At that moment, the doors into the tower opened, and Finlay appeared on the steps, his face utterly bewildered as he looked at his father’s body and then to Elaine. He rushed forward, kneeling at his father’s side, and taking hold of his lifeless hands. He looked up as Elaine came to his side, tears running down his face.
“What has happened? What tragedy is this to befall us?” he asked, and Elaine explained as best she could what had happened at the loch.
“He died the bravest of men,” she said, placing her hand gently upon Finlay’s shoulder.
“A senseless death,” Finlay said, but Elaine shook her head.
“Nay, he died saving those children. If it had nae been for yer father, then they would have drowned and what a terrible tragedy that would have been,” Elaine replied, kneeling at Finlay’s side.
He was silent for a moment, as though only now realizing the enormity of what had occurred.
“Hail Finlay MacCallum, Laird of the MacCallums, master of Kilchurn,” one of the men called out, and Finlay turned angrily to look at him.
“We mourn my father, rightful Laird of the MacCallums,” he replied.
“Ye are Laird now, Finlay,” Elaine whispered, and he shook his head.
“And tis’ a thing I never wished for nor wanted. My father was a great man. How can I hope to be like him?” Finlay said, glancing at her and back to the body of his father.
“Ye shall be as ye are. There is nothin’ else ye can dae,” Elaine replied.
Carys had come to kneel at her side, as had Dougal MacCallum too. Silence fell across the courtyard, broken only by the pitter-patter of the rain falling all around them. Thunder rumbled in the grey sky above, as though the heavens, too, were mourning the loss of the Laird. The castle bell continued to toll its mournful sound, the happiness of the past days and weeks giving way to the bleakest of futures.
“We mourn our Laird,” Finlay said, rising from his place at his father’s side, “that is my decree and let it be known across our lands. Our Laird is dead, and now we mourn him. See to it that this message is proclaimed far and wide. My father shall lie these three days hence in his hall, and we shall honor him with our prayers and vigil. Then he shall be buried as befits the man he was. See to it that tis’ known far and wide, the Laird of the MacCallum’s is dead, yet his memory is eternal.”
Elaine looked up at Finlay, whose face was set in sorrow, tears running down his cheeks, knowing just how fearful and worried he must be now that he was faced with this new and heavy burden. The time for his leadership had come. He was Laird now, and there could be no escaping from his responsibility. But was he ready for the enormous task which lay before him? His voice sounded confident, but how did he really feel?.
The Laird himself had even spoken of it, confiding in her his worry about Finlay’s future. His son preferred his studies to the sword and, though brave, he was a reluctant fighter. He did his best to please his father, but the Laird had seen his son’s weaknesses and had worried for the day which now had come. This tragedy had thrust Finlay into a role he still seemed ill-prepared for, and what would now become of the clan under the leadership of one so ill-prepared?
“Come no, mistress. Ye shall catch yer cold if ye stay here in the rain any longer,” Carys said, placing a shawl gently upon Elaine’s shoulders.
She rose from her place at the side of the bier, casting a final glance at the pale face of the Laird, now in peaceful rest of the dead. The clansmen gathered around, taking up the body and carrying it up the steps into the tower, as Elaine, Finlay, and the others followed behind.
It was laid upon trestles in the great hall, a fire quickly kindled in the hearth, and a guard set all-around to pay honor to the dead Laird. Elaine and Finlay spent a moment together, their heads bowed at the Laird’s side. Elaine could feel Finlay’s anger, could sense his feelings even in the silence.
“I shall leave ye to mourn yer father,” she whispered, placing her hand onto his arm.
“Ye are a widow without a marriage,” he replied, turning to her, and shaking his head.
“Even in these few short weeks, I have come to care deeply for yer father,” Elaine replied, brushing away a tear from her eye.
“And he for ye. I will see to it that ye are taken care of,” Finlay replied, sighing as he turned back to his father’s body.
Elaine nodded, allowing Carys to take her by the arm and lead her gentle from the great hall. At the door, she chanced a last glance back at the sad scene there unfolding. Finlay stood motionless by his father’s body as the clansmen began to shuffle past the body and pay their respects. The minister had arrived from the kirk, and prayers were being said by the body, the psalms echoing around the hall, as the Laird was commended to God.
“Come now, mistress. Ye must be cold and hungry,” Carys whispered, and the two women made their way up to their chambers.
“How quickly tragedy can befall, Carys,” Elaine said, as she sank wearily into a chair by the hearth a few moments later.
“And this is surely the worst of tragedies, mistress,” Carys said, placing a log upon the fire where it spitted and spat in the flames.
“He saved those children though; without him, they would surely have drowned. He thought nothin’ of himself, only them,” Elaine said, glancing at the wedding dress which Carys had draped across the bed after altering it.
“Then we must thank God for that, mistress. He was a brave man, a good man and a man ye would have been proud to call yer husband,” she said, opening the wardrobe and pulling out a clean, dry dress for Elaine to wear.
“I was ready to dae so. I had accepted it, Carys. But fate has other ideas,” Elaine replied, beginning to change out of her damp clothes.
She felt nothing but numbness at her sense of loss. The tragedy now beginning to sink in. She was alone now, nothing, a nobody. She was, as Finlay had said, a widow without a marriage.
“Will ye return to Carrick?” Carys asked, and Elaine looked up in surprise.
“We have nae even buried the Laird, and already ye speak of returnin’ home,” she said, shaking her head.
“I didnae mean … I am sorry, but what remains for ye here now, mistress?” Carys asked.
“I daenae know, Carys. Just a few hours ago, I was tryin’ on that dress ye have so beautifully altered, but now I sit here to mourn. What can I dae but stay here? Finlay is ill-prepared for his fate. Perhaps he shall need me,” Elaine said, and Carys nodded.
“That much is true, mistress. To see him now is to see a child, a child who knows nothin’ of what tis’ that lies in wait,” she said.
“Ye see that too?” Elaine asked, surprised that Carys should have seen the same as her.
“Aye, mistress, the poor man knows little of what now faces him. He needs a friend, one like ye, who would be loyal to him,” Carys replied.
“He has Dougal and nay doubt any number of clansmen to advise him,” Elaine replied, but Carys shook her head.
“He needs a friend, someone to see beyond that. There will be power plays and factions, enemies on every side, sure ye know that mistress?” Carys said, and Elaine sighed.
It was true. Elaine had heard of it before, and it was something her own father had spoken of with worry. The death of a Laird brought out the vermin, or so was the saying. When such a man went to his rest, there could be found any number vying to take his place. Who knew what dark secrets lay in the walls of Kilchurn and who was waiting to step up and make their claims? Carys was right; Finlay would need a friend, someone at his side uninterested in power and wishing only to be a comfort to him. It was up to Elaine to be just that.
“Tis’ sad that I dae. But life here at Kilchurn seems settled; there is little that disturbs it. The MacDonalds now sue for peace, and our own clan is a friend to these people too. Who might challenge Finlay for his rightful claim? He had nay brother, nay cousin, or rival claim. He is rightfully Laird, and his people have acclaimed him,” Elaine replied.
“Aye, mistress, but tis’
among the tall grass where the adder lies baskin’ in the sun,” Carys said, shaking her head.
Elaine nodded. Carys was a woman of wise words at times and who knew what danger lurked around them. The nation was in turmoil, and what chance there now seemed for change to the old order of things. Finlay could well be in danger, and Elaine knew it was up to her to stand at his side and honor the legacy of the man she had been set to marry.
“Then we shall stay awhile, the funeral will not be for several days, and then we shall see what is to become of us. I shall send word to Carrick; my father will mourn the loss of the man he placed his hopes for me in,” Elaine said.
“And shall wish to hear news that ye are well too, mistress,” Carys replied.
“We can only remain vigilant, Carys, and dae our best to help Finlay in his task as Laird,” Elaine replied, glancing down from the window at the courtyard below.
Already it seemed that word had spread far and wide as to the Laird’s tragic death, and a steady stream of clansmen and peasants were entering the castle gates to pay their respects. A piper was playing his sad and mournful tune while the castle bell continued to toll its melancholy peel.
Today was the saddest of days for Kilchurn, and not least for Elaine, who found herself now a widow without a marriage, happiness cruelly snatched away and her future left in tatters
Chapter Six
Three days of mourning were observed at Kilchurn, and there seemed no end to those who came from far and wide to pay their respects. The Laird’s body remained on its bier in the great hall, surrounded by a guard of honor. Finlay stayed at his father’s side for much of the time, his head bowed as though in contemplation of the enormous task which lay before him. He refused to eat, standing rigidly for hours, and making no attempt to speak or deal with the affairs of the clan.
Elaine was growing worried about him, watching as he seemed oblivious to all that was going on around him. There was much that needed to be seen to, for the clan was gathering in readiness for the funeral, and it was Finlay’s task to welcome them to Kilchurn and prove his authority over them. The funeral would take place in the great hall, attended by nobles of the clan who had journeyed for many miles to be present. Finlay had a duty to see them and make his authority known.
“He just stands there for hours at a time,” Dougal whispered as he and Elaine stood with Carys at the doorway to the great hall.
“The funeral takes place tomorrow. He shall have to rouse himself from his sorrow before then,” Elaine replied, shaking her head.
“He will listen to nay one, nae even me,” Dougal replied.
“He thinks that he is alone, that he has nay one he can trust in,” Elaine replied.
“Then he would be wrong in that, but he will nae speak of it. Silence is his only medicine,” Dougal replied.
Elaine watched Finlay cautiously, wondering what she could say to him to encourage him into action. Was it her place to do so? She barely knew him, and she too had her own grief to think of, grief born from the loss of all that might have been had she married Finlay’s father.
“I should speak with him,” she resolved, for the two of them had barely exchanged a word in the days following the Laird’s death.
“He will treat ye in just the same manner,” Dougal replied, leaving Elaine and Carys standing in the doorway as several more clansmen entered in to pay their respects.
Elaine waited until, at last, Finlay turned, bowing to his father’s body, and making his way across the hall to where she stood. He made to ignore her, but Elaine stepped between him and the door, raising her hand and causing him to look at her in surprise.
“I should like to talk to ye, Finlay,” she said, knowing that her words sounded empty and without authority.
“I have nothin’ to say,” he replied, stepping around her.
“But we must speak. I am worried for ye,” she replied, and he sighed, nodding to her and pointing along the corridor.
“But nae here, nae where the rest of them can overhear us,” he replied.
They walked a little way down the corridor, pausing before they came to the doors of the tower leading out into the courtyard beyond.
“I am worried about ye, Finlay. All ye dae is stand by yer father’s body each day. Ye have shown nay leadership of this clan, and now is the very moment when tis’ needed. Perhaps tis’ nae my place to say it, I barely know ye and the affairs of this clan are nae mine to judge. But I know that yer father cared deeply for ye and that he wished only for ye to inherit this title in full readiness and knowledge of its responsibility,” Elaine replied.
Finlay scowled at her. His earlier friendliness was now replaced with hostility.
“Allow me to mourn in my own way,” he said, and Elaine sighed.
“I only want to help ye, Finlay. I am nay threat to ye. But the longer ye stand by yer father’s body, the less hold ye shall have upon the true life around ye. The wolves are surely prowlin’, and it wouldnae dae to be caught by them when ye are still so young,” Elaine replied.
“Ye are just as young as I, Elaine. Ye came here in the naivety of youth to marry a man whom ye surely knew would die long before ye. Well, such was this tragic day expected then, though nae so soon,” he replied.
“And I shall mourn yer father’s loss. I liked him, we were getting’ to know one another, and I was happy to marry him. I wanted to be mistress of this clan and to dae my duty. I was ready for it. Each of us has had something cruelly snatched away from us, left destitute and alone. But at least we have each other,” Elaine said.
Finlay looked at her in surprise, evidently surprised by the loyalty which she now showed, a loyalty he had hardly earned. She barely knew him, but she was willing to believe that Finlay was just like his father, a good man at heart, even if for now, he was showing his weakest sides.
“Ye have proved yerself well enough, Elaine. I thank ye,” he said, “but I must mourn in my own way as ye shall mourn in yers. My father’s death has left me bereft, and I daenae mind admittin’ to ye that I feel unfit for the task which lies ahead. I know nothin’ of all this, for I have pretended too long that this day would not come. I believed my father would live forever and that I would ever be free of the burdens, which now beset me. Of course, it was a lie. But what am I to dae?” he asked, shaking his head sadly.
“Trust that ye will know what to dae now that the time has come. Surely nay man can be taught the responsibility ye now have. He has to live it,” Elaine said.
Finlay sighed, nodding his head and fixing her with an intent expression.
“Then I am glad to have ye as my companion in these dark days, Elaine. Together we shall mourn my father and see a way through this terrible time,” he said, just as the sound of a piper came from the courtyard outside.
“A visitor?” Elaine asked, and Finlay nodded.
“Aye, and I know just who it shall be,” he said, straightening his tunic and ushering her towards the door.
* * *
Finlay hurried out into the courtyard; he was grateful to Elaine for seeking him out and speaking with him, though being in her presence seemed ever to arouse feelings within him he knew to be inappropriate. Since the terrible discovery of his father’s death, he had felt suddenly alone and with little hope in his heart. He knew his duty. He had been preparing for it his whole life, but to find it suddenly thrust upon him had been a burden almost too much to bear.
In his mind, Finlay had imagined his father taking to his sickbed in many years to come. His would be a slow and sedate death, during which he would pass on the final pieces of knowledge which Finlay would need to play his role as Laird. But this terrible tragedy had left no room for that. Finlay was Laird, and there could be no more preparation, no more knowledge passed, only the grim reality of the duty he faced. The arrival in the courtyard would bring its own challenge now, for Finlay was certain who it was that had now come to Kilchurn, a man interested only in his own advancement, rather than the wellbeing of the
MacCallum clan.
“Who is it that comes?” Elaine asked as Finlay straightened his tunic and belt buckle.
“A man who would mourn little for my father, my uncle Allan” Finlay replied grimly.
For a moment, he watched Elaine from behind, thinking of just how much weight she now bore on her shoulders. Those oft-repeated words, ‘a widow without a husband,’ what a strange thing it must be for her, though he was grateful for her presence. He was now surrounded by men and women who looked to him as their overlord and protector. He was the Laird, a man without equal in this castle, to be revered and respected. But with such responsibility came loneliness too. What friends would he now have? What persons in whom to truly confide. Perhaps only Elaine, who had already spoken such words of kindness. He felt as though he could trust her; he hoped he could, for the task ahead was a bleak one, and Finlay would need all the friends he could find. Now, he readied himself to face his uncle, a man with little desire to mourn, a man hungry for power.
Highlander’s Forbidden Desire: Wanting her was forbidden, having her was his ruin... Page 6
