Christmas in the Glen of Travercraig

by Fiona MacEwen

  “Oh, there ye are, Nairne, we were growing worried for ye,” she said, embracing her daughter.

  “Aye, I was just telling Nairne to be careful in the forest, and not to stay out on her own as darkness is falling,” William said, laying aside his fish and standing up. “Now she is safe I shall be away.”

  “Are ye not staying for dinner, William?” Nairne’s mother said.

  “No, woman, thank ye, but I have my own business to see about,” he replied, and kissing Nairne forcefully on the cheek he departed.

  “He would keep me tied with a rope if he could,” Nairne said, as the door banged shut.

  “He is only looking after ye, Nairne,” her mother replied, taking the mushrooms and beginning to slice them into a pot above the fire.

  “I can look after myself in the forest, I have done so since I was a child,” Nairne replied, sitting herself down next to her mother.

  “Aye, I don’t doubt that, Nairne, though William is your fiancée and if he says ye are to do something, then ye must do it, that is obedience.”

  Nairne was silent for a moment. She hated being subject to anyone’s whims, let alone William Wilson, who over the time of their engagement she had come to despise. He was always careful to appear as respectable as possible before her parents, but in private he could be a cruel man and was not afraid to show his force by deed as well as word.

  “What do ye remember of the Laird, Mother?” she asked, not wishing to dwell upon the subject of William Wilson any longer.

  Darkness had fallen now and outside the wind was howling around the crofts, causing the fire to splutter a little from the draught blowing down the chimney. Nairne moved close to the fire, which cast its flickering light around the room, illuminating her mother’s face as she stooped to stir the stew.

  “You mean Andrew Douglas? Bless him, ye were only a child when it happened, weren’t ye?”

  “Aye, ten years old if I were a day,” Nairne replied, pulling a blanket across herself.

  “The snow was lying thick that day too, Christmas Eve. We used to have such happy times at the castle back then. The Laird was so kind and benevolent to we simple folk, nothing was too much trouble for him and he always loved to see the children happy, I remember him saying once to me ‘Mary, one day I shall have a bairn and be as happy as ye seem,’ well that made me blush because to me he seemed the happiest of men and his wife Lorna was ever so beautiful,” her mother said, sitting back next to Nairne and putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

  “I stumbled across the castle today when I was collecting mushrooms, it is almost obscured by ivy and trees. Is it true that the Laird never comes out? Has no one seen him these past ten years?” she asked.

  “On the night when poor Lorna Douglas died, he closed the gates. No one has been allowed inside since, though some folk see him walking in the forest at times. He rarely speaks, and they say he has such sorrow in his eyes as though his heart is still breaking at his loss,” her mother replied.

  “But what of food? He must see someone, surely he doesn’t live there all alone?” Nairne said, unable to believe that Andrew Douglas had spent the past ten years as a hermit in his own castle.

  “It is surprising how easy it can be for men to cut themselves off from the world if they so choose to do, no doubt he hunts and perhaps some of the folk who live in the forests bring him food. He is a wealthy man and it would be no trouble for him to pay for such things, but why are ye so interested suddenly?” her mother asked.

  “Oh, no reason, I just found the castle so mysterious, there was a loneliness to it, a sadness even. As if the walls held memories so tragic that they wanted to let out a great sigh of mourning,” Nairne replied.

  “They say the place is cursed and there are many folks who will not go near it. My advice is to stay away from that sad castle, Nairne, it will do ye no good otherwise and if ye encounter Andrew Douglas in the woods there will be little ye can say that will cheer him, of that I am certain,” her mother replied, and she went back to tending the soup as Nairne sat ponderously before the fire.

  The thought of the mysterious Laird, locked away in his castle, was one she could not rid herself of. She had long heard the tales of Andrew Douglas, but truth was fast turning to legend and as she went about her work in the coming days her mind often returned to the castle walls and who, or what, lay behind them. She felt sorry for the Laird, alone without a wife or bairn for company. So sorrowful that he could not bear to see the people whom he had once so loved and cared for, and who in turn had cared for him.

  Nairne’s own life was simple, she had not known love nor loss. She had accepted that her fate was to marry William Wilson, to be a mother to children and to live there in the Glen, collecting firewood and running the house. How different a fate to that of the Laird or his poor wife Lorna, and as winter approached Nairne continued to wonder just what Andrew Douglas was like and if ever she would see him.

  Chapter 2

  All Safely Gathered in

  “A store of fuel for Advent means an easy Christmas, that’s what they say, Nairne,” Mary McBryde said, as her daughter returned from the forest that morning bearing a great bundle of wood for the fire.

  It was the beginning of December and the snows had come to the Glen, covering the forests and mountains and making daily work a struggle. Nairne and her family had been busy gathering supplies for the coming season and getting ready to see in the great feast of Christmas. There was an air of anticipation in the village, though some saw Christmas as a time of bad luck, remembering the sad death of Lorna Douglas ten years ago on Christmas Eve.

  Nairne was not encumbered by such superstition and was more concerned with ensuring her family had enough to eat and fuel to keep them warm. The snows seemed unrelenting, and it was clear that this was to be a harsh winter ahead.

  “Then I shall return to the forest and gather more this afternoon whilst the light remains, Mother,” Nairne replied, taking a moment to warm her hands at the fire.

  “See if ye can find nuts too, the animals may have taken them all though, but in the forest the snow will not lie as thick and ye may find some under the trees, we can roast them,” her mother replied.

  “Aye Mother, I shall do,” Nairne said, taking up her shawl as she prepared to depart again.

  As she stepped out from the croft she looked down towards the shore of the loch where William Wilson had broken through the ice and was fishing. He turned and called her over, summoning her as though she were a piece of property to be owned.

  “Where are ye going, Nairne?” he asked, several large salmon lying on the ice at his side.

  “Back into the forests for fuel. Mother wants me to see if there are nuts too, what business is it of yours where I go?” she said, turning away from him.

  “It is my business, ye are to be my wife, hold your tongue and do not speak to me so. Remember your place, lassie,” he said, crossing from the ice to the shore and standing before her.

  “I am just going to gather wood and nuts, William,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Then I will come with ye, two pairs of hands will gather more,” he said, and taking her arm he led her towards the forest.

  Nairne resented such an intrusion upon her time away from the village. She liked to walk in the forest alone, singing to herself and looking at the animals and trees. Every day in the forest was different, and she delighted in the changing of the seasons and the ways in which the same tree could look completely different on every single day of the year. It was her chance to escape from William and his overbearing ways, but today it seemed she had no choice and the two walked together into the trees, a flurry of snow beginning to fall.

  “It will be a harsh winter and make no mistake,” William said as they began collecting wood.

  “Aye, and there will be many more walks such as this if we are to have enough fuel for the fire,” she replied.

  They remained silent for a while, walking amongst th
e trees, collecting fallen wood and scavenging for nuts. Nairne dug down beneath the snow and collected hazelnuts, fallen from the tree above as William dragged down several branches of dead wood hanging above, sending a flurry of snow down upon Nairne.

  “Ye have covered me, be more careful, will ye?” she said, shaking the snow off herself.

  “If ye would help me instead of scrabbling around in the dirt, then perhaps it wouldn’t have happened,” he replied.

  Nairne shook her head and continued collecting the hazelnuts which now filled her tunic pocket.

  “There may be some mushrooms in the hollow of the upturned tree, I am going to see,” she said, striding off into the trees without waiting for his response.

  “Nairne, ye wait for me,” William shouted after her, running to catch up and taking her by the arm.

  “Ye are an obstinate lassie today, aren’t ye?” he said, pulling her back.

  “I am just doing my work, William, I wish ye had just stayed in the village and finished yer fishing, but no, ye must follow after me and make my life a misery like always,” she cried, running ahead of him as they reached the upturned tree.

  “Watch yer tongue ye insolent lass or ye shall feel my hand,” William said, catching hold of her and raising his arm in anger.

  “I would gladly feel your hand if it would rid me of ye,” she cried, and he was just about to strike her when a voice came through the trees.

  “Ye strike the lass and I shall strike ye in return.”

  At these words both William and Nairne were startled and he let her go, turning to see from whence the voice came.

  Stepping from the trees came a man of fine stature, wrapped in a cloak against the cold. At his side there hung a sword and his dark beard and hair framed a handsome face.

  “What business is it of yours?” William said, stepping forward and looking angrily at the man.

  “It is no business of mine, but if this bonnie lass is your betrothed, then I suggest ye treat her better, if ye wish to keep her loyal to ye. A woman is a precious thing and ye should nae forget that,” he replied.

  “I shall treat her how I wish,” William said, “and no man shall tell me otherwise. Who are ye anyway? A stranger in our midst, wandering in the forest. It is for that reason I keep such a close eye on Nairne, ye never ken whom she might encounter out here alone.”

  The man just laughed at him and turned to walk away.

  “Treat your lass right, else ye shall answer for it. It is a precious thing to know love, don’t ye forget it,” he said, and with that he strode away into the woods, leaving Nairne and William alone.

  “Ye see what I mean, Nairne? The woods are dangerous places to be alone, he might have killed ye had I not been here with ye,” William said, taking up his bundle of firewood and catching hold of her hand.

  But Nairne was watching the man as he disappeared into the trees. The castle walls appeared even higher and more foreboding than they had done before, the snow lying in drifts against them, like an impregnable mountain.

  “That was no stranger to the forest, William, that was Andrew Douglas, the Laird, I am sure of it,” Nairne said.

  She was certain that the man who had just chastised William for his treatment of her was none other than Andrew Douglas, the man she had been so curious about these past weeks. He had an air of authority to him, but a look of sadness in his eyes. He was handsome, and noble, like the clansmen of old she had so often heard about in tales and stories told around the fireside. His shy smile, yet forceful words had enchanted her. It was rare that anyone ever stood up to William and secretly she was glad to have seen it, He was a cruel man and she knew he had little love for her, his only desire being to possess her.

  “Andrew Douglas?” William said, shaking his head and laughing. “The old Laird of the castle, the madman grieving for the loss of his wife? Don’t be stupid lassie, if he has not died by now then he soon will, died of loneliness I should think. What is it they say? His heart was broken by the death of his wife and after that he had no further joy. Andrew Douglas. Don’t be a fool,” and walked on ahead, the snow still falling around them as darkness began to fall.

  But Nairne was convinced by what she had seen and all that night she thought only of the mysterious man in the forest and the kindness of his words. She wanted to thank him for preventing William from beating her, an act which surely he would have undertaken had Andrew not intervened.

  Back in the village William wished her goodnight, reminding her not to go walking into the forest without him, for fear of strange men. She could hear him calling to others as returned home, speaking of a man who ‘attacked’ him in the forest and warning of the danger posed by a man who had done nothing except behave with honor and decency.

  “What is it that William is shouting about?” her mother asked as Nairne laid down several handfuls of hazelnuts and her bundle of sticks.

  “He is telling everyone to be aware of a stranger in the woods,” Nairne replied, smiling.

  “And what stranger is that?” her father, Duncan McBryde asked, looking up from his place by the fire.

  “It is no stranger,” Nairne replied, “only the Laird, Andrew Douglas, we met him out in the woods this afternoon. He was quite rude to William, which I suppose is why he doesn’t like him.”

  “The Laird? What nonsense. Nairne, ye didn’t see the Laird out in the forest,” her mother said, “but if there are strangers out there then ye must be careful.”

  “He was perfectly friendly, but William takes offence at the slightest thing,” Nairne said, warming her hands at the fire.

  “Obey your husband-to-be, lass,” her father said, shaking his head.

  Nairne remained silent, she knew that it was Andrew Douglas whom they had met that afternoon. There was something about the man which told her so, whatever the others said.

  “Andrew Douglas is a shadow of a man now, Nairne, and I doubt he has left the castle in the last two years. I have heard no one speak of him since then, and even before that reports were few and far between,” her mother said, ladling out some stew into bowls and handing one to her daughter. “The man ye saw was no doubt a stranger, come down from the mountains to cause trouble. If ye see him again, then ye must tell us immediately and the men of the village will see him off. A stranger at Christmas is bad news, as they say.”

  Nairne knew just what they would say, she knew all the superstitions and sayings of the villagers, they would all know by the morning that William Wilson had been threatened in the forest. Doors would be bolted, and vigilance maintained, children kept inside and whispers go around. Before long it would be a ghost that had been seen and the forest would be declared to be haunted.

  But Nairne knew what she had seen and resolved to return to the forest in search of the mysterious man. The castle held no fear for her, neither did the kind stranger who had saved her from William’s hand. As she went to bed that night, she pictured him there in the castle, all alone save for his thoughts and memories. Was he lonely? Or was he happy to keep his grief to himself? A shadow of his former self as her mother had so forcibly suggested. Would he welcome a visitor, or turn her away? Either way, Nairne was determined to find out.

  Chapter 3

  The Castle Gate

  Nairne rose early the next day, the fire was smoldering in the hearth and she stoked the embers, watching the flames spring up as an icy draft whipped under the door of the croft and outside the snow fell. She placed a pan of water over the flames and warmed her hands as the sounds of her mother and father rising from their sleep could be heard in the adjoining room. She had lived in the little village of Travercraig her whole life, as had her parents and their parents before them.

  She knew every one of her neighbors, except of course the mysterious Laird, whose name was mentioned in passing at times, furtive looks exchanged between those who found their conversation resting upon him. It was as though the past ten years had turned the tragedy of a young girl’s death into th
e myth of a mysterious Laird. Trapped forever in his castle, a place of sorrow and sadness to be avoided. The whispering of strange happenings enough to keep even the most curious away.

  Nairne was determined to speak with him and to thank him for his kind words of the day before. The castle held no fear for her, though she was wary about going into the woods alone after the stern words from William. But as the fire revived itself and the water began to boil, Nairne determined that today she would walk once more into the forest and come to the castle gate, eager to see the man who so captured her imagination and who had been so forceful in his rebuff of William Wilson.

  “We shall still need plenty of firewood to see us through the Christmas season,” her mother said later that morning. “Your father and some of the men plan to fell some trees by the loch but until they are chopped up, we shall need fresh wood from the forest.”

  “William says I am not to walk in there alone,” Nairne replied, sowing a seed of discontent, for she knew her mother’s mind would be easily changed.

  “Well, that is what he said yesterday, but a lass should not be idle and if he is about his business on the loch, then I see no reason why ye should not collect a few sticks. Stay at the edge of the forest, there will be other women there collecting, surely and ye shall have no problem in finding enough wood there. Do not be long though and he will not miss ye,” her mother replied.

  Nairne was delighted at her mother’s words and wrapping her shawl around her shoulders.

  “And what if I see a stranger, mother?” she asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

  “Then run back here as I told ye yesterday, the men shall see to such a man, and there are still plenty of hours of daylight left, be gone now, lass and if ye find nuts again then so much the better,” her mother said, shaking her head. “Strangers indeed, such fanciful tales.”

  Nairne bid her mother farewell and ran off into the trees. She cast a glance behind her, but there was no sign of William on the loch. No doubt he was slacking off and drinking with some other village men in the tavern. William Wilson was known to like a drink and when too much of the innkeeper’s excellent ale had been consumed, he became ever more unpleasant than he already was.