by Alisa Adams
He had been wrong. So very wrong, Swan thought.
Swan’s lips tipped up slightly in a sad smile as she watched his jaunty walk. It was as if his boney legs had more joints than was natural. His kilt hose could never stay up on those stick-like legs and even now had fallen into folds around his skinny ankles. He had his ever-present stick and a small ball. The old horse master was determined to learn the new game in St. Andrews called golf. He waived a skinny arm attached to an almost translucent hand at her. The man is all skin and bumpy bones, Swan thought.
Then she recalled going over their meager store of food only a few days ago, realizing once again that they were running low. She had not told anyone, not wanting to admit it even to herself.
Dear old Beak could not afford to miss a meal. Nor could the six children in her care.
They were orphans.
All of them were now orphans, actually.
They were the only ones that had survived the sudden multiple attacks in the name of the Clearances. But no one that had laid siege on Brough stayed to keep the castle in their own name. It was as if they had been searching for something and not finding it, and so moved on. They didn’t want her lands or her castle.
So why the terrible destruction? Why?
“See? There she is Lady Swan,” Neely whispered, interrupting Swan’s thoughts.
Neely nodded to Kaithria, who held the hand of a little boy with blond hair named Albie. They had arrived many months ago with some other children, fleeing the Clearances from somewhere south of them here in the Caithness Highlands. Kaithria had been calmly silent when asked for any details.
Neely leaned closer to Swan and whispered, “She’s still wearing that cloak with the hood pulled over her face and hair milady,” she mumbled in annoyance. “She doesnae need to wear it, tis a nice enough day.”
“I believe she is a nun,” Swan answered Neely in a hushed voice. “She has to dress that way…she and little Albie and some of the other children came from a priory that was caught up in the Clearances. The King is protestant after all,” murmured Swan as she studied the young woman with the cloak.
“Then is she a Jacobite?” Neely asked with worry in her voice.
“Neely,” Swan said quietly in admonishment, “she is like us. She is neither Jacobite nor a Royalist. She is a Highlander.”
Neely shrugged her shoulders. “Twould be best for us if she would take off the black cloak and the dark trappings of a nun, Lady Swan. As for that, twould be best for old Beak to stop wearing that kilt, tis illegal.” Then she murmured under her breath, “No one needs to see those old knees…or those skinny legs…”
Swan shook her head and looked at Kaithria as she and the children came closer.
Swan had gotten glimpses of Kaithria’s face. She was startling in her beauty. Unlike myself, Swan thought. Her own eyes and mouth had always been too large for her delicate face. Her hair was that atrocious color of red and seemed to be forever a wild mess of curls that had a mind of their own, escaping any effort at a tidy braid or bun. Her hair always ended up hanging in untamed ringlets and curls around her face and down her back. There was no winning with it and so Swan had given up trying long ago.
Kaithria stopped in front of Swan. She barely raised her head, at least not enough that Swan could see her face. “We should go milady,” she said in a calm voice.
“Go?” Swan said, startled. “We have nowhere to go.”
Kaithria stepped slightly closer, the hood of her cloak still covering her black hair and most of her face. Her faded black skirt swished as silently as the young woman’s voice who wore it. “One of the children told me that he heard the soldiers who burned the village asking where the children were, Lady Swan.” Then she stopped and waited, her head still slightly bowed.
Swan studied Kaithria. Stunned. “But why?” she whispered.
Kaithria spoke again, her head low. “They were looking for something,” she said gently. “If they havenae found what they are looking for, they will be back milady.”
“But there is nothing left here. Nothing,” Swan asserted with a sad frown as she looked around at the destruction of the small village.
Swan turned back to look at Beak’s face as he came to stand with them. His dear old face. She had known him since she was a tiny girl. He had put her up on her first horse. Taught her to ride. Tended to her skinned knees. Stayed when all the others in her life had left, including her brother Greysteil. Steil had gone off to fight with the Black Watch Army and protect the Highlands from the cruelties of the Clearances Act. The very thing that his army was sworn to not let happen had happened to his own home. And she had no way of getting word to him of what happened here. There was no one left. They were either dead or had fled. Only Beak had remained.
And now he was her responsibility, instead of it being the other way around.
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This book is a work of fiction. Some of the characters are real historical figures, but the others exist only in the imagination of the author. All events in this book are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.