by John Ryan
“Aye.”
“Thayer, ye have squired comely maidens too numerous to recall and enjoyed unequaled success in our campaign against the English. Yet, I sense that ye presume your good fortune will protect ye even in this most foolish endeavor! Oft times I think the Almighty watches your back and steers ye away from peril. But remember, even the eagle that soars high o’er the fray must be wary of the mist that obscures the mountain.”
Reflecting upon his brother’s pointed contention, Thayer willed himself to swallow his grin. He was utterly determined to maintain his composure. Without it, he knew it would be impossible to conceal the potentially devastating effect that his beloved brother could have on his resolve. To be truthful, any sway that Thayer held over Faolin was tentative at best anyway.
Luckily for Thayer, though, his brother remained blissfully unaware of just how brittle that hold truly was. Faolin had no inkling that Thayer would never actually exploit the fact that his twin was beholden for saving his life. Its mention was nothing more than a ruse. No, this plan would only succeed if Faolin remained unaware that Thayer would never force him to do anything that he truly didn’t want to do.
“Ye ask too much, Thayer!” Faolin insisted, his cheeks reddening and his temper fully ignited. “I’ve gone along with your harebrained schemes afore, but this time ye ask too much!”
Faolin sighed and raked his hand through his hair, coaxing a half-smile from Thayer’s lips. At last, Thayer could sense that he was close to convincing Faolin to agree to his plan. Yet, although he was thankful for his impending victory, it was truly to be a bittersweet success. Though oft at odds, especially when it came to women, the two had always been as close as brothers could be. And Thayer had no intention of damaging that relationship with his twin. He found no true satisfaction in his Faolin’s pending concession.
In the Highlands, it was widely known that the MacCourt boys would do anything for each other. In fact, six months prior Thayer had taken an arrow intended for his brother by shielding him with his hulking body. The bolt, which was headed directly toward Faolin’s heart, was deflected by Thayer’s shield and embedded in his own thigh. The wound had since healed, but Thayer would bear the scar for the rest of his life.
“And just what other harebrained schemes are ye referring to, Faolin?” Thayer posed. Acutely aware of Faolin’s keen memory, he knew this was a loaded question.
“Verily, there are too many to mention!” Faolin boomed. “But, just to refresh your recollection, how about the time ye cajoled me to esquire your lady friend, Lorna MacKinnon, whilst ye engaged her sister on the very same night! Do ye not remember the terrible din Lorna raised when she happened upon ye with her sister at ol’ man Ryan’s pub? I swear she raised the very devil that night with her wailing!”
Indicating the back of his head with his forefinger, Faolin added, “I still have a scar from that blasted stein she hit me with!”
“Oh, that scheme...” Thayer acknowledged, fighting back a chortle. “’Twas merely a wee white lie I prevailed upon ye to relay to her.”
“White lie?” Faolin grumbled. “Seems your white lies oft usher in lies of a darker hue, brother.”
“Look, Faolin, God willing we will only have to cause this ruse to prevail for a few months at best. In time, Mother will accept the truth and accept your marriage to Elspeth in my stead. By then, she will see that I have ruled the fiefdom wisely despite not marrying Elspeth, and endorse my crown.”
Faolin stood mutely by, regarding his brother with a dubious gaze.
Thayer continued, “I ken this is much to ask, but ‘twill be the very last thing I ever prevail upon ye to do on my behalf. I swear it.”
Faolin’s stony expression clearly relayed what he thought of Thayer’s plan.
Clapping his hand upon Faolin’s broad shoulder, Thayer sought an alternative tact. “Little brother, ye ken that ye will surely make a better husband for Elspeth than I. Besides, ye have always been more disposed to marriage. Verily, if your dear wife didn’t pass last year, ye surely would still be a-wed.”
“But, Thayer, Lady Elspeth is said to be the most beautiful lass in all of Scotland. They say she can tame any man’s heart with merely her smile. Besides, ye will have to settle down one day, if for no other reason than pure exhaustion.”
“Aye,” Thayer conceded, “her beauty is renown, but they also say she can cut a man to pieces with her sharp tongue and wit. As much as I would normally relish such a challenge, I’m in no humor to relinquish my freedom just yet.” Thayer shook his head. “Nae, not yet, brother. Verily, I would not even be in this plight if ‘twas not for Father.”
The memory of his father sent a wave of sadness over Thayer. His thoughts drifted to a week prior, a dark and gloomy day forever etched in his memory. Awakened at dawn by a family servant at his father’s behest, Thayer hastened to his bedside. As Sir Bromwell lay dying, he had one final command to bestow upon his eldest son.
“As ye are aware, we have been at odds with the Mourney clan since your reckless cousin, Patrick, absconded with one of their lasses without her father’s consent. Much as ye are wont to do, he acted upon impulse and without regard to consequences. Though Patrick later married the lass, the clan has never forgiven the trespass. I am concerned that the feud is escalating, and I dinna want to leave this world knowing that a threat remains to Leith and to our clan. I have decided to arrange for ye to wed the head of the clan’s only daughter, Elspeth. Now, I ken ye relish your freedom, and marriage is not a word ye favor. But before ye utter a single word of protest, let me tell ye that she is the most comely lass in all of the Highlands. I’m sure you’ll be quite taken with her.”
“Surely, there must some other way to mend the rift, Father,” Thayer protested as he felt a muscle knot in his clenched jaw. “Ye ken that I am not likely to make a good husband. I doubt I ever will.”
Despite Thayer’s declaration, Sir Bromwell would have been surprised to learn that his son had actually not resigned to remain single forever. After tiring of the many women he squired, he was beginning to warm to the idea of marriage. But Thayer lived the life of a warrior, and he’d be damned before he left a young widow alone with a fatherless child.
Growing up, he’d seen the pain reflected in his grandmother’s eyes every time she mentioned his grandfather. Killed on the battlefield, Ian MacCourt left Sir Bromwell to grow up without a father and subjected Thayer’s grandmother to a lifetime of grieving. No, if he were ever to marry, it would have to be after he left the battlefield for good. Perhaps, after becoming safely ensconced as laird of his clan, he would give it serious consideration. Perhaps…
Glowering at his son, Sir Bromwell sighed deeply.
“Mayhap Faolin should wed her,” Thayer proposed. “He is far better suited for marriage than I. And he is surely more apt to warm to single lass. I believe he is still lonely after losing his sweet wife. Also, Father, ye ken my repute with women.”
“Nae, ye are me eldest son!” Sir Bromwell roared in a raspy voice. His proclamation was immediately followed by a sustained fit of coughing.
The sight of his beloved father’s suffering had pierced Thayer’s heart. What was he to do? How could he ease his father’s concerns while enabling himself to keep his freedom?
“Thayer,” he warned in a murmur, “should ye defy my final wish, ye shall forfeit your right as my heir. I will not hesitate to leave the fiefdom to your brother. The law of our people states that one of my sons must rule the fiefdom. Your mother, though descended from Norman lords, is not born of our clan and may never bear the crown.”
Thayer gazed upon his dying father with love and compassion. He had never disappointed him before and, though he regarded his command with trepidation, he was not about to begin now. Mindful of this, he chose his next words carefully.
“Father, fear not, your wish shall be done. I swear that your son will marry the Mourney lass afore the month is out. We will end this feud, once and for all.”
&nbs
p; “I knew I could rely on ye, son,” Sir Bromwell replied weakly as a sigh escaped his lips. He soon drifted into a peaceful slumber from which he would never awake.
***
“Just what the devil do ye have against marriage anyway, Thayer?” Faolin grumbled, startling Thayer and bringing him back to their conversation. “Do you not ken that women are not here solely for your amusement? They are not meant to be exploited and discarded like an empty flagon of ale.”
“I have naught against marriage, Faolin,” Thayer proclaimed earnestly. “It’s just that, for now, I prefer to conquer my enemies--not some fiery lass. Besides, I have never encountered a woman that could sustain my interest for very long. Verily, after squiring more than my share, I am beginning to doubt that such a woman even exists.”
“Och, ye are truly pig-headed!” Faolin railed as Thayer stood by eyeing him smugly. Licking his parched lips, Faolin searched about for the ewer he had earlier placed on the table beside his bed, before pouring himself a tall goblet of water. Draining the glass with one long pull, he swiped his sleeve across his glistened lips.
“It does not make sense,” Faolin insisted, watching his brother intently. “I have never known ye to fear anything. Surely, marrying the most beautiful woman in Scotland is not too much of a burden to bear? Remember what Father always said about ye? When other men prayed for their burdens to be lessened, Thayer merely prayed for a stronger back.
“Are ye sure there’s no other reason ye are so disinclined to this match?” Faolin proposed as he eyed his brother suspiciously. “Ye ken of Elspeth’s renowned beauty; that much is sure. As a matter of fact, dinna I recall ye happened upon her some years ago?”
“Aye, I think I may recall her vaguely.” Thayer chuckled, reflecting upon the countless times he had compared other women’s beauty to Elspeth’s ethereal loveliness, finding hers unsurpassed. An appreciative smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. Recalling their disastrous parting, it soon faded, replaced by a more pensive one.
Faolin barked triumphantly, “Aye, so you do remember the fair maiden! As I also recollect, ye happened upon her trespassing in our woodlands when she was just a young lass. Wait a minute!” Faolin bellowed as he excitedly slapped his hand on his knee. “She was the lass that knocked ye to the very ground!”
“I merely slipped is all,” Thayer insisted as he felt his face heating up.
“Nae, brother, as I recall ye were nigh felled like a towering Scottish pine!”
“I dinna ken what the devil ye are crowing about,” Thayer insisted, drawing his mouth into a tight line.
Eyeing his brother with immense satisfaction, Faolin burst forth into a fit of laughter. His face awash with tears, he joyfully dabbed at the copious rivulets.
“Besides,” Thayer continued, attempting to drown out his brother’s snorts, “ye were always our parents’ handsomest son.”
Faolin waved his hand, scoffing at Thayer’s ludicrous contention. Thayer’s flattery was not going to work on him. Since boyhood, nearly every observer who had seen the brothers standing together believed they were looking at two copies of the same man. Though nearly two inches shorter and slightly less powerfully built than Thayer, Faolin was virtually the mirror image of his brother.
“So, this is why ye are so hesitant to wed the Lady Elspeth,” Faolin continued, “Think of it, the mighty warrior, Thayer MacCourt, felled by a comely lass faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tail! Now I think I am beginning to understand.”
“Ye dinna understand anything,” Thayer grumbled. “I am not embarrassed by a mere slip all those years ago, and I dinna care how beautiful she may be. I have no intent on marrying her!”
“But did ye not promise Father that his son would marry Elspeth?” Faolin insisted.
“Aye, but I never said which son,” Thayer retorted.
“Well, I do owe ye me life,” Faolin conceded. “I suppose I am honor bound to do this for ye. But, if I do this favor for ye, we are forever even. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Thayer affirmed, “Forever.”
Chapter Four
Dirleton Castle
November, 1298
Much to Elspeth’s chagrin, but certainly not to her surprise, Lady Fiona employed her usual pluck to arrange the wedding with great haste. And, as always, her mother was an icon of efficiency. In fact, to Elspeth’s recollection, her mother had never wavered under pressure. Rather, she had an uncanny ability to thrive under it. But, if for only for this one time, Elspeth mused, could her mother not be so bloody proficient at everything?
After summoning a priest from a nearby burgh, Lady Fiona sent word to Maureen, the seamstress of Dirleton, to hasten to her chambers. Her duty was clear. Elspeth’s gown, whose creation began nearly two years prior in anticipation of her future nuptials, needed to be completed immediately. Heeding some suggestions from Maureen, Lady Fiona chose a resplendent ivory empire silken gown with a glowing chiffon overskirt. The flowing sleeves of delicate lace beautifully complemented the medium train and the on-the-shoulder neckline. The neckband, waist, and sleeves were embroidered with delicate lattice framing multiple rows of regal lions facing each other, the crest of the Mourney clan. To accentuate Elspeth’s slender waist, a ribbon of gold was tied into a dainty bow behind the back.
Though the banns of marriage would normally be proclaimed for three successive Sundays, Thayer’s mother felt the grandest way to honor her late husband’s wishes was to have the couple wed as soon as could be arranged. Lady Fiona readily agreed and the two women decided that the hastily arranged marriage was to take place in just two days. There was so much to prepare! So, with Maureen’s assurance that the gown would be completed in time for the wedding, Lady Fiona harkened back to the great halls of the castle to continue the preparations for a wondrous banquet to welcome the MacCourt clan.
At her direction, the walls of the castle were adorned with wreaths fashioned from sprigs of brilliant pink heather and chestnut-hued branches of rich green fir. Garlands of wildflower--gold, crimson, and violet--were gaily suspended from the rafters in the great hall.
In the center of the dining chambers, a gleaming fire crackled in the great stone hearth. The glowing embers displaced the icy drafts and bathed the grand table in a warm crimson glow. The sweet aroma of seared hickory and peat permeated the castle’s main dining chambers, now abuzz with a flurry of activity. The first guests had begun to arrive, and the harried servants, bearing ample trays of freshly roasted mutton, heaping pots of steaming potatoes, and hearty ewers brimming over with ale were being spurred to haste by Muirne, the chatelaine of the castle.
Gaelic for beloved, Muirne had been so named by the Earl and Countess after being discovered drifting aimlessly as a young orphan in a nearby burgh nearly two score prior. An ongoing feud between local tenant farmers had escalated into violence, and the knights of Dirleton were dispatched to the village to quell the disturbance. There, they discovered the frightened young lass hiding amid the smoldering ruins of her charred grass-thatched hut. Inside the humble abode lay the bodies of her parents, innocent victims of the melee.
Muirne was the Earl and Countess’ most enduring and adored servant. But moreover, she was treated as a member of their clan. Entrusted with the oversight of the domestic servants, she had also served faithfully as a nursemaid to the children. It was a task she usually performed with great joy and efficiency, but she had her hands full this particular night. She hadn’t even seen Elspeth and Graham since the morning meal. She was entirely too busy to track them down.
Amid the joyful chaotic din, Muirne paused to cast a glance at the empty chair that rested at the head of the table. The pained expression upon her face conveyed the heavy heart she bore as she stared at the richly-gilded chair of hand-etched mahogany. The chair stood as a stark and steadfast reminder that Sir Rhoenne had been torn asunder from his family and cast into a conflict that was claiming many lives. She knew, too well, that should the rebellion go ill, he would never return.
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br /> Meanwhile, in her husband’s stead, Lady Fiona was doing her utmost to entertain her many guests. After personally sampling and selecting the finest wines, meads , and ales from the family’s cavernous cellar, she gracefully swept into the chambers clad in a stunning gown of gold. All eyes turned toward her and, as she glided by, she left appreciative smiles in her wake.
Amid the merry bustle, she casually glanced upon the two chairs reserved for Elspeth and Graham. Glaring at the two vacant chairs in incredulity, her anger sparked and her mirthful mien was displaced. She motioned furtively to Muirne, beckoning her to come closer.
Leading her gently aside, she whispered, “Muirne, honey, please go fetch my ill-mannered children for me. I believe they are ensconced in Elspeth’s chambers yet again. Make haste, but take care not to allow our guests to become mindful of your task. I believe they haven’t noticed that the children are not here yet.”
Nodding in wordless accord, Muirne slipped away from the dining hall and hurriedly mounted the great stone stairway of the main hall.
Lady Fiona let a chuckle slip past her lips when she overheard Muirne grumble, “Och! Blasted no good children! They may be nigh adulthood, but I swear they will not be spared from the sting of the back of me hand! Most especially that spirited lassie, Elspeth!”
***
Prattling by the glow and warmth of the hearth fire, Elspeth and Graham had lost all track of time after dressing for the eventide feast. The two siblings had always been deep in each other’s confidences. Though Elspeth had yet to reveal the true extent of her consternation to her brother, this night would surely be no different.
“Och, these wretched clothes are so cumbersome,” Elspeth grumbled as she smoothed the folds of her elegant flowing skirt of robin’s egg blue. “Surely, I would be much more comfortable in me leggings and tunic. Why the devil must Mother insist on this blasted vesture?”