A Highlander Marked by Fate: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Kirklinton Book 3)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “She is a strong woman and always has been,” Rory said, as the three of them walked together towards their parents, who looked up and nodded to them.

  “Mother, Father,” Owen said, and Evie went to put her arms about her mother, who herself was crying.

  “We shall all catch our deaths if we stay out here in the rain,” their mother said, holding Evie close.

  “Aye, come now, Isla, come now, children. Let us go back to the castle, I for one could dae with a warm hearth and some vitals,” said their father.

  Evie nodded, she knew that now her grandfather was gone, her father had a grave responsibility upon him. He had seemed quieter and more reserved in the past few days following the Laird’s death, reluctant to shoulder the burdens of responsibility which were now his and she glanced at him, as arm in arm with her mother, they made their way slowly from the graveyard.

  His face seemed worn and weather-beaten, as though the title he now possessed had aged him. Her father had always seemed so young and carefree, the perpetual youth, but now he had a look about him as though he realized the grave destiny which fate had now forged. One which would burden him for the rest of his life, which of course it would, and would see much heartache and difficulty. She loved her father as much, if not more, as her grandfather, but with the Liard’s passing, she knew that things had changed. No longer would they simply be a family, the five of them together, but instead, her father would be head of the clan and take on the great task of governance and oversight, which now was his. It was a daunting task and one which Evie knew would cause him much struggle, for her father was not a natural leader of men.

  She looked too at her brother Owen. He, too, had taken on a different air in these past days. No longer the grandson of the Laird, but the heir apparent. He had begun to walk differently, as odd as that may sound. He held himself up a little higher, and his shoulders no longer slouched, as they had done during his younger years. He had gone from youth to man in just a few days, and the change was quite remarkable. As for Rory, he seemed the same as ever, and she wondered if he had really mourned at all for their grandfather; he had seemed distracted recently, as though something was bearing upon his mind, though Evie knew not what. He always kept his feelings close, and despite his being her brother, she really knew very little of him.

  “Uncle Duncan is there,” Owen said as they emerged from the graveyard onto the track, which led to the village.

  “Aye, he kept vigil in the church while we went to the place of burial,” their father said, as their uncle nodded, a grave look upon his face.

  He was stood under an oak tree, sheltering from the rain, his hands folded into his monk’s habit, and he hurried across to them, his feet squelching in the mud.

  “Fraser, I will join ye at Kirklinton for the night. ‘Tis too late to return to Lanercost now, but in the morning, I shall offer Mass for yer father’s soul,” he said, placing a comforting hand upon Isla’s shoulder.

  “Ye are very kind, Duncan,” Isla said, smiling at him.

  “Kirklinton? We were goin’ to go home,” her father said, looking around him at the others, but Isla took his hand.

  “The clan will expect us to go to Kirklinton now, Fraser,” Isla said, and Evie watched as her father sighed heavily.

  “Aye, very well. There is nay escapin’ it; I suppose,” he replied, and together they made their mournful way through the village.

  Her uncle followed behind, his head bowed, as though in silent prayer, and indeed, no one said much until they arrived outside the blacksmith’s workshop.

  “Life was far simpler here,” her father said, turning to her uncle, who shook his head.

  “It might have seemed so, but neither of us was truly happy here,” he replied, as, from behind, there came a shout.

  “ Sweeney,” her mother said, and Evie turned to see her Godfather hurrying up the track behind them.

  “Laird, the clansmen have gone on ahead. They are expecting ye at Kirklinton,” he said, as her father sighed.

  “Aye, duty calls us. What is the mood amongst them?” her father said.

  “Sorrow, but they are loyal to ye, Laird,” Sweeney replied.

  “I cannae get used to ye callin’ me that, Sweeney. Fraser will dae when we are nae in company, and that goes for the rest of ye. I shall nae have my family bowin’ and scrapin’ to me, simply because I am now titled and Owen, I daenae expect ye to begin laudin’ it over others either. We are humble people, and I shall nae have us known as anythin’ else. Is that understood?” her father said.

  “Aye, father,” Owen replied, “I have nay more wish to be Laird than ye dae.”

  “But that time will come, Owen. Just as it has done for me,” Fraser replied, “come now, we will nae stand around in the rain any longer. Hurry along now.”

  Together, the family, along with Sweeney, made their way up the hill and out of the village. The rain was falling heavily now, and dark clouds hung low across the moorlands. Evie had never liked the castle at Kirklinton. It had always seemed so dark and foreboding, compared to their own home across the heathers. She had lived there ever since she could remember, the same castle in which her mother had been born and which had been so cruelly burned by the English all those years ago. Now, restored by her father, it stood as a symbol of strength against the English. The borderlands were still fraught with danger, and the rumor of an English threat hung heavily in the air.

  “Will we really live here?” she asked her mother, as they came to the castle gates.

  “We shall, it was good enough for me when I was a bairn and yer grandfather took me in,” her mother replied, as they stood looking up at the keep towering high above them.

  “I never liked it when ye and father would go away, and we bairns were sent here to stay with our grandfather, twas always so draughty and cold,” Evie said, remembering the long dark nights she had spent in the castle keep when she was younger.

  “I hope ye never said that to yer grandmother. I can tell ye that this draughty old castle was far better than her life at the hands of the Musgraves,” Isla replied, as Fraser and her brothers led them inside.

  “Aye, mother, I know,” Evie said.

  She had been raised on the stories of the past and knew them all by heart. How her father had not known that his father was the Laird for many years and that her grandmother had been forced to flee after the birth of the child, ending up at the hands of the English Musgraves. It was a story she liked to hear, though her mother would always remind her that it involved much suffering. Not least for her, too, made a prisoner of the Musgraves and only saved by the actions of her father, whose daring rescue was the stuff of legend.

  “Come now, Evie. We must dae our duty, we have responsibilities, ye know that,” Isla said, and Evie glanced back at her uncle and Godfather, who both nodded.

  “Life will be a little different now, lass,” her uncle said, his black monks' habit pulled over his head.

  “But I was happy how I was,” she replied, wondering just how different life could be, now that her grandfather was gone.

  “All of us have to change, lass. ‘Tis the way of things, but ye have yer brothers, and ye have yer mother and father too. Ye will be all right,” he replied.

  “I have ye both too, daenae I?” she said, and her uncle nodded.

  “Aye, but I must return to Lanercost soon, I shall leave yer spiritual wellbeing in the hands of Sweeney here,” her uncle replied, smiling at her as they made their way along the track towards the castle.

  It was an imposing place, almost foreboding. Its grey walls and battlements rising up out of the heathers and around it a motley collection of outhouses and stables. Evie had never liked it, a grim place which held little attraction except as a fortress against the marauding English and the many enemies which her grandfather had made over the years.

  As they arrived at the castle gates, they were met by the captain of the guard. Evie watched, as her father conducted a hushed conversat
ion with the man, whose face was grave.

  “There is trouble on the borders,” her father said, turning to Evie and the others, “the road to Lanercost will nae be safe for ye, brother.”

  “A monk’s habit is still protection enough, even in these dark days. Nay man would kill a monk,” Duncan replied.

  “We are nae dealin’ with reasonable men, brother. Our enemies are on the move and ‘tis nae safe to walk the road. The English threaten us and make allies of those who should be our friends,” Fraser replied.

  “Then we must prepare for the worst,” Isla replied, and Evie took hold of her mother’s hand.

  “What will happen, mother?” she whispered, turning to Isla, who squeezed her hand.

  “I daenae know, Evie. But we shall be ready to face our enemies. Just as we always have,” Isla replied.

  Evie followed the others through the castle gates, and as they swung shut, a sense of foreboding came upon her. Life would be very different now, and she knew a new era had begun for them all. Could this castle really protect them, or were the borders now more dangerous than ever? She felt afraid, helpless even, her fate in the hands of others.

  “It will be all right, lass,” her uncle said, catching her by the arm as they crossed the courtyard towards the keep.

  “How dae ye know, uncle?” she asked.

  “Because I have trust in yer father and because he raised ye and yer brothers to be strong,” Duncan replied.

  “Life will be very different now, though, will it nae?” Evie asked, and he nodded.

  “It will, but full of surprises too,” he replied and patted her on the arm.

  Evie could only wonder at what he meant, though her uncle always seemed to possess an insight beyond which others knew. She followed him inside, as from above the rain began to fall even harder and dark clouds settled over the castle. This new life was not what she had hoped for, and she could only feel fear for what was to come, the memory of her grandfather lingering, the future uncertain.

  Chapter One

  The rain persisted for three whole days. It was as though her grandfather’s death had left a cloud hanging over the borders. A mist hung in the air too, and there was a dank and dreary atmosphere about the place, such that it sent Evie into a deep depression. Her uncle had returned to the monastery at Lanercost, and her brothers returned to their work with her father, leaving Evie and her mother alone during the day.

  She had not settled into life at Kirklinton and longed instead for the simpler life she had led at the castle across the heathers. There, she had been free to please herself and to go where she wished, when she wished to do so. Now, it seemed as though her life were regimented and ordered and there had already been any number of visitors to Kirklinton wishing to pay their respects to her father. It seemed she was no longer the free-spirited lass she once had been allowed to be. Now, her mother spoke of responsibility, and she had realized that life would now be very different. Not only for her but for them all.

  “I am tired of the rain and bein’ confined to this place,” she said to her mother, as the two sat spinning wool on the third afternoon after her grandfather’s funeral.

  “When I was a child, I was often confined here, yer grandfather always worried for my safety. Be grateful that ye had such freedoms as a child,” her mother replied, dexterously rolling the wool into balls, as Evie held it up for her.

  “Aye, I know, but livin’ here feels so closed in. ‘Tis like we are always under scrutiny, always bein’ watched,” Evie replied.

  “Aye, there is that. Yer father is nae enjoyin’ it either. He has never had any wish to be Laird. I remember him sayin’ as much when first we were married. He had nay desire for such a title, ye have to remember that he was a humble blacksmith until …” her mother said, and her words trailed off.

  Evie knew the story well enough, but it still fascinated her. She had loved her grandfather dearly, but she still found it hard to think that he had kept that secret hidden for all those years. Never once revealing to anyone the true identity of his son nor wishing anything to do with him, it seemed so at odds with the man she knew, and in truth, she preferred not to think about it.

  “This this castle too, ‘tis nothin’ like home,” Evie said, and her mother sighed and nodded.

  “Aye, Evie. It will become like home, and we shall still visit the old castle. It holds many memories for me too daenae forget,” her mother replied.

  “What dae ye remember of it?” Evie asked, the wool running through her fingers, as her mother smiled.

  “From my childhood? Oh, I remember a little. It was a lovely place back then, and I shall always be grateful to yer father for restorin’ it. When I was a child, my father, my blood father, would hold great feasts there, and I remember my mother singin’ to me as she bathed me. But I remember too the night we were forced to flee and lookin’ over my nurse maid’s shoulder at the castle burnin’ behind us. A dark day,” she said, shaking her head.

  “And then ye came here?” Evie asked though she knew the answer well enough.

  “Aye, that’s right. I came here, and I was happy here, as will ye be, though perhaps nae for long,” her mother replied.

  “What dae ye mean? Are ye sendin’ me away?” Evie said, surprised by her mother’s words.

  “Nay, of course, nae, Evie. Daenae be silly, but ye are twenty years old, soon ye shall have a husband and who knows where ye shall live then,” her mother replied.

  Evie had not thought about it like that. The idea of a marriage or a husband had seemed remote and distant from her. Her two elder brothers were not yet married, though Rory was forever chasing women from the village, and it had not occurred to her that she would marry before them.

  Evie was an attractive girl, possessed of long flowing red hair and deep green eyes. Her skin was soft and her complexion pretty, yet unassuming. She knew that men often looked at her with interest. But she had never felt ready to pursue such things, content instead to wait until her father and mother should decide the time was right.

  “But I have nay thoughts of a husband yet, mother,” she replied, smiling and shaking her head.

  “Aye, but in time ye might dae,” her mother replied, “and when ye dae ye shall live elsewhere, away from this castle, a different life to this.”

  Evie had no desire for such a thing, she might not relish life at Kirklinton, but she certainly had no desire to leave her mother, father, and brothers behind. They were all she knew, and there was no desire in her heart for something different. She knew that marriage must one day come, but for now, she was content to help her mother with the spinning and to be a friend to her brothers. She had only one other friend, and that was Caitlin Macready, a girl of her own age who lived a few miles across the heathers with her mother in a croft on the moorlands.

  They had been friends since they were children, and Evie had always confided in her and known her to be a loyal and close friend. She had not seen her since the day of her grandfather’s death, and the thought of her now put into Evie’s mind the desire to see her. Outside, the rain had grown lighter, a drizzle upon the moorlands rather than the deluge of the past few days, and far across the borderlands, the merest hint of sunlight was breaking through the clouds. Evie set aside the wool and crossed to the window, looking out across the heathers to where her father and brothers were working down on the track, which led to the village. They were building a dry-stone wall, in which to enclose the sheep which her father intended to keep for their wool and meat.

  “I think I shall walk over to Caitlin’s croft and see her,” Evie said, turning to Isla, who smiled and nodded.

  “Aye, it would dae ye good to see a friend, be back by nightfall though, Evie,” her mother said, and Evie nodded.

  Her mother always said that, as though the arrival of the night brought with it untold danger and threat. In truth, Evie’s life had been peaceful, troubled only occasionally by an English raid or the rumors of robbers on the road east. She had ne
ver experienced that which her mother and father had lived through when the threat of an English attack was ever-present.

  She took up a shawl and wrapped it around her and bidding her mother farewell, she clattered down the steps of the keep and out into the stable yard. Her horse was tethered up over by the stables, but she wished to walk, enjoying the fresh air and the coolness of the day. The rain had turned to mist by now, and she set off across the moorlands, passing her father and brothers as she went.

  “And where are ye off to, Evie?” her father called out, as paused to watch them at work.

  “To Caitlin’s, Father,” she replied, as Owen and Rory laid down their tools.

  “Well, be back by nightfall, ye hear me,” he said, and she smiled, as both her brothers laughed.