The Castle Courtyard on a Snowy Christmas Eve

by Fiona MacEwen

  “Who be ye?” he cried, “the Laird dinna want visitors.”

  “The Laird? Ye mean my father? He will see me,” Duncan replied. “Open the gates, tis’ I, Duncan Campbell, son of the Laird, I have returned home from imprisonment.”

  “Duncan? Duncan Campbell?” the man said, sounding surprised. “It cannae be ye, yer father gave ye up for dead all those years ago.”

  “Tis’ me, call my father out here and he will tell ye. I havenae changed that much these ten years past. I still have the look of a Campbell and I recognize ye, though ye have aged, Donald McGowan. Ye taught me to fight with the sword and good stead it has stood me in too,” Duncan replied, taking a few steps towards the gatehouse as the man squinted down from above.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the man said, rubbing his eyes. “Tis’ ye master Duncan, but if it is yer father ye have come to see then ye are five years too late. Our poor Laird died for grief of ye, these five winters past, a broken man in the end for he knew that he couldnae bring ye back and that he would never again see his son.”

  Duncan could not believe what he was hearing. His father could not be dead, surely not, it seemed too astonishing to be true. His father was the strongest and bravest man that Duncan knew and to think that he was gone caused tears to rise in Duncan’s eyes.

  “I … but … but who is Laird?” he stammered.

  “I shall come and open the gates, lad, wait there” Donald McGowan said, and a few moments later the grand old oak doors were pulled back, revealing the snow-covered courtyard behind.

  “I dinna ken what to say, my father cannae be dead, can he?” Duncan said, in disbelief, his eyes still filled with tears, as he followed the clansmen into the courtyard.

  “Believe it, master Duncan, tis’ the truth and now yer uncle is Laird of this clan,” Donald said.

  “Uncle Fraser? Aye, well that much I can accept, he always coveted the Lairdship,” Duncan replied, shaking his head.

  “Aye, well, he is here now. Ye had better go and see him,” Donald replied.

  “Wait,” Duncan said, turning to the old soldier, “where is my father buried? I should go first to him.”

  “Over yonder by the wall, tis’ consecrated ground. We laid him to rest there next to yer mother, God rest her soul,” Donald replied, pointing over to the wall where the faint outline of two burial mounds could be seen beneath the snow.

  Duncan crossed over the courtyard and kneeled in front of the graves. He bowed his head and placed his hands in the icy snow.

  “I am home, Father, I am sorry it was nae soon enough,” he said, and once again he shed a bitter tear.

  Chapter 2

  An Unwelcome Welcome

  The shock of learning of his father’s death had put all other thoughts out of Duncan’s mind. He had spent so long imagining his homecoming; it had been the one thing which gave him hope during his imprisonment. Now that hope seemed lost and the prospect of confronting his uncle was not one he relished.

  Duncan and Fraser Campbell had never got on well and as a boy Duncan had often been on the receiving end of his uncle’s wrath. Now, as he entered the keep, he knew he would find little in the way of welcome in his father’s once hospitable hall.

  Donald McGowan went in first and Duncan hovered in the corridor outside, breathing in the familiar smells of his father’s house. A house which suddenly seemed so unfamiliar in the hands of its new regime. The furnishings were the same, the thick tapestries hanging from the wall and the suits of armor which lined the corridor, but it felt shabby and uncared for.

  There was no fire burning merrily in the heart of the entrance, nor servants dashing about with food and victuals. The keep was quiet, and as Donald McGowan emerged from the hall, he had a heavy look upon his face.

  “Ye can go in, but yer uncle is nae pleased to see ye lad. I am sorry if this is nae the homecomin’ ye expected,” and he stood to one side as Duncan shook his head and entered the hall.

  ***

  A small fire was kindled in the grate and two of the dogs ran to greet him, descendants of those whom Duncan had known during his youth. A few clansmen sat around the long trestle tables and on the dais, behind the high table, was his uncle.

  Fraser Campbell was a formidable man, as strong as his brother, though lacking in the empathy and compassion which had made the old Laird such a good and benevolent overlord. He was cutting at a piece of venison and taking gulps from a flagon of ale. Now, he looked up and grimaced at the sight of his nephew standing before him.

  “Well, well, well, the return of the prodigal son. Or the imprisoned son. Did the English let ye go, lad? I am surprised,” he said, laughing at his own words as Duncan stood meekly before him.

  “Nay uncle. I escaped and have journeyed a long and difficult road to return here. Now I find my poor father to be in his grave and ye to have made yerself Laird in my place,” Duncan said, looking around him at the once warm and hospitable hall.

  “As was my right, Duncan,” his uncle replied. “We thought ye were dead and a dead heir is no heir. I would think ye should understand that.”

  Duncan made no reply, looking around him at the other clansmen. He recognized some of them from years ago, though all of them had aged. His uncle too, though he still had the look of a formidable warrior, one who would not be easily crossed.

  “Tis’ nae the welcome I was expectin’ uncle,” he replied, sighing and taking a seat at the high table.

  “Ye are a ghost from the past, Duncan, an unexpected arrival in our midst. What kind of welcome were ye expectin’? I am sure the fact ye have yer freedom is welcome enough, dae ye nae think?” Fraser Campbell said, returning to his piece of venison and vigorously attacking it.

  “Aye, well …” Duncan began, but at that moment the door to the hall opened and another familiar figure appeared, accompanied by a man whom Duncan knew to be his cousin Alistair.

  It was Arabel Boyd and when she saw Duncan sitting at the high table, her mouth opened in surprise and she gasped. Clutching at Alistair, who also looked surprised at the sight of his cousin, apparently returned from the dead.

  She was every bit as beautiful as Duncan remembered her. Even more so, the years giving her a maturity and beauty which had not been present in her youth. She was just as he had longed for her to be, every bit the most beautiful lass he could picture, standing before him in utter shock at the sight of her childhood sweetheart.

  “Hello, Arabel, are ye well?” Duncan said, sounding as though he was greeting her after a day apart, rather than ten years.

  But time did not seem to matter. Arabel was just as he wanted her to be. Beautiful and alluring, enchanting and a delight to behold. He wanted to run and embrace her, to kneel and tell her just how much he loved her. But his uncle’s words now came cutting through him like a sword on flesh.

  “Arabel and Alistair are to be married in the spring, when the snow melts,” he said, smiling at Duncan, who turned with a pained look upon his face.

  “Mar … married? Arabel and Alistair, but …” Duncan said, his words faltering.

  “Aye, that’s right. I was a very happy lad when she agreed, wasnae I, Arabel?” Alistair said, turning to his betrothed, who blushed. “I am sorry if this news upsets ye, cousin, but … well, we all believed ye were dead.”

  “But …” Duncan began.

  “But nothin’ lad, ten years is a long time to be away. If ye were foolish enough to think that all would be just the same upon yer return then ye were sorely mistaken,” Fraser said, rising from the table. “Times change, Duncan. Ye are welcome to remain here for Christmas but then I suggest ye make yer own way in life once more. Ye are nae doubt used to taking care of yerself, go and find yerself a nice croft and settle down. Yer father left ye some money, ye dinnae have to worry about that.”

  “He left me this castle and its lands and peoples,” Duncan replied quietly, his anger rising against his uncle.

  “And when the heir is presumed, beyond reasonable doubt,
to be dead then the title passes to the next in line, which happened to be me,” Fraser replied, stepping down from the dais and crossing to the door. “Get some sleep, Duncan, ye must be tired after yer journey,” he called back as Alistair followed after him.

  Duncan turned with a pained look on his face to find Arabel standing meekly before him.

  “I … I am sorry, Duncan, I …” she began, blushing as he shook his head.

  “My uncle is right, ten years is a long time and I was a fool to think that …” he replied, his words trailing off once more as the happy thoughts, the only thoughts which had kept him going these ten years past, were dashed.

  “That I would have waited? Tis’ nae a foolish thought, but … well, I believed ye were dead too, Duncan. We all did. Yer father was the last to accept it, but it broke his heart and that was what killed him. He couldnae accept ye were dead and in the end he was a broken man and died of a broken heart. That was nae what I wanted for myself, I grieved for ye, but I had to move on, I would have been good as dead too,” she said, stepping forward and reaching out her hand to Duncan, who gave a weak smile and took it.

  “And so ye chose my cousin, the son of a man who would now see me thrown out of the castle which is rightfully mine,” Duncan replied, shaking his head.

  “He is a good man, Duncan, he might not be ye, but I have made a promise and tis’ nae one I can go back on,” she replied. “We must simply accept things as they are. It will take a wee while to get used to ye bein’ …” she said.

  “Back from the dead?” he replied, as she led him from the hall and out into the corridor where a single flaming torch illuminated the darkness which had now descended around the castle.

  “Somethin’ like that,” she said, sighing. “I made sure yer old chambers were preserved. There are fewer people here these days and Fraser had nae use for them. Let me show ye,” and she led him towards the stairs.

  Together they climbed up the familiar spiral stairway towards the top of the keep. Arabel asked Duncan lots of questions about his captivity and escape and in turn he questioned her about the past ten years, of all the changes which seemed to have occurred.

  “But ye are still the same bonnie lass ye were all those years ago,” he said, as they came to the door of his chambers.

  “And ye are still the handsome lad I remember, but ye have grown up a bit since last we saw one another,” she said, smiling at him.

  “I had to. Ten years as prisoner of an Englishman is enough to break anyone,” he replied.

  “But it hasnae broken ye,” she said, an opening the door she ushered him in.

  The chambers really were just as he remembered them. Sparsely furnished, which was how he liked it, and now a little fire burned in the hearth. Duncan’s presence welcome by the servants if not their master. He crossed over to the window and looked out across the forests and mountains beyond. He had chosen these chambers as a boy for precisely this face. He used to like to stand there at the window, looking out over the lands which he knew one day he would inherit and over which he had always vowed to be a benevolent and just overlord.

  Those hopes were now dashed, and as he looked out, he realized that he knew that he was now at the mercy of his uncle. He had nothing, only the dignity of knowing that he was a free man and no longer a prisoner. But the happiness he had felt just a short while ago was dashed, and as he turned to Arabel he let out a deep sigh.

  “So, ye are to be married in the spring? But first we must have Christmas,” he said, shaking his head, “and then it seems I am to depart.”

  “Aye, in the spring, but ye dinna have to leave, Duncan. Dinna listen to Fraser, Alistair would nae have ye thrown out of the place that was once yer home … is yer home,” she replied.

  “And what am I to dae if I stay? Tis’ nay home of mine this place now,” he said, slumping mournfully into a chair by the fireside.

  “I shall leave ye alone with yer thoughts,” she replied, offering him a weak smile and turning towards the door.

  “Arabel,” he called after her, “I am sorry, tis’ good to see ye.”

  “Tis’ good to see ye too, Duncan. I am glad ye have come home to us,” she said, and closing the door behind her she left him alone with his thoughts.

  Duncan was tired, the journey had taken its toll upon him and he found his eyes closing. In the past ten years it had been rare for him to catch a moment in the warmth of a fire, let alone in the quiet and solitude of his own chamber. But what a sad homecoming it had been. He felt guilty for expecting Arabel to have waited for him and foolish for believing that he would simply return victorious to his father’s side.

  Life was not like that and whilst such thoughts had kept him going these sad years past, Duncan Campbell knew that the future would be very different to the one he had imagined. He didn’t go down to dinner that evening, his uncle’s unfriendly reception enough to confine him to his chambers. As he laid down to rest, the fire burning low in the hearth, he could not help but feel sorrowful for the homecoming and wondered whether he might be better simply leaving and finding somewhere new to live.

  “But this is yer home,” he said to himself, turning over and closing his eyes. “And rightfully yers.”

  Chapter 3

  Like Yesterday

  Duncan slept late the next morning, awaking to the sound of a solitary bird singing outside the window. Duncan rolled over and clambered sleepily out of bed, crossing to the window and pulling back the drapes. Outside was a solitary red-breasted robin, chirping and hopping on the sill.

  “Well, hello there, wee bird, at least someone is pleased to see me,” he said, smiling to himself.

  Down in the courtyard he could see Donald McGowan crossing through the snow, calling out orders to the sentries on the battlements. His father’s garrison had been impressive and made up of many men. They had kept order in the glen and it had always been said that this little corner of Scotland was a haven of safety and peace.

  Now, it seemed that his father’s once proud fighting force was reduced to a few old men and a motley collection of boys, barely tall enough to pick up a sword. It was sad to see the way his uncle had so destroyed his father’s legacy in just a few years, and Duncan shook his head at the thought as he dressed himself in his traveling clothes.

  He had not a single possession in the entire world, except the clothes he stood up in. On the journey north he had begged and borrowed his way, occasionally stopping to labor for a farmer or peasant in exchange for food and a bed. He was used to hardship and the luxury of his own chamber and the warmth of his own bed had at least been some compensation for the sorrow of yesterday.

  He made his way tentatively downstairs, the sounds of breakfast coming from the great hall. Arabel was waiting outside in the corridor, and she smiled at him as he emerged from the spiral staircase.

  “Did ye nae wish to eat last night, Duncan? We missed ye at dinner, Alistair was askin’ where ye were,” she said, beckoning him towards the doors of the hall.

  “I dinna wish to cause a problem,” he replied, looking nervously around him.

  “Tis’ nae problem, folks are pleased to see ye. Tis’ only Fraser and a few of his men who are less than happy at the prospect of the real Laird bein’ in their midst,” she replied.

  “So, ye believe I am the real Laird?” Duncan said, smiling at her.

  “Well of course. Ye are yer father’s son and nay one can take that away from ye. The title is rightfully yers and Fraser knows that, he just dinnae want to admit it,” she said, and taking his hand she led him into the hall.

  Several clansmen were sat along the trestle tables as though they had not moved since the evening before. Alistair was sat next to his father on the high table, and as Arabel and Duncan entered the Laird looked with disdain towards his nephew.

  “So, have ye thought more about what I said, Duncan?” Fraser said as soon as he and Arabel had seated themselves at the table.

  “Aye, uncle, I have and I dinn
a intend to go anywhere just yet. This is my home and I shall remain here just as long as I wish,” Duncan replied.

  His uncle’s face went red, but Alistair placed a warning hand upon his arm.

  “It wouldnae be right to see Duncan put out of the house so soon. He has only just returned to us, ye cannae expect him now to leave the home he has longed to return to all these years,” Alistair said.

  Fraser fell silent, a grimace across his face and he went back to eating his food. Duncan nodded at his cousin who gave him a weak smile and Arabel simply shook her head. It was an awkward breakfast which the four endured, the sounds of the clansmen talking at the trestle tables offering some relief from the silence imposed by Fraser.

  Duncan had no words for his uncle and it seemed his uncle had no further words for him. But Duncan would not be pushed out from his own home, nor forced to make decisions about his future so readily. Alistair was right; the only thing which had kept him going these long years past was the prospect of returning here to the castle. Despite what he had found there, Duncan knew that coming home had been the right decision, and he was glad to once more be amongst the hills and glens of the highlands.

  After breakfast he made his way back to his chambers, planning to spend the rest of the day by the fire. He was just stoking it up, placing a log into the glowing embers, when there came a gentle tap upon the door.

  “Come in,” he called, expecting to see Arabel again.

  But the visitor was his cousin Alistair and Duncan invited him to take a seat opposite him by the fire, settling himself down to hear what the son of the self-proclaimed Laird had to say.

  “I … well, I am amazed to see ye. I have believed ye were dead these long years past and to see ye in the flesh is, well … a great blessin’ to be sure,” Alistair said.

  He had a kind face framed by blonde hair and a clipped beard and now he shook his head once more in disbelief at the sight of Duncan before him.