Rafe nodded. “You did,” he said. “May I come in, please? I’ll only stay a moment. I promise that I’ve not come to harm you. You can see that I have no weapons.”
He opened his cloak to show her that he had nothing visible. Gaira inspected him before glancing over her shoulder at something Rafe couldn’t see. After a moment, she returned her attention to Rafe and opened the door wider. As he stepped into the warm and stuffy chamber, he could see a woman in the corner with a big ax. Clearly, she was ready to use it if he made the wrong move.
“Thank you for seeing me,” he said, keeping his focus on Gaira and not the woman ready to split his skull. “I am not sure how to start this conversation, so I will simply come out with it. You were in the chamber when Worcester was speaking of finding his brother, an officer who perished at Culloden.”
Gaira was listening closely but cautiously. “Aye,” she said. “I was there.”
“You heard the entire conversation.”
Gaira wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “I heard him speaking,” she said. “I dunna know if it was everything he spoke of.”
Rafe paused, trying to determine the best way to direct the conversation and not upset her in the process. “As he was speaking, I could see your face,” he said. “It seemed to me that Culloden has affected you also. Was I wrong?”
Gaira looked at him for a moment, growing uneasy. “It affected all of us, m’laird,” she said. “The battle was a great tragedy.”
Rafe could see from the look on her face that he’d hit a nerve. “Balthazar told me about Carrie’s Chamber of Sorrow,” he said. “He told me that she collected many things from the battle and put them there for safe keeping.”
Gaira nodded, averting her gaze as if suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “I… I know,” she said. “I’ve been in the chamber, many a time.”
“Then you know what is in there?”
She nodded.
He hesitated. “Gaira, forgive me for asking, but have you seen something from Worcester?” he asked, almost gently. “I know you heard Worcester speak of his brother, and it occurred to me that you might have seen something from the English. Perhaps something… belonging to his brother?”
Gaira began to blink rapidly, as if blinking away tears. “I… I dunna know…” she stammered. “There are a great many things in that chamber. Men have been bringing them since the battle ended because they’ve heard of Carrie’s treasures. There are many things there.”
“Some from the English?”
“The English were at the battle.”
“They were,” he agreed. “Only fifty Englishmen lost their lives. Surely something of theirs ended up in that chamber.”
“Why should ye ask me? Ask Carrie.”
She was growing agitated and he realized he was going to lose her because the woman with the ax was about to chase him out. But he made one last plea.
“Imagine if you were searching for your brother, Gaira,” he said, making sure he was close to the door should that ax come hurling at him. “If you know something about Worcester’s brother, it would be the merciful thing to tell him. This is the season of our Lord, after all. It is the time when Christ was born and angels walked the earth. If you know something, give Worcester that gift. Help him find some peace. He needs you.”
That was about all Rafe could say because the old woman with the ax had moved out of the shadows and was coming for him. He quickly opened the door and bolted out into the gently falling snow, slamming the door in his wake.
When he was gone, the old woman with the ax threw the bolt on the door before turning to Gaira.
“Sassenach,” she muttered with distaste. “He’s brave coming here tae ask such questions.”
Gaira was struggling to compose herself, struggling not to appear too unnerved to her mother, who could be a hard woman at times. She simply wouldn’t understand what was in the tender heart of her daughter.
She never had.
“There’s a man at the inn who has come tae look for his brother,” she said, realizing her voice was trembling. “His brother was killed there.”
“English?”
“Aye.”
“Then it was God’s will,” the old woman said. “Send him tae the church in Inverness. ’Tis where they buried them.”
Gaira simply nodded. As her mother went to put the ax away, Gaira headed up to her chamber, up the small, spiral stairs and into a room that was dark but for the soft glow of the hearth.
Shutting the door, Gaira stoked the fire to bring a little more light and heat into the chamber before she went to a wardrobe against the wall. Pulling open the sticky door, there were neat rows of clothing folded inside, with still other clothing hanging on pegs on the door and inside the cabinet. It looked like any other wardrobe.
But this one was different.
It was one of the few things passed down by her ancestors, something salvaged from the Earl of Forth’s properties and brought to this tiny village on the outskirts of Inverness. This particular wardrobe had a false bottom to store valuables in secret and Gaira opened the trap door that exposed the contents of the secret compartment.
There was only one thing there.
Carefully, Gaira pulled out a tattered, stained haversack. But it wasn’t just any haversack – it was one she’d found in Carrie’s Chamber of Sorrow, back in the early days when Carrie was still accumulating her collection.
Gaira had been there when the chamber started to gather shields and sabers and the memories of the lost. This particular haversack had come from a local tradesman who’d gone looking for metal to salvage. He’d brought it to Carrie, trading it for some drink and a meal. Carrie went through it for anything valuable before putting it aside with the other haversacks from the nameless, faceless dead. That was when Gaira had found interest in this particular haversack.
It contained letters.
Gaira could read. Her mother had taught her how and she found more interest in the letters of the dead than in their actual possessions. Several of the haversacks contained letters, and she’d read all of them, but this haversack had been different.
Through those carefully scripted letters, a story unfolded.
It was the story of two brothers.
Carefully, she unbuttoned the three brass buttons holding the haversack closed and opened the flap. Inside were bundles of letters wrapped in hemp twine and she pulled out a bundle to look at it.
Fidelis Semper.
Ever Faithful.
It was the motto of the House of de Lohr.
Gaira could hardly believe the man who had written these very letters had come looking for them. Or, more correctly, looking for the man for whom the letters were intended. She hadn’t thought much of the British visitor to the inn until he started talking about his missing brother. She listened more carefully. And then, the name…
De Lohr.
Gaira sank to her buttocks, sitting on the floor with the letters clutched to her breast. She had read every single letter, more than once. Something about them spoke to her in a way she couldn’t fully grasp and she had stolen the haversack, keeping it hidden away in her chamber. Carrie didn’t even know it was missing because she’d taken anything of value out of the haversack and put it aside, but these letters… they were the only thing of value as far as Gaira was concerned.
From the words on the yellowed paper, she’d come to know James de Lohr. There were letters written by James when he was a young lad, all the way until most recently before Johnathan went to war. The earlier letters were from a sensitive, somewhat spoiled young boy, upset with the way his brother had spoken to him or made demands of him. It was usually the same thing, fighting over the way Johnathan had behaved or making mention of a speech impediment.
Gaira had heard that for herself.
But that sensitive, somewhat spoiled young boy had grown into a young man who was still quite sensitive and quite brilliant. He had a gift for words, for writing, and she c
ame to understand that it was because he was self-conscious about speaking. It was easier for him to write than it was for him to speak. But the beauty in his words was something that had endeared her to him.
A man she had fallen for, sight unseen.
But he was here now, a faceless fantasy now come to life.
She could still hardly believe it.
But having heard James speak, she realized there was so much more he didn’t know about his brother.
Could she tell him? Would she tell him?
Give Worcester that gift. Help him find some peace.
Gaira wondered if she was brave enough to.
Part Four
CARRIE
James awoke to Carrie looking down at him.
Startled, he blinked and instinctively pulled back, bumping his head on the stone wall. Surprised that he had awoken, Carrie jumped back as well.
“I’m sorry, m’laird,” she gasped. “Did ye hurt yer head?”
Hand to his head, James frowned as he labored to sit up. “N-No more than it already is,” he grumbled, wincing. “W-What are you doing here?”
Carrie’s big, green eyes looked at him with concerned. “I came tae see if ye were dead.”
“D-Dead?”
“Because ye slept so long. ’Tis midday.”
James’ eyebrows lifted and he ended up leaning against the wall, rubbing the bump on his head.
“M-Midday, you say?”
“Aye.”
He sighed heavily. “I-I’m not dead,” he said. “B-But the way my head is throbbing, I surely wish I was.”
Carrie retrieved a cup from the table. “Drink this,” she said. “It’ll help.”
He took it, smelled it, and immediately yanked it away from his nose. “B-Bleeding Christ,” he muttered. “W-What is that?”
Carrie pushed the cup back towards his mouth. “It’ll cure ye,” she said. “Drink it quickly. Dunna stop tae taste it; just drink.”
James didn’t have much choice. She was heavily pushing the cup on him, whatever it was, so he pounded it back like a shot, all in one swallow. But the second the taste hit him, the contents nearly came back up again.
“G-God,” he moaned, shoving the cup at her. “What in the hell was in that?”
Carrie set the cup aside, a smile playing on her lips. “Vinegar and eggs.”
“W-What?”
She nodded. “Vinegar mixed with raw eggs,” she said. “It’ll cure the pain in yer head. Our customers swear by it.”
“O-Or swear at it,” James mumbled. He wiped at his mouth as if to wipe away the taste and took a deep breath. “W-What does the day look like?”
Carrie went to the only window in the chamber, which was covered with heavy shutters. Unbolting one of them, she pried it open, letting the icy air into the stuffy, smelly chamber.
“More snow from last night, but the sky is clear,” she said. Then, she turned to look at him. “So yer brother was at the battle at Culloden, was he?”
He was rubbing his stiff neck at this point, but he glanced at her. “W-Who told you that?”
“Ye did,” she said.
“I-I did not.”
“Aye, ye did. Do ye not remember?”
Truth be told, James didn’t remember a whole lot from last night, but he knew that when he drank, he became rather chatty. He’d give away the secret to the family jewels if he was drunk enough, something his brother often scolded him for. One thing he did remember, however, was the man he’d spoken with the night before and he couldn’t help but notice that the man wasn’t in the chamber. He seemed to be quite alone this morning but for Carrie.
“A-Aye,” he said after a moment. “I suppose I remember.”
“And ye asked me what happened tae the dead.”
He stopped rubbing his neck. “D-Do you know?”
She nodded. “Mostly,” she said. “We’re on the road that leads tae the battlefield, ye know. It’s two or three days tae the north, but still close enough. Information travels quickly on this road.”
“I-I know.” When she didn’t offer up anything more, he sat forward. “C-Carrie, if you will tell me what you know, I’ll make it worth your while. I did not come expecting information for free.”
She shook her head. “’Tis not that,” she said. “But… many of our lads died there.”
“My brother died there.”
“Ye dinna come tae dig up the ground, did ye? Because if ye did, I’ll not tell ye anything.”
James leaned back against the wall, running his fingers through his hair. It was longer, and being that he was blond, people said he had the de Lohr “lion” look. His brother had the look even greater than he did, for Johnathan had the blond mane and the firm jaw. James had more of a refined look, while Johnathan had the look of something that needed to be tamed.
It was a countenance that had ladies eating out of his hand.
James had never quite mastered that.
“I-I swear to you that I do not intend to go digging up the field of battle,” he said sincerely. “A-All I want is to find out what I can about my brother’s final resting place. He was with the English and I’m assuming they weren’t left on the field of battle to rot. That battlefield is sacred Scots ground and they wouldn’t leave the English there. A-Am I correct in that assumption?”
Carrie nodded reluctantly. “T-They took the English tae the church in Inverness,” she said. “At least, that’s what I was told. But… but I may be able tae help ye before ye go all the way tae Inverness. I have something that I want ye tae see.”
She stood up from the chair and James bolted to his feet, probably faster than he should have. The world rocked a bit as he regained his equilibrium. There were two doors in the dingy little chamber – one that opened into the scullery and a second door near the hearth. It was through this door that he followed Carrie, into another dingy chamber with two small beds and a wardrobe that took up most of one wall.
As James watched, Carrie went to one side of the wardrobe and shoved. The furniture apparently wasn’t as heavy as it looked because it slid easily across the wooden floor. It was then that James realized the wardrobe was covering yet another door, now partially revealed. Carrie lit a lamp on a nearby table and picked it up.
“Come,” she said.
There was an element of mystery as James followed her into the room behind the wardrobe. As Carrie held up the lamp to light the small, dark chamber, his eyes widened.
It was a treasure trove revealed.
Shields, spurs, broken blades, parts of muskets, whole muskets, pistols, coats, ruck sacks, and so much more. The chamber was low-ceilinged, with rough stone walls and the old dirt floor, but it was literally packed to the ceiling with things belonging to men.
To an army.
Armies.
James looked at her in shock.
“W-What is this place?” he whispered, awed.
Carrie looked around the chamber. “It belongs tae me,” she said softly. “I keep these things safe.”
James’ sense of astonishment grew. He could see the standards – Wolfe, Barrel, Fleming, Sackville – all of them battalions who had fought at Culloden. There were shoes on the floor, neatly lined up, and on a chest sat a stack of sabers. In the corner, a pile of whole and broken targes caught his attention. Some of them had bloodstains, some of them damaged from the musket ball and cannon fire.
Then, there were the flags.
A Saltire lay torn, with holes in it, and on top of that was a British flag that was equally damaged. James stared at the flags, one atop the other, and the shock he experienced transformed into something horrifying. Although he hadn’t been at the battle, he was experiencing it through the eyes of the remains.
The smashed, stained remains that still echoed the sickening sound of battle.
He could hear it.
“O-Oh… God,” he muttered. “You went to the battlefield and you scavenged all of this, didn’t you?”
Carrie
was standing inside the chamber, lamp held high. “Nay,” she said firmly. “Not scavenge. Some of these things I brought from the battlefield, but other things I was given. They were brought here for safekeeping. I’m protecting them.”
James didn’t say anything. He had caught sight of the haversacks and he went to them, a dozen or more piled up. Kneeling down, he picked up the first one and peered into it, poking around.
Carrie came up behind him with the lamp.
“As ye can see, their money is still there, if there was any,” she said. “I dinna take their money, but I put any valuables away for safekeeping. I thought that, someday, their kin would come looking for them, so I took these before the scavengers could get tae them. I brought ye here so ye could look through all of this, tae see if there is something of yer brother.”
James was on one knee in front of the pile of haversacks. As he looked at them, a lone tear popped from his right eye, falling into the ground. The haversacks were stained with blood, most were badly damaged. He was feeling the concussion of the cannon fire and hearing the wail of the musket balls as they flew over his head. If he closed his eyes, he could feel, and hear, everything. He was in the throes of a battle he’d not attended, but his brother had.
Johnathan had been in the middle of it.
Silently, he moved about the chamber, looking for anything that might have belonged to his brother.
“I’ve lived in the Highlands all my life,” Carrie said, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I see more of people from all over because of the tavern and I talk tae them. I always thought I understood a great deal, but this battle… I dunna understand it.”
James was preoccupied with his hunt. “W-What don’t you understand?”
Carrie watched him rifle through a pile of belts and other leather goods. “The British,” she said. “They came here tae destroy our lads once and for all. Men like yer brother… why did they have tae come? I dunna understand the needs of war.”
James paused. “T-The needs of war,” he repeated the words softly. “T-That is a very good question. My family has been fighting for the King of England since Richard the Lionheart held the throne. He’s the one who went to The Holy Land and fought against the savages there. His need was to bring Christianity to those men. Every war has a need.”
A Very Highland Holiday Page 3