Highlander's Hidden Destiny (Steamy Scottish Historical)

by Maddie MacKenna

  “Good morning, Feargan, I was hoping I was not too late to catch you,” she said, smiling at him, as he crossed towards the door.

  “I am riding out, lass. Do ye intend to join me?” he said, knowing full well what her answer would be.

  “I should like to, yes. Do you think Amelia would mind? She is not awake yet by all accounts and it seems such a shame to waste a beautiful morning, do you not think?” Catherine said.

  Feargan nodded to her and she followed him outside and through the courtyard to the stables where a horse had already been saddled for the Laird, who called for a second to be brought for Catherine.

  “There is to be nay dallying though, lass, I want to be back in good time to eat breakfast. We must ride out quickly, ye hear me?” Feargan said, as Catherine climbed onto her horse.

  “I shall ride just as well as you, Galbreth,” Catherine replied and urging the horse onwards she made to ride out of the stable yard and through the castle gates.

  At that moment Amelia appeared, dressed for riding and she raised her hand to Catherine who pulled the horse up, looking surprised to see her sister there before her.

  “Did you both think you would go riding without me?” she said, signaling to the stable boy to bring a saddled horse.

  “I thought you were still asleep,” Catherine replied, giving her sister a quizzical look.

  “Well, as you can see, I am not,” Amelia said, and mounting the horse she rode after Catherine, as Feargan followed on behind.

  He could not help but smile at her feisty spirit. It was one of the many things which so attracted him to her and as he followed behind the two sisters, he could not help but find his eyes resting upon Amelia. She was so beautiful, everything about her seemed perfect and any other woman he knew paled into insignificance beside her. How he longed for things to be like they were before that afternoon in the bothy—it had all seemed so much simpler back then.

  “Come on, Galbreth, I thought you said we must make haste,” Catherine said, turning to Feargan and urging him on with her hand.

  “Aye, lass, if ye want haste then we shall have haste,” Feargan cried back and urging on his horse, he overtook both Catherine and Amelia in a flash, a cloud of dust coming up from the track, as he raced on up towards the moorland.

  Soon they were crossing over the heather and the track ended abruptly. High above them was Beiracrag, its grim jagged rocks rising to the mountain above whilst far below lay the loch and castle, like a child’s toy laid out for play.

  “You can see for miles,” Catherine said, dismounting her horse. She looked around in wonder at the landscape before her.

  “All that you can see is Feargan’s, Catherine. It is quite an estate, is it not?” Amelia said.

  “And to think some of those horrid aristocrats mocked you in Paris,” Catherine said, looking at Feargan, who blushed.

  “Mocked me? For what?” he said, a puzzled look across his face.

  “For your noble Scottish roots—apparently if one does not have an English title one is not counted in the same terms,” Catherine replied.

  “Ach, they can keep their English titles, give me Scotland any day,” Feargan replied, striding off through the heather, as Amelia and Catherine followed behind.

  The Laird’s cattle grazed high up on the moorlands, for it was here, despite the oft-treacherous conditions, that the best grazing was to be had. As a boy Feargan had spent many a day traipsing across the high moors and climbing the crags above. He knew the estate better than anyone, except perhaps his Uncle Alexander, and he had no time for the words of English nobles who considered themselves a cut above him.

  Feargan was Laird of Loch Beira and he was proud to call this beautiful country his own, where the mists lay low in the glens and the mountains soared high above. As he stood looking out over the grazing cattle that morning, he knew that whatever happened this would still be his, and no one would take it from him.

  “What is that?” Catherine asked, pointing out across the moorland to where the bothy stood.

  Feargan blushed a little and avoided looking at Amelia who was resolutely staring the other way.

  “That… that is just a bothy, lass. There is nothin’ of interest there for ye, just an old hut where the gillies used to shelter in bad weather,” Feargan replied.

  “I want to go and see it,” Catherine said, mounting her horse and preparing to set off again.

  “I only came to check the cattle, lass. Ye may see it another day, but right now I want my breakfast, as I am sure ye and yer sister dae, too,” Feargan said, reluctant for the memories of the other day to resurface by visiting the bothy which held such a place in both his and Amelia’s mind.

  “I am going to see it, whether you wish to come or not,” Catherine said, and without waiting for either her sister or Feargan to reply she made off across the moorland, riding at full pelt.

  “She is as headstrong as her sister,” Feargan said, shaking his head.

  “And what is that supposed to mean?” Amelia said, turning to Feargan who suddenly appeared embarrassed.

  “I daenae mean that in a bad way, it is a good quality to possess, but one day it may get her into trouble,” Feargan replied “Let her go though, I shall wait here, I daenae wish to… well, I daenae wish to go there today.”

  Amelia sighed and sat down next to him. They were stopped at a rocky outcrop on the moorland. It was like an island amidst the sea of heather and seated as they were, there was no sight of Catherine nor the bothy. For a moment or two they remained in silence, a gentle breeze blowing across the moorland, the horses grazing nearby.

  “It is very beautiful up here. I know I said that the other day, but I shall say it again,” Amelia said, glancing at Feargan, who smiled.

  “Aye, it is, and I am glad that ye have had a chance to spend time here, away from the worries of the south. Up here things like that seem, well, they seem inconsequential,” Feargan said.

  “But that’s the problem, Feargan, they aren’t inconsequential. There are consequences for all of this, for you and for me. We can’t just escape them by hiding here forever,” Amelia replied.

  “If… if we have each other, though, surely that is enough to face any trial,” Feargan said, a surge of relief going through him as he spoke the words that had been so pressing upon his heart since that day they had made love in the bothy.

  Amelia paused for a moment, as though uncertain exactly what her response should be. She smiled at him and moved closer, taking his hand in hers.

  “You are quite the kindest man I have ever met, and I can only thank you again for your bravery in rescuing me from that terrible ordeal. I am sorry that my heart is so torn. I think of my duty and of Catherine and my father, but then I think of you and of my own happiness and I long to simply…” and at these words she leant forward to kiss him, and he did the same.

  “It is just a boring old shepherd’s hut, there is nothing of interest there,” Catherine said, startling them as her voice came from behind the rocks.

  Amelia leapt up, just as her sister came around to where they were sitting, and Feargan made a pretense of seeing to the horses. But Catherine was too busy speaking to notice the scene she had just disturbed and complained once more about the dull little bothy she had ridden over to see.

  “You chose to go there, Catherine. Feargan did tell you there was nothing worth seeing there,” Amelia said, as she brushed herself down and mounted her horse.

  “But one would think such a place might hold some excitement, or interest. There was just an unmade bed and a blanket strewn across the floor. I wonder if someone has been living there? Do the peasants come up here?” Catherine said, as they rode off across the moorland.

  “Aye, it is hard to ken who uses the place. It is a lonely spot, though, and ye must be careful if ye come here again, Catherine,” Feargan said.

  He had no wish for Catherine to become familiar with the bothy, nor discover that it was there that the impropriety w
ith Amelia had taken place. He was annoyed that the tender moment which he and Amelia had been about to share had been interrupted, but at least now the ice had been broken and the two of them were on easier terms. He wondered when next he might snatch a moment alone with her, a task easier imagined than achieved, given her sister’s constant closeness.

  As they returned to the castle that morning Feargan had every intention of speaking with Amelia again and making her see that his actions and words were just as he meant them to be. He loved her and would do everything in his power to keep her safe. The beauty of the Scottish Highlands might seem a romantic escape, but he promised himself that they could also be a real one, both for Amelia and for himself.

  * * *

  Catherine had been at the castle by Loch Beira for two days now and she and Amelia had spent their days in long conversation, delighting in the landscape around them. Amelia could not be happier to have her sister there with her and she was grateful, too, that the situation with Feargan had somewhat improved. She still felt some embarrassment for the forthrightness of their actions together in the bothy, but each had desired it and one cannot deny the strength of feeling in such situations. On Amelia’s part she knew she was in love with Feargan and however the events of the coming weeks and months might play out, that fact would remain.

  “A picnic? Well, that would be lovely, do you not think, Catherine?” Amelia said at breakfast, after Feargan had suggested an excursion along the loch side.

  “I should very much like that,” Catherine replied. “We have yet to walk along the loch side. It looks so mysterious and other worldly. The way the trees hang down to the water’s edge and the little islands are dotted out towards the end, one wonders if any living soul has ever set foot upon them.”

  “I have swum to them all,” Feargan said, laughing. “But that daenae make them any less mysterious. On one there are the graves of long dead Galbreth’s, going back centuries. And on another there are signs that folk once lived upon them.”

  “How strange, we must go and see. Will you swim out there, Amelia?” Catherine asked, turning to her sister who smiled and shook her head.

  “I think the water will be too cold for either of us, but I shall enjoy seeing the loch side all the same, and a picnic is always ever so enjoyable,” Amelia replied.

  “Good, that’s settled then. We shall leave after breakfast,” Feargan said, and he instructed the servants to have food prepared for their excursion.

  The forests of the glen ran right along the loch side and in parts were so dense as to be almost impenetrable. The path clung to the water’s edge, often rising up to a rocky height before dropping down to the shore below. The trees grew tall and proud, encircling the loch, home to all manner of animals and birds.

  “Ye are walking down to the islands, are ye?” Alexander said, as they gathered in the courtyard a short while later.

  “Aye, but we shall picnic upon the shore. There is a little beach there and perhaps we shall kindle a wee fire,” Feargan said, strapping the pack of food to his back.

  “Listen to ye with yer fancy French words, lad,” Alexander said, laughing. “Ye are having yer ‘food on the hoof,’ that is what we would once have said, ‘a picnic,’ is this what the Bonnie Prince is bringing back with him?”

  Feargan blushed a little and shook his head.

  “It will be a pleasant day, I am sure,” he replied.

  “Be sure to tell the lasses about the goddess of Beira. I am sure wee Catherine here would be pleased to hear about it,” Alexander said, as he bid them farewell.

  “The goddess of Beira? Well, that does sound interesting,” Catherine said, as they walked through the castle gates.

  “I am sure Feargan will tell us in his own good time. Catherine, come now, take my hand. It looks as though the path is somewhat treacherous,” Amelia said. Together they entered the forest, following the path along the loch side. They were led by Feargan and both were only too happy to follow.

  20

  It was cool amidst the trees, with the waters of the loch lapping at the rocks below, as they navigated the winding path along the bank. To their right, the forest stretched seemingly endlessly away whilst across the waters they could make out the shoreline opposite, lined in just the same way with trees stretching up to the mountains above.

  At times they were forced to walk in single file, the two sisters clinging to one another’s hands, as Feargan helped them along the most treacherous parts of the path. In other places it widened out, taking them through lush glades, where the sun shone down through the canopy above, bathing the forest floor in a dappled light.

  “The forest is beautiful,” Catherine said, reaching down and picking a spray of wildflowers which grew next to the path.

  “This path has long been used by me ancestors. There was once a wee kirk built far along here, and hermits lived in the woods, praying together by the loch side. All that changed with the reformation, of course, though the old religion is still alive and well in these parts, away from prying eyes,” Feargan said.

  “And that is why I told Father that you couldn’t possibly be a spy for the Hanoverians,” Catherine said. “You are far too wedded to the old ways, just as he is.”

  “Aye, and it is a dangerous thing to admit, except amongst friends, but up here we are far enough from the zealots to be bothered,” Feargan said, as they now emerged onto a long shore where the trees gave way to a beach of sandbanks, the waters of the loch still and sparkling in the sunlight.

  “Look, Catherine, you can see the islands from here,” Amelia said, pointing a short distance out into the loch where three small wooded clumps formed an archipelago on the water.

  “How beautiful it is,” Catherine said, settling herself down on the shore and idly skimming a stone across the water.

  Feargan and Amelia seated themselves next to her and the Laird began to unpack the picnic which the servants had prepared. There was a loaf of bread with a pat of butter, some slices of cooked meat, hardboiled eggs in their shells, and dried fruits. A cake made from honey completed what was a most satisfying lunch.

  Feargan kindled a fire, though the warmth was hardly needed given the warmth from the sun. They drank water from the loch and Feargan pointed out the names of all the mountains they could see and reminisced about boyhood days spent in this very spot.

  “Once, me Godfather and I built a raft by tying together felled tree trunks like the ones ye see over there, the thin birch trees,” Feargan said, pointing to some young trees growing a short distance away. “We were halfway across to the islands when the lashing came undone and the whole thing came apart.”

  “Whatever did you do then?” Catherine said.

  “We swam,” Feargan said, laughing.

  “Will you swim now?” she continued.

  “Nae today, lass, I have eaten so much that I would sink,” he replied.

  “Then tell us about the goddess of Beira. I have been longing to hear about her all day and you did promise. I shall only ask your uncle if you do not,” Catherine said.

  “Poor Feargan, he brings us out here for a lovely picnic and all you can do is demand he becomes a bard to us as well as a packhorse,” Amelia said, shaking her head.

  “It is an interestin’ tale, one I am sure ye will both like to hear,” Feargan said, throwing more sticks onto the fire so that it spluttered and flamed, sending up a plume of smoke into the still air above.

  “Do tell us then,” Catherine said, looking eagerly at him.

  “The goddess of Beira is said to be the one who created the loch. The waters here are long and the loch goes for many miles yonder, back past the castle. Legend has it that she was striding across the mountains when she fell, and her foot pulled a great rift through the land. If ye look up ye will see that the two mountains either side of here are the same shape almost, flattened on top. That is where she is supposed to have placed her hands, as she got up from her fall.”

  “At one time it wa
s believed that all of Scotland was made by the gods and goddesses in such ways and there are still those who believe it. The castle library is full of books on such matters. But the goddess of Beira holds a special place in me heart, whether there is truth in the legends or not. I always imagine her rising up and she could have laid waste to the glen. The legend goes on to say that she wasnae angry but instead cursed herself for being so foolish and so made the glen the beautiful and fertile place it is, as a reminder that goodness can come out of accident so very easily,” Feargan said, looking out across the waters, as though the goddess herself might suddenly rise up from the depths.

  “What a fascinating story. And you say the castle library has books on the subject?” Amelia said, also looking out across the loch in hope of finding some sign as to the truth of what Feargan had just recounted.