by Barbara Bard
* * *
Many of the Highlanders sat down, but Blair remained standing. He wiped his eyes and raised his mug of ale. His booming voice filled the hall.
* * *
“My brothers, that was a fine song. Never hae it been sung with such passion. This hae been a grand occasion and it hae been so good catching wi' ye all, but we cannae forget why we are here. There is a serious matter we must discuss. But first of all I'd like ye to think of all the people that cannae be here tonight. People like my father. People like Gall. There be different reasons for their absence, but they be absent all the same. I'm honored to take over from my father, but I wish it didnae have to be so. I wish that he were still here, leading this revelry instead o' me. We do nae always get what we want though. You all knew my father. He proved himself in war, and he proved himself in peace. I hope I can be half as good a ruler as he was. But now Gall. What happened tae him was a tragedy. A crime. Justice must be served. Are we tae sit by and let the English kill our men without a trial? Without our knowledge? How many more injustices are we going tae let happen before we put a stop tae it?”
* * *
“What do ye care about that when ye have taken an English lassie tae yer bed!” a voice called out from the crowd. A hush descended over the Highlanders. Drew noticed that Rosemary looked very self-conscious and tried to sink into her seat. Drew also noticed that a few other clans were nodding in agreement, which did not bode well for Blair.
* * *
“Who dare say that tae me?” Blair thundered, searching the crowd for the source of the words. “Show yerself!”
* * *
In the corner an older man pushed himself off his seat. Drew would never have thought Old Will Plumm would have said something so controversial, to a laird nonetheless, but by the way the old man was swaying Drew imagined that ale could always loosen a man's tongue.
* * *
“What do ye have to say tae me?” Blair dared.
* * *
“I hae plenty to say,” Old Will replied, pointing a shaking, gnarled finger at Blair. “Ye speak of the English yet ye consort with one. It's one thing tae have an English woman in war. That's a right of any soldier, and I know there be plenty of men who did the same. I know I plucked an English rose or two in my time, but how can ye stand there and speak of yer father like that when ye are treading on his grave by having her here. Send her away I say!”
* * *
“How dare ye,” Blair said. “Rosemary is not some war prize, and ye should speak with more respect when it comes tae her. Listen to me now,” he said, raising his voice. Even Drew felt goosebumps crawl and rise along his body. “Rosemary is not the enemy. She ran away from the English. She's their victim just as much as any of us hae been. She stays, and any one of ye that has a problem wi' that can take it up with me. And anyone who speaks about her with disrespect can also take it up wi' me. And if ye think I'll be lenient with ye, ye can test that thought,” he said, glaring around the room.
* * *
If there was one thing Blair was good at, it was intimidating a crowd. Even though most of the Highlanders were imposing warriors, Blair had a knack for making himself larger than life. It must have been because of how much time he spent out in the wild, tracking and hunting wild predators. Sometimes Blair was more animal than man, which was perfect for occasions like this. Although his attention was focused on Blair, he spared a thought for Rosemary, wondering what she thought when she saw him like this. Was she afraid of the wild animal, or did she like it?
* * *
“Anyway. We are not here to talk about Rosemary. We are here to talk about the future of the Highlands, and the tragedy that was Gall's death. It seems that the English are looking our way again. Perhaps they think we are unprepared for war, but they be wrong. I know that if we join forces again, just like the clans did in the last war, we can emerge triumphant. We can beat the English back, this time for good. I dinnae want tae just give them a bloody nose. I want tae send them back so they never return. I want tae send them one last message to make sure they know that we are not here for their amusement. But we must take the vote. Who here is ready for war? Who will pledge themselves to fight the English?”
* * *
Drew looked around, a lump forming in his throat. For a moment there was a tense silence, then, one by one, everyone raised their glasses and met the cry for war.
* * *
“War!” they shouted, their voices as loud as when they had been singing. Drew looked around, unsure if this was the right call. War was not to be taken lightly, and it filled him with dread to think that so many of his brethren were so eager and willing to meet Blair's call for war. When he looked around at them he could only think about which ones would die because of the decision made here today.
* * *
What followed was much revelry, but Drew was pensive as he continued feasting. He noticed a few people casting wary glances at Rosemary, but to her credit she remained seated. Perhaps she had more determination than Drew had first assumed. Towards the end of the night Drew rose from his seat, leaving the bones on the table, and walked over to Blair, who was in the middle of telling a story. His eyes were bloodshot and his words were slurring.
* * *
“We must talk, brother,” Drew said. Blair shrugged him off. “Now,” Drew added, more insistent. Blair hung his head and apologized to the people around him before he rose. Drew walked out of the hall into the fresh night air, hoping that it would allow Blair to sober up, for Drew was wary of going against his brother, especially when Blair was in this drunken state. But what Drew was going to say needed to be said. He only hoped that Blair was wise enough to welcome Drew's counsel.
5
After spending a day together with Catherine, Sarah was tired out. Catherine was a lovely companion, but it was clear she had spent most of her life alone as she seemed to want to make up for it all in one day. She never seemed to run out of things to talk about, which was a blessing in a way, as it meant that Sarah could simply remain quiet and listen rather than say anything that would blow her cover. The more she spent time with Catherine, the more Sarah learned how to act. She quickly realized that Rosemary was far different than this noble's daughter. Rosemary had always been self-sufficient, headstrong, willing to take her own fate in her hands. Catherine was quite the opposite. She seemed to have no real purpose of her own, and acted as though all the decisions of her life had been made for her already. It was a sad state of affairs, and Sarah understood better what she and Rosemary had been talking about.
* * *
There was a moment when Sarah had looked at some of the servants walking by and told Catherine that she envied them, echoing what Rosemary had told her as they had left her home.
* * *
“Envy them! Why would you envy them?” Catherine asked incredulously.
* * *
“Because they are free to make their own decisions. They do not bear any responsibility for the future. They can choose who they marry.”
* * *
Catherine merely laughed, and looked at her with as much confusion as Sarah had initially looked at Rosemary with.
* * *
“And yet their lives are meaningless without us. They are condemned to live in the lower classes, without a way to ever be better than they are. No, for all the faults in our lives I would not trade my place for an instant. All that hard work would not agree with me,” she said.
* * *
“No, I suppose it wouldn't,” Sarah said, and realized how much she missed her old life. When she had first left with Rosemary, Sarah had been deeply envious, and almost resentful of Rosemary. Rosemary never seemed like she appreciated what she had, and at that point Sarah would have given anything to take her place. Well, Sarah had indeed got what she had wished for, and it was not as simple as her old life had been. She would have given anything to be washing clothes or scrubbing dishes rather than having to continue with this subter
fuge.
* * *
As soon as she returned to her chambers she was relieved to see that the housekeeper had left some implements for writing. Thankfully, Sarah and Rosemary had been so close as children that Rosemary had insisted Sarah join her in her classes, so although Sarah did not know as much as most nobles, she had still developed some skills that went beyond those of a mere handmaiden.
* * *
Sitting at her desk, she drew out a quill and smoothed her palm across the paper. She dipped the nib in the ink and thought about what she would write. Sarah had to focus on keeping her hand steady, as the nerves were making her shake. Revealing the truth to Lord Brambly was a risk, but it was better that he know of it sooner rather than later. The last thing she needed was for him to attend the wedding and exclaim with surprise that she was not his daughter. There would surely be no escape for her then.
* * *
Dearest Lord Brambly,
* * *
It is with great regret that I write to you. You may be told that this letter is from your loving daughter, but actually it is Sarah who is writing this. There has been a terrible misunderstanding. While we were traveling through the forest we encountered a wagon filled with prisoners. Rosemary wanted to investigate, fearing that something strange was occurring. I tried to dissuade her, but she was set on her course of action and she disappeared into the night. I do not know what happened to her then. I have heard a rumor that she was seen with a Highlander, being carried away to the north, and I fear for her safety. But to protect us from the soldiers who were guarding the prisoners George told them that I was Rosemary. We were escorted here and since then I have had to remain true to the lie. I wish that I could speak the truth to Lord Flynn, but I am afraid that he will not take too kindly to this subterfuge, even though it was not a conscious decision on my part. I feel ashamed, guilty, and scared. I do not think there is anyone to whom I can turn aside from you. Please help me, Lord Brambly, you are my only hope.
* * *
Yours faithfully,
* * *
Sarah
* * *
Reading the letter over and over again, Sarah wondered if she should write more, but what more was there to write? Before anyone could come in she blew on the ink to help it dry more quickly, then folded it up and sealed it in an envelope. As she carried it downstairs her heart trembled. If anyone should read this letter it would be the end for her.
* * *
She walked so swiftly in fact that she stumbled. The letter tumbled from her hand and slid out of her reach. Her hands slammed against the carpeted floor, as did her knees. She gasped, and reached out for the letter, only to find that somebody had already picked it up. Tilting her head up, she saw that it was Harold.
* * *
“Ah, a letter, how intriguing,” he said, turning it over in his hands. Sarah's breath caught in her throat. “What secrets does it hold, I wonder? Did I get a mention? I hope you are not writing to your father in hopes of calling off the wedding,” he said. Sarah couldn't decide if he was joking or not.
* * *
“I would never do that. I am so excited for our impending wedding,” she replied. Harold looked down at her as he ran his fingertip along the edge of the envelope. He tapped it, and for a moment Sarah was sure that he was going to tear open the paper and reveal her lie. Surely a man as intelligent and wise as Harold had seen through her lie. It wasn't as though she was a mastermind. Before this she had never told a lie before in her life!
* * *
To her relief Harold leaned down and offered her a hand, helping her back to her feet. He handed the letter to her and caressed her cheek gently.
* * *
“As you should be,” he said. “Are you sure you are unharmed?” he asked, looking her up and down.
* * *
“I believe so. I merely lost track of my thoughts,” she said, offering him an apologetic smile.
* * *
“You are just like my sister, always rushing around as though you are running out of time.”
* * *
“We are quite a pair,” Sarah agreed.
* * *
“Just be careful. I would not want to see anything harm your appearance. I want everyone in attendance to see your beauty.”
* * *
Sarah bowed her head, although that was a lot of pressure. She was a simple handmaiden. This wasn't her place.
* * *
“Now, are you not going to ask me about my hunt?”
* * *
“Of course, I apologize. The fall shook my wits from me. How was your hunt, Harold?”
* * *
“It was successful, thank you for asking. I am going to freshen up. I am looking forward to dinner tonight. I shall regale you with the tale of the great hunt.”
* * *
“I look forward to it, my lord.”
* * *
A smile tugged at the corners of Harold's mouth. He nodded, then spun on his heels and walked away. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief, pressing the letter into her bosom. Little did Harold know that he had just been holding the most valuable secret that Sarah had. She had to escape soon. The longer she remained in the palace the more likely it was that the truth would be revealed. If she ever got to the wedding she just might faint with anxiety.
* * *
Sarah walked more carefully for fear of tripping up again. The sooner the letter was on its way the better. She went to the traveling merchant and handed her letter over to him. He was a young man, with a yellow beard, and he looked at Sarah in a strange way. He gave her a toothy smile, but did not say anything, and slipped the letter into his cloak.
* * *
The letter was out of her hands now. She merely hoped that Lord Brambly would read it and come to her rescue. It would be easy for him to break off the wedding, then she could return home and they could focus on trying to discover what happened to Rosemary. Although Sarah shuddered at the thought of what she must have endured, being dragged off to the north by a Highlander. Sarah had bad memories of what the Highlanders did to their prisoners, and she was afraid that Rosemary wasn't even alive anymore.
* * *
With only a few hours until dinner remaining, Sarah tried to read, but found it most difficult to keep her mind focused on the words in front of her. She kept thinking about the traveling merchant and if he would reach Lord Brambly safely, and then if Lord Charles would actually be willing to come to her aid. Most of all she dreaded dinner. Every time she was around Lord Flynn she was afraid that she would say something that would betray her own secret. The more time she spent with him the more she was sure he would realize something was strange about her, but there was nothing she could do to avoid dinner. If she said she was ill he would most likely dote on her, or be frustrated that she was weak and frail.
* * *
The time for dinner arrived. Sarah wore a dress she considered far too nice for her. She didn't think she would ever become comfortable in the noble attire. It was all too luxurious and soft for her. Catherine and Harold were already seated, as per usual. The table was filled with all manner of delectable food. Huge slices of meat were laid upon plates, bowls of vegetables were situated in between them, and broth was being ladled into other bowls by the servants. One of them, startled by Sarah's arrival, dropped his ladle on the floor. It clattered down and the broth spilled over the floor. Sarah bent down to help him, but Lord Flynn was furious.
* * *
“What are you still doing here, you cretin? Begone from my sight! You threaten to ruin this dinner, and I will not stand for it. Go and find a new line of work. If I ever see you around here again I will flog you until your blood is as thick as that broth,” he said viciously. The servant glanced at Sarah, meeting her eyes for an instant. In them, Sarah saw sheer terror, and then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows. Lord Flynn's face was as dark as thunder.
* * *
“One would think that anyone could
do something as simple as ladling broth into a bowl. Sometimes I do worry about the future of this country. The peasants don't seem to be able to do even the simplest of tasks. And Rosemary, please don't try and help them. They'll never learn otherwise,” he said. Sarah bowed her head in obedience and took her seat. Harold clapped his hands as she sat down and rubbed them together eagerly.
* * *
“Now then, let me tell you about the hunt today,” he began, relishing the telling of the tale. “It was a glorious day and the fates were with us. First we saw a fat pheasant and I thought to myself it would make a lovely addition to the dinner table. I drew my bow, took my aim, and the arrow flew true. It struck the bird directly in the heart, and it fell to the ground with its last breath. After this we galloped through the forest until we came to a deer. I tried to be quiet, but one of my men exclaimed in shock. It was the biggest deer any of us had ever seen, but still, there needs to be some decorum. I had him taken back. He won't be going on a hunt with me ever again. Still, the chase was on and I was not going to let this deer get away. We spread out, chasing the deer. The horses' hooves thundered across the ground, our hearts beat fiercely. It was glorious. It's a shame that you women will never be able to experience the glory of the hunt-”