by Elise Ramsay
“Uncle, I am enjoying my stay. It has certainly been well worth the journey. I thank you for your hospitality.”
“Well, you are family, my lad. My sister’s wee laddie.” The sadness was apparent once more.
“Aye, she spoke so often of her home and her kin, I feel almost as if I knew all of you, and the Castle, already.”
“She missed her home then?”
“Ach, aye. Right up until the very moment of her death.”
Darach thought he saw Lachlan dash a tear from his eye. The movement had been so swift, and no trace could be seen on his uncle’s face, that Darach wondered if he’d imagined it. In Lachlan’s silence, Darach continued.
“Aye, my Ma often told us the tale of you rescuing Aunt Effie from the woods. I reckon it was her favorite of all the stories she told us.”
Darach smiled to himself, remembering the looked of rapt attention his two wee sisters had paid at the romantic tale. Never minding that they had heard it time and time again, there they would sit, in total silence, looking up at their beautiful mother as she told them how Lachlan had stolen young Effie away from the clutches of the evil Tormod Sinclair.
As a wee laddie, Darach had always been more interested in the details of the feud which had followed. That romantic stuff was just for the lassies! Or, so he had thought back then. He was nae so sure now.
“Uncle, how stands the feuds now, between you and the Sinclair’s and the MacKinnon’s? I was always so interested as a wee lad.”
Lachlan laughed, imagining a young Darach sitting on his nerves, waiting for details in the same way his own sons had done as wee laddies. He wondered if they ever really did grow up, or if they simply learned to conceal their excitement with age.
“Ach, the Mackinnon Clan have never really acted much upon their declared feud. I wonder at it sometimes, as Ross Mackinnon was likely the more wronged man. Effie is his very own daughter, after all. Yet the Sinclair Clan have never let it die. Nothing too spectacular, but violence and spite enough to keep my attention on them. Tormod died, as you probably already know, at the hands of Gunn, a couple of years back now. The dirty old swine had stolen away wee Isobel.”
Darach cast a look down the long wooden table to where the beautiful Isobel sat demurely trying to eat whilst the bairn on her knee had other ideas. He wondered, would he ever find such a beauty to share his own bed? Darach had never found a lassie to tempt him for long back home. Maybe he should keep his eyes well peeled for the rest of his stay here. The highlands seemed to have more than its fair share of beautiful lassies, right enough.
“But nothing since you rode upon their Castle?”
“Nothing successful. A secret attempt on Cullen’s life, but that was thwarted. Kyle, the new Chief there, is a chip off the old block. He thinks with his wounded pride first and foremost, never with his head. It was wounded pride which saw his Da killed. Like father like son in this case.”
“Aye, it would seem so.”
“Bearing that in mind, you’d be wise to keep a guide with you when you go out for sport. I’ll give you a man who knows the boundaries most exactly.”
“Many thanks, Uncle.”
“He knows well how to steer you away from the Sinclair territory, since he used to be a part of that Clan.”
Darach, who had been raising his goblet to his lips, lowered it again in complete surprise.
“Really?”
“Aye, banished he was, though the man seemed to care little about it. Gawain Dunbar is his name.”
“Are you not concerned he might be a spy?”
“Ach, no. If anything, he’s been a real source of valuable information. The way he tells it, if Kyle Sinclair carries on the way he has been, he’ll soon struggle to call upon the loyalty of so many of his own clansmen.”
Lachlan winked at his nephew and smiled to himself at the advantage Kyle Sinclair had so easily given away.
“Anyhow, you can trust him, you have my word. I’ve got him staying at the Gillies’ farm.”
Darach raised an eyebrow in question.
“Isobel’s family.” Lachlan tilted his head in the direction of his daughter in law.
“Fine son they have there. Duncan is his name. He’s made a good account of himself more than once. I’ll soon be moving him up the way to join my sons. He’s keeping a good eye on Dunbar. If he was anything other than genuine, Duncan would have known it by now.”
Having met Duncan about the Kincaid lands more than once, Darach could well believe it.
“Well, I was hoping for a wee bit of hunting tomorrow, if you can spare this Dunbar?”
“Aye, Darach, I’ll get Gunn to see to the arrangements.”
Chapter Three
Kyle Sinclair could see the violent red hair of Thomas Mackinnon standing out harshly against the grey of the rocky hillside. The man was like some kind of moving target! Kyle knew he would have to wipe the smile off his face long before he himself drew up to their meeting place.
It had taken months of careful meetings to get the Chief of Mackinnon’s eldest son to start to see him as an ally. Now, Thomas was starting to trust, to let things slip into their once awkward conversations.
It had been no easy thing for Kyle to worm his way into the life of Thomas Mackinnon. The man was years older, well into his forties. Kyle had struggled hard to find common ground, but find it he did.
It had worked to Kyle’s advantage that Thomas felt he was long overdue for the title of Chieftain of the Mackinnon Clan. His Da, old Ross Mackinnon, was in his late sixties. It seemed to all as if he was going to live forever. There came a time when a man was too old to be the Chief any longer, in Thomas’ view, that much was becoming clear to Kyle.
Having himself been brushed off by Ross Mackinnon in a manner which he still saw as humiliating, Kyle had been determined not to make the same mistakes with the son. When he thought about it sensibly, Thomas was always the one to whom Kyle should have made his approaches. The next in line to be Chief, Thomas had two sons who were already approaching twenty years. Kyle knew he could potentially align himself fully with two generations of Mackinnon Chiefs, if he played his game just right.
“Good to see you, Thomas. How goes life at Mackinnon Castle?”
“Ach, same auld thing. Naught ever changes, Kyle.”
Kyle was pleased to note the downward turn in both speech and countenance. It was always easier to get further under Thomas Mackinnon’s skin when he found an opportunity to listen to the man’s woes.
“Something troubling you, friend?”
“Ach, my Da. I cannae seem to get through to him anymore. Time was when I could make changes, you know? The aulder he gets, the tighter he holds on to the reins.”
“Aye, I remember my auld Da being the same.” Kyle nodded sagely, lying through his very teeth. Although it had been true that Tormod Sinclair had been a proud and powerful Chieftain, he had always talked of the day when Kyle would take over. Still, maybe that was because he couldnae see it coming as fast as it did. If Tormod had not been slain, Kyle might well have been into his middle age and still waiting for the auld man to let go.
“Aye, I dare say one day we might be the same.”
“Ach, we’ll let our own bairns worry about that!” Kyle slapped Thomas’ shoulder in a gesture of friendliness that he really didn’t feel.
“Aye, right enough. In the meantime, I’m left to hold meetings away from my own Castle. Scurrying about like the countryside like some wee laddie!”
Kyle’s spirits soared. Whilst Thomas had given more and more away each time they had met, this was the first time he had displayed something akin to anger. Kyle was ready to strike. Thomas was definitely ripe and ready to be manipulated.
“Aye, well, let us make it a meeting worth having then. I’ve been thinking about the Kincaid’s.” Kyle left the sentence hanging, waiting to see what reaction Thomas would have.
“You seem to think of little else.” It was a flat statement, without malice
or mocking.
“Aye, well. I take my enemies very seriously, as a Chieftain should.” Kyle’s comment hit the mark squarely.
“Aye, that you do. Your Da took the lead on that, when my own Da should have had more to resent them for. Lachlan, taking his very daughter away from him like that.” Thomas looked as if the shame was recent.
“And I intend to keep going.”
“Aye, you’ve had a few cracks at them, right enough.”
Kyle bristled with pride at finally receiving some acknowledgement for his recent scheming.
“Ach, so far not so successful, it’s true, but I have a plan. Will you hear it?”
“Aye, let’s have it.”
Kyle felt a little warmer towards Mackinnon. Finally, he felt like a Chieftain, approaching his ally with a plan and having it listened to. Kyle Sinclair was a man to be respected, and at last he was feeling it.
Thomas sat himself down on a grass covered mound of rich smelling earth and made ready to hear Kyle Sinclair’s plan.
Chapter Four
In the weeks that followed the dreadful argument with Kyle, Catriona had stayed out of sight. Keeping to her own rooms and those of her mother, she had refused to be seen by the rest of the Clan whilst her face was still marked.
Nairn was ill and in need of constant care. Whilst clans-woman, Fiona Blair, had done much of the caring of late, Catriona found herself spending more and more time with her Ma.
In the two years since the Kincaid Clan had killed Tormod, Nairn had retreated ever further into the fantasy world of the insane.
In that time, Catriona had begun to examine her own actions towards her mother over the years. As a wee lassie growing up, Catriona had only ever known her Da and her brothers to hold Nairn in such contempt. Her own efforts to attract her Da’s good attentions had often led her to treat her Ma in much the same way as they had. Her Ma was an inconsequential fool, to be derided and ignored in equal measure. That was how it had seemed to a young and impressionable girl. One desperate for the love of her father. Now she was ashamed and knew she had caused her mother much heartache. Maybe she even had an inkling of the horrors that Nairn had suffered over the years, and she grew a new admiration for her.
Entering her Ma’s bed chamber, Catriona felt the return of the guilt which had been steadily eating away at her since the death of her Da. Since she had learned that life was not quite as she imagined it.
“Ma, how are you feeling just now?” Catriona leaned over the bed, laying a hand on her mother’s cheek.
“My dear Ruth,” Nairn said and she clutched her hand.
Catriona held the hand but could not look at her ma. Many years ago she had wanted to name her Ruth and sometimes when she was confused she could only remember this name. It reminded Catriona of what could have been… if only she had been a better daughter. Averting her eyes, she looked across the room. In a seat by the fire sat Fiona Blair, quietly mending a plaid blanket, she looked over and smiled approvingly at Catriona.
Catriona knew that Fiona had always felt a great sadness for Nairn Sinclair, who always seemed, to her, to be so very sad. Once, she had told her that she was the most timid woman Fiona had ever seen. And that she had never seen Nairn look anything other than afraid and ashamed. She thought she had never seen a woman so tormented. When Nairn had tipped over into the insanity which now held her firmly, Fiona had not been surprised. It was comforting somehow to see Nairn finally cared for, albeit that Catriona had taken too long to become the daughter she always should have been. It had taken her too long to see past her da’s lies.
Nairn stirred and opened cloudy eyes. “I’m feeling fine just now, Effie.”
“Ma, it’s me, Catriona. Your wee lassie.”
Catriona knew herself that she had been no daughter to the woman lying in the bed before her. How could the approval of her father have meant so much? Why had he taught his bairns to be so cruel towards their mother? And why had she followed his example without question?
Catriona had tiny, far away memories. Memories of when she had been too young to do anything but love her Ma. The woman who had cuddled her in her lap and rocked her in her arms. A tear escaped her eye, and she dashed it quickly away. What a strange life she’d had. How could it be that she had reached her twentieth year before finally becoming her own person? Since her Da had died, there had been nobody left to impress. Catriona had realized with horror that she was as isolated and as frightened as her Ma had always been.
“Ruth… No, Catriona. Little Catriona. Have you been a good lassie today?”
“Aye, Ma, I think so.”
“You only think so? What have you been doing?” Nairn was smiling in the way of any doting mother.
“I’ve kept to my rooms today.”
“Ach, well, if you didnae go out to play, you won’t have been in any bother.”
Catriona smiled. She had grown to like it when her Ma confused her for the little lassie she had been. It was somehow easier for both of them. Nairn began to cough, violently. Catriona could hear the horrible wheeze gaining in volume and made to sit her Ma up in the bed. Fiona had raced to the bed and helped. In no time, they had Nairn comfortably propped up, with her thick plaid draped about her shoulders. The coughing fit had stopped, and was replaced with absent-minded, and repetitive humming.
“I’m away down the stair to fetch some broth up,” Fiona said giving her arm a squeeze. “Why don’t I bring you some, Catriona? And a nice wee bannock? You look pale and there’s naught of you these days.”
After a momentary lapse in humming to say with a smile. “Aye, Fiona, that would be nice.” She continued without a care in the world.
Catriona had been unexpectedly comforted by Fiona kindness. Still, Fiona had always been nice to her, even when Catriona was naught but a haughty, bossy lass. There were many in the Clan whom she knew were far less forgiving. Ach, they were respectful, right enough, but she knew that many did not care for her. Watching her Ma as the woman hummed and stared at nothing, Catriona knew it was no more or less than she deserved. It did leave her wondering, however, why it was that sharp behavior was so much more forgivable in man than a woman.
Bitterness overtook her as she thought of all she had learned from her Ma in those rare and precious moments of lucidity. How frightened her Ma had been of her Da her whole married life and all the while, Catriona had been so painfully unaware. In less lucid moments, the horror of other torments Nairn had suffered were blurted out, so matter of fact… that sometimes Catriona had wondered if she had heard correctly.
In the time since her Da had died, Catriona’s eyes had been opened to so much she wished she did not know. Gossip of what had happened must surely have travelled widely throughout the Clan. Yet it was she they chose not to forgive, in their own silent and passive way.
Fiona returned with a tray of steaming bowls. This woman was the only ally she had, save her poor Ma, in this whole Castle. It no longer felt like her home and she no longer craved the acceptance that she once had. How little Catriona cared for the Sinclair Clan that she had once so loved to be a part of.
Chapter Five
Finally deciding that there was no trace of the bruising so cruelly caused by Kyle, Catriona decided to get some fresh air. The day looked bright and sunny, though she knew it would be cool enough to warrant wrapping herself well.
Catriona had not set eyes on Kyle since the argument. For days afterwards, she feared his return to her rooms. In the event, this had not happened. Catriona wondered if he perhaps felt guilty about what he had done to her, an idea which she quickly dismissed.
Not wanting to happen upon Kyle, Catriona used all the back corridors and stairways that she could to get herself to the stables entirely unseen. Since he had so proudly announced that she was to have no rights to choose a husband of her own, Catriona wondered if Kyle would place restrictions on her movements. Daring not to risk it, she resolved to keep to the shadows. Out of sight, out of mind.
Quiet
ly walking her horse out of the stable and across to the edge of the Castle grounds, Catriona fought the urge to climb up and gallop away. Nothing must draw attention to her, for who could she trust but Fiona Blair?
Finally, at the edge of the woodland which surrounded the front of the Castle grounds, Catriona mounted her horse with an agility she had never expected from herself. For so long she had been confined to the castle, and she expected to be stiff. It felt good to be out here, and it made her crave a different life. That was stupid. Heeling her horse away, she was filled with a sense of freedom. One she had not felt for many days prior to this.
Having always been something of a cautious horsewoman, Catriona felt something inside her breaking out. She heeled her horse harder, and they flew faster and faster across the open countryside. Feeling her rich red-brown hair fly free from its fastenings, Catriona let out a shrieking laugh. As she shook her long curls loose, she wondered if she was going as insane as her poor Ma.
Riding in that style for some good, long way, Catriona finally pulled her horse back into a steady walk. All of the strange and unhappy circumstances of her life battled for control in her mind. As a woman, Catriona feared that there would never be a way for her to escape what was happening to her. She had nowhere else to go. Lost in her own thoughts, where panic threatened to overwhelm her, Catriona had not heard the approach of the two riders who were coming into her view.
Being certain that she had strayed from Sinclair territory some way back, Catriona felt a sense of panic. Slowing her horse to a stop, she made ready to turn it and heel it away. Her heart was thundering in her chest.
“Catriona?” The voice was so familiar to her. Her blind panic had stopped her recognizing the face of her old friend, Gawain Dunbar.
Relief flooded her. How much she had missed him! Since childhood, Gawain had always been on her side, even at times when the fault was all her own. He had been the brother to her that neither Kyle nor Evan ever had. How could Kyle have taunted her with such accusations of lewdness?
