Elusive

by Linda Rae Blair

  Inside he was clapping his hands in as near to glee as his black heart could muster, as he watched the expression on the Laird’s face.

  Sighing, Finnean conceded. “No need, nephew. No need,” Finnean was boxed in and he knew it. “Next week it shall be. Your mother and Caena can make the female decisions that are needed.”

  “I look forward to it, my Lord,” Macrath said, as he removed himself from the Laird’s presence. All the way back to his rooms, he laughed aloud. He had bested the Laird, and both knew it.

  ***

  One week later, on her sixteenth birthday, Caena and Macrath were married. One more reason she would detest the date. The entire village celebrated the wedding of The McDonnough’s daughter. They wore the traditional great kilts used for formal occasions.

  Caena’s hair had been prepared by Ròs, who had also helped her with the kilt pinning, and wrapping her ghillie laces. The extra length of her earasaid, the feminine version of the man’s great kilt, was brought to bustle at her waist. Beneath it she wore a homespun chemise.

  Her head would remain uncovered until after her wedding day. Thereafter, she would wear a cap on her head, or the extra cloth of the earasaid would be raised to form a hood to cover her head, as appropriate for a married woman.

  Due to the speed of the marriage, the traditional shearing and weaving of the wool for their wedding clothes was lost. Such traditions took a year to accomplish. Caena didn’t care.

  The girl hadn’t cried nor, Ròs remembered, had she smiled in the last week. Ròs’s heart broke. She knew that Macrath would be careless with the girl. He would not be gentle when he took her for the first time. Her heart broke as she saw her little mistress walk out of the room—the saddest bride she had ever seen—a lamb to the slaughter!

  It wasn’t until after the Laird’s death later that year, and Mordag’s own death during the Battle of Calloden years later, that they would realize the results of today’s celebration. It was just the preface to years of pain, death, and suffering at the hands of the man who would become the new Laird of Donnach, as well as those of his father’s descent who followed him.

  ***

  Just weeks later, Caena and Sòlas met on the cliff overlooking the loch for what would be the last time. He’d never seen her look more beautiful. Her face was that of an angel. The long, plaited, almost white-blond hair still fell to below her waist despite the length lost to the braiding. The simple costume she wore didn’t look like a wealthy lady’s. She never did like all the trappings of her family’s status. Even dressed simply as she was, in his eyes Sòlas thought she looked like a queen.

  Once she reached him, he saw the pain in her eyes, the marks from her husband’s hands on her throat and also at her wrists. He thought his heart would break. His hands fisted at his sides, and he had to strain to let go of the anger he felt toward his brother. “I’ll kill him!” Sòlas swore.

  She wrapped her arms around him and hung onto the only anchor she had, “No, my love. No.”

  “Caena, my dearest Caena,” he whispered into her hair as he pulled her tight against him.

  “My love,” she breathed, and then she pushed him away from her. She needed to look deep into the eyes of the man she loved more than she had ever believed possible. “We must be careful. If anyone told him we were meeting like this, we would both be dead by morning.”

  He knew she was right. His brother had a temper as quick and deadly as a viper’s. Sòlas would not gamble with her life.

  Now standing away from him at what would be considered an acceptable distance, she told him what she had come to tell, and the telling would nearly destroy her. “Sòlas, I am with child,” she whispered. “The babe is yours.”

  He started toward her, and when she held out her arms he stopped in his tracks. “Please, my love, let me finish or I may die here and now of a broken heart. I must get this said,” she pleaded.

  He simply nodded at her, and she continued. “I have not yet told my husband,” her cheeks flushed at the mere mention of him. “I cannot ever let him find out that this is your child. We both know what he would do…to us…to our child,” she almost whispered as she placed her hands where the child still lay safe. Taking a deep breath, she straightened, and looked Sòlas in the eye. “I have a plan to protect the child, and I beg you, my love, to hear me out and agree to help me in this.”

  “I will do whatever I can to keep both of you safe, surely you know this,” he responded in a voice that told her he was upset with her for even questioning his willingness to keep her safe.

  A glance at the taught white knuckles on his hands told her that he was barely holding onto the fury he felt inside. “This will be the most difficult thing you will ever do, my love. But, yes, I know you will do it.”

  She laid out her plan in detail, watching his face flush as she told him what she knew was the only way to protect their child. “This means you would be giving up everything for our child, my love.”

  “None of it has any meaning without you, Caena. Surely you know that.” He turned to look out over the cliff, away from the pain in her eyes that he knew was reflected in his own.

  “I’ve often thought of tossing myself over this edge, rather than live without you in my arms,” he confessed quietly. He heard her draw in a quick, shuddering breath. Quickly turning toward her, he said, “No, Caena! I know that would be a coward’s way. I may not have been strong enough to grab you in the middle of the night and take you away with me rather than allow you to marry my brother—but a coward, I’m not.”

  He sighed deeply. “I’ll do as you wish, Caena. I’ll give up everything, including you, to give our child a good life away from Macrath, away from here. I will do all of it because you ask it of me. All because I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love another. Just tell me once more, please, my love, tell me!”

  She knew what he needed to hear, what she would say in her own mind, every day for the rest of her life. “I love you with all my heart, my beloved, and I will with my last breath,” she said, as she turned away, tears streaming down her face, and stumbled back down the path toward the castle—toward life without her heart.

  She hated the knowledge that she had ultimately caused the very things she had tried so hard to prevent—the loss of her love—his loss of the land he loved. But their child would live!

  ***

  For months Sòlas suffered the loss of her in quiet, secret desperation. Unable to allow his father or brother to know of his desolation, he had to find ways to handle the pain, to let go of his fury. Most often this was accomplished by practicing his skills with the ax and claymore, getting into fights and, in general, being a pain in the arse of anyone who disagreed with him about most anything. He sincerely believed the entire castle would be relieved by his absence when the time came.

  He was unaware that Macrath was relishing in his pain, or that his mother recognized the pain whenever he was in Caena’s presence. She knew the consequences if she spoke of it to anyone. She was not unaware of her husband’s or eldest son’s cruelty. She had lived with both for years. But, Sòlas—her Sòlas—was the kindest, most loving, young man she’d ever known. Rather than put his safety at risk, she kept her thoughts to herself, hoping desperately that his heart would eventually heal.

  If she had known about the child with a certainty, she would have acted no differently. She would not have seen her beloved son destroyed by her other son’s jealousy, greed, and malevolence.

  When she could finally stand it no longer, she went to him. She found him reading in the woods across the road from the castle, in the shade of a huge tree undoubtedly descended from one when Arthuan had been king, she thought. She watched him as he read. He was pale. She knew he had been practicing ferociously with his heavy basket-hilted claymore, and with the short, thin dirk that hung at his side. Despite his youth, he had grown the figure of a man. She was so very proud of him. If only his heart was not breaking.

  “Sòlas?�
�� She broke into his reverie.

  “Mother,” he answered her. Looking up, he smiled without it reaching those pale blue eyes now sunken in his handsome face and surrounded by purple smudges from his lack of sleep. “Come. Sit by me.” He patted the ground near him, and she moved to sit beside him.

  “Son, can you not talk to me about this weight that has been put upon you?” She watched as the pain came to his eyes, and then he controlled it. “It has to do with Caena, does it not?”

  “Mother, if your other son learned of my feelings, my life would be forfeit, you know that,” he sighed.

  “Sòlas, I am your mother. Aye, I am also Macrath’s mother, but I wish no harm to either of you.” She placed her hand on her son’s cheek. “I know you love the girl, Sòlas, but she has made her decision, and she is a strong lass. She will do what she must, and she will live with the choice she has made. You must learn to do so also.”

  “Never,” he snarled. “As long as I live, I will never forgive my brother for this.”

  “But Sòlas, as Finnean’s daughter, she was given a choice. Not all maidens are treated so generously by their fathers. If she loved you as you love her, she would surely have chosen you. How can you blame Macrath for her decision?”

  “It is the estate, Mother. It is the only way she can keep the estate in Finnean’s bloodline. Macrath knows this. He covets what is mine, what is Finnean’s—damn his black soul to hell! He would have it all!” He threw the book as far as his anger would take it. “Even the woman I would have taken to wife! And…and so much more.” Then quietly, he added, “So very much more.”

  “Ah, yes, of course,” now she understood. “So, she has chosen for her future generations, at the cost of what she holds so very dear to herself. She is a brave, strong lass, your Caena.”

  The thought of her took the fury out of his heart and voice. “Aye, and I am not certain that I am as brave as she, mother,” he said quietly.

  She took his face in her hands, “Sòlas, you are the bravest lad I have ever known. She lays this on your heart, and you survive. You will honor her love for you by living on, by finding happiness and love elsewhere. I love you, my son, and I am so proud of you. Could I only be as proud of both of my sons,” she sighed, rose, and left him.

  ***

  Finally, the fall arrived and weeks later Caena’s confinement. Sòlas had fought off most of the mean temper. Now he just felt empty and alone. Somehow he had to pull himself together. The time was near when he would be responsible for raising their child…without her. He wouldn’t live like a brute. That was what she had feared from his brother. No, he would give her what she wanted most in this world—a loving father for their child. To the outside world, they would see him as he had appeared for all these months. Alone, he contemplated the time when he would disappear with their child, never to see its mother or his own again.

  Caena had made all the arrangements with her maid. She would trust Ròs with her child’s life as well as her own. If Macrath caught them, they would all surely die. The plan was laid out. As soon as Caena’s pains began, Ròs would get a message to Sòlas. He would sneak from his quarters in the castle, and into her small chapel using the hidden stairway. Ròs’s husband and sons would be guarding the stairs from use by others—just to be safe—until the child was out of the castle.

  When the time arose, Caena’s plan was executed without discovery. To Caena’s relief, Macrath accepted the child’s loss and never mentioned the matter to her again. Had he known that a mere mention of the babe would have crushed her very soul, he surely would have done so daily. No, his focus now was on having her bear him a son. This would never be. Despite the teachings of her faith, Caena saw to it very carefully and deliberately. If she was to be damned for conceiving the child out of wedlock, let her also be damned for assuring Macrath never had a child by her to be misused.

  ***

  By midnight the next night, they were on a ship bound for France, Sòlas, his baby daughter, the wet nurse, Elaine, and her own infant son.

  Not until his daughter came of marital age did Sòlas tell her the details of her birth, the reason for their exile to France, and her true name of Kenna McDonnough. He gave her the small box in which he kept the letter Caena had given him for their child.

  When her daughter was born four years after Kenna’s eighteenth birthday, she wrote her own letter. In the beautiful script she learned from her tutor, she continued what would become a tradition to last nearly two-hundred years. She added it to the box, which would be given to her daughter when the time was right.

  25thDay of November, 1748

  Valvados, France

  My dearest daughter,

  The story of Finnean’s bloodline continues with thee. As I share our tale of love and protection, know that I could not share this with thee any sooner, lest ye be endangered. Keep our story safe, and pass it on, til the time is right…

  And so, their tradition was set, one generation to another, protecting the family line, and the inheritance that would someday come back to Caena’s and Sòlas’s bloodline. Each generation spent nurturing the next, and then passing on the knowledge. All the while they kept their identity a secret to protect themselves from the plots, and the efforts to find and eliminate them. All was kept secret until Macrath and generations of his subsequent heirs too were gone…and good riddance.

  **************************

  Chapter 10: Macrath Plots

  Donnach Castle, Scotland – 1729

  Macrath rode his stallion hard and long that morning. He was in a fit of temper that had caused everyone in his path to scatter. He needed this time alone, controlling the powerful animal under him. God knew he didn’t get that satisfaction from his wife, even though he rode her just as hard and just as often as he did this horse.

  He needed to get his life moving along the line he had planned since he could first remember. His time as the Laird of Donnach! He would be master of it all someday soon. Finnean was dead—had been for some time now. His own father was not an old man, but there were always other reasons for death to strike at one’s door. He cared, in his own way, for his father who had taught him well over the years. But he did not care about him enough to miss an opportunity that might arise, he smiled to himself. One had to be practical in these matters.

  He hated his brother. He had hated Sòlas from his first memory of him—his mother holding the squirming, whimpering bundle to her breast. The longer Sòlas existed, the more potent the hatred had become. He laughed when he thought of the times he had set him up for harm. The fool was too blind to see them for what they were. But then, damn him, he had also survived them all; the near drowning in the loch when their father found him floundering; the fall down the hillside that could easily have broken his neck. But, damn his luck, that attempt had only left Sòlas bruised and battered—and being nursed back to health by their mother!

  He had planted fears in Caena’s mind, and she had finally succumbed and agreed to marry him. She had chosen marrying him over the simpering brother that had run with his tail between his legs like a cur dog. What a coward his brother was, he thought. Despite all his posturing over the months after losing his love, he sneered, Sòlas had simply vanished from Scotland. Had anyone slighted Macrath McDonnough in that manner, by God, he would have murdered the man gladly!

  But there was still no heir. So far, other than the stillborn daughter, his dear wife had been barren. If he did not have an heir, all his plotting and putting up with a woman who scorned his touch at every opportunity would all be for nothing. Not that her struggling and resisting was unpleasant. Smiling, he admitted to himself that her protestations made his own pleasure greater than an easy roll in the hay.

  He would be seen by those around him as her master! She put him off with much fighting and struggling—and, so he beat her, as she so richly deserved. She had carried the proof of his power over her time and time again. And he made sure her gowns displayed those marks to all who sa
w her!

  He took her when he knew she should conceive—still no child. He knew his own virility—had proven it time and time again with the village women who disappeared quickly if they conceived. He would not give his estate to a bastard. Any future Laird McDonnough would be a true and legitimate heir!

  Perhaps she was barren due to the first pregnancy. He had heard of such things. Damn it, he would know once and for all! If she was barren, he would see to it that he was free to marry another and produce an heir. Hum, he thought, the comely Seonaid had married two years before. Of course, she could easily become a widow and, he knew, she would welcome him into her bed. The determination to get the situation handled once and for all had him whipping the stallion back toward the castle.

  Once he reached the castle, he threw the reins to a stable boy and allowed his long strides to take him quickly to his lady’s chambers. He charged into her rooms, and there she sat surrounded by servant women sewing in front of the fire. “Leave us!” he shouted at them, and they scurried like the vermin he thought them to be. He saw the fear in her eyes and it ignited the flame in him. Yes, her fear was a powerful drug and he desired as large a dose as possible this day.

  “Now, wife,” he snarled at her as he pulled her braided hair until she was lifted from her chair. Then he tossed her aside and she stumbled to her knees. With his hatred of her glowing in his black eyes, he bent over her, and through his gritted teeth he threatened her. “We will try this one more time, and if you do not cooperate and prove yourself not to be barren…” he said, as he grabbed her by the shoulder of her gown, ripping it to shreds. “Well, I just may have to take a different wife, at whatever the cost to you. We wouldn’t want that, would we, Caena?”

  Caena fought him like a wild animal, scratching, biting, and raking her fingernails down his face. Finally, she broke free and ran from her rooms. She heard him coming behind her, but no matter how hard she ran she could not get away. He just followed her at a leisurely pace and wore her down. Any servants that happened to cross their paths just scurried off to their duties as if the pair had never been seen.