“Come now, if we are in the water, then we shall swim,” she said, striking out across the pool towards the waterfalls which gushed from the stream above.
Margaret was a strong swimmer, and she reached the waterfall first, climbing from the pool and behind where the water gushed down. There, it was like a magical world, filled with glistening ferns and the fall of the water, creating a wall that sparkled and danced in the sunlight.
Rory was soon there, pulling himself up and coming to sit next to her. There, they were entirely hidden, and she kissed him, running her hand over his chest and down to his legs. His body dripped, his hair wet, and she rested her head upon his shoulder, shivering a little in the coolness of the secret place.
“Tis’ a beautiful place, I havenae swam out here since I was a boy. We used to leap through the waterfall and out into the pool,” he said, reaching out his hand through the falling water.
“We must come here often,” she said, for being there caused her to forget the troubles and worries, which awaited her at Kirklinton.
There, in the forest, she was free to be with Rory and to be the person she longed to be. All she wanted was to be with him, and now she had given in to her longings and knew what it was to be one with him, she wanted more.
“Shall we jump?” he asked, taking her hand and kissing her.
Together, they leaped through the wall of water and out into the pool with an enormous splash. The water was cold and icy, the stream flowing from far off mountains beyond the woodlands. She let out a cry of delight and rose out of the water to swim with Rory back towards the edge of the pool. They lay together on the rock, their bodies drying in the warmth of the sun.
“I could stay here all day,” Margaret said, and Rory smiled as he pulled on his tunic.
“Is yer stomach nae rumblin’ yet? I want somethin’ to eat and to check on the men. We should go back soon,” he said, though he seemed in no hurry to do so.
They sat a while longer in the sunshine, enjoying one another’s company and thinking of little but the delight they shared. The memory of that day would stay with Margaret forever, and she knew whatever happened, her love for Rory would only grow stronger by the day. She would gladly accept his proposal of marriage. It was all that she desired.
But the haunting image of Hamish and his threatening words hung over her. If their marriage were announced, then he would threaten her again. He would never allow them to marry if Rory did not know the truth, and if Margaret didn’t tell him, then Hamish surely would.
But despite this, she wanted to be happy and, at that moment with Rory, Margaret was happier than she had ever been. To know such happiness was enough to cast aside the doubts she felt, to almost forget Hamish’s words and Niall McCall’s cruel advances. She needed nothing but Rory and would cling to him for as long as she could.
“Shall we walk back to Kirklinton?” Margaret asked, as Rory let out a yawn and closed his eyes.
“Aye, lass. If we daenae walk back, then I shall fall asleep here with ye. But wait a moment,” he said, leaning up to kiss her for a final time upon her lips.
“We must return here soon before the autumn truly comes. There are too many people at Kirklinton to afford us any privacy,” she said, and he laughed.
“Then we must enjoy the secrecy,” he said, kissing her again.
“I think we shall,” she replied.
Together, they walked hand in hand through the forest, leaving the gushing waterfall and deep, blue pool behind. Putting her arm through his, Margaret rested her head upon his shoulder, as above them, the birds sang, and the sun shone down through the canopy. How perfect it was to be with him and know the gentleness of his presence. Her mind was made up, and she knew she could not yet tell him the truth. She would beg Hamish to allow this secret to continue, throwing herself upon his good nature, for he surely knew her fate if forced to return to her family.
She was mulling this over, as they walked together out onto the moorlands. The sun was high in the sky above, and she could see across the moorlands towards Kirklinton and Armstrong castle. How she loved the rolling heathers of Scotland, the far-off mountains, and the wild, open spaces around her. It felt so different from England, with its cultivated fields and well-ordered land. Here, she felt free to be the person she’d always longed to be.
“Is that Evie there?” Rory said, pointing to a figure running across the moorlands and disturbing Margaret from her thoughts.
“It looks like her, yes,” Margaret said, as the figure came into view.
It was Evie, and she called out to them across the heathers, waving and summoning them to her.
They hurried towards her, and Margaret was shocked to see tears in her eyes and worry upon her face.
“Evie, whatever is wrong?” Rory cried as Evie rushed towards them.
“Tis’ father, ye must come quickly. He is dyin’, and he is callin’ for his heir,” she replied.
Chapter Seventeen
Rory was astonished at Evie’s words. His father had seemed in the best of health at the feast the night before. There had been no signs of weakness on his part, and he had drank and danced as exuberantly as any of his younger clansmen. But the look in Evie’s eyes told him this was no game, and taking hold of Margaret’s hand, he hurried her across the moorlands, as they followed Evie back to Kirklinton.
“When did he take bad?” Rory asked.
“It was when mother went to his chambers earlier today. He hadnae stirred from his slumbers all day, and she took him some porridge to eat. That was when she found him, propped up in bed with a fever. He looks so weak, Rory, a mere shadow of last night,” Evie replied.
Rory could not help but think of the devilish smile upon Niall McCall’s face that morning, and he wondered if perhaps the viper had something to do with it. His father had been well the night before, but now he was growing weaker by the moment. A thousand thoughts went around in Rory’s head, as the three crossed through the gates of Kirklinton -now thrown wide open. Word of the Laird’s illness had spread amongst the guests from the banquet, and the courtyard filled with anxious clansmen. They saluted Rory, as he hurried through the gates to find Owen and his uncle Duncan awaiting him.
“Come now, Rory, ye must go to father’s bedside. Mother is with him too,” Owen said as they rushed into the keep.
“How sick is he?” Rory asked, and Owen shook his head.
“The end is close, brother. Only prayer will send him on his way; nay medicine will dae,” Owen said.
Hamish met them on the stairs, and the party made their way to the Laird’s chambers, where several servants hovered nervously outside.
“Oh, Rory, thank goodness ye have come,” his mother said as she appeared from the door.
It was rare to see her with tears in her eyes. She was usually such a strong woman, not given over to emotion. Now her cheeks were stained with tears and such worry in her face that Rory hugged her tight.
“I am here now, mother, tis’ all right. Let Evie and Margaret take care of ye now, I shall go to father’s side,” Rory said, stepping through the chamber door.
It was rare that he entered his father’s private chambers. They were well furnished, his father’s treasures lying all around. A fire was burning in the hearth, and heavy drapes hung from both sides of the bed. It angered Rory to find Niall McCall there; a chair pulled up to the bedside, where he was whispering something to the Laird, looking up as Rory entered the room.
“About time,” he snarled.
“My father wasnae sick when I left this mornin’, or perhaps ye didnae think it fit to inform me if he were and ye yerself knew,” Rory said, advancing across the room to his father’s side.
“Yer father is close to death, we must hear his wishes,” Niall said, and Rory looked at him angrily.
“I must hear his wishes, Niall. Nae ye. Stand away a moment, I wish this time with my father,” Rory said, and the look he gave to Niall was enough to make the man rise from his place a
nd step back.
Rory knelt at the edge of the bed, placing his hand gently in his father’s and whispering for him to open his eyes.
“Rory?” his father said, his voice sounding weak and distant.
“Aye, father. Tis’ I, Evie came lookin’ for me in the forest. I am here now. Ye will survive this, ye are strong, ye are the Laird,” Rory said, but his father smiled and began to cough.
“A man knows when his time has come, Rory, and I know that my time has come this day. But ye are here now, and ye must be the one to hear what I have to say,” the Laird said, struggling to sit up.
“I am listenin’ father, I will dae anythin’ that ye say,” Rory said, glancing across the room to where Niall stood watching.
“When I breathe my last, then ye shall be Laird, that is the order of things, Rory. Ye are my heir and tis’ a grave responsibility which will be yers,” his father said, as Rory nodded.
“I am nae ready for it, father. I cannae dae this without ye,” he replied, as Fraser shook his head.
“Nayone is ready for it, Rory. A Laird is forged in the fires of his trials and difficulties. But ye will be a good Laird, of that I am certain,” he said.
Rory nodded; he had always doubted himself and suspected that his father believed him unworthy. He had lived so long in his shadow, never thinking that he could be the one to follow in his father’s footsteps. Yet, despite his self-doubts, Rory was the heir, and if his father died now, he would be the Laird.
“Ye willnae die, father. Ye have survived such fevers before. Ye are strong,” Rory said, but his father shook his head and began to cough.
He looked so weak, as though the very life were being drawn from him. His face was haggard and pale. His hands were shaking, and his eyes now closed. Rory looked up to find Niall watching him intently, as though willing his father to die so that he might step forward in his place. But Rory had no intention of allowing such a thing, for he would gladly see Niall banished when his father drew his final breath.
“Call my mother and the others,” he said, suddenly finding inner strength and the authority of one who would be Laird.
Niall seemed surprised by his tone, but he turned and signaled to the servants who hurried to fetch Isla and the others. The room soon filled with the Elliotts, who now made vigil around the Liard’s bed.
Isla sat closest to her husband, her hands clasped around his, and next to her was Evie, her arm around her mother’s shoulder. The children were there too, hanging onto Evie’s skirts, and Owen and Duncan knelt in silent prayer as Hamish stood at the foot of the bed, watching silently, as Rory knelt by his father’s head and Margaret came to his side.
“I can go if ye wish,” she whispered, but he shook his head.
“I wouldnae hear of it,” he replied, as she knelt next to him.
“Nay, ye must stay,” Isla said, glancing over at them, “ye are a part of this family.”
It pleased Rory to see Niall McCall standing at the edge of the room. None of the others invited him to make vigil by the bedside, and it seemed that even now, his power and influence was waning. No longer would Niall McCall have the Laird’s ear or the control he had enjoyed these past months. He would be banished soon enough, Rory would see to that. But now he turned to his father, who struggled to open his eyes, as the fever took hold.
“My time is close, dear ones,” he said, his breathing now labored and hoarse.
He let out a gasp, as Isla clutched at him, tears running down her face.
“Father, speak with us, please,” Evie said, and the Laird opened his eyes again.
“I … my time is short, but I can only tell each of ye that I love ye and that I am proud of ye,” he whispered.
“Oh, Fraser, daenae leave us,” Isla cried, as her husband began to cough, struggling to sit up, but failing and collapsing back onto the bed.
Owen and Duncan crossed themselves, and even Hamish now knelt, as they offered prayers for the Laird.
“May angels guide ye on the way to paradise,” Owen whispered, as Fraser let out a gasp, struggling to breathe.
“Father, nay,” Rory cried, clutching at his father’s hand, as he felt Margaret’s hand clasped in his.
But there was no more earthly help for Fraser Elliott. He breathed his last, and now his brother rose to minister him the final rites, marking him with the sign of the cross.
“Eternal rest grant unto him O Lord and may perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace,” Duncan said, and the family repeated the amen.
Rory placed his head into his hands, lamenting as much for himself as for his father. In Fraser’s last breath, his whole life had changed in an instant. No longer was he heir apparent, but was now Laird of the Elliotts, master of Kirklinton, guardian of his clan, and all those under him. It was a grave burden of responsibility, and he looked up at his family gathered around, with a heavy heart and mind.
“Hail Rory Elliott, Laird of the Elliotts, master of Kirklinton to whom we pledge our allegiance,” Hamish said, and the others made a similar pledge.
“I will always honor our father’s memory, and I will always look to him as an example of the man I should and hope to be,” Rory said, glancing down at his father’s lifeless body.
Could he hope to live up to the expectations his father had placed upon him? He felt as nothing when compared to him, as though this were merely a game, but one with deadly consequences. How could he be Laird? His father had been a great and noble Laird, whose name would go down in the history of the clan. Tales would be told and songs sung of his greatness, while Rory felt merely a pale imitation. The doubts now beset him as he searched for something more to say.
But, at that moment, he felt Margaret’s hand in his. She tightened her grip, her touch feeling strong and reassuring. Surely with Margaret at his side, then he could do this. He loved her more than ever, and that with her would find the strength to do his duty. He could be Laird if Margaret were his wife.
“And ye will be a Laird as yer father,” his mother said, the tears running down her cheeks as she looked down lovingly at Fraser, lying still and at peace upon the bed.
“Inform the clan that their Laird is dead,” Rory said, turning to Hamish, “our mournin’ has begun. Sound the horn and let us remember our dear Laird, our father, with due respect.”
“I shall tell them,” Niall McCall said, stepping forward and glancing dismissively down at the Laird’s body.
But Rory was in no mood for such games, and he shook his head, pointing instead at Hamish.
“Nay, Hamish will tell them. He is Laird of the McBryde's, and he will speak for me as Laird of the Elliotts. Yer presence is nay longer required, Niall,” Rory said, and turned again to his father, making the sign of the cross upon himself as he stood silently in respect for the passing of a great and noble man.
Margaret stood silently at Rory’s side, looking down at the still body of Fraser Elliott, lying upon the bed. As a child, she had heard many stories about Fraser, how he had killed her cousin, Howard Musgrave, and that he was a cruel and ruthless man, without mercy or a drop of goodness in him.
How wrong the tales had been, Fraser was a good and honorable man. He was a Laird who commanded respect and adoration of his clansmen, a kind and loving man, and a warrior too. She felt privileged to be there for his final moments to share with the family the passing of such a towering figure.
Isla was weeping, and Evie had her arm around her, as Owen and Duncan still knelt in silent prayer. She chanced a glance at Hamish, who stood watching from the end of the bed, and, as their eyes met, she knew what he was thinking. But now was surely not the time to reveal such secrets, and she turned her head away, looking down instead at the Laird and offering up a silent prayer.
“I shall make the proclamation,” Hamish said, and Rory nodded.
“And I shall leave you here to mourn,” Margaret whispered as Rory turned to her, and she gave him a weak smile.
“Ye are nae intrudin’ Ma
rgaret, I want ye here,” he said, but she shook her head.
“Let me see about something to eat for you. You have not eaten all day. I will see to it for us all,” Margaret said, nodding to the rest of the family.
To remain longer felt as though she were intruding upon their grief, and nodding to the others, followed Hamish. Niall McCall had already moved downstairs, and she waited until they were out of earshot of the Laird’s chambers before calling for Hamish to wait.
“Well?” he asked, “I can only suppose that ye havenae told him.”
“I had nay chance to, Hamish. We were in the woods and …” she began, blushing at the memory.
“And nay doubt he asked ye to marry him, did he?” Hamish replied.
A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3) Page 17
