The truth in her words did lessen the guilt significantly. Had they not been so greedy…
Josephine placed the cloth back in the basin then filled a cup with cold water. Helping Laurin sit up to drink, she encouraged her to sip slowly. “Sister of my heart, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you awake and without the fever.”
Laurin smiled and thanked her. Falling back against her pillows, she asked, “The Gladius?”
“’Tis safe with Graeme. And it will remain in his possession until we have a daughter of our own.”
Laurin envied her friend, but not with spite or malice. “I be so verra glad that ye have found true love,” she told her.
Josephine returned her smile, leaned in closely to whisper in her ear. “If you open your eyes and your heart, I believe you will discover you have found it as well.”
Confused, her brow knotted. “What do ye mean?”
Josephine pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Look about the room, my sister, and you will find I speak the truth.”
Laurin looked at Albert with a confounded expression. Josephine whispered one last thought before quitting the room. “He never left your side.”
Albert had heard them speaking to one another. He sat, unmoving, his heart thrumming happily with relief at hearing her voice, even if it was weak and scratchy. She was awake and that was all that mattered.
He remained still, quietly observing Josephine tend to Laurin, listened to them speak in hushed whispers. Though he was tempted to jump out of his seat and dance with joy at her recovery, he could not do anything but watch.
He thought her a most beautiful young woman, even if there were dark circles under her eyes and her skin pale from the many days fighting the fevers. Her blonde hair—the color of the sun—splayed out across her pillows. He refused to feel one moment of guilt for wishing he could run his hands through it.
He could not hear what Josephine whispered just before she stood and left the room. Whatever it was she said made Laurin’s brow furrow as she glanced over at him. For a brief moment, he didn’t know if he should flee the room or stay put and say something. He was at a loss as to what he should make of her puzzled expression.
“She says ye never left me side?” she asked.
He felt his cheeks grow warm. Clearing his throat once, he finally answered. “Aye.”
“Why?” she asked.
Why? For the past four days, he’d imagined everything he would say to her as soon as he found her. Her illness delayed the heartfelt words he had wanted to have with her. Now, when the moment finally arrived, his mind turned blank. All the sweet words he’d planned to tell her fled on the wings of a frantically beating heart.
“Ye came fer me,” she whispered. “Ye came fer me and ye killed Helmert. And ye never left me side.” Her voice was filled with disbelief. “Why?”
He stammered for a moment, tripping over his own tongue. “I,” he paused, searching for the right words, the words he hoped would not terrify her. “Ye be a fine woman, Laurin. I’ve grown quite fond of ye these past weeks.”
She studied him closely for a moment. “So fond of me that ye were willin’ to risk yer life to save mine?” Her tone said his answer made little sense.
“Aye,” he whispered. Suddenly his mouth felt dry, his tongue thick. “Fond enough to risk my own life for yours.”
“Fond, like ye’d be fond of a dear friend, or somethin’ more?”
He could not understand why she asked that particular question. Refusing to read anything into her question, he replied. “Somethin’ more, lass. Far more than friendship.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she stared at him. It made his gut wrench, thinking he’d brought her a moment of discomfort or sorrow. Leaning over, he took her hand in his. “Laurin, I ken ye do no’ have the same feelin’s for me as I do for ye. I ken ye may never have them, but it matters no’ to me. I would be willin’ to wait an entire lifetime on nothin’ more than a wish and a prayer, in case, just in case some day ye might be able to return those feelins.”
He’d not pressure her into anything, would not beg her for her hand or her heart.
“How can ye say that?” she asked, swiping away an errant tear. “How could ye wait a lifetime for me?”
With a slow shake of his head, he smiled. “Och! Lass, ye’d be well worth the wait.”
Ye’d be worth the wait.
’Twas all there; truth and sincerity, hope and love, staring at her in a pair of bright green eyes.
Thinking back to that night when Helmert, Clarence and Darvord had taken her, she realized something. She’d been brave enough to stab Clarence and race away from her captors in the dark of a storm, had been brave enough to fight with all her strength, all her might, to be free of them, to get back to the MacAulay keep. In the days leading up to that night, she had come to realize—with help from Albert as well as his mother and the rest of his family— that she was indeed brave and worthy.
Brave enough to defend herself.
Worthy enough of someone’s kindness, their generosity, and yes, even someone’s unyielding love.
’Twas an overwhelming sensation, one that made her chest fill with pride, made her hands tremble with all the possibilities.
Nay, she was not quite ready yet to give herself over to Albert completely, in all ways. But she was ready now, to at least allow for the possibility.
“Albert,” she asked as she choked back tears. “Are ye sayin’ that ye love me?”
When he smiled, little wrinkles formed around his eyes. Eyes that twinkled and grew damp. “Aye lass, ye have the way of it. I do love ye.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Do no’ worry if ye do no’ feel the same about me,” he told her.
“Because I be worth the wait?”
“Aye lass, ye be worth the wait.”
“Even if it takes a good long while?” she asked softly.
With a nod, he replied, “Aye. Even if it takes a good long while.”
Epilogue
A good long while took far less time than either of them had anticipated.
On the eve of Christmas Tide, just a few short months after that fateful night, Albert MacAulay married Laurin of Clan MacAdams.
Just as his father and brothers had given the MacAulay broach to their brides, Albert gave his to Laurin. Before they were to go to the kirk, he went to her room to give her his gift.
When he stepped into her room and caught sight of her, with her gold hair falling in soft curls down her back, his head spun. He paid no attention to what she wore, only those long, soft curls and dried flowers sprinkled through them. Her face, so bonny and bright, her smile… he drank it all in. “Ye take me breath away, lass,” he told her.
She smiled up at him. “Ye be verra braw yerself this day.”
“I have somethin’ to give to ye,” he said. “’Tis a MacAulay tradition.”
Her excitement increased a thousandfold when she realized what he spoke of. The brooch. Even though she already knew about the tradition, having learned of it from Josephine and Kathryn, she remained quiet. ’Twas his story to tell, his tradition to keep.
“It be a brooch that each MacAulay lad receives when he turns six and ten. I want ye to have it, to wear this day,” he told her as he pulled the bundle of fine linen from his sporran and carefully unwrapped it.
Made of pewter, in the center of the brooch were two hands, one decidedly masculine, the other feminine. The masculine hand held the feminine hand in his palm. In the center of her palm was a tiny ruby. To one side, the circle had been engraved to look like stars twinkling near a crescent moon. On the other, were the words aeterna devotione. Eternal devotion.
Just like Joie’s and Kathryn’s, she thought as her heart skipped several beats.
“’Tis beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I shall treasure it always.”
“I have something else to give ye,” he said. From his belt, he pulled another linen-wrapped bundle and placed it in her p
alm.
Carefully, he pulled back the corners of the linen. Inside was a sgian dubh. The handle was made of wood and carved into it were the same two hands, twinkling star and crescent moon. Under that, the same inscription, aeterna devotione, along with each of their names.
With eyes brimming with tears, she looked up at him in disbelief.
“I never want ye to ever again feel as though ye can no’ defend yerself. I never want ye unarmed. Though I do no’ plan on ever leavin’ yer side, there could be a time when I must.”
“Thank ye, Albert,” she said before wrapping her arms around him.
He patted her back, grateful and blissfully happy.
They embraced for a long while before she stepped away. Carefully, she set the items on her table before lifting a bundle of her own. “It be no’ nearly as nice as what ye’ve given me,” she said as she handed it to him. “But ken it be from me heart.”
Quirking a curious brow, he carefully untied the string and pulled the linen away. Inside was a piece of blue silk. Lifting it, it unfolded into a square, no more than eight inches by eight. Upon closer inspection, he could see all the fine embroidery. Tiny flowers and vines had been stitched around the border. In the center, stitched in dark blue were the words, Ubicumque cor meum cecum; Wherever ye go, my heart will be with ye.
“’Tis beautiful,” he said. “Almost as beautiful as the lass who made it.” He kissed her tenderly, wishing for all the world he could let loose the passion bottled up inside him for these many months.
“Yer certain ye want to spend the rest of yer life with me?” she asked him. She pulled in her bottom lip and looked hopeful, yet uncertain.
’Twas the same question she’d been asking for weeks. “Aye lass, I have never been more certain of anythin’ in me life.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Are ye certain ye want to marry me? I be told I can be a wee hard headed at times.”
Laurin smiled brightly. “That be true,” she said. “But I think I can live with that.”
He kissed her once again before quitting the room. Josephine, Irline and a dozen other women raced into the room and shut the door behind him.
“Did he give ye the brooch?” Irline and Josephine asked in unison.
“Aye, he did. And me own sgian dub as well!”
’Twas said by many that they’d never seen a man happier or more proud than Albert MacAulay. ’Twas also said that never a prettier bride had ever stood at the MacAulay alter, save for Josephine and Kathryn.
The following spring, Josephine and Graeme welcomed their first child into the world. A healthy baby girl they named Marielle after Josephine’s mother. That fall, Laurin and Albert welcomed their first baby, a wee babe with blonde hair and bright blue eyes. They named her Kathryn.
Over the next few years, Marielle and Kathryn were blessed with four brothers each. Brothers they doted on and loved fiercely.
Marielle and Kathryn MacAulay would grow to be the best of friends, closer than cousins. They would be sisters of the heart.
And on her twelfth birthday, when Josephine and Graeme presented her with the Gladius and journal, Kathryn made her a promise. “I shall help ye protect the Gladius and yer heart. I’ll no’ let ye marry a man ye can no’ trust above all else. I’ll make certain ye marry a man worthy of both yer heart and the sword.”
Section 2
Wager of the Heart
Introduction
Wager of the Heart was originally released as part of an anthology titled Once Upon a Highland Glen. There is no new content or added scenes.
This is a fun, lighthearted novella and I had a great time writing it.
Suzan
For Bobbie Gordon and Tonya Smalley. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for being such good friends. I adore each of you.
The Legend
By Violetta Rand
Long ago, in a place far away, a ruthless laird with many enemies set out in the middle of winter to find a prized ram that had escaped his flock. Bron Keith was too arrogant to heed the warnings of his captains and take guards along on his search. Convinced not one of his enemies would dare wait for an opportunity to attack and kill him, the laird rode far from his great keep, through the hills and up the cliffs, until he came to an unknown place where the woods met the sea. It was there Bron spied his missing ram and quickly dismounted and rushed to get to him. But alas, it was a trap set by the men who feared and hated Laird Keith, for he had tortured and killed many of his rivals over the years with no thought for kindness and mercy. And so, the Sutherlands, Olyphants, and even the MacKays set upon him, beating him to near death and leaving him to die in the cold.
But pride forced the great laird to cling to life, and he crawled and dragged himself into the cover of the trees and found the tiniest of water pools, untouched by winter’s frigid fingers. Starved and thirsting, he barely found the strength to cup his hand and taste the water. But the moment he did, the landscape about him transformed, gone was the icy chill, the frozen ground, and relentless winds. Instead, the soft glow of sunlight and the gentle winds of spring met him, renewing his hope and lending him strength. All about him, the lands he loved teamed with life, green grass, heather, blossoming trees, the sound of a great river, and birds flying overhead. For the briefest of moments, the laird thought he had died and gone to Heaven.
Resigned to await his fate, Bron fell asleep, only to be awakened by a haunting voice, perhaps the call of a siren there to claim his soul. Unafraid, he called back to the unseen woman, who had asked him how he had come into her hidden valley.
“I was attacked by my greatest enemies, who stole my favored ram and set a trap, so they could kill me the moment I was vulnerable.”
But the woman was not convinced, for she had the power to read men’s hearts. “Your heart is as frigid and cruel as the winter gales, and your hands have brought suffering and death to many.”
Much to the siren’s surprise, the warrior did not deny the things she accused him of. Instead, he embraced his misdeeds, claiming divine right as the laird of Clan Keith.
“How unfortunate for you, Laird Keith, for this is a magical place, where men are granted one wish in exchange for leaving something closest to their hearts. And though I am but the guardian of this valley, I deem you unworthy of its grace.” And so, the woman left his presence and eerie silence set in. Laird Keith was truly alone for the first time in his thirty years of life.
As the sun dimmed and nightfall set in, exhaustion once again overtook him. Violent dreams filled his sleep, and every man he had ever killed haunted him—forcing him to see the life of violence and misdeeds he had undeniably lived. As he awakened, shaken to the depths of his soul, Bron did something he had never done before—he wept bitter tears for the men whose lives he had cut short, for the evil he had brought into the world.
And as his tears fell upon the ground in that sacred place, the woman’s voice sounded once again…
“Laird Keith, by the grace of God, you have realized your sins. The one thing you have never given anyone, you have given to me—your regret. For this, you are granted one wish. I caution you, for many men have ended up here and wished for power and wealth, only to be granted what they wanted, but death soon claimed them. Choose well, lest you suffer the same end as the ones before you.”
As Laird Keith wiped his tears away, he gazed up at the sky and breathed in the sweet smells of the valley, wondering where the unseen woman sat, if she was flesh and blood or a spirit creature. It mattered not, for Bron knew what he wanted and didn’t hesitate to call out.
“Give me a second chance to live, to bring joy to the ones I’ve wronged.”
And so, as if he had never suffered at the hands of his enemies, Laird Keith awoke in his bed with his memory intact, and from that day forward, he sought peace with his enemies and loved his wife and children and all those who served him. And when he died at the ripe old age of one hundred and fourteen, it was said not another man had lived such a meaningful li
fe as the old Laird Keith, for he had not one enemy, his clan prospered, he had sired thirteen children, and loved his lady wife with all his heart and soul.
His final wish was to be buried on the edge of that magical valley, where he hoped his children and grandchildren would one day have a chance to receive the same blessing he had— forgiveness and a chance to undo whatever injustices their hands wrought in the world.
1
Graham Keith’s father had tried to instill in his children a sense of pride, of right versus wrong, as well as a good deal of common sense. All but one of his seven children—his third born son, Graham—had managed to grow up holding dear those strong and important senses and beliefs. All save for him had grown to be fine, upstanding members of society.
Somewhere along Graham’s aimless life, however, any pride he had ever possessed had disappeared, the lines of right versus wrong blurred, and common sense no longer existed. Long gone was the proud, duty-bound highland warrior he had once been. Now, he was naught more than a ne’er do-well without a sense of direction. Drunk more often than not, he led a purposeless life.
There were, however, rare occasions when he could hear his father’s voice. That big booming voice warning him against something, or worse yet, reminding him just who he was. Ye be a Keith, Waldon would say. Ne’er bring shame to that name, son. Ne’er bring shame to that name.
On those annoying occasions when he heard his father’s voice as plain as if he were sitting right next to him, Graham would immediately proceed to the nearest inn or tavern and consume vast amounts of ale or whisky. He would drink until he drowned out any memories from his past.
And that is how he came to be in this tiny inn, in some village whose name he couldn’t now recall. Drunk and in an exciting game of chance: Bones.
With Love from the Highlands : A Highlander Love Story Duet, One Page 18