Beloved Ruins, Book 1

by Marti Talbott

  McKenna scooted forward a little so she didn’t feel like she had to shout. “‘Tis so dangerous. I wonder that no one has gone into the ravine and killed themselves.”

  “So do I,” Nicholas answered.

  She scooted back. The drive to the village was a short one, but going from the village to the MacGreagor glen took a while. She did not mind, for there was plenty to see in the countryside. At last, he turned up the road and she could see the castle.

  A little more than halfway up the glen, Nicholas applied the brakes and brought the Benz to a stop. He waited until Alistair did the same, and then climbed out and pointed to a pine tree.

  “What is it?” Alistair asked joining him.

  “No wonder Charles did not call this morning – someone cut the telephone line.”

  Alistair nodded as he looked from tree to tree. “‘Tis cut in three places. Could a lass do that?”

  “You think the duchess is back?”

  “Aye, and ridin’ a broom.”

  Nicholas lifted his hat, ran his fingers through his dark hair, and put his hat back on. “Whoever it is has gone from threats to mischief.”

  “Aye. We best tell Charles. Both men climbed back in, continued to drive up the road and parked in front of the castle.

  Cook Jessie had seen the black and white photographs too. Even so, she gawked at the blackened ruins. She let Alistair help her out of the automobile, opened her parasol, put it over her head, and looked up.

  “So much of it is gone, it hardly looks like the same place,” she muttered.

  “‘Twas dangerous,” Charles said soon standing beside her, “so we have taken some of it down.”

  “Someone cut the telephone lines,” Alistair said.

  “Aye,” Charles answered.

  “Are you not concerned?” Sarah asked.

  “I say we let the lads fret over that,” said McKenna, “there is little we can do.” She walked to the table, found nothing new in the recovered items, and then looped her arm through Jessie’s. “How do you suppose it was five hundred years ago? In all the years I lived here, I never once thought how different it must have been with cottages and paths. Now, I can easily imagine the glen filled with joy and laughter.”

  “And hard work,” Jessie said. “Never again shall I complain about the cookin’. At least these days I dinna have to catch the chicken before I cook it.”

  Sarah giggled. “I imagine catching chickens is why we have sons.”

  “A point well taken,” said Jessie.

  Sarah was already on her way when she said, “Come my dears, I cannot wait to see Lindsey’s bridge. The first to find her name wins.”

  “Wins what?” Jessie muttered. Nevertheless, she followed Sarah and McKenna to the stone bridge and began to examine each of the stones. She doubted Lindsey’s name would be on the bottom stones, but she saw nothing on top, so she checked them all the way down, moved a little further across the bridge, and began again. “How Rory must have suffered. My heart breaks for him.”

  “Aye, but MacGreagors have always believed hard work was the cure for sorrow. They were right. ‘Twas precisely what Uncle did when my parents were killed. Uncle handed me a shovel and...”

  “I found the ‘S’,” Sarah gleefully shouted.

  “Where?” Jessie asked.

  “On the very top row. See, here is the ‘D’ as well.”

  McKenna walked back to the beginning and touched the intermittent stones as she walked across the bridge. Sure enough, the chiseling spelled LINDS...Y. “The ‘E’ is missin’.”

  “Perhaps English has changed since then,” said Sarah.

  Jessie frowned, “Or perhaps the stone was replaced.”

  Sarah walked to the other side of the bridge and found more markings. “I suspect it says the same in Gaelic on this side.”

  McKenna rushed over to have a look. “I confess I cannae verify that.”

  “Or me,” said Jessie. “I can speak it, but few know how to write it.”

  Sarah sighed. “I am so happy we found it. Now, our beloved Lindsey shall never be forgotten,”

  “Shall we visit her grave again?” McKenna asked. “Jessie has yet to see it.”

  “Can we not go home and read the book?” Jessie asked. “Who cares about this old castle anyway? Let the lads have at it.”

  McKenna laughed. “Why Jessie MacGreagor, I expected you to have a good cry when you saw the castle, and you’ve shed nary a tear.”

  “I might cry later, but just now I want to know what happened. Someone killed Grizel, I am sure of it.”

  Sarah sighed. “Alistair will never let us get away with reading it, when he is not in attendance. We must wait, sadly.”

  “Besides,” said McKenna, “we dinna know how to drive yet.”

  NICHOLAS WATCHED THE women walk from the bridge to the graveyard and then turned his attention back to Charles. “Perhaps we might get a dog to watch the place.”

  “Splendid idea,” said Charles, “and I shall have the telephone company show me how to fix the lines if they are cut again.”

  “How goes the buildin’?” Alistair asked.

  “Slower than I expected,” Charles answered. “Here, I’ll show you.” He led the way to one of the outer walls and pointed to several cracks. “They were not here when we started and I fear a collapse while the lads are workin’. If we tear it down, it will add to the cost and the time.”

  “Tear it down,” Nicholas said. “It is not worth having’ anyone injured trying’ to save it.”

  “Is there no way to simply fortify it?” Alistair asked.

  “Hopefully we can,” Charles answered, “I would prefer it.”

  “The other walls are sound?” Alistair asked.

  “So far,” Charles answered.

  Nicholas stroked his short beard for a moment. “I’ll call Hannish and ask his advice. Mind you, each time I do, he regrets not being here himself to oversee the rebuilding. It takes a bit of doing, but I shall again assure him we have it well in hand.”

  BEFORE THEY LEFT THE castle, it was agreed that Nicholas would call the telephone company and request they come fix the wires. Just to be on the safe side, Charles agreed to add a lock to the telephone box, and everyone wondered if they should hire yet a third guard. It was, after all, a very long and wide glen and a bit much for just two men to watch over. Instead, they agreed to keep both guards near the castle and add a dog.

  Everyone was excited to go back to reading the book. Yet, when they got home, the boys had been invited to an afternoon cricket game and everyone wanted to go, so the reading was put off until after the evening meal.

  MACGREAGOR GLEN, 1371

  And so it was that Laird Michael MacGreagor had a problem he knew not how to solve. Her name was Grizel Allardice, or so she pretended when she came to the glen seeking sanctuary. The truth be told, she was Seona Dalldon, daughter of the most feared laird in all of Scotland – a man seemingly devoid of all human emotion even where his children were concerned.

  Against her father’s wishes, Seona ran from her home to avoid being married off to a French Marquis. Was her life truly in danger? Michael had no doubt of it, Seona humiliated her father before the king, and there would be a price to pay. More importantly, if Laird Dalldon discovered where she was, the MacGreagors would have to choose between giving her over and fighting to keep her safe.

  Giving her over was the most sensible choice, but for generations the MacGreagors held fast to an edict that offered protection to any woman who feared for her life. To go against the edict was unthinkable, and if Michael did, he would surely lose the respect of his clan. And then there was the question of the child Seona claimed to be carrying. Was it a MacGreagor child? That was clearly a possibility since she had enticed both Owen and Murran with her devices. On the other hand, it could be the issue of a man she bedded before she came to the glen, or perhaps her guard, Osgar, was the father. To discover which, Michael had to believe Seona, and by now he knew f
ull well she was not to be trusted. Even so, he could not risk letting Laird Dalldon kill a MacGreagor child.

  LAIRD SWINTON LIKED sunshine, fields of green, and watching the eagles fly across his land the same as any other man. Yet, he suffered headaches so severe, he was forced to let his curly, light brown hair hang free instead of tying it back the way he preferred to wear it. Only the darkness in his Great Hall seemed to help relieve his misery. Just now, the dull ache had not let up, so he returned to his seat at the table, reached for the small rag he let soak in sweet-smelling lavender, wrung it out, and held it to his nose.

  His pain dulled his concentration, yet concentrate he must, if he was to give considerable thought to his particular situation. When Osgar Allardice made his proposal, Swinton delighted in the idea of killing Laird Dalldon and happily agreed to the terms. Now, he was beset with indecision and doubt. Unfortunately, it was far too late to change his mind. After Osgar left, he undoubtedly rode straight away to lay the trap and snare Dalldon in it.

  According to the agreement, Laird Dalldon would believe Swinton had his daughter, come himself to fetch her and bring the ransom. That part of the agreement was not the problem – precisely how to kill Dalldon was. So far Swinton had imagined several possible ways to kill him without getting hung for it, but most seemed implausible. Even a simple ambush was doomed to failure, for Dalldon never went anywhere without at least a hundred well-armed warriors to protect him.

  “What do you mean to do?” Swinton’s second in command asked. Seated in the darkness beside his laird at the long table, he could scarcely see. Scant sunlight filtered in through high, open air windows, but candles down the center of the table and lanterns along the walls remained unlit.

  Swinton put the rag to his nose again and thoughtfully toyed with a medallion he wore on a gold chain around his neck. “I mean to have her here when Dalldon comes, and then I mean to challenge him to fight me for her in front of his men.”

  The second scoffed, “If he yet remembers how to fight. I hear he has grown weak and lazy.”

  “Let us hope you hear right and that my head is not poundin’ when he arrives. First, we must know when he is comin’. Send two lads to keep watch and to come with all due haste if he gathers his lads and heads this way.”

  His second nodded. “Consider it done. Did Michael confess he has Seona?”

  “Nay, but she is there and he is not pleased.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he warned me not to marry her.” Swinton let go of the medallion and rubbed the back of his neck. “There have been many rumors of Seona’s propensity for the same sort of treachery her father enjoys, but never have I known Michael to pay heed to rumors. Nay, he knows somethin’ firsthand, and that could only be true if she walks among the MacGreagors.”

  “Suppose someone takes her while we wait? We cannae be the only ones who suspect he has her.”

  Swinton put the rag back in the bowl of lavender water and considered that possibility for a moment. “Have you a suggestion?”

  “Why do you not send lads to see what is happenin’. We are not far away and if someone steals her away, we could give chase at a moment’s notice.”

  “Spy on Michael?”

  The second scoffed, “Nay, spy on her. I hear she is the most bonnie lass in all the land.”

  “Aye, just like her mother was,” Swinton’s temper was starting to flair, “a lass who would have been mine, save for Dalldon’s unspeakable deceit.”

  The second quickly lowered his eyes. “Indeed.” He paused hoping to give Swinton time to calm down a little. “As I was sayin’, being as bonnie as she is, our lads shall easily know if she is the one taken. I...”

  “See to it, then.”

  “And if Laird MacGreagor will not give her to you when the time comes?”

  Swinton took a deep breath and then held his head in both hands. “We have no choice but to take her.”

  The second’s mouth dropped. “You would go to war with the MacGreagors?”

  “Do you not see? I do Michael a favor. Dalldon will not fight me if Michael has her – he will fight Michael instead.” Still holding his head, Swinton stood up, disappeared through an inner doorway, and went into the darkness of his bedchamber. Sometimes, but not often enough, lying down of an evening cured his headache. Hopefully it would work this time too.

  Swinton’s second chose four of their best men; two to watch Dalldon, and two to keep an eye on the comings and goings in the MacGreagor glen. Therefore, the two sent to the glen were watching when three men, wearing the apparel of no particular clan, entered the glen and rode toward the castle.

  BEFORE LINDSEY PASSED, the idea was to build a shop across the road in which to sell her pottery and the rest of their wares to passing travelers, thereby negating having to take them to market. Lindsey’s death changed all that. Instead of making and selling his belts, Rory worked all day preparing to build a bridge in her honor, and Owen freely admitted he had not the patience to sell his forks in town. Therefore, the clan had not heard about Dalldon’s missing daughter, and was caught completely off guard.

  As usual, when the whistles announcing visitors spread from one end of the glen to the castle, everyone stopped what they were doing to see who had come this late in the evening. It was obvious that none of the three men were lairds, for they came with no guards to protect them. Still, they wore blank expressions, galloped up the road, and came to a halt just short of the castle’s outer double doors. It was Carney MacGreagor’s job to guard the castle entrance, so he quickly closed the doors, moved to stand in front of them, and grabbed the spear he kept leaning against the stonewall.

  “We have come to get her,” said the man in the middle.

  “Get who?” Carney asked.

  “Laird Dalldon’s daughter,” answered another.

  “Who?” a confused Carney asked.

  “Do you deny you have her?” asked the tall one on the end.

  “I do indeed. Has Laird Dalldon misplaced his daughter?”

  The first man scoffed. “All of Scotland seeks to find her. Laird Dalldon offers a generous reward and we mean to collect it.”

  Standing on the other side of the closed doors, Michael heard every word. Carney seemed to be holding his own and he saw no need to interrupt him. That is, until he heard Carney ask, “What does she look like?”

  “She has bright red hair and...” the first started.

  Michael abruptly opened the door, waited for his guard to move away and then stepped out. “Why do you think we have her?”

  “Who might you be?” the one in the middle asked.

  “I am Laird MacGreagor.” He waited, but the three men did not dismount to bow and show their reverence for his station in life. “Dare you remain mounted in my presence?” As he spoke, both Rory and Owen came to stand on either side of Michael, each ready to draw his sword.

  “Do you have her or not?” the man in the middle demanded.

  Michael glared at him for a time, and then turned around, walked back through the door and closed it behind him. At the same moment, Rory drew his sword and let out a sharp whistle. With weapons in hand, no less than thirty well-built MacGreagor warriors stepped into the outer courtyard.

  The tall stranger on the end rolled his eyes, turned his horse around, and led the way back down the road. As soon as they were too far away to hear, several women came into the courtyard and all eyes turned to Rory. “She is Dalldon’s daughter?” one of the women asked.

  “‘Tis the first I’ve heard of it,” Rory answered. He put his sword back in his sheath and then headed inside. A man behind him shouted, “All of Scotland is lookin’ for her?” Rory kept walking. He guessed he would find Michael in the Great Hall, and he was right. The door was closed, but that never stopped him before.

  “Is it true?” Rory asked, opening the door a crack and then sticking his head in.

  “Aye, she admitted it,” said Michael begrudgingly. He took his
seat and propped his aching foot atop another chair.

  “What shall I tell the clan?”

  “Tell them...” he paused to think, “I wish not to be disturbed.”

  “Aye, but...”

  “Rory, send more lads into the forest to see if we are being watched.”

  “And if we are?”

  “Report them, but leave them be. I’m not of a mood to hold captives just now.” Rory was about to leave when Michael said, “Tell the cook I shall have my supper in here this night.”

  “Very well.” Rory examined the worried expression on his laird’s face, decided against asking any more questions, and left to carry out his laird’s orders. He notified the cook and was not at all surprised to find the clan waiting in the courtyard for his return. He stepped outside and nodded. “‘Tis true, she is Seona Dalldon.”

  While the clan discussed the upsetting news, Murran and Owen exchanged worried looks. Murran whispered, “Laird Dalldon’s daughter? Had I even suspected, I should not have...”

  “Nor would I,” Owen agreed. His frown was even more pronounced than the one he wore daily.

  Not one member of the MacGreagor clan was happy to hear who she truly was, but at least now her reason for seeking sanctuary made sense. That is not to say they forgave her or even liked her better – they certainly did not. It was decided then, for the sake of Grizel MacGreagor, they would call her by her true name – Seona.

  In the Great Hall, Michael was more than troubled. Elder Diarmad had taken him to Laird Neil’s grave and the words Diarmad said were still ringing in his ears: “Neil knew there was more than one way to save a clan, and you know it too.” The people expected him to know what to do, but Michael did not know...not yet anyway.

  IN THE TREES ON THE opposite side of the glen from the graveyard, the Swinton spies watched the three strangers ride out of sight. “Shall we send word?” asked one.