“Indeed,” John said, gesturing out of the window. “I posted messengers on the border to come to me with news.”
When he turned back to the room, even Robert had seemed to deflate a little, though he retained his angry demeanor. “It is still a slight,” he said, aiming for threatening. “We should go ahead with the plans.”
“Nae,” Margaret said, holding up a hand. “I would hear his explanation first. We are owed that much. If it is nae satisfactory, then we will proceed.”
“It will be,” John promised.
Chapter 23
Bind
Alastair felt as if he would burst with emotion as they rode up to the castle.
Even before they approached, he could see people in the courtyard and the garden, preparing for something. Just days ago, there had been wedding decorations littered about the castle, and now there was arms and defenses, ready to protect their castle.
It set Alastair on edge, but he knew that before the day was out, they would set things right.
Outside of the castle gates, Margaret, John, Robert, Isobel, and some other people wearing Sutherland tartan were awaiting their approach, some angrier than others, but all of them on edge.
“Apologies,” Alastair said, as he dismounted. Margaret was staring at Catriona, her face pinched and angry.
“Why are ye here?” Isobel demanded, gesturing at Catriona. “Ye were supposed to be–“
“Isobel,” Margaret cut across her, perhaps understanding the situation she now found herself in.
“Let her talk,” Alastair prompted, waving a hand in her direction. “Tell everyone where ye had Catriona sent.”
“To a convent,” Margaret said immediately, unashamed. She held her head high. “She was disobedient and disrespectful. She tried to come between an arrangement of merrig.”
A murmur went up around those gathered, and even the men at arms, who until recently had been preoccupied, were now drawing closer.
Alastair seemed to find more strength from their attention and glared at Margaret. “Was that the reason? Or was it to protect the secret ye’ve been keeping for over a decade?”
Another murmur, and this time Margaret’s face was a definite white. Robert’s hands unclenched against his sides, and he looked from Margaret to Alastair, and then looked out towards the Loch. Isobel was deflating, stepping gently behind Margaret, out of sight. It would do her little good; she was complicit in her mother’s treachery.
“I have nae idea what ye are talking about,” Margaret told him, and he had to admire her strength in holding on to her lies.
Alastair drew the document Hamish had given him out of his jacket. He kept a tight grip on it. “This document,” he said, angry, “was found in Sutherland Castle, where Bryce, Laird of Sutherland, had it hidden. “It details his marriage to Catriona, a servant, whom he married and then had a daughter with. That daughter, Catriona,” he waved a hand at Catriona, “was legitimized and made heir to the Clan Sutherland.”
The murmur rose in crescendo and Alastair watched the expressions of those around him. They gave Lady Margaret curious and accusing glances.
“Is this true?”
Alastair could not pinpoint the voice.
“I was aware of nae document,” Margaret protested.
“How do we ken tis legitimate?” Robert put in, regaining some of his anger.
“It was approved by Father McEwan, who has long since died,” Alastair told them all, drawing the parchment back to his chest. “That was part of yer plan, was it not? Hide Catriona away as a servant, surround yourself with loyal members of yer own clan, and claim the title for yer daughter?”
As soon as he spoke the words, the mood around those gathered seemed to sour. They were all glaring and muttering at Margaret. She had spent so long on her lie, charming and drawing people in to her charade, that Alastair wondered if she could ever truly let it go. Robert paled, and took Margaret’s elbow in his hand.
Isobel wilted. “Mother–“
“She is nae fit to be a Lady,” Margaret snapped, glaring at Catriona. “She will ruin the clans.”
“That’s nae for ye to decide.” Catriona stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists. “I have spent years being treated cruelly at yer hand, and yer daughter’s hand. I deserve better than that.”
Alastair pressed a hand to the base of her spine, but he addressed Margaret. “The arrangement between Clans Grant and Sutherland will be upheld.”
Margaret opened her mouth, but Alastair held up a hand.
“Between Lady Catriona Sutherland, the rightful heir, and meself.”
With an outraged cry, Margaret attempted to lunge for Catriona, but she was prevented from doing so by John and Hamish.
“Take her away,” Alastair said. “She will be banished from this land.”
“And from Sutherland,” Catriona said, her voice strong. Already she looked happier and strong in her new standing. “John, would ye please remove her, her daughter, and her people?”
“Aye, My Lady,” John said, looking only too pleased to do so.
There was a brief struggle as they were dragged away from the castle, and Alastair did not care to trouble himself with where they were going.
There would be explanations and decisions to be made, but Alastair could trouble himself with that later. For now, he took Catriona’s hands in his, and drew her closer.
“Catriona,” he said, leaning in to kiss her gently. “Would ye consider a marriage arrangement between our clans?”
Catriona’s smile, that bright and sunny one from the clearing, almost blinded him in intensity. “Aye, Alastair, I will.”
*** The End ***
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The Highlander & Maid Brodie
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The Highlander & Maid Brodie
Chapter 1
A Wee Crimson-Tipped Flower
Glamis Castle, The Highlands of Scotland
“When will she be coming oot, do ye think?”
Bryce Craig ignored the question that came from his friend, Alban. Alban had always been impatient whereas Bryce was the patient one. It was frequently joked about that Bryce would remain in the tapestry of the forest for hours waiting for his prey to come along whereas Alban would simply jump out and try to attack it before it ran. He shook his head, indicating that he didn’t know. Of course, he wouldn’t know. He was little more than a babysitter on this expedition. A guardian sent to escort Miss Maggie Brodie of Menzie, to his uncle Graeme’s home at Dunnottar Castle.
Graeme Craig was the current laird of the Clan MacLachlan, and his master. He’d apparently brooked a union between himself and the young beauty that resided in Glamis Castle, protected by anyone who lived here. Maggie was rumored to be of a legendary loveliness beyond compare. Bryce held ba
ck the urge to snort. Legendary loveliness? He doubted it. Rumors like those were always spun out of proportion. Likely she was passably pretty, and that was a blessing of itself in a union like this. Not that Graeme would appreciate it. He was old, ruthless, and in possession of a scraggy face himself.
“Mibbe we shud ask one o’ those gret men?” Alban asked, pointing at the line of clansmen that dotted the hall, each one more stern and larger than the last. Clearly, the Clan Brodie was making a stance—that their little treasure was to be protected. Bryce could understand the sentiment. They were giving up one of their own, over to the great Graeme Craig. They should be frightened. Bryce himself had seen what Graeme could do, and he was not a man to be trifled with. He couldn’t even imagine Graeme wed, especially to a maiden so young as this one. Maggie was only just of age.
His thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the hall. Four women walked out, followed by a line of men bearing broadswords. He looked at each one carefully. The first was too old. Gray streaked through her once-black hair. She held her head high and almost regal, so he assumed her to be the mother, Merda. She had striking features although a bit thin of face.
The second one in line was carrying a babe, so Bryce ruled her out as well. She would probably be the cousin that had attended to Maggie for most of her life. Much more plain of face, her orangey-red curls springing out of her head, he knew why she’d been chosen to keep Maggie company. By any comparison to her cousin, of course Maggie would be found to be ‘beautiful’.
The third one was a dark-haired woman with a green brocade. She was a bit thin for his taste, but she carried herself well. Her hair was done in intricate knots with a gold strand threaded through. She was dressed a little over the occasion, so he assumed her to be Maggie. He supposed one might call her pretty, but her thin lips and sharp cheekbones made her look a bit more pious than he’d prefer, especially with a long journey like they had ahead of them.
The fourth woman in line, he almost immediately discredited as a maid of some sort. She walked a few steps behind the other three and kept her head down. He would’ve dismissed her without a second glance, had it not been for the first glance. This woman, this servant, was stunning. Her red-auburn hair shone in the light coming from the windows of the castle. It almost looked like a cherry wood, the dark pieces only serving to highlight the redder ones. When she looked up, and he caught her face, it felt like a punch in his gut. She was beautiful, ethereal but somehow not angelic. Her lips were too full, her cheeks too pink, her figure too curvaceous to be an angel. But it didn’t stop him from being entranced.
“Thar she is,” Alban said. “She is bonnie.”
Bryce held his disagreement in his trademark silence. He knew that his friend was talking about Maggie, but he couldn’t look away from her servant, the beautiful redhead. It reminded him of the Robert Burns poem about a crimson-tipped flower. And that she was.
“How soon can we leave?” The voice came from behind them, and he turned around to greet the familiar voice with a nod.
“Morning, Iain. Whaur have ye been?” Bryce asked, a wry smile coming to his face. He knew where Iain had been—sleeping off a hangover. Iain had partaken a little too heavily in the highlander wine at the castle.
Iain didn’t even care to look embarrassed. Without Graeme here, Iain had no one else to explain himself to. He knew that Bryce was his nephew, but Bryce would never say anything. That’s what Bryce did best: kept his mouth shut when he knew he needed to. It was the only reason why Graeme depended on him instead of some other, more ruthless men. Graeme knew that, no matter the methods, Bryan would always hold his tongue.
Without waiting for more conversation, Bryce stepped forward. He felt the men fall in behind him. He raised his voice, something he rarely did, but he wanted to make sure everyone in the hall heard him. “We shud be going.”
His baritone voice echoed throughout the hall, bouncing off the stone walls. The chatter died in the hall, the whispers ceasing. He directed his words to Merda, the mother. “We need to take advantage o’ the clear weather while we can. Is the maiden packed?”
Merda nodded slowly. “Aye, laird.”
None of his men moved or breathed behind him. They wouldn’t contradict him unless he ordered them to. He might not be his uncle, but he garnered his own measure of respect, in his own way. “I’m no’ the laird, mistress. I’m his nephew, Bryce Craig. I’m here ta escort the Maid o’ the Menzies ta his home. An’, like I said, we need ta be leaving. Now.”
After a moment, Merda nodded again. “O’ course. Maggie.” She motioned behind her and Bryce waited for the woman to step forward. She did. Except it was the wrong woman. It was the redhead that stepped forward. His steely gray eyes stared into her bright green ones. Neither of them spoke. The hall fell away for a dangerous moment and all he could take in was her.
Then he started to hear the gasps and words behind him, from his men. They too were enthralled with her beauty. He fought the urge to shield her, to hide her away so only he could look upon her, but he knew that was ridiculous. She was destined to marry his uncle, the great laird of the MacLachlan clan. Who was probably forty years her senior and had killed as many men with his own hands.
“Thank ye fer yer protection,” Maggie said in soft, lilted words. He drank in the sound, holding it in his mind until it was committed to memory. Even her voice was lovely. “I am ready ta leave whenever ye are…Mr. Craig.”
He closed his eyes briefly when she said his name. She said it with the perfect rasp of a brogue, making it sound interesting and seductive without being overly coy. She was perfect. She just wasn’t his. She’d never be his. She couldn’t be.
He offered her his arm. At the light touch of her hand, he felt his body grow warm. He knew now why everyone talked about her beauty in soft tones. It was almost as if breathing the words, speaking about her, would ruin the illusion of the perfection. But she was flesh and blood, no illusion. The grasp of her hand on his own arm was warm, and he could feel her trembling through the contact. Beneath his breath so no one else could hear them, he muttered, “Ye’ll be braw, lass.”
A quick intake of breath let him know that she’d heard his comment, but she didn’t reply for a few more breaths. When she did, the words trickled over him like water, light and cool. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m aboot ta marry a monster. So please don’t assure me that I’ll be fine. Ye ken as weel as I do that I won’t.”
He pondered over her words for a moment while they journeyed through the hall. When they were outside, he conceded that she was probably right. Graeme’s last wife had only lasted a few years, brought down by sickness and fatigue. There were rumors that he’d been too hard on his wife, too demanding and harsh. Bryan had only met her a few times, but she’d seem weak and sickly the entire time he’d known her.
Instead of lying to Maggie, he opted for silence. He helped her up onto her horse and she started to trot away from the castle.
“Wait,” she exclaimed from ten feet away. She looked back to the castle, Bryan and his men falling around her so as not to obstruct her view. He thought he saw her whisper a farewell to her home, but no words reached his ear in the highland wind. When she turned back to him, he caught her gaze. He raised an eyebrow, asking a question without verbalizing it.
She shook her head in response, then looked forward. He took the cue and motioned his men forward. They rode out, enjoying the good weather of the highlands and the clear skies.
Bryce was surprised at how she kept up the pace he’d set. It wasn’t a full out run, but it was a swift speed that made sure they would make the first stop in plenty of time before the daylight ran out.
It was going to be a long journey. They would stop at various inns along the way. Bryce wished that the journey could’ve been made by just him and his men, but that would defeat the purpose of the excursion. However, with just his men, they could’ve ridden much quicker and slept in rough situations than what he’d had to pla
n for Maggie. But, she was a laird’s daughter. They couldn’t very well just throw her in a stable and be done with her. So, he’d made sure the trip details included some stops along the way, so she didn’t arrive fatigued and sick. Better to give her a fighting chance to survive with Clan MacLachlan.
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The Highlander’s Missing Daughter
Chapter 1
The Journey
S he was hungry, and tired. What was going on? Where was she? She opened her mouth to ask, but she was shushed quickly by the strange woman who held her hand. They walked up a narrow staircase, so narrow that the little girl stumbled, just a little. At long last, they got to the top, where a wide door awaited them.
The old woman who led her fumbled in her apron pocket, withdrawing a huge set of keys. Locating the right one, she put it into the lock and opened the door with a loud grating sound. The door was old and squeaky. They walked into a circular room, with two narrow windows on either side. The little girl blinked twice. It smelled strange, kind of musty, like her old nursemaid’s shawls. Where was Mairi? She didn’t like this new woman; she had never seen her before.
There was a narrow bed in one corner. A small table, with a bowl and pitcher on it for washing. But other than that, the room was empty. The strange woman put the candle that she had been carrying on the table, and got out another two from a drawer, lighting both. She placed them around the room. The little girl could see, in the sudden candlelight, a tiny mouse scurrying against a corner.
“Where am I?” she said loudly. The old lady turned to her, assessing her quietly.
“You are in a special place,” answered the old lady. “A tower, near the castle of the clan Innes.”
“The clan Innes?” repeated the little girl. “But why? I have never heard of the clan Innes before!”
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