The Betrayal

by Ruth Langan

“This is our cook, Mester.” Grant turned to a woman as round as she was tall, with a stark white linen apron tied around her ample middle. “Mester, the lady Kylia.”

  The cook bowed her head before wiping her hands on her apron and taking a step backward, as though afraid to get too close to a witch.

  “Our stable master, Gresham.”

  Tall, gaunt, wearing his plaid tossed over a saffron shirt with voluminous sleeves, the man looked more like a preacher than a Highland stable master.

  He doffed his cap and greeted Kylia with a long, assessing look, before saying, “Welcome, my lady.”

  He took up the reins of their horse and led it across the courtyard.

  “And the man who has fought beside my father, and my father’s father. Finlay MacCallum is a cousin to me, and a trusted friend.”

  Kylia’s smile was as warm as sunshine. “Finlay.”

  “My lady.” The old man’s smile was equally warm. “I bid you welcome to Duncrune Castle.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Come inside and warm yourselves.” The housekeeper pinched one of the serving wenches, who held the door and stood aside allowing them all to enter. “While Mester prepares a feast, I’ll fetch tea and ale to the great hall.”

  As Kylia stepped inside, she drank in the sight of soaring staircases, highly polished banisters, and a massive chandelier with its hundreds of candles casting their light from ceilings high overhead, supported by massive wooden beams. Ancient tapestries, depicting the history of the MacCallum clan, lined the walls.

  At the far end of the hallway were ornately carved doors leading to a chapel. The sweet smell of incense drifted from within.

  Grant suddenly paused and caught Kylia’s hand in his. Those around them looked on in startled silence as he lifted it to his lips and said almost reverently, “May you find the warmth of welcome in my home, my lady.”

  Chapter Twelve

  At the sudden silence that fell over those around them, Dougal clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You mustn’t keep this lovely lady all to yourself.” He turned to Kylia and offered his arm. “Permit me to lead you to our great hall, my lady.”

  Charmed by his boyish enthusiasm, Kylia laid a hand on his arm and walked beside him. Laughing, Grant offered his arm to his aunt.

  She stepped back. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Grant watched as she made her way to the chapel, where she dropped to her knees. With a shake of his head he trailed behind the others.

  Once inside the great hall they settled themselves in chairs drawn close to the fire. Within minutes servants moved among them, offering ale to revive them after their arduous journey.

  Kylia studied the crossed swords above the mantel, and the shield bearing the motto, In ardua petit.

  She smiled. “He has attempted difficult things.” She glanced at Grant. “Do these words speak of your father? Or one who went before him?”

  “They refer to my father’s father, who decreed that all those who follow would achieve greatness, if only they would attempt the difficult challenges.”

  “A noble heritage, my lord.”

  “Aye. Alas, my father died far too young to achieve the greatness he desired.”

  Hazlet, who had entered alone, arched a brow as she studied Kylia. “How is it that you can read the ancient words. Are you an educated woman?”

  “My mother and grandmother saw to my education and that of my sisters. The ancient words are as familiar to me as the words we are now speaking.”

  Hazlet accepted tea from a servant. “Then you would understand the other motto of our clan, the one my nephew should have inscribed along with the words of our ancestor.” She enunciated each word precisely. “Deus refugium nostrum.”

  Kylia nodded. “God is our refuge.”

  “I’m surprised you can speak His name, since everyone knows that witches worship devils.”

  “Aunt.” As much surprised as annoyed, Grant set aside his ale. “I’ll remind you that the lady Kylia is a guest of this fortress, and is here at my invitation.”

  Kylia touched a hand to his before turning to the older woman. “You need have no fear, my lady. I share the same beliefs as you.”

  “But surely you go against all that is good and holy by practicing your witchcraft.”

  Kylia saw the servants pause in their work to study her, and chose her words carefully. “What we do is share our gifts with those who have need of them. When your nephew came to our kingdom in search of aid, I offered to do what I could.”

  “Through witchcraft,” Hazlet muttered as she folded her hands in her lap.

  Attempting to smooth the rough waters, Dougal turned to his brother. “I want to hear all about your journey. Is there truly a dragon guarding the lady’s kingdom?”

  “Aye. Unfortunately, I was forced to slay it.”

  “A battle with a dragon.” Dougal’s eyes danced with undisguised excitement. “How I wish I could have been there to see it.”

  Grant felt the sting of remorse. “It’s a pity that you were needed here in my stead, and weren’t able to share the adventure. It is something I deeply regret.”

  “No more than I. But you were unharmed,” Dougal said with a trace of pride. “And you’ve returned to those who love you.”

  Grant chuckled. “In fact, I was badly wounded. When first I confronted Kylia, I was so weak I fell at her feet. She and her family healed my wounds and made me welcome in their home.”

  “You are healers?” Hazlet’s head came up sharply.

  Kylia nodded. “We do what we can.”

  Dougal asked Kylia. “How did my brother persuade you to leave your kingdom and accompany him to the Highlands?”

  She turned to Grant and the look in her eyes instantly softened. “I could see the goodness in his heart. That alone persuaded me.”

  Hazlet set aside her cup with a clatter. “You have yet to ask about your kinsmen, nephew. Have you no care about the safety of your people?”

  Grant looked up. “Has there been an incident?”

  “No one was harmed,” Dougal said quickly.

  “But our kinsmen were left without leadership while you pursued your folly. There have been sheep stolen in the night. An innocent lad was feared kidnapped by barbarians. The men of the Council have been muttering among themselves that their laird has failed them.” Hazlet’s tone lowered. “Dougal took charge as quickly as he could, but the people have a right to expect their laird to be here to put an end to these problems. There are those who believe it is time for you to step aside in favor of your brother.”

  “Aunt.” Dougal’s face reddened and he crossed the room to place a hand on his brother’s sleeve. “I want you to know that I have no interest in taking your place as laird of our people. These few days have been enough to try my patience.”

  Grant smiled and patted his hand. “I thank you, Dougal.” He lifted his head. “And you, Aunt. I thank you for your honesty. I will think on the words you’ve spoken, for the welfare of my people must be uppermost in my mind. If I believe in my heart that I am failing my kinsmen, I will surely step aside in favor of one who would better serve them.”

  He glanced over at Kylia, who was watching and listening in silence. “The lady will want to refresh herself.” Grant offered his hand and Kylia got to her feet. “Perhaps, Aunt Hazlet, you’d care to show our guest to her chambers?”

  His aunt shook her head, sending the ever-present veil drifting about her shoulders. “I must see that riders are sent out to the village to invite our kinsmen to your feast. They will want to see for themselves that you are indeed safely returned. Ardis will show the lady to her rooms.”

  A little serving wench stepped forward. “If you’ll follow me, my lady.”

  Grant squeezed Kylia’s hand. “Go along then. Ardis will return you to the great hall when the feast is ready. In the meantime, you’ll have time to rest from your journey.”

  Kylia nodded. “Thank you.” When she t
urned to thank his aunt, she saw only the hem of her gown as Hazlet hurried from the room.

  She followed behind the little servant. At the top of the stairs they walked along a hallway lined with fresh tapers. The floors, Kylia noted, were spotless, as were the walls.

  The young servant paused to open double doors, then stood aside while Kylia entered. Inside, the room smelled of beeswax and fresh rushes. A cozy fire burned on the hearth. In the sleeping chamber beyond, another fire burned, warming a lovely pallet lined with fur throws and fresh linens. A serving table nearby held a tray upon which rested a pitcher and basin.

  Kylia turned to the servant. “This is lovely.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Ardis stood aside as a procession of servants entered. One folded a thick blanket in front of the fireplace, before positioning a tub on it. The others poured steaming water from buckets, until the tub was nearly full.

  When they were gone, Ardis held out her arms. “May I take your burden, my lady?”

  Kylia handed over the bundle and the wench gave a delighted laugh at the sight of the wolf pup yawning.

  “You may place Wee Lad on my pallet, Ardis. He’s still young enough that he requires a great deal of sleep.”

  “Aye, my lady.” The wench set the bundle down, then helped Kylia remove her cloak, her boots and, at last, her gown and chemise.

  Kylia stepped into the warm water and gave a sigh of pleasure as the little servant scrubbed her hair. “Oh, Ardis, I could stay here all night.”

  “Was it a difficult journey, my lady?”

  Kylia realized that now that she had arrived at Grant’s home, the trials and tribulations of their journey had slipped away.

  “It matters not, Ardis. For now that I am here, I can put the journey behind me.”

  She stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in a thick blanket before settling on a chaise. When she was comfortably seated, the servant poured strong hot tea and offered it to her.

  “Rest now, my lady. I will come for you when it is time to dress for the feast.”

  “Thank you, Ardis.” Kylia sipped the tea and stared into the flickering flames of the fire, before setting the cup aside and letting her head fall back.

  Deliciously warm and content, she was soon fast asleep, with the wolf pup curled up beside her.

  The dream was so real she could hear every clang of metal as sword met shield. Could feel every blow as the Highlanders and barbarians came together with clubs and dirks and finally, with their weapons lost on the field of battle, nothing but their fists.

  She heard the voice of one, raised above the din. His face was so like the face of her love, his voice so familiar, she sucked in a breath in her sleep. “We fight to the death, lads. For the lives of all those we love are in our hands this day.”

  This, Kylia knew, was Stirling MacCallum, father of the man she loved.

  She saw him take a knife thrust to the shoulder and reel in pain. In sleep she absorbed his pain and clutched her shoulder, as he clutched his.

  “Ranald. Behind you.” Despite his wound, he bent to retrieve a sword from the grass and attacked the one who had struck down his friend. As soon as he’d managed to run the barbarian through, he dropped his sword and knelt beside the man he loved like a brother. He brushed fair hair away from a face contorted in agony, and stared down into pale gray eyes. “Nay, Ranald. Hold on, my friend. I’ll finish off these strangers and take you home.”

  Ranald’s voice was soft, breathy, and oddly boyish for one so big. “I’m dying, Stirling.”

  “Nay. You cannot leave me. Think of Hazlet, my friend. Let her love give you the strength to live.”

  “If only I could. Be kind to her, Stirling, for she’ll need your kindness, your strength, to see her through what is to come. Don’t let her hide away in shame.”

  “Why should she be shamed? You fought like a true Highlander, Ranald. No greater love can there be than this, that you would give your life for those you love.”

  The dying man shook his head. “You know your sister’s fierce pride.”

  Stirling smiled. “Aye. There are none prouder than Hazlet.”

  “She’ll retreat in anger and pain. Tell her…” Ranald’s voice was coming in short bursts now, as his life slowly drained away. His fingers curled around his friend’s wrist as he struggled to say what was in his heart. “Tell her to confide in your Mary, who has a kind and compassionate heart. And tell Hazlet I love her more than life itself.”

  “You’ll tell her yourself, as soon as…” Stirling watched as the light went out of his friend’s eyes and they stared vacantly. His own filled with tears and he caught Ranald to his chest, rocking him gently while he absorbed the pain of grief. “…as soon as I take you home, my friend.”

  It was a blow to his head that brought him out of his numbness and grief. Releasing his hold on his friend, he took up his sword and drove back the attacker, only to find two more. As he fought them off, three more appeared, and then a score, until his vision was filled with an army of barbarians, screaming and shouting as they moved in for the kill.

  Standing alone, the bodies of his fallen comrades littering the field, he sustained more than a dozen wounds, any one of which would have killed a lesser man. But he fought valiantly until at last, bloody and beaten, his sword dropped from his nerveless fingers and he sank to his knees.

  The barbarians were on him, with swords and clubs, until the grass ran red with his blood.

  The pain was overwhelming now. So much pain he wanted to cry out. Instead he held his silence, robbing his enemy of their final triumph.

  His last thoughts were of the love he felt for his wife, Mary, and infant son, Grant, as he gave up his life.

  Kylia sat up with a jolt, her body fevered, her mind troubled. As awareness slowly dawned, the pain she’d been feeling receded. But though it diminished, it didn’t entirely disappear. Bits and pieces of it remained with her, reminding her again of the price warriors paid so that those they loved could remain free.

  The barbarians had invaded their land in order to take captives. The Highland men would be sacrificed so that the women and children would be enslaved. Their plans had been foiled by warriors like Stirling and Ranald. And were still being foiled by their descendants.

  Though she was repulsed by the thought of war, she knew that without courageous warriors like Grant, and those who had gone before him, the future would be bleak for these good people.

  Kylia stared into the fire, seeing in her mind the man who had looked so like Grant. The father he had never known. She knew that this dream had been visited upon her for a reason. She’d been given a glimpse into the minds of two men who had loved each other, had fought valiantly side by side, and had died together on the field of battle.

  Was there some other reason for the dream? All her life she’d been gifted with the ability to see special people or events in dreams. Always they had been visited upon her for very specific reasons.

  Perhaps in this case she’d seen Stirling and Ranald, and had felt their pain, because their loved ones needed to know that they had not died in vain.

  She felt privileged to be able to tell those they loved just how courageous they had been. At her first opportunity, she would reveal her dream to Grant and Dougal, and their aunt. Though Hazlet made no secret of her distrust of Kylia’s gifts, she would appreciate learning that the man she’d loved and lost had died like a noble warrior while, with his last breath, proclaiming his love for her.

  It would surely go a long way toward easing the pain of her loss. Perhaps such a revelation would even help her throw off the garb of grief and return her mind and heart to the land of the living.

  At a knock on her door, Kylia called out and smiled at the servant Ardis crossing the room.

  Kylia felt indeed grateful for this gift. Because of it, she was about to lighten the burden of a woman who had been buried in grief for too many years.

  Perhaps this, as much as finding the traitor, was he
r reason for being here. If she could bring peace to the hearts of those who grieved, her journey here would not have been in vain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Come, my lady.” Ardis led the way across the room, where a number of garments had been arranged. “It is time to prepare for the feast.”

  After helping Kylia into an embroidered chemise of softest lawn, and several petticoats, Ardis pointed to the row of gowns. “What is your pleasure, my lady?”

  Kylia sighed. “So many lovely things. Who provided all this?”

  “My lord MacCallum.” The servant dimpled. “He asked the village seamstresses to bring their wares, in the hope that some would fit you. Some may be too long, or too wide, but I will find a way to hide the imperfections.”

  “You’re clever with needle and thread, Ardis?”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  “As is my own mother. I was the bane of her existence because I could never master the art of sewing.” Kylia pointed to a simple white gown. “I believe this one will do nicely.”

  The servant helped her into the dress, pleased to see that it needed nothing more than a sash to make it fit the lady’s tiny waist. When Kylia was dressed, Ardis brushed her waist-length hair until it gleamed like a raven’s wing in the firelight.

  After draping a shawl of white wool, across her shoulders, the servant beckoned. “Now, my lady, I will lead you to the great hall.”

  “Thank you.” Kylia lifted the bundled pup into the crook of her arm before following.

  Ardis avoided her eyes. “I hope you won’t take offense, my lady.”

  “At what, Ardis?”

  “I don’t believe the lady Hazlet will approve of an animal at table.”

  “Ah.” Kylia glanced down at her tiny bundle. “Perhaps no one will notice. For he eats very little.”

  The young wench swallowed whatever else she was about to say and offered no further advice.

  As they descended the stairs, Kylia surveyed the great hall. “Everything is so clean and fresh. Mistress Gunn is to be admired.”