knew that his initial instinct had been correct.
Moving quickly yet stealthily, he made his way through the forest toward her, taking care to keep trees and shrubbery between himself and the lass. He knew he would likely startle her, but she would deserve it if he did.
“By my troth,” he murmured, “she must learn to take better care of herself, for this area may soon turn much less peaceful than it has been. She ought not to wander about unguarded as she so plainly does.”
Senses alert to the slightest sound or sight of her passage, he followed easily. Deducing that she headed for the southernmost of two streams careering down on each side of the knoll, he timed his arrival to step out in front of her as she arrived.
She stopped in her tracks. Then, tilting her beautiful, now clean face up to look into his eyes, she gazed at him silently and more solemnly than he’d expected. She carried an empty pail and had doubtless come for water, although she might more safely have fetched it from the same stream nearer the castle.
“As you see, you should take more care to be wary of your surroundings,” he said evenly. “I might have been an enemy or even a wildcat.”
“Might you?” she said with astonishing calm and no hint of their having met before. Could she have forgotten him in just four days’ time?
Nae, not possible, he decided. Even if she continued to insist that she had not needed rescuing, he had saved her life. Yet she behaved as if awaiting a response from a stranger. His lips tightened with annoyance but also with a surge of regret.
She cocked her head slightly, and a ray of the lowering sun gilded wisps of hair that had escaped her kerchief. Her long-lashed, so-beautiful light-gray eyes remained steady. Her skin, from her hairline to her chin and throat, was so smooth that his fingers itched to stroke it.
“You are trespassing,” she said. “This is Castle Finlagh land.”
“Your father’s land, in fact,” he said, though he was still uncertain if she was Fin’s daughter or a maidservant. On the tor, she had shown more confidence than any maidservant he knew; but, in truth, he had known only his sister’s Meggie and the women who served his Inverness cousins. Yet, here young Katy was, calmly confronting a man she had met once and fairly challenging him to take her to task.
“Do you know my father?” she asked serenely.
“Now, see here,” he said, stepping closer. “Do you mean to pretend we have never met? Because if you expect me to do the same—”
Her gaze narrowed, but she said as calmly as before, “We have never met. Certes, I would remember you if we had.”
“You must be daft if you think I’ll accept such pretense!”
“Prithee, do not use that tone to me,” she replied. “I dislike incivility.”
“Incivility?” He reached for her, but she eluded his hand, and when he stepped closer, keeping his eye on the pail, lest she swing it at him, she slapped his right cheek hard enough with her free hand to make it sting. “What the devil—?”
“Do not touch me,” she said firmly, still maddeningly calm. “I fear that you have mistaken me for someone else, but if I scream, men will come. A guard on our ramparts saw me come this way and by now must wonder what keeps me, so you would do well to leave. You got this far without alerting them, so I expect you took care to stay hidden. That was wise of you. Our people can be surly with travelers who do not show and identify themselves when they come into view of the castle.”
He almost believed her, but when she turned away as if she meant henceforth to ignore him and simply fill her pail, his cheek began to burn like fire. He shook his head and decided to see just how far she would carry her pose.
“Would you like me to fill that pail for you?” he asked with gentle mockery, hoping she would reveal her true self with her infectious, even mischievous, grin.
Instead, she glanced back at him and said bluntly, “’Tis unnecessary. Please, go.” Then, scooping water from the stream with a deft gesture, she straightened, turned her back on him, and strode off out of the woods toward the castle.
Stunned, still disbelieving, he followed her to the edge of the woods but took care to do so quietly and with a wary eye on the castle so he would not inadvertently show himself to anyone on its ramparts.
The lass was so trusting that she did not bother to look back.
As she stepped into the clearing that wrapped around the base of the knoll, he saw her wave to someone. Moving to a tree trunk wide enough to conceal him, he watched her cross the clearing to the path leading up to the castle entrance. As he watched, a second lass came down the path toward her, wearing a pink kirtle trimmed with white ribbons. She was grinning.