by Ruth Langan
“Aye. The lady Hazlet will not permit anything less than perfection in herself and those who serve her. She believes that Duncrune Castle must be worthy of the MacCallum clan, and to that end she oversees everything that Mistress Gunn and the household staff undertake.”
“Perfection.” Kylia seemed to mull that a moment. “I suppose it is what we all strive for, but few achieve it.”
“The lady Hazlet comes closer than anyone, my lady.”
“Does the lady Hazlet always dress like a nun?”
“Aye. ’Tis said that when she heard the news of Ranald’s death, she donned the headdress and veil, and has worn it ever since. She lives a cloistered existence, leaving the fortress only to walk the gardens, where she prays. She has not once visited the village of Duncrune since the day the bodies of her brother and Ranald were brought home for burial. Each day she visits their tombs in the catacombs which lie beneath the chapel. She has said that her life without Ranald must be spent in prayer for his eternal soul.”
Kylia found herself moved to pity the woman who bore such grief alone. Now she was more convinced than ever that she must share the contents of her dream with Hazlet, in order to ease her pain.
Outside the doors of the great hall, the young servant paused and focused once more on the wolf pup in her arms.
In a low voice she whispered, “You’d be wise not to offend the lady Hazlet. For she wields great power.”
“Aye. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Ardis.” Kylia paused, then with a sigh, handed over her bundle. “You’re right, of course. See that he’s given a few small morsels of meat and a bit of water, and is confined to my chambers until I return.”
“Aye, my lady.” Relieved, Ardis took the pup from her hands and scurried away, as though eager to escape.
Kylia stepped inside the hall and was surprised at the number of men and ladies milling about, while servants threaded their way among the throngs, offering goblets of wine and ale. It would seem that the entire village and the surrounding hamlets must be empty of citizens this night. Again, Kylia thought, it was proof of how much the people loved their lord and wished to celebrate his safe return.
The minute Grant spotted Kylia he excused himself from those around him and hurried to her side.
His smile deepened. What a pretty picture she made, in the simple white gown and shawl, with her hair falling in soft waves to her waist. Just the sight of her had his heart growing lighter.
“My lady.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Were you able to rest?”
“Aye. And you?”
He shook his head. “I’d hoped to come to you in your chambers.” In truth, he’d wanted desperately to be alone with her for just a few moments. He sighed. “But there was no time. There was much to discuss with my brother and aunt, before meeting with the Council.”
Kylia thought she detected a flicker of weariness in his eyes, but before she could offer a word of comfort she found herself immediately surrounded by curious onlookers.
Grant called for silence before saying, “May I present the lady Kylia, of the clan Drummond.” The note of affection in his voice had many in the crowd straining to see this mysterious stranger.
A tall, dark-haired warrior stepped forward. “I am Culver, cousin to Hazlet. My mother and hers were first cousins.”
“Culver.” Kylia smiled as he took her hand in his.
He lifted it to his lips. “My cousin tells me you are from the Mystical Kingdom.”
“Aye. That is my home.”
He seemed surprised by her easy acknowledgment. “It’s true then, that you are a witch?”
Many in the crowd gasped at his utterance. Though many had whispered about her behind their hands, none would have dared speak the word aloud.
Before she could respond, a red-bearded giant pushed his way toward her and caught her hand in his, lifting it to his lips. “The clan Drummond, you say?” His booming voice carried clearly over the other voices in the room. “’Tis an ancient, noble clan indeed, with a proud heritage.”
Kylia gave him a grateful smile. “I know not your name, sir.”
“Lord Giles MacCallum. Though our land lies on the far banks of the loch, we have fought side by side with our cousins since the days of Stirling MacCallum, to keep our Highlands free of barbarians.”
“You knew the lord’s father?”
“Aye. And his friend, Ranald.”
At the mention of that name, Hazlet crossed herself and turned away, causing many in the room to pity her.
“It’s time we partook of the feast prepared by Mistress Gunn and our cook, Mester. Come, my lady.” Grant offered his arm and Kylia placed a hand on his sleeve. He turned to the older man. “Giles, you’ll join us at table?”
“Aye, my friend. I’d like nothing better than to get to know this lovely lady better.” The old warrior offered his arm to Hazlet. “Will you do me the honor, my lady?”
“Nay.” She shrank from his touch and turned away. “I must first see to the servants. But I’ll be along shortly.”
“A pity your aunt can’t enjoy herself as other women do.” Lord Giles MacCallum dropped an arm around Dougal’s shoulders and the two followed Grant and Kylia through the crowd until they’d reached the head table.
Grant took the place of honor at one end of the long table, with his man-at-arms Finlay at the other end. Kylia on his left and his brother on his right. Lord Giles eagerly sat on the other side of Kylia and immediately engaged her in conversation. By the time Hazlet arrived, trailed by her cousin Culver, the servants had begun making their way to the tables with trays of pheasant, salmon and mutton, along with baskets of bread and goblets of ale.
Hazlet took her place beside Dougal and fell silent, bowing her head until the others at table followed suit. Though she spoke no words aloud, her lips moved and the others waited respectfully until she lifted her head and accepted food from a servant.
“Now.” Giles leaned toward Kylia. “I must hear all about your Mystical Kingdom, for I’ve heard the stories since I was but a lad.”
“What did you hear, my lord?” Kylia helped herself to a piece of fish.
“About dragons and monsters and all manner of fearsome guardians of your kingdom.”
“That much is true, my friend.” Grant sipped his ale. “For I first had to slay the dragon before crossing the Enchanted Loch.”
“Is it enchanted?” Giles arched a brow.
“It would seem so. I saw water that not only sparkled like diamonds, but was filled with the precious stones. And then rubies, as the dragon’s blood was spilled into it.”
“A trick of the mind.” Hazlet’s eyes narrowed with indignation.
“I know what I saw, Aunt.” Grant thought about the jewels he carried in a tiny pouch in his tunic. Though they would prove the truth of his words, he was reluctant to share them with others, for they were special to him.
He turned to Giles. “I was so weak I should have drowned, but the water refused to let me sink. Instead I was allowed to drift until I reached the far shore, where I fell at the lady’s feet.”
The others around the table were silent, watching and listening. Most were fascinated by all they heard.
“What other amazing things did you see, my lord?” Culver glanced at Kylia. “We wish to hear everything.”
Grant deliberately refrained from any mention of the fairies and winged horses, knowing there were some who might be willing to risk the fierce guardians of the Mystical Kingdom in order to steal such treasures. This world was filled with unscrupulous men who would use such innocent creatures for their own gain. Likewise he made no mention of their experience in the Forest of Darkness. It was, like the dragons and monsters, a barrier that stood between his world and Kylia’s. He did, however, recount their harrowing encounter with the barbarians, and Kylia’s courage.
All who heard were amazed that this lovely, gentle woman could reveal such strength of purpose.
“Were
you not afraid, my lady?” Giles tugged on his beard.
“I was. But I was even more afraid of doing nothing, for that would surely have doomed us both.”
“You should have seen her.” Grant described the way Kylia controlled the barbarians with lifted arms, until the two of them were able to make their escape. “The lady was magnificent.”
As his narrative continued, Hazlet’s frown deepened, revealing just how repulsed she was by the images conjured by her nephew’s tale.
“Dragons. Monsters. What nonsense. It is obvious you were under a spell, nephew, for we all know such things do not exist.”
“Perhaps not in our world, Aunt, but I saw them with my own eyes.” He turned to wink at Kylia. “I saw other things too amazing to speak of, for you’d then swear I was daft.”
While the others laughed, Hazlet pursed her lips. “Perhaps you are still under a spell, nephew.”
Giles made an attempt to lighten the older woman’s mood. “And why not? When a young, healthy warrior meets a maiden as lovely as this, how can he help but fall under her spell? I believe I’ve fallen as well, my lady, though I’m well past my prime.”
Hazlet got to her feet. “Such ribald remarks are beneath you, Giles, and insult me, since you know I tolerate no levity concerning the baser instincts.”
“Please, Aunt. You know Giles meant no harm.” Dougal attempted to lay a hand on her arm, but she pushed it aside.
“You would take up sides with these others?”
“Aunt, I was merely…”
She lifted a hand to silence him. “I know how easy it is for a man to be led astray by a coarse woman. But I’d hoped those who bear the name of MacCallum were better than most.” Her gaze swept those at table, pausing to linger on Kylia before moving on to Grant, and then to Dougal. “It would seem I was wrong.”
She turned away and walked from the great hall, looking for all the world like a queen among peasants.
As soon as she took her leave, the room was abuzz with speculation about the lord’s unwelcome houseguest, and the lady who was the acknowledged mistress of Duncrune Castle.
Grant leaned close to Kylia. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my aunt. She labors under a heavy heart.”
Overhearing, Giles gave a grunt of displeasure. “Aye, and woe to anyone who tries to forget it. The lady not only suffers her grief, she embraces it. Welcomes it. Wears it, along with her nun’s habit, to keep it fresh in her mind and ours.”
“Giles…” Grant shook his head, but it was too late.
The old man’s words had Dougal getting to his feet to defend the object of his scorn. “Though it may be true that our aunt grieves, who’s to say when a broken heart will heal? Her pain is real, Giles, and I hope you will be gentleman enough to retract your accusation here and now.”
The older man nodded. “Forgive me, Dougal.” He turned to his host. “And you, my lord. It was not my intention to disparage your beloved aunt.”
Satisfied, Dougal took his seat.
Culver pushed away from the table and bowed to Grant. “Your brother is right, my lord. Your aunt must be feeling abandoned by all who love her. By your leave, I’ll go after her and keep her company, so that we don’t add to her grief.”
“That’s kind of you, cousin.” Grant nodded his approval. “You’re excused, Culver.”
As he walked from the room they returned their attention to their meal. Soon, with the help of Giles’s gentle teasing, they were once again laughing among themselves and sharing tales of battles and adventures.
As the conversation swirled around her, Kylia thought about what Giles had said. Could Hazlet not see that her expressions of grief were creating a chasm between her and those who loved her?
She realized with a trace of sadness that Hazlet’s absence brought a sense of relief to everyone in this hall. Without her dour countenance they could enjoy the levity of this happy occasion without guilt.
Chapter Fourteen
As the night wore on and the ale flowed, the guests became more raucous. It was impossible to take more than a bite of salmon or taste of mutton before pausing for another speech and an emptying of goblets, only to have them filled once more by passing servants.
Though Hazlet never returned, her friend and cousin, Culver, moved through the crowd, head bent in earnest conversation with many of the men from the village.
“M’laird.” A bleary-eyed warrior shuffled to his feet. “It’s come to my attention that ye left yer people without protection for many days while ye were off fetching the lady seated at yer table.”
Grant nodded. “Aye. My journey took many days. But the lady kindly offered to accompany me to my home to lend her services.”
“And what would those services be?”
At his coarse suggestion, the crowd fell silent.
Anger flared in Grant’s eyes, though he managed to bank it. “The lady has the gift of healing and sight.”
“A witch,” someone muttered aloud.
“How do we know ye aren’t under her spell?” another shouted.
“Aye.” A barrel-chested warrior got to his feet and tossed aside his goblet. “How do we even know yer the same man who left Duncrune Castle all those days ago? If ye’re in the company of a witch, how do we trust that ye’ll still protect us? I say we should choose another laird from among those present. One whose mind isn’t clouded by witchcraft.”
The bleary-eyed warrior took up the challenge. “If yer father were alive, Grant MacCallum, we’d have no such decision to make. Now there was a man who knew how to fight his enemies.”
“Aye.” A shout went up that nearly shook the rafters.
“We deserve a laird who can make us all proud as well.” The warrior’s voice trembled with emotion.
The men and their ladies drank, then pounded their cups on the wooden tables to attract the attention of the harried servants.
“We demand an answer, m’laird.” The warrior’s voice was roughened by ale and anger. “Did ye tarry along the way with the witch? Is that why ye left yer people so long without protection?”
“You desire an answer?” When Grant’s hand went to the sword at his hip Kylia closed a hand over his.
Her voice was a low, quiet plea. “This isn’t the way, my love.”
“It’s the only answer I’ll give them. If they choose to turn against you, they turn against me, as…”
His words faded as a group of strangers strode into the great hall. At the sight of them, the crowd fell silent.
“I come seeking Laird Grant MacCallum.” The booming voice of the leader carried to the rafters of the hall.
Grant stepped closer. “I am the man you seek.”
The leader extended his hand. “I am Burke, laird of the clan Kerr. I was off in battle with an army of barbarians, and have only now learned that you and the lovely lady Kylia saved the life of my son, Ewald, and his wife and family. Had it not been for your kindness, I now know that they would have perished at the hands of the thieves who raided their flock and burned their cottage. My people told me of your goodness, and that of your lady. How the two of you stayed, without sleep or shelter, protecting them and their flock until my son was strong enough to be returned to his village. Even then you didn’t abandon him, but accompanied him home before taking up your journey once more.”
He turned and directed his men to step forward, bearing one cask of ale, and another of gold.
Grant couldn’t hide his astonishment. “You are too generous, Burke of the clan Kerr.”
“No more than you, my laird. For my son and his family are more precious to me than gold.” He looked beyond Grant to where Kylia watched in silence. “Is this your lady?”
“The lady Kylia of the clan Drummond.”
“Drummond?” Burke’s smile widened. “Your clan is ancient and noble, my lady. I have heard of your healing powers, and I am grateful.” He lifted her hand to his lips. Then he turned to Grant. “In gratitude for your kindn
ess, I pledge my loyalty, and that of my warriors. Should you find your land under siege, you need only send word and we will come with all haste.”
He turned and, flanked by his warriors, began to withdraw.
“Wait.” Grant extended his hands. “Stay and refresh yourselves.”
The older man shook his head. “These are dangerous times in our Highlands. There are invaders everywhere. I dare not leave my clan without my protection.”
With that he strode from the hall.
In the stunned silence that followed, Dougal stood and faced the crowd. “Let this be an answer to any questions that linger. There can be no doubt that Grant MacCallum is the finest, noblest laird in the Highlands, for he risked his own life for that of a stranger in need. But besides being a noble laird, there’s also no finer brother in the Highlands than mine.” He raised his goblet. “To my brother. My laird.” He drained his ale before adding, “I pledge my heart and my sword.”
“As do I, lad.” Giles stood and raised his sword to the ceiling.
“As do I.” Finlay, looking grave, added his voice.
“Highlanders proud and free.” The men, caught up in the spirit of the moment, leaped up shouting the words over and over. Soon their women were standing as well, adding their voices to the chorus.
Grant looked over at Kylia and saw the glimmer of tears on her lashes. He caught her hand and drew her up beside him before brushing a kiss to her palm. “Why do you weep, my lady?”
“I worried over you, my lord. And yet what I hear now tells me that your people have great affection for their laird.”
He continued holding her hand in his as he acknowledged the cheers of his people. Then, as they finally took their seats, he leaned close to whisper, “I can’t allow myself to forget that there is one among them who would betray me. And, despite the will of the people, there is the Council to consider.”
“The morrow is soon enough to think about that, my lord.” She smiled up at him, her tears forgotten. “Tonight you should enjoy the fruits of your labors. For you have returned to the bosom of your people, and they will sustain you through whatever trials are to come.”
