He gave her a hard look, his eyebrows coming to a vee as he frowned at her.
“There is no need for that tone, daughter,” he said crossly. “Come sit.”
Rory gave her a questioning look as they followed their father into the cavernous dining hall. It was quite large for the three of them. After Kyla’s mother had passed, birthing Rory, her father had never remarried, nor did he often invite visitors to their home. Apparently that would all change with Rory’s plans.
“Kyla,” Niall began after the meal of potatoes and herring had been placed on the table in front of them. The family still had a few hired hands to help around their holdings and within the house. “You know how displeased I was when I heard Callum McDougall had married another and chosen to stay in the Northwest Territories.”
“Yes, Father,” she replied. “Displeased” was one way to reference it. Niall had been livid. She recalled him taking the news in a tempered silence when Duncan had come to tell him, then raging about the great hall once Duncan had taken his leave. She had borne the brunt of his ranting, before she could handle no more of it and took Cadarn out until her father had calmed down.
“Well, fortunately for us, Duncan has returned with another offer,” he said, shoveling in a mouthful. “We both still feel our clans would prosper should we join forces. It is becoming difficult for Rory and me to run it alone, and we would benefit from the good feeling the McDougall clansman have toward their clan leaders. Duncan feels they would benefit from the business model we have in place. We would all be better served if we combine our administration efforts.”
She nodded. She had heard all of this before as reasons for the marriage between her and Callum, although she had to keep herself from rolling her eyes at his words that he and Rory ran the clan alone. Niall knew better, but he would never admit just how much she was responsible for.
“I spoke with Duncan this morning,” he continued. “Our crofters are starting to organize against us, and it would be best if we present a united front. The McDougalls are still well-liked, while we have the business ideas. Therefore, we see the way forward as unchanged. A marriage would be the best way to further ourselves. Duncan has informed me that he has determined Finlay will be the next chieftain of the McDougalls, and therefore it makes sense that you marry him instead.”
He stopped, looking up at Kyla. She could do nothing but stare back at him in astonishment, knowing her mouth hung open.
“Is that not agreeable to you?” he asked, seemingly confused.
“Absolutely not!” Kyla exclaimed, once she could find the words. Now that her father had told her of the idea, she realized she should have known that this would come to pass. A marriage uniting the clans was a marriage uniting the clans. Their fathers wouldn’t care whether it was Callum or Finlay doing so.
But to her, everything had changed.
“Finlay is… I could not… that is…”
“I do not see what the difference is. You seemed fine with marrying Callum.”
“Yes, but Callum was… pleasant,” she finally managed. “Being married to Finlay would be like marrying a storm cloud that hangs overhead, following me around. I don’t mind him now and again, but to live with him day in and out… I do not think I could stand it, Father.”
“Kyla, it’s for the good of—”
“The good of the clans. How many times have I heard that throughout my life? Well, this time I will not be the good little girl and agree to whatever you say. The answer is no. No, I will not marry Finlay.” Kyla knew she was being ridiculous. This was for the best. And yet, she just couldn’t bring herself to agree. She stood up, pushing her chair back from the table, her food nearly untouched in front of her. “I would like to help you, Father, and you know I will do much for the clan, but this… this I will not do.”
With that, she turned on her heel, whirled around and stamped her feet as she left the room, heading outdoors for air.
Finlay finally returned to Galbury Castle, grateful the day had not taken long to warm. He had done his rounds of the crofters, taking time to discuss the matters at hand with each of them. Every crofter had a home as well as a small area of land for foraging and vegetable growth, while most of the crofters shared hill land for grazing of their livestock. Many of the men also took on other work, such as fishing or kelping. It didn’t make them much, but it helped.
He thought of his earlier conversation with Kyla. The MacTavishes had decided to devote much of their land to sheep farming. It was profitable, he must admit, but the MacTavish debt was partially due to Rory’s lavish lifestyle when he visited the Lowlands, and not all together because of famine relief. The McDougalls, on the other hand, had never spent much beyond their means, although Duncan had gone into slight debt in the recent tough years.
Finlay thought of the MacTavishes opening some of their land to hunters and pleasure seekers from the south. He grimaced at the thought of outsiders traipsing the Highlands, hating the thought of them invading his beloved home. His thoughts, however, meant nothing. Those were not his lands.
Finlay entered into the hall of the castle where he found his father, his mother, Jane, his brothers, and his sister, Peggy, waiting for him. Peggy had a smug grin on her face, Roderick looked amused and Adam slightly concerned. None of that was a good sign—especially when all of their expressions were directed at him.
“Sit, son,” Duncan said, pointing to the chair in front of them all.
“What is it?” he asked, his eyes flickering among the five of them.
“Sit down, Fin, and we’ll discuss it together,” his mother said gently.
“Is Callum all right? Gregor? Has something happened—”
“No, nothing of the sort,” she responded but then bit her lip. “I suppose we best get on with it.” She looked to her husband.
“You’re to marry Kyla MacTavish,” Duncan was always one to get straight to the point.
“I—what?” Finlay gaped at them all, wondering if he had heard his father correctly. Peggy really started smiling in earnest now.
“Did ye not think it may be so?” Duncan asked. “All of the reasons she was to marry Callum remain. Nothing has changed except for Callum himself. You have taken place as my heir; you will take it now as Kyla’s husband. I spoke with Niall this morning and he is in agreement. We shall have the wedding by the end of the month.”
Finlay’s jaw dropped. “The end of the month! Why so soon? And does Kyla know of this?”
“Her father has likely informed her,” Duncan responded. “We would like to solidify the agreement before some of the crofters have time to band together against us. I know most of our people are with us, and always will be, but there are the odd few that the MacTavish clan are beginning to convince to turn against us. Besides, we could certainly benefit from some of their advice on turning a profit.”
“Father…” Finlay finally managed, his head churning with all of the outcomes of this news. “I-I am not sure partnering with the MacTavishes is in our best interests anymore. Our own people may see this as a betrayal against them.”
“Then it will be your duty to convince them it is not so,” Duncan responded.
“Besides,” Peggy chimed in, no longer able to resist, “you love Kyla, so all you ever dreamed of will come true!”
“That is not so, Peggy,” he admonished her, his dark eyes shooting fire her way. “Kyla and I are friendly, as she is with the rest of you. Don’t say such a thing.”
“Oh Fin, we all know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We can tell by the way you moon over her anytime she comes around, and by the sullen look that comes over your face when she barely speaks to you. Now she shall have no choice!”
Finlay stood up swiftly, his chair hitting the floor behind him from the sudden motion.
“I will never marry a woman against her will,” he said fiercely, “and I am certain Kyla MacTavish will have no wish to wed me. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do in the stables.”
He turned on his heel and emerged outside once again, his family remaining behind him, their silence deafening.
Marry Kyla… he mused as he strode toward the stable, his fingers itching to find something to do. He could not believe what his father was proposing, although he knew Duncan was right and, in fact, Finlay should have expected it. If he removed himself from the situation, he could see the logic behind it, knew that it made sense from the clan’s point of view.
However, Kyla had made it very clear that she hardly had any interest in speaking to him, let alone marrying him. When she did take the time to speak with him, like this morning, she was quick to depart from him—though for good reason. He had been a boor to her. One thing he knew for certain—she would never agree to this, so he was not going to even entertain the idea.
He took up his tools to give Hurley a good grooming as thoughts raced through his head while he ignored the roiling emotions in his gut. He was of two minds. He saw the value in combining the clans and their practices, in order to reduce administration costs of collection of rent and managing the land. It would mean, however, that there would have to be many changes, particularly in the MacTavish way of things, as he would never take on their practices.
If he was really true to his heart… if he allowed in the dreams he had tried to suppress, he knew that to have the woman he loved as his wife was more than he had ever thought possible. To be with Kyla every day—to hear her laugh, her thoughts, her whispers, to feel her touch, to live with a woman as kind and loving as he knew she was….
He stopped the daydreams. This was not how he would be with her. If she were forced into such a marriage, the light and laughter that surrounded her would soon be diminished. If she chose him of her own accord, then so be it, but not this way.
He would not marry a woman because another dictated it to be. He had thought he had some time before he would have to think seriously on who—or if—he would marry. It had always been too difficult to think of any woman besides Kyla, however. And yet he knew he couldn’t have her either.
He still couldn’t. For he would never marry her just because she felt forced into it, for reasons outside of love or at least a mutual appreciation for one another. If she chose him…
But he knew she never would, and therefore he did not let his heart get ahead of his mind.
4
Kyla flew down the green pastured hills between the clan holdings, Cadarn’s mane mingling with her own hair as it streamed behind her in the wind. She had no destination, no purpose in mind.
All she had known was that she had needed to get away from Darfield, for a time at least. She had gone from betrothal to a man she admired but didn’t love, to freedom for a life she wished, to now marriage to a man who saw life as one great weight of responsibility.
She saw the small crofters’ cottages below in the distance, and following her instinct, she made her way down the hill toward them. Reaching them, she dismounted, walking Cadarn slowly. She had been this way before, to where some of the McDougall crofters’ abodes were somewhat clustered, with their acres of land spread out beyond, lengthening into the horizon. She had never, however, taken the chance to go inside and see the way the McDougall people really lived as opposed to the MacTavishes.
She trailed the reins through her fingers as she walked up the lane of the closest home. There was a circle of women out front, some with babies on their knees, others busy with needlework. They stared as she approached but nodded at her in recognition, although it had been some time since she had been around here.
One of the women, who had been hanging clothing on a nearby line, left her work to greet Kyla.
“You’re the MacTavish girl, are you not?” the woman asked her, her tight red corkscrews drooping into her eyes under the baggy hat.
“Aye,” she replied. “Molly McGee, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. You have quite the memory, as it’s been some time. What are ye doing about here?”
“Taking a ride, but then I decided on a walk,” Kyla said, smiling at the woman to ease the tension. “Your land here is beautiful.”
“Aye, it is,” the woman agreed. “We love it ourselves. We’ve been lucky, you know. Most other clans, they’ve moved their people, taken their lands. The McDougalls have let us be, allowed us to stay where we are, and we love ’em for it. We know it takes away from their profits, but they live a modest life, not like some of the other clan chieftains we hear of, who are playing fancy down in Glasgow or even London.” She stopped suddenly, her cheeks turning as red as her hair. Clearly, she had heard the rumors about Rory. She cleared her throat before continuing. “We miss Callum, mind you, but the other lads have done a fine job for their father.”
“All of them?” Kyla asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Adam, Roderick, and Finlay of course,” the woman told her with a smile. “That Finlay, he’s a good lad. Always coming around, making sure we’re all doing fine. We do notice it, as much as we may not thank him for it much.”
“I heard he helped ol’ Mack get his new calf suckling just the other morning,” chimed in a second young woman, as she ran past after a small boy who was wily enough to escape her grasp. “The poor thing would likely have died without him.”
“And he was fixing the fence with the Morgan boys just yesterday,” said a third. The woman was older, the lines on her face pronounced as she stitched the hole of a shirt. “There ain’t no reason he would have to do something like that, but there he was, poundin’ in those fence posts. Wasn’t too hard to watch, neither. All of those boys are easy on the eyes, mind you.”
“People do love ’em,” the woman said beside Kyla. “Finlay’s not the friendly sort, not like Roderick. But Fin cares, and we see it. Would you like a tea?”
“Oh, I am fine, but thank you so much,” answered Kyla, unsure how to respond to the women’s revelations of the man who could become her husband. “I shall see you again soon, though, I hope.”
As she continued walking down the dusty path, lost in her thoughts, she was startled when she bumped into a hard wall. One that was… a bit soft, and not entirely friendly. Kyla first saw the weathered leather boots on the ground, and then ran her eyes up to a broad, plaid-covered chest, and finally to a grisly beard that had not seen a bar of soap in some time.
The man, who looked to be not much older than Kyla, was surrounded by three or four others, forming a wall in front of her.
“If it ain’t the MacTavish wench,” he said, his lips curling into a cruel smile.
Kyla balked. “Excuse me, sir, I am not sure why ye feel inclined to address me as such, but I don’t take kindly to your words. I am a MacTavish, aye, but am not, as you say, a ‘wench.’”
“You’d be the sister of Rory MacTavish, would you not?” he sneered.
“I am.”
“Tell Rory to keep himself away from here from now on, ye hear me, lass? You MacTavishes think you’re so much better than the rest of us. Well, I tell ya girl, you’re no better than any one of us. None of you are—’specially yer brother.”
With that, he spat on the ground and brushed by her, knocking her back a step, leaving her sputtering but unable to form any words of rebuke. His companions said nothing, but silently stared her down so that she understood their displeasure as they continued on their way.
She was shaking from the encounter as she mounted Cadarn—but not from fear. No, she was angry. Angry that a man she had never even met before would think he had the right to treat her in such a way, to say such things to her when he knew nothing about her. She turned the horse toward the woodland now, soured on the idea of continuing with her visits, no longer wishing for company.
Her thoughts turned from her emotions to what the man had actually said. She knew Rory was no saint. But what had Rory done to anger these men to such an extent? She didn’t even want to guess.
She shook her head to clear it, pushing Cadarn as fast as she had ridden in some time, hardly
needing to give her much direction as the two of them moved as one. Loch Ness usually called to her, but the loch glistening in the distance, was not her destination today. It held too many memories—memories that included the McDougalls. Their past, however, no longer mattered. What mattered was their future. She continued on past it and up the hill, inland to the woods.
Rory’s actions and their consequences would have to wait. She had more pressing concerns involving Finlay McDougall, his family, and their future. She had some decisions to make, and her destination now was obvious.
There was only one place she could truly think. One place where she always found peace, where everything made sense—her clearing. She wasn’t sure how the area had been formed, but she had found it years ago, as if someone had made it for her. When the forest broke into the small expanse void of trees and brush, the canopy of leaves rustling far overhead, she felt she could breathe and relax.
She dismounted Cadarn and led her through the small opening into the magical space, stopping abruptly when she found it wasn’t empty.
“Rory.”
Kyla attempted not to reveal her dismay that her brother was there, sitting on the tree stump in the middle of her clearing. She had, years ago as a child, shown him this place. While he didn’t venture here much, she now wished she had never revealed it to him at all. She had once thought it could be a place for them to play together, a place that existed only for the two of them, but he had never shown much interest in it—or in any aspect of the land, really. He only came now and then to fetch her when she was needed.
“Kyla.” He rose. “I thought you’d appear here if I waited long enough. Where have you been, sister?” he asked, eyeing her quizzically when she came closer.
“Exploring,” she responded, deciding that would have to be enough information for Rory. “Rory, what in the heavens did you do to some of those McDougall men?”
Finlay's Duty: A Scottish Victorian Romance (The Victorian Highlanders Book 2) Page 3