Less than a week ago, Robert’s herald arrived and his missive had made it clear that his brother had not changed. But as a leader of a Highland clan, such ideals were not just reckless but dangerous.
During the last twelve years, Robert had tried four times to get Hamish to return home, each time making the situation sound a little more pressing and serious. Repeatedly Hamish had made it clear that he held no lingering animosity, but Robert wanted more. He wanted reconciliation. Hamish, however, had no desire to be inflicted with seeing the first woman to whom he had given his heart fawning over his brother.
None of that mattered for the nature behind Robert’s latest request had made it impossible for Hamish to outright refuse. His brother had foolishly decided to send the majority of the clan’s guard—including his commander—to Jedburgh Abbey to serve as an escort to the castle’s newly appointed priest. Robert was hoping Hamish would come for a visit and help ensure the safety of the clan in the interim.
Hamish had little choice but to agree.
Despite the number of years he had been away, Hamish had never forgotten the men and women Robert was now responsible for were his people. Clansmen that he had been raised from birth to rule and protect. His decision to forego that privilege did not change his desire to know his clansmen prospered and were safe. Robert had gambled on that desire, creating a situation that would compel Hamish’s agreement to come home. But if his brother believed that offering him the position of commander, a place of honor and responsibility, would entice him to stay, he would soon learn otherwise.
There was not a single thing Robert could say or offer that would result in Hamish’s remaining at Foinaven.
* * *
Hamish stretched and studied the skies. The wind was picking up and by the smell of the air, the coming rain would be heavy. Sleeping outside tonight would be a bitter and uncomfortable experience, but it could not be helped. It was too late to reach Foinaven before dark and unwise to travel in these hills with no light and in the pouring rain. All that was left to decide was which was more important—finding food or finding shelter.
To the west were a few rock formations that would provide shelter from the wind and a little from the rain. To the northeast was Lochlan Duinte, an ancient monument that overlooked River Naver. It would provide little protection from foul weather, but the surrounding vegetation offered a better chance of catching some food. Hamish looked out at the horizon and debated his choices.
Just east of the river, Foinaven Castle lay on an elevated stretch of land just south of Farr Bay. Parts of the bay were treacherous, with a seacoast comprised of very high cliffs and deep fjords with ragged inlets of sandy beaches. Hamish could not help but stare and take in all the changes that had been made to the stronghold in the past twelve years.
When he had left, the castle had been but a single stone tower and the beginnings of a stone keep surrounded by an oblong wooden wall that conformed to the contours of the landscape. Now the timber had been replaced and stone made up the curtain wall as well as many of the buildings that lined the northernmost wall. The only thing that had remained unchanged from his memory was the main tower. It still stood alone in the middle of the lower portion of the walled courtyard, unconnected to any of the outer walls.
The village that lay just outside the castle had grown considerably since he had left. Houses, barns, sheds, and animal pens clustered around the center forcing the farmers that lived in the village to walk a good distance to reach their fields and pastures. Foinaven had become a castle any laird would be proud of and it could have been his.
Originally part of the Morrison clan on the Isle of Lewis, the MacBrieves functioned as judges, issuing brieves on the island. As a result, they held much power and influence, despite their few numbers. However, Hamish’s great-grandfather was the second son to the clan chief and had wanted a different life. With an innate ability to build and engineer various devices, he saw little chance of using his skills as a judge. He also knew he was not alone in feeling confined on the island. The clan was never allowed to grow in size due to the constant aggressive nature of their neighbors. As a result, his great-grandfather had left, leading a small group of MacBrieve clansmen to the mainland to make a new life.
By the time his father had assumed lairdship over their clan, their numbers had grown significantly and they had formed a permanent village just south of Armadale Bay. Their blockhouse served as an isolated, defensive strong point and under his father’s leadership, their clan became known for its strong warriors, who possessed the lethal ability to defend their home, families, and lands. But his father had aspired to more and merging with the MacMhathains had provided the opportunity to not just grow in numbers, but also the chance to become a powerful and influential clan.
Hamish was to have helped his father realize that dream. Instead, he had given that honor to his brother.
Hamish closed his eyes and searched his heart. It spoke the same message as it always had. No resentment, no bitterness—only sadness and loss. If life presented the same situation again, Hamish knew he would make the same choices he had made so long ago.
With a shake of his head to clear his mind, Hamish called for his horse and reminded himself that he lacked for nothing. He had a home and a prized position with one of the most powerful clans in the Highlands. He was able to be himself and felt at ease living with the McTiernays. And maybe someday it could be more. Love was not a necessary ingredient to get married and have a family. It was preferred, but after what he had gone through this last year, he had decided being compatible was far more important. It was something to consider. He could be alone for the rest of his life or maybe he could follow the same advice he was soon going to give his brother—move on.
* * *
Hamish guided his horse down the outcropping and heard a loud whistle to his right. Halting his progress, he looked to see who it was and the reason behind the piercing sound. A second later, a large, muscular man with a distinct profile and dark brown hair, slightly graying around the temples, came into view. He was signaling to a boy much farther away to help keep the free-range kyloe from wandering too far in their search for food.
Unlike most livestock, long-horned, long-haired Highland cattle could survive northern Scotland’s harsh nature, rainfall, and very strong winds with minimal care. But they did have to be corralled often, especially in the winter when the search for food urged them to go beyond their preferred pastures.
Hamish stared at the father for several seconds before realizing he recognized him. The man was Amon and had been a respected warrior and part of his father’s elite guard. He had been the one assigned to teach Hamish how to handle a sword and it was Amon’s training enabled Hamish to be victorious in battle. Seeing Amon dressed as a farmer was surprising, as his former mentor had at one time lived and breathed the life of a soldier.
Hamish hollered down and waved when Amon turned in his direction. Similarly, after several seconds, Amon’s deep blue eyes widened with recognition and he motioned for Hamish to come near.
Getting off his horse, Hamish greeted the older man with a smile. Amon grinned back and pulled him into a fierce, brief embrace. “It is you! So the herald was not spreading false rumors of your return. I thought he was mad with cold, but it seems I was wrong. Hamish MacBrieve has finally returned—something I had not thought I would live to see.” Then he pointed into the distance at Foinaven Castle. “Your father and brother finished it a few years after you left.”
Hamish nodded. “I saw.”
Amon inhaled. “I imagine Menzies MacMhathain and your father are letting go a sigh of relief now that you have come home.”
“I doubt it. I intend to be merely a visitor. And a brief one at that,” Hamish said through gritted teeth.
“I see,” Amon said quietly.
The man said nothing more, but Hamish understood all too well what his old mentor was conveying. Menzies MacMhathain had been a strong leader and done muc
h for his people. What he wanted most was to ensure his clan’s prosperity and the well-being of his family. With only two girls and no sons, Laird MacMhathain’s dying request was for Hamish to wed his eldest daughter, uniting the MacBrieve and MacMhathain clan through marriage. Hamish had agreed, never expecting that upon meeting Selah he would become completely captivated by her.
Hamish had believed the feeling mutual and for a short while, his life had been idyllic. He and Selah had talked and laughed and even kissed on occasion. Never did Hamish suspect that her affections would shift to another when he left for a monthlong trip with his father to visit the neighboring clans. But upon his return, Selah had told him that she had fallen deeply in love with someone else—his brother, Robert.
Immediately Hamish had confronted Robert, who quickly denied any physical involvement and vowed nothing would come of his and Selah’s unexpected friendship. Hamish had thought to put the matter aside, court Selah, and regain her love. But when he overheard her impassioned response to his brother’s tear-filled good-bye, Hamish had known that Selah and he would never be happy together. So he had made the only honorable choice available to him. He released her from her promise. But in giving up Selah, Hamish had also relinquished his claim to Foinaven Castle and the possibility of becoming laird. Those privileges came not to the eldest MacBrieve but to whoever married MacMhathain’s eldest daughter.
The decision also resulted in his giving up his home and the only life he ever knew.
While Hamish loved his brother, he had no taste for daily suffering. Hamish also knew that his father would never accept Robert and Selah’s budding relationship if he remained at Foinaven. The pressure his father would apply on the two of them to comply with the original desires of Selah’s father would increase until one of them capitulated. In the end, it would have left everyone miserable with no path to happiness. So he had left, hoping his father would understand, having been deeply in love with his mother. Through hardships, both had been known to say that as long as they had each other and their boys, nothing couldn’t be overcome. Hopefully, his father saw that being laird was not enough to overcome the knowledge of being second in your wife’s heart.
After joining the McTiernays, Hamish had sent word to Robert and his father that he was content and had found a clan to which he felt akin. He wished his brother well and encouraged his father to prepare Robert for the role as he had spent years grooming him.
“Are they still together?” Hamish asked, still keeping his gaze on Foinaven.
Amon nodded. “They are and very happy from all accounts, despite the years it took for your father to finally agree to their union. I’m not sure he ever was truly convinced that you were not returning.”
“That was one of many reasons why I stayed away. He needed to be focused on guiding Robert in the ways to lead our clansmen.”
Amon stayed quiet, refusing to say aloud that his father had not been able to alter Robert’s unrealistic ideas of leadership. His brother had never been the fighter Hamish was. Oh, Robert could use a sword, but his nature was that of a pacifist. And so it was not until their father’s dying breath did he relinquish leadership of the two clans to Robert.
Amon waved for his son to join them. “I hope you had not planned to reach Foinaven by nightfall,” Amon stated.
Hamish shook his head. “Not in this weather or without light.”
“Wise. This area has maimed many mounts from fools riding after sunset.” When the young boy reached them, Amon smiled proudly and wrapped his arm around the child’s shoulders. The boy’s hair had more red, but he had the same prominent nose and deep-set blue eyes of his father. “This is my son Jothree, who I suspect is enormously eager to hear stories of the famed McTiernays and some of the battles you have seen. Come home with us. I don’t have an extra bed, but the barn is warmer than it looks and if you still possess even a little bit of that charm and flattery you threw about in your youth, my wife, Lynnea, will make you a large, hot meal that would satisfy a king.”
“Shelter and food? Such a temptation is hard to resist,” Hamish replied, and then looked down at his muddy feet and legs. “But after three days’ travel, I’m unfit company.”
“There’s a small stream that runs by the house. Bitterly cold but not for the fierce McTiernay warrior all the tall tales have you be,” Amon said with undisguised mirth and a wink.
Hamish rolled his eyes and followed. Being reasonably clean again sounded heavenly—especially if the cold bath was followed by a warm fire and food. “Then my company you shall have,” Hamish replied with a smile as he squatted down to look the young boy in the eye. “And how old are you, lad?”
“I’ll be eight the day after Candlemas,” came the exuberant reply. “My sister won’t turn seven until a week later so I always get to be the oldest.”
Hamish fought the pang in his heart. If he and Selah had married, they might have had a son Jothree’s age. “’Tis very true, young Jothree. I remember how important it was when I was your age that my younger brother could never claim to be the same age as me,” Hamish replied as he stood back up. He looked at Amon and said, “Lynnea, you say? I must meet this daring woman who convinced you to give up being a warrior to live a life on the land.”
“And so you shall for she would skin me alive if I did not bring you to meet her. We live not far from here,” Amon said, pointing to a large cottage nestled near some trees and a running brook.
* * *
Unable to eat another delicious bite, Hamish leaned back from the table and winked at the woman sitting across from him. “I can see why you married her, Amon. She is not only beautiful but an excellent cook,” he said, patting his stomach.
Lynnea tucked a loose lock of her red-brown hair behind her ear and flashed him a wicked smile before glancing at her husband. “He is so charming, Amon, it is a wonder that not every woman Hamish runs into doesn’t fall into his arms. I mean it,” she added in a teasing tone, “if it wasn’t for that beard, I’d almost be tempted to fall into them myself hearing such flattery.” She stood and gave her husband a lingering peck on the cheek. “Almost tempted.”
Hamish chuckled, delighted his old friend had found such an enjoyable wife. “Alas, a loss that I am sadly familiar with, and yet Lynnea, you let yourself be captured by this rough and weathered man. The reasons of which escape me.”
Lynnea flashed her husband a knowing smile. Tall and possessing a full figure, she knew she was not a classic beauty like that of Lady MacBrieve, but she was pretty in her own way and Amon had eyes for no one else since he had met her. “I fear I cannot take credit for my fortune. For that, I blame my father. Amon followed me home one day, claiming something nonsensical about seeing to my safety. I thought my father would chase him away like he did all my other suitors—”
Amon sat up suddenly. “Other suitors?”
Lynnea waved her hand. “Aye, other suitors. Anyway, my father took one look at Amon and decided his strength and bullying ways would be excellent help around harvest.” With a glint in her eye that would show even the most casual observer her love, she said, “And my father was right. You should hear Amon yell at the cattle. They obey no one better than he.”
Amon chortled and grabbed her wrist as she tried to sashay by him, pulling her onto his lap. “Aye, it is true. But lucky for you, I just so happened was willing to do anything to make you mine.”
Lynnea rolled her eyes, gave him a quick peck on the lips, and scooted off his lap. “Just as sappy as the day we wed.”
Amon grinned at Hamish, who sat relaxed, enjoying their banter, and studied his onetime protégé. Hamish had grown in size and he carried himself with ease and confidence. And while he was kind and amiable, he no longer seemed to possess his boyhood aptitude for harmless flirtation. It was a shame for it had endeared all around him. What was left seemed to be a friendly, but very unemotional, calculating man. Only a fool would assume Hamish was merely a large soldier who could wield the sword. The man alway
s had a keen mind and Amon wagered that it had only grown sharper in the company of the famed McTiernays.
Lynnea moved to gather the plates from the table. “I know that you want to muse over the past with Amon, but do not think I have forgotten that you have yet to tell me the real reason behind your leaving Foinaven and just why after twelve years you have decided to return.”
Hamish looked at Amon and then back at Lynnea. “I doubt I could tell you anything you don’t already know. On those two particular topics, I’m sure the gossips have it right.”
Amon slapped his knee and stood up. “Why don’t we get out of the way, while they clean up,” he said, and pointed to two worn chairs in a sitting area at the far end of the room upon which were Hamish’s drying clothes. He had done his best to wash them, glad he had brought his new tartan and leine as a spare to wear until traveling garb had dried.
They moved the garments aside, sat down, and within seconds Jothree and his younger sister, Fulanna, joined them. Amon looked at them both and then pointed to their mother, hinting they should be helping. Lynnea quickly said, “It is fine, Amon. It is not often the children get to meet a great Highland warrior.”
Never Kiss a Highlander Page 3