Highland Charm: First Fantasies

by April Holthaus

  As she entered the courtyard, Muriella paused at the sight of the movement and color of men and women scurrying about their tasks. It had not been this way the last time she was here. Then it had been quiet and eerily still, as if the keep itself were waiting, as were they all, for the tragedy that could not be avoided. When they had dismounted, John stood beside her for a moment, his arm about her shoulders, while she fought to catch her breath.

  "I must see to the men and horses," he said at last. "Will ye be all right on yer own?"

  With a thin smile, she looked up at him. "Aye, I think 'twill be best that way."

  John nodded, motioned to Megan, then left the two women to make their way through the throng of people into the wide-open doors of the Great Hall. This too had changed, Muriella realized with a shock. The bare stone walls had been covered with tapestries and the floors with fresh rushes. The hall, which had once been cold and echoing and empty, was crowded now with trestle tables, beneath which the dogs had already settled themselves and begun to scratch. The servant girls hurried to and fro with cushions and platters and bundles of fresh vegetables. Their chatter rose toward the high, curved ceiling, filling the room with motion and warmth.

  Muriella stared, unable to take it in. Why had she thought this keep must always be as bleak and abandoned as the last time she had stood here? Then Megan touched her arm and she looked up at the high table. It was strong, heavy oak, with two ornately carved chairs at either end. But that was not what made Muriella catch her breath in surprise. Behind the raised platform hung the Loch Awe tapestry.

  "Sir John said 'twas so lovely that he couldn't bear to leave it at Kilchurn," Megan told her. "He ordered it hung where all could see it."

  Muriella bit her lip. So John had understood how much the hanging meant to her. Only gradually did she become aware that the servants had fallen silent and stood staring at her.

  "Is't her?" she heard one woman whisper.

  "I don't know," another answered. "But we'll soon see."

  The women fell silent and, one by one, the other voices stilled as the servants turned to regard Muriella in frank curiosity. There was a flutter of movement at the far end of the hall. An expectant hush fell over the room as a woman descended the curving stairs and stood at the bottom, her hand on the iron balustrade. When the servants turned to her, Muriella followed their glance, narrowing her eyes as she caught sight of the woman who paused, silent and still, waiting.

  Then Muriella met the woman's gaze, and a jolt of painful memory went through her body. She knew well that broad, gentle mouth and those soft brown eyes. She remembered every detail of that tightly coiled brown hair. Only once, perhaps, it had not been streaked with gray and the lines on her face had been less harshly defined. Lorna.

  As Lorna began to move toward her, the servants seemed to draw in their collective breath. Muriella stood frozen, unable to force her limbs into motion, her throat strangely raw.

  Lorna stopped, glancing briefly at the tense and watching faces of the people all around her. Then, with a silent prayer, she reached for Muriella's left hand. Muriella drew back to avoid her touch. Then she heard the servants' indrawn breath of surprise and knew that, much as she might wish to, she could not avoid this moment. Biting her lip to still her trembling, she offered her hand to the woman who had once been her friend.

  Lorna breathed a sigh of relief, then slowly examined Muriella's hand. She stared at the little finger, then touched it gently, regretfully. Releasing Muriella, she dropped to her knees, murmuring, "Welcome home, m'lady."

  The servants expelled their breath in a rush; then a cheer rose from those nearest the door. The others caught it up, one after another, until the hall rang with the sound and it spilled into the courtyard. Men bowed, women curtsied, and each spoke their own message to the lady of Cawdor Castle. "Welcome indeed."

  "M'lady, 'tis glad to see ye here at last, we are."

  "May ye bring peace with ye to Cawdor."

  Muriella hardly heard them. She was transfixed by the expression on Lorna's face as she stared at the half-finger. "I would have known ye anywhere," Lorna whispered in anguish. "How could I not with those eyes of yers?" There were tears in her eyes as she added, "Can ye ever forgive me?"

  Above the uncertain sound of her voice, Muriella heard a faint echo from long ago. Think how much she must have loved ye to do such a thing. She found she could not speak through the tightness of her throat. Tears burned behind her own eyes, but they would not fall.

  Lorna bowed her head in acceptance of Muriella's unspoken condemnation, then rose from her knees. Silence had fallen once more, and she rushed to fill the awkward stillness. "We've been ready for ye for so long, ever since yer husband sent word ye were coming. I waited and hoped every day till long past dusk. I watched from the window in the tower. I know 'twas silly, but 'twas how I remembered ye, sitting on the ledge looking down at the river. That's why, when ye finally came, I missed ye altogether. 'Twas no' till I heard the horses in the courtyard that I knew." She faltered. "I never really thought to see ye again."

  Muriella felt the first rent in her protective veil as the numbness began to slip away. This was no stranger who had abandoned her in a distant past. This was the woman who had once been everything to her—mother, friend and confidante. The woman who had recognized Muriella's danger and cared enough to let her go. This was Lorna, who loved her. Muriella felt a moment of wrenching sorrow, then a surge of joy that Lorna had not forgotten after all. Her tears spilled over at last.

  Lorna started away. "I'll leave ye to yer rest."

  "Don't go." Muriella's voice was little more than a whisper, but it stopped the other woman still.

  Lorna looked back just as Muriella reached toward her. Then they were in each other's arms, clinging together, weeping so their tears met and mingled.

  Muriella shivered at the tumult erupting within her as she felt her friend tremble with relief and sadness together. Suddenly, her head was full of voices, warnings, memories that she could neither bear nor stop. She drew back, crying, "I must go."

  Lorna regarded her intently through her tears. "To the river?"

  "Aye."

  "Do ye think 'tis wise?"

  "I don't know if 'tis wise or no'. I only know I have to do it," Muriella replied.

  Lorna nodded in understanding. She understood so much. "Go then, but don't linger. The past can hurt as well as heal, ye ken."

  Without another word, Muriella left behind the curious glances of the servants, the bittersweet smile of her friend, the warmth and life that filled the hall. The echoing voices in her head guided her back in time, across the remembered dust-strewn rooms to the heavy oak door that led to the river. Working the stiff latch free, she pulled the door open and stepped out into the blaze of the afternoon sun. Her heart thudded in her chest as the image of a long-ago day came back to her, carried in the murmur of the rushing river. Here she had stumbled toward freedom, laughing as the shadow of the keep fell away behind her. Here she had run with the flowers brushing her legs, and found the peace she sought in the murmur of the water. Retracing the steps she remembered so well, she turned first toward the tiny clearing where the trees closed whispering around her.

  The copse was as cool and dark as she remembered and the ground as soft. The ferns grew wild beneath her feet, carpeting the clearing with damp, green tendrils. She stood at the foot of the tree where she had lain beside Lorna and listened to the story of the building of Cawdor Castle. He had a troubled life, yer father, and ye have inherited so much that was his. Muriella had not understood then, but now it was all very clear. This place had been the source of all her trials. Because of Cawdor she had lost everything she once held dear. Because of Cawdor she had become a prisoner. Could she ever be happy here now? Ye won't ever change the future by fightin' it this way. To conquer yer fear ye must face it once and for all. But what if, in the end, it broke her?

  She stared at the dancing leaves overhead, mesmerized by the movi
ng light and shadow on her face, by the memories she could no longer escape, and by the muted rumble of the river just beyond the trees. The water called her as it had once before, enticing her with the rhythm of its unchanging song. Now, as then, she could not resist the summons.

  With measured steps, she moved from the safety of the copse toward the riverbank. Here she had knelt, listening to the water, and heard the horses coming toward her. She knelt again, trailing her fingers through the water, feeling the chill as it moved up her arm. Shuddering, she made herself remember the moment when Lorna had taken her finger in her mouth. Then there was nothing but the searing pain and the fury of John's voice as he came splashing toward her, cursing. She closed her eyes, but the horror would not go; in her mind her blood spread over the surface of the water like a dark, rippled stain.

  Muriella raised her hands to her cheeks; she was weeping. Now that her protective veil lay in shreds at her feet, the fear and pain and loss came welling up inside her, choking her as she rocked, her arms clasped tight across her chest.

  Then she realized she was not alone. Her head came up and she spun to find John approaching, cloaked by the shadows of shifting leaves. She stood, gasping for breath, tears streaming down her face unabated. "Johnnie!" she cried.

  This time she did not put the plea into words, and yet this time, he understood. In a moment, John covered the ground between them and took her in his arms.

  "Thank God ye're here!" When she felt his arms close around her, the relief was so great that for an instant her heartbeat seemed to cease. With her head on his shoulder, she leaned close, pressing the weight of her memories against his strong body. He was there for her, she realized, and always had been. Just as Lorna always had.

  "I don't care about the future," she whispered, "or the fear of what might be. I only know I don't want to lose ye."

  "Ye won't lose me," he told her fiercely.

  She raised her head, seeking the warmth and comfort of his lips on hers. He kissed her, swallowing the salt taste of her tears.

  Muriella moaned and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck as the memories retreated. At the heated pressure of his lips, the whirling began in her head—the magic, the wonder, the fear that raged together inside her, spinning, always spinning, until she thought she could stand no more. Mayhap 'tis no' yer husband ye fear. Mayhap 'tis yerself. John's hands drew their stirring patterns over her back while Alex's words spun within her until they echoed the rhythmic pulse of the water at her side. Ye'll always create yer own nightmares. Ye and no one else are at the heart of all yer terror. Mayhap, the river whispered, 'tis yerself, yerself, yerself....

  Then John touched her lips with the tip of his tongue, and a keening cry of need whirled within her. Ye follow the vision through to its natural end. She wanted to shout a denial, but John's lips and his circling hands would not let her. Her hunger screamed through her and she held him tighter, tighter, while the words rang warningly in her head. Mayhap 'tis yerself, the river whispered. Ye follow the vision through. Face it, her heart throbbed as she began to fall. Face it once and for all.

  Then the words were drowned by the roar of the rising water. It was up to her shoulders, her neck; it was choking her. She fought, gasping for breath, against the swirling foam, but it drew her downward to the dark, raging center of the water. When a single breath sent a sliver of fierce, bright pain through her head, she cried out and gave up the struggle. She no longer had the strength to fight, so she let the water take her down, down, down into the murky depths. For a moment more, it roiled and spat, then the spinning stopped, the roaring ceased, and the waves grew still around her. In the sudden cessation of fury, in the clear blue calm that was left behind, Muriella began to float upward toward the distant brightness she had thought never to reach. As she moved, the darkness dissolved and the light burned over her face.

  "Muriella!"

  Slowly, very slowly, she opened her eyes to the image of John's face. In that moment, in the still crystal heartbeat when sound and motion ceased, the joy swept through her in a torrent. "Johnnie!" she cried breathlessly, "I'm free!" Then she spun away, kicking up the pine-scented earth as she went. All at once she was weightless, exultant, so full of jubilation that she could not stay still. Her shoulders, curved for so long under the burden of her fear, were unbowed at last.

  John watched, astonished, unable to comprehend her erratic behavior. Then she turned, her face glowing with joy, her eyes so clear and green they seemed lit by an inner light. Tripping over the uneven ground, she came back to him and threw her arms about his neck.

  "My lord," she said, "I love ye so much."

  Only then, as the ache of tears rose in his throat, did he realize he had thought never to hear those words. "And ye aren't afraid, are ye?"

  Muriella threw her head back, smiling and weeping both together. "Never again," she said. She felt dizzy with a happiness that left her trembling, a joy so intense she thought her legs might collapse beneath her. "I realize now 'twas no' my death I saw. And 'twas no' ye I feared" she added when she could speak through her tears. "'Twas no' ever ye, but only my feelings for ye." Her husband shook his head, uncomprehending "They're too strong, ye see. I thought I couldn't bear them. I thought, if I let them take me, they would destroy me in the end. But I was wrong."

  John took her chin between his thumb and forefinger forcing her to meet his eyes. "Are ye telling me ye nearly drove us both to madness because ye were afraid—? That I loved ye too much?"

  He stared at her in disbelief. Could they have suffered so much for so little?

  "But today," Muriella whispered before he could find his voice, "the demons are gone. Now there is only ye and me." She was smiling and he found he could not escape the glow of her elation. It was as powerful as her fear had once been, and as irresistible. Her body quivered, her lips parted, and without a word she drew him with her toward the river—toward the bright, jubilant cascade of glimmering liquid light.

  "Johnnie? Do ye think ye can ever forgive me?"

  When he did not answer at once, she moved closer, reaching out to touch his cheek. "I love ye so much that I ache with it," she said. "But 'tis a sweet pain, and one I don't wish to live without."

  He drew her hand away from his face, holding it in his open palm. Her eyes were deep green, like the sea in the heart of a storm, and there were fresh tears on her cheeks Like the sea her eyes swept over him, catching him up in the storm of her own creation. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the remaining half of her little finger.

  Muriella leaned toward him and his arms closed around her. In that moment, as their bodies came together, his breathing matched the murmur of her pulse, and of the wind that dipped, sighing, through the woods and across the rippling water.

  Other Books by Kathryn Lynn Davis

  TOO DEEP FOR TEARS: Too Deep for Tears Trilogy, Book 1

  http://bit.ly/amznTooDeep

  http://bit.ly/AmznUKtooDeep

  ALL WE HOLD DEAR: Too Deep for Tears Trilogy,

  Book 2

  http://bit.ly/AmznDear

  http://bit.ly/AmznUKDear

  SOMEWHERE LIES THE MOON: Too Deep for Tears Trilogy, Book 3

  http://bit.ly/amznSOMEWHERE

  http://bit.ly/AmznUKSomewhere

  HIGHLAND WINDS, SCROLLS OF CHRIDE

  http://amzn.to/1dDBr7D

  Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1QjLkTE

  Collection of Novellas by Suzan Tisdale, Tarah Scott, Ceci Giltenan,

  Kate Robbins, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, Lily Baldwin and me

  A TEAR FOR MEMORY, Novella: Prequel to TOO DEEP FOR TEARS

  http://amzn.to/1Rb9oKF

  Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LWH5fr

  Legend of the Fae by April Holthaus

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6
r />   Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Other books by the Author

  About the Author

  April lives in central Minnesota with her husband and son. She developed her passion of historical romances through her love of history and genealogy. Over the last several years she has compiled her family tree finding over 350 bloodline grandparents dating back to the 900’s from England and France.

  When not working or writing, April enjoys spending time with her family, reading and being outdoors.

  Legend of the Fae

  Edited by: One More Time Editing, LLC

  Published by: Grey Eagle Publishing, LLC

  Cover Design by: Zak Kelleher

  Printed in the United States

  First Printing: March 2015

  ISBN-10: 1507761376

  ISBN-13: 978-1507761373

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2015 April Holthaus

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events or persons are purely coincidental. No part of this publication is allowed to be reproduced without the author’s written permission.

  ~ Prologue ~