by Ruth Langan
“Jamie,” he called to the lad who watched their preparations from the doorway. “I leave the lady Meredith in your care until I return.”
The boy’s cheeks flamed until they matched the color of his hair. “Aye, Brice. I’ll see to her.”
With shouts of eagerness the men whipped their horses into a run. Within minutes they had disappeared into the surrounding forest.
Meredith sat by the window watching the path of a shooting star. How strange life was. So often, when she got what she had wished for, it turned out to be not at all what she wanted.
She had wished for Brice to leave her alone long enough so that she could slip into the forest and make her way back home. But now that Brice had finally left her, she was unable to leave. Someone now lurked in the forest beyond Kinloch House who wished her even greater harm than could befall her at the hands of Brice.
And so she sat, alone and lonely.
Lonely? She did not miss Brice Campbell, she told herself firmly. How could she miss the quick temper, the cold, dark looks? Why would she care about the absence of the low, taunting voice, the occasional burst of teasing laughter?
At a knock on the door she looked up. Jamie MacDonald stood poised in the doorway. At his feet were several of Brice’s hounds.
“Come in, Jamie,” she called.
He took a step in and glanced about uneasily. He had never had occasion to enter a lady’s room before. The hounds, following his lead, proceeded cautiously.
“I—wanted to see if you needed anything, my lady.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with each halting word.
Meredith smiled. “How kind of you, Jamie. I was just sitting here feeling lonely. I would treasure your company for a little while.” She indicated a chair pulled before the fire. “Sit awhile.”
He crossed the room and perched on the edge like a bird ready for flight. The hounds circled the room before settling at his feet.
“What do you do while Brice and the others are away?” she asked.
“I help in the stables, and sometimes go with the men who keep watch along the trails.”
“What do they keep watch for?”
“Surprise visitors,” he said with a trace of a smile.
Meredith was reminded of another’s smile. “Do you miss Brice Campbell when he is away?”
“Aye. Kinloch House is never quiet when Brice is in residence. But when he goes away, it is as if everyone lies sleeping, waiting for Brice to awaken them.”
What an oddly accurate description, she thought.
“And the hounds? Do they switch loyalties when their master is away?”
Jamie reached a hand to the head of one of the dogs. Instantly the dog sat up and rested his chin on the boy’s knee, staring sorrowfully into his eyes.
“Nay. The hounds follow me and allow me to pet them. But they leave no doubt as to their loyalty. They love only Brice Campbell. As do I,” he added fiercely.
Meredith was moved by his simple statement.
“Cara told me how you came to live here. Do you miss your home in the Lowlands?”
Jamie shook his head slowly. “I no longer remember it, my lady. I was but a babe when my father and I came here.”
“Do you not feel disloyal to your clan when you swear allegiance to a Highlander?”
Jamie stood and crossed to the window where he stared in silence for several minutes. When at last he spoke, his voice was as soft as a night breeze.
“I know that it could have been Brice’s arrow that slew my father. And I know here,” he said, touching a finger to his temple, “that I should avenge my father’s death. But here,” he said, touching a hand to his heart, “I know only that Brice gave me shelter when I had none. He gave me food and clothing, and has taught me to read, to chart the stars, to ride and handle a weapon like a warrior. When he scolds me, I know it is because he expects me to grow to be a man of honor. And when he praises me, my heart swells with pride. Though I am a MacDonald from the Lowlands, Brice Campbell is my father now. I would do nothing to dishonor him.”
With a lump in her throat Meredith crossed the room and touched a hand to Jamie’s shoulder. “I have a little sister,” she said softly, “named Megan. She is near your age. And much like you.”
“A sister?” Jamie tried to picture a younger, smaller version of the woman beside him.
“Aye. Two sisters, in fact. Brenna, with dark hair and eyes to match the heather. She is a gentle girl who would never harm a living creature. And Megan,” Meredith said with a laugh that bubbled forth just thinking about the child. “She is fair as the sun and as wild and free as the breezes that blow off the river.”
Meredith stared at the darkness beyond the window, knowing that Jamie’s loneliness was as acute as her own.
“Sit and tell me about your life here,” she said.
He smiled and followed her back to the chair. He couldn’t think of any place he would rather be at this moment than right here, in the company of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
They talked and laughed for nearly an hour before looking up at a knock on the door.
Cara entered, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.
“Mistress Snow thought you might be hungry.” The serving girl placed the tray on a low table in front of the fire.
“When the men ride to the Borders,” Meredith asked softly, “how long do they usually travel?”
“Oh, my lady, it could be days. There’s no telling how long they’ll stay away this time.”
Days. Meredith’s heart fell. She glanced at Jamie and saw that he, too, was dismayed. As she poured two cups of tea she had a thought. “Is there cloth here at Kinloch House? Enough for a gown?”
“Aye, my lady. There is fine cloth in the storehouse.”
Meredith smiled suddenly. “Tomorrow, Cara, after we break our fast, I would like Jamie to show me the storehouse.”
“But why, my lady?”
Her smile grew. “I owe Mistress Snow a gown. There is no better time to start than now.”
“And when you tire of sewing,” Jamie said with a wide smile, “I shall be happy to show you the stables. Brice said I can handle the horses as well as any of his men.”
“I would like that.”
Together Meredith and Jamie passed another pleasant hour before they bid good-night. And when at last Meredith drifted off to sleep, she felt more relaxed than she had at any time since her shocking abduction.
The line of mourners stretched around the manor house and up the lane for as far as the eye could see.
An old man, slightly stooped, with a walking stick in his hand, joined the crowd and moved slowly toward the house. A rough, shapeless cloak fell from his shoulders to his ankles. When someone in front of him asked his name, the old man cupped a hand to his ear and strained to understand the question.
“He’s likely from the MacKenzie clan,” one of the women called from behind him. “With Gareth MacKenzie spending so much time on MacAlpin land these days, the MacKenzie clansmen are everywhere. So many strangers,” she complained. “There was a time when we knew everyone who passed us on the lane.”
“What do you expect?” cried a thin youth. “With old Duncan MacAlpin and two wee lasses the only ones left to lead the clan, the MacKenzies have a free rein in MacAlpin affairs.”
“Aye,” another responded. “First Alastair, and then Meredith. Both were born leaders. But the younger lasses have not the heart for it. And Duncan is a beaten man.”
The crowd moved along and the old man struggled to keep up. Those around him, intent upon their gossip, ignored him.
“Some say old Duncan and Mary will never be the same now.” A plump woman with a baby at her hip spoke to the crowd.
“Aye. The murder of an only grandson is too hard to bear,” said a ruddy-cheeked man.
“Especially since Duncan’s son, William and his wife, Margaret, can have no more bairns.” It was a young, pretty woman speaking. Her coloring was similar to Me
redith’s, since they were distant cousins. “Young William was the light of their lives.”
“Aye. Especially Duncan’s. He doted on the lad. He and Mary had depended upon young William to help with the chores.” An old woman lowered her voice slightly as she addressed those around her. “Gareth MacKenzie himself witnessed the murder of poor William. When he tried to stop them from beating the lad, he took a dirk in the arm from one of them.”
“Something must be done to stop the killing.”
The crowd murmured its approval.
“Aye,” said the ruddy-cheeked man. “And from what I’ve heard, something will be done.”
“What have you heard, man?”
“Gareth MacKenzie is planning to lead an army against the man who would murder even children in his lust for power.”
“The filthy, murdering coward,” someone in the crowd spat.
“Aye. Brice Campbell must be stopped before he manages to kill the entire MacAlpin clan.”
At that the shabby old man stopped in his tracks. Then, keeping his head bowed, he plodded slowly along with the others. When they reached the manor house he studied the faces of the crowd, nodding occasionally when his gaze met that of someone familiar, partially hidden beneath similarly shabby attire.
As they passed the simple wooden casket, the old man paused to study the lad who was being mourned. Young William, grandson of Duncan and Mary MacAlpin, dead at the tender age of ten and five. On either side of the casket stood the parents and grandparents, as well as the three pretty granddaughters who were openly sobbing.
Beside them were two young lasses who stood together, heads high, hands linked. The old man paused to study them carefully. Though their coloring was distinctly different, he knew them to be sisters. The younger sisters of Meredith MacAlpin.
The older of the two, with coal-black hair and eyes more violet than blue, stared above the crowd, drawing into herself to keep from feeling the pain. The other, with hair the color of the sun, eagerly scanned the faces in the crowd as though expecting at any moment to see the one she sought.
Meredith, the old man thought, noting the intensity of the gaze. The younger one had not yet accepted what the older one knew to be fact: that Meredith was not free to return to them in their time of need.
The old man’s eyes narrowed as he noted Gareth MacKenzie standing just behind the two lasses. Around him were a dozen or more of his most trusted men, all of them bearing arms.
As always, Gareth set himself up in a position of importance and made certain that the crowd of mourners heard every lurid detail of the lad’s murder.
“’Twas Brice Campbell,” he said loudly. “And at least two dozen of his cowardly men. I saw and heard everything. They asked the lad’s name, then began beating him with their fists.”
“Dear God, stop.” Duncan dropped an arm about his wife’s shoulders as she started to cry.
“When was this?” the shabbily dressed old man asked in a voice that quavered with age.
“On the day before last,” Gareth said. “I leaped from my horse and tried to go to the lad’s aid, but one of the cowards plunged his dirk into my arm while another held me down and took my knife.”
“’Twas Gareth’s weapon they used on my William,” Duncan said through trembling lips. “It was found, caked with dried blood, beside his body.”
Gareth continued his story, eager to feed the crowd’s appetite for gossip. “When the lad was no more than a bloody heap, they let me go.”
“Odd they did not kill you as well,” the shabby old man said haltingly. “Why would you suppose they let you live?”
Gareth shot a cold stare in the direction of the speaker, then shrugged off his comment as being unworthy of a response. The shabby old stranger was probably just another of the MacAlpin clan. Gareth’s voice rose. “I call on all men of goodwill, be they MacKenzie or MacAlpin clan. It is time to show the Highland Barbarian, Brice Campbell, that he can no longer murder our young and helpless and then hide in the forests yonder. He captured your leader, Meredith MacAlpin, and holds her captive in his Highland fortress. Who knows what unspeakable things are being done to her this very day.”
Out of the corner of his eye the old man saw the two lasses tighten their grips on each other’s hands. Neither made a sound. Neither showed any sign of emotion, except for a tightening of their mouths.
In the corner of the room a woman began sobbing.
Still other women gasped before turning into their men’s arms and crying silently.
Gareth waited, judging the mood of the crowd. With a voice of triumph he shouted, “And Brice Campbell has murdered another MacAlpin. What say you?” Gareth looked around as a hush fell upon the crowd. “Who will join me in putting an end to his reign of terror?”
For a moment there was only silence. Every man here was aware of the reputation of the man they called the Highland Barbarian. There were none eager to risk their lives at the end of his sword. Still, the sight of the young lad in the casket and his grieving family left them too outraged to dwell on the risk.
“With enough force we can storm Campbell’s fortress and save the woman who was to wed my brother. With Meredith MacAlpin at my side, I vow to unite the Border clans and stand against any attack.”
The room was rocked with shouts and calls as the men hurried forward to shake Gareth’s hand and offer their arms.
“In the days to come,” Gareth shouted above the din, “I will raise up an army of men. And we will ride to the Highlands and rid ourselves of this scum.”
“Aye. Here’s to the death of Brice Campbell.” Fists were raised in a salute as the men, their blood hot for revenge, surged forward.
“And just to tempt you further,” Gareth MacKenzie shouted, “I will offer a price of one hundred pounds sterling to any man who brings me the body of Brice Campbell.”
While the rooms of the manor house rocked with the fury of the crowd, the shabby old man nodded to several others before making his way slowly from the house. In the lane he continued hobbling until he came to a stand of trees. He glanced around, and seeing no one behind him, stepped into the shelter offered by the trees. Several horsemen greeted him. He pulled off the shabby cloak, and with an agility that belied his stooped appearance, pulled himself into the saddle.
“Well, Brice,” one of the men said softly. “What news have you?”
He nodded to the others who had accompanied him to the house. Once they reached the safety of the trees they also shed their shabby cloaks and pulled themselves onto their waiting horses.
Brice’s tone was as grim as their faces. “By all accounts I have lived up to the name these Borderers have given me.” His eyes narrowed fractionally. “I have just discovered that on the very day I was dancing with the queen, I was also here in the Lowlands murdering young William MacAlpin.”
“That is an amazing feat even for a Highland warrior,” one of the men said with a laugh.
“Aye.” Brice’s eyes narrowed as he added, “And Gareth MacKenzie has put a price on my head. One hundred pounds sterling for any man who brings me to him. Alive or dead.”
“MacKenzie,” Angus spat. “Come, Brice. Let us kill him now.”
“Nay, friend.” Brice turned his mount and motioned for the others to follow. “Already he surrounds himself with too many men. Think of your women and children waiting for you in the Highlands. Within days there will be dozens of men riding through the forests hoping to cut down anything that moves.”
“What will we do now?”
Brice slowed his horse until Angus caught up with him. As they rode side by side Brice murmured, “We will do what our ancestors have done for centuries, old friend. We will take up arms and fight anyone foolish enough to dare to enter our Highland forests.”
“And what of our families?”
“They remain at our sides,” Brice said. “We will bring them inside the protective walls of Kinloch House. And there they will stay until the siege is over.”
“And the lass, Meredith MacAlpin?”
A little muscle worked in the side of Brice’s jaw as he urged his mount ahead. Aye, he thought. What to do about Meredith? If he were to return her to her people, she would prove the lie that Gareth MacKenzie had spread. That could, once and for all time, clear his good name. But it would be impossible for him to remain with her forever. And left at the mercy of Gareth MacKenzie she would soon be conveniently murdered, as the others had been.
But, Brice reasoned, if he kept her with him, she would be forced into a life of hardship and deprivation while the invaders were repulsed. Yet for now, he could think of no other solution.
Over his shoulder he called, “The woman stays with me at Kinloch House.”
“Oh, my lady. This is far too grand for me to wear.” Mistress Snow studied her reflection in the looking glass. “I look like the lady of the manor.”
“And well you should.” Meredith stood beside her, proud of her accomplishment.
It was Brenna, the sister who was younger by a year, who sewed the finest seams. And it had always been Brenna who could add a bit of ribbon or lace and make the plainest gown look splendid.
Meredith had taken great pains with this task. And it had served its purpose well. The long hours alone in Brice’s chambers had passed far easier than she had expected. And when she wasn’t sewing she was visiting with the servants. She had learned the names of all of them, as well as their family histories.
Like a shadow, young Jamie had been constantly at her side, watching, listening. And though he felt strangely disloyal to his idol, Brice, he found himself becoming enchanted with the beautiful young woman who was being held prisoner in their home.
“I think,” Mistress Snow said, interrupting Jamie’s musings, “that I should take back the simple gown I loaned you, and give you this one.”
“And I think,” Meredith said with a smile, “that Angus Gordon will not be able to stay away from the scullery when he sees you in this.”
“Oh, my lady.” The young widow blushed furiously before burying her face in her hands.
Jamie stifled a giggle. He had repeated a litany of gossip during the days that he and Meredith had spent together. Apparently the lady had paid more attention than he’d thought.