Fated Hearts 02 - Highland Echoes

by Ceci Giltenan

Mama’s heart is filled with love,

  Papa watches from above,

  Hush my sweetling, little dove.

  They were the nonsense words mothers crooned to bairns, but he was entranced by the soft, sweet voice of what could only be an angel. He stopped in front of the tiny cottage to listen.

  Hush my sweetling, little sprite,

  Too soon ye’ll wake to morning bright,

  So sleep now through the still dark night,

  Hush my sweetling, little sprite.

  The woman stopped singing words but continued to hum her lullaby until finally her voice faded away altogether. Bram was so captivated by the music it took him a moment to realize it had emanated from Innes’ cottage. However, it certainly was not Innes singing. She would be in the kitchen or the keep now, overseeing the evening meal. Who was it then?

  As if in answer to his unspoken question, a young woman he had never seen before stepped out of the cottage. She was perfectly lovely. Her face was delicately beautiful; as angelic as her voice. Rich auburn hair spilled from under a white kertch in soft curls that reached well past the middle of her back. Tall for a woman, she had full breasts and her belt cinched a narrow waist. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, her movements graceful and oddly enticing. Bram felt a twinge of disappointment when his brain registered the kertch. She was married. Of course she was—she had been crooning a lullaby to a child.

  When she cast a glance his direction, she gasped and stumbled backwards, feeling blindly for the door latch. “I didn’t see ye there. Ye startled me.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to.” Why was he apologizing to her? He had committed no offense. He took a step toward her.

  She went from frightened to ferocious in a matter of seconds. “Stay back. What are ye doin’ here anyway? Who are ye?” she demanded.

  Who did she think she was? She was certainly in no position to demand anything from him. “I think, lass, it is ye who needs to start explaining. Who are ye and why were ye in Innes’ cottage?”

  “Innes is my grandmother, she asked us to stay with her.”

  “Yer grandmother? Innes has no children. I won’t tolerate liars, no matter how lovely they are. Who are ye? I want the truth and I won’t ask again.”

  She scowled, affronted. “I am not a liar. I told ye, Innes is my grandmother and she did have a child, a son named Tristan. I am his daughter, Grace Breive.”

  Tristan, aye, he had a vague memory of that. “I stand corrected. She had a son. But Tristan died years ago.”

  “Nay, Tristan disappeared years ago. He didn’t die.”

  “And ye are his daughter, Innes’ long-lost granddaughter. How sweet. And unlikely. What game is this? Innes is important to Clan Sutherland. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of her, playing on her feelings.”

  “I am not playing on her feelings. I am her granddaughter and have proven that to her. But it’s a long story and I don’t see how any of this concerns ye.”

  “It concerns me, Grace, because everything at Sutherland concerns me. I am Bram Sutherland, Laird Sutherland’s heir.”

  Grace became immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no offense. But, I have told ye the truth.”

  “The babe ye were singing to is yers?”

  “Aye, I have a young daughter. I should go back inside. I just stepped out for a bit of air. The rain kept us indoors all day.” Again, her hand groped behind her, searching for the door latch.

  “This isn’t over, Grace Breive. If ye and yer husband want to live at Sutherland, ye will need permission from the laird, whether ye are Innes’ granddaughter or no. And I hope ye do have proof of who ye are. I won’t allow ye to hurt Innes in any way and giving her false hope about a long lost son would kill her.” He took a step towards her, reaching past to lift the latch, which so far had eluded her hand. “Goodnight, Mistress Breive.”

  He was surprised by the expression on her face. It wasn’t anger or fear of discovery. The green depths of her eyes were guileless and she appeared…was it grateful?

  “Goodnight laird—I mean Bram—I mean sir. Goodnight.” She backed through the door and closed it.

  He stood there for a moment, trying to sort out his thoughts about this newest addition to the clan. It all seemed odd. He would speak with Da about this…but not tonight. He resumed his walk, entering into the inner bailey. He had almost reached the kitchens when his brother Ian called to him. “Bram, there ye are. Da sent someone to fetch ye from the stables, but I figured ye were avoiding dinner in the hall and I’d find ye in the kitchens.”

  Ian was two years younger than Bram. For brothers, they looked nothing alike. Both were tall, but Bram had fair hair and blue eyes like their mother and Ian had dark hair and brown eyes like their father. Their temperaments were vastly different as well. Although Bram smiled easily, he tended to be quiet and often serious. Like Laird Sutherland, he revealed very little of what he was thinking, sometimes appearing aloof. Even so, most of their clansmen considered him level-headed and fair. They believed he would make a good leader when his time came. Ian, too, was quick with a smile but that was where the similarities ended. He enjoyed a good time, and seemingly took very little seriously. However, Ian was acutely observant and absolutely forthright. Most people knew exactly where he stood on any issue. As different as they were, Ian was truly his best friend. “Aye Ian, ye know me well. Do me a kindness and tell Da ye didn’t find me.”

  “Ah, well now brother, I could tell Da ye weren’t in the kitchens, because ye weren’t. But Mother is anxious to see ye too and ye and she can see right through any guile.”

  Bram sighed heavily. “I suppose it was vain hope to think I could avoid this.” Bran fell in step by his brother as they walked to the keep.

  “Aye, it was. Ye know how excited mother was to finally have a daughter, or at least a daughter-to-be. Da would only say that ye were the one who chose to release the MacNicol lass from the betrothal. When Mam kept asking questions he roared for someone to fetch ye from the stable and then he stomped off to his solar with a jug of whiskey under one arm.”

  “Damn, I wanted to talk to him about Innes.”

  “Ye heard about her long-lost granddaughter?”

  “I just met her. Ye knew about her?”

  “Aye, she arrived the day ye and Da left for Naomh-dùn. She seems nice enough. Innes adores her.”

  “I wish we knew more about her. It is hard to believe their story and yet I don’t see what they have to gain by lying.”

  “Innes is certain the lass is her granddaughter. She had a brooch that belonged to Tristan.”

  “What about her husband? Have ye met him? What is he like?”

  “She has no husband. She’s a widow. She arrived with just her daughter, a few days ago. It was the day ye and Da left.”

  “A widow? She is an awfully young widow.”

  “Bram, let this go for now. Innes is thrilled. Tomorrow will be soon enough to sort out Innes’ granddaughter. Besides, it will likely take ye all evening to answer to mother’s questions.”

  “I suppose ye are right. Well then, let the interrogation begin,” said Bram as they entered the keep.

  *

  Grace leaned against the door, listening for Bram Sutherland’s retreating footsteps. For much too long a moment, she heard nothing. Then, finally, the crunch of the gravel told her he was leaving.

  So that was Bram Sutherland. How could ye have been so rude and stupid, Grace? Her initial shock at finding a man standing outside the cottage had quickly shifted to fear. She supposed that feeling threatened, her protective instincts had kicked in and she had gone on the offensive to keep Kristen safe. Perhaps that is also why she didn’t correct him when he assumed her husband was with her. Still, he would find out soon enough.

  She had to admire how he wished to protect her grandmother though. But the idea that he thought he would have to protect Innes from Grace was worrisome. Now Grace feared she had only made it worse. She sat down
and put her head in her hands as she realized she had just stirred the ire of another laird’s son.

  Chapter 4

  When Innes had returned to the cottage the previous evening, Grace told her about her confrontation with Bram.

  “Don’t worry so, Grace,” her grandmother chided. “Laird Sutherland is reasonable, as is Bram. When they see the letter, and yer father’s brooch, there will be no question as to who ye are.”

  Still Grace worried and hadn’t slept well.

  The next morning, she was helping in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. Innes kneaded bread dough as Kristen stood on a chair beside her, playing with a small ball of dough, imitating her great-grandmother’s actions. “Mama, I’m making bwead.”

  “I see, sweetling. Grandmother, let me know if she is too much underfoot.”

  Maisie, a large woman in her fifties who was her grandmother’s second in command, laughed heartily. “Grace, love, that wee one could be swinging from Innes’ hair and yer granny wouldn’t complain.”

  “Aye, that’s true,” said Innes as she planted a kiss on the top of Kristen’s head. “’Tis glad I am to have ye both here.”

  Grace furrowed her brow. “I just don’t want her to be a burden.”

  Maisie put her hands on her hips. “What’s the matter with ye today? Ye’ve been brooding all morning.”

  “She is worried about meeting Laird Sutherland,” said Innes.

  “Well, put that worry out of yer head, lass, Laird Sutherland isn’t all that fearsome. Sure, he can be a bit crusty, but what man can’t? I can’t imagine what he would object to.”

  “She ran into Bram last night, and it sounds like he was, what did ye call it? Crusty?” said Innes. “I figure he was on his way to the kitchens.”

  Maisie grinned. “Avoiding the hall, was he?”

  “After hearing about all that happened, I can well understand why,” said Innes.

  “What happened?” asked Grace.

  “It seems another man married his betrothed before he could claim her,” said Maisie.

  Dear God, if that had happened to Fearchar Morrison, Grace firmly believed a clan war would ensue. “Will there be repercussions?”

  Her grandmother smiled. “Nay, I don’t think so. It isn’t as if it was a love match. The marriage was arranged by the laird and her uncle. It seems they all came to an agreement that it was for the best.”

  Just then a maid servant stepped into the kitchen. “Innes, Laird Sutherland wishes to speak with ye and yer granddaughter now.”

  “Aye, thank ye Ellie. Grace, go fetch the letter and brooch. The Laird will want to see them.”

  “Aye, grandmother.” Grace hurried out of the kitchen and to her grandmother’s cottage. Her memories from the last day she stood before a clan laird were not pleasant. She was so nervous now, it felt as if her heart was in her throat. What would she do if the laird turned her away? She hadn’t even considered that eventuality. She was suddenly profoundly glad that Dugald and Mary had offered her a home with them in Durness. When she reached the little cottage, she had allowed fear to overtake her.

  What never helps, Grace? She heard her mother’s sweet voice say the words that she had repeated so often when Grace was small.

  Panicking. Panicking never helps, Mama. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but her hands still shook as she located the box and removed the articles she needed. She slipped them in her pocket before tucking the box away again and rushing back.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Innes had brushed the flour from Kristen’s clothes and was just wiping the last of it from her face. She looked up at Grace. “Grace.” Her grandmother’s voice was stern. “Ye must wipe that terrified look off yer face before we meet the laird.”

  Grace nodded and took a deep breath. “Aye, Grandmother.” The only experience she had in dealing with a laird was a few short weeks ago when she had paid her rents. Grace’s grandfather was a laird and her own mother feared his power and vengeance. Fearchar’s threats echoed in her brain. Ye will be living at the keep before the end of the summer and then ye will be mine to use when I want ye. That is my promise. It will be better for ye if ye decide to come of yer own accord, and the sooner the better. If ye resist me on this, I will make ye sorry. But, she hadn’t told her Grandmother about Fearchar’s threats so Innes surely wouldn’t understand Grace’s fear now.

  She picked Kristen up and they walked to the large square tower keep. Grace hadn’t been inside it yet. For that matter she had never been inside any keep. When they entered the hall she was awestruck. The ceilings were vaulted stone. She had never seen anything but timber or thatch. Three men sat at what was obviously the laird’s table. One was Bram and she assumed the older man was Laird Eanraig Sutherland. The other man looked so much like a younger version of the laird that he too must be a son.

  When they reached the table, they both curtsied, Grace a bit awkwardly because she held Kristen.

  The older man said, “Good day to ye, Innes.”

  “Good day, Laird,” her grandmother responded pleasantly.

  “Is this the young woman who claims to be yer granddaughter?”

  Grace cringed inwardly. Claims to be?

  But Innes seemed unbothered by his choice of words. “Aye, Laird, this is Tristan’s daughter, Grace, and her bairn.”

  Grace’s said, “Good day, Laird.”

  Kristen echoed, “Good day, Waird.”

  The laird’s lips twitched. “Good day, lass. Ye have very nice manners for such a wee one.”

  Kristen grinned and nodded. “I know.”

  The laird laughed outright.

  Grace whispered, “Kristen the nice thing to say is ‘thank ye, Laird’.”

  “Fank ye, Waird.”

  “Ye are welcome, lass. What is yer name?”

  “Kwithten.”

  “Kristen. That’s a bonny name.”

  Kristen smiled shyly before burying her face in Grace’s neck.

  “Grace, yer daughter is lovely.”

  “Thank ye, Laird.”

  He turned his attention to her grandmother. “Innes, thank ye for introducing us to yer guests. Now, I would like to speak with Grace alone. I’m sure ye won’t mind taking this lovely wee lass back to the kitchens with ye for a bit?”

  For the first time, a look of concern crossed Innes’ face. “Laird, Grace is my granddaughter.”

  “And I’m yer laird. I’ve asked ye to leave us for a bit.” His voice lost some of the warmth it had when he had been speaking to Kristen.

  Innes cast a worried look at Grace. “Aye, laird. Come with grannie, poppet.”

  Grace put Kristen down. The little girl happily took Innes’ hand and walked towards the door with her. Kristen asked, “Wiww we make more bwead?” as the pair left the hall.

  Grace stood stiffly, waiting for the laird to address her, acutely aware of the three men scrutinizing her.

  Laird Sutherland considered her in silence for a long moment before speaking to her. “Grace, these are two of my sons. I believe ye’ve met Bram.” He inclined his head to the tall, blond man on his right.

  She had only seen him in the evening light and hadn’t noticed his crystal blue eyes or what a fine looking man he was.

  The laird gestured to the man with dark hair and brown eyes who sat on his left. “And this is Ian.”

  She curtsied, lowering her eyes for a moment. Perhaps she should have said, pleased to meet you, but she wasn’t sure she could force the untrue words across her lips.

  “And ye, lass, purport to be Tristan Murray’s daughter.”

  “I am Tristan Murray’s daughter.”

  Now the laird’s voice lost all hint of warmth. “Are ye now? We believed he died ages ago. And here, ye show up with a bairn, no husband, and a farfetched story about him living for years as a fisherman on the Isle of Lewis. Have ye any proof?”

  Grace became increasingly more uncomfortable as she stood there. Aye, she had proof. The letter was her str
ongest evidence, but now she wondered about the wisdom of showing it to them. As her father couldn’t read or write, they might not believe the letter was actually from him anyway. Furthermore, given that they were none too welcoming, she worried about how they would react to the information about her mother. If somehow they learned Catriona’s identity, they might contact her clan. Her mother had warned her never to do this. Nay, she wouldn’t show them the letter unless she had to.

  “Aye, I have proof.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the brooch, leaving the letter safely tucked away. She handed the old silver fastener to the laird to examine. “This belonged to my father. My grandmother says it was originally my grandfather’s.”

  The Laird turned it over in his hand before handing it to Bram to examine. “I accept that this is Tristan’s pin, but that doesn’t necessarily make ye his daughter. Perhaps someone gave it to ye with a story about a dead man. Ye decided to be his long lost daughter and show up with a bairn at his mother’s door. I do not believe a warrior the likes of Tristan Murray suddenly left everything he knew to live the humble life of a fisherman. Who are ye, lass? I want the truth!”

  His raised voice and the angry tone scared Grace. “I have told ye the truth. I am Grace Breive. My parents were Tristan and Cat Murray.” At the last second she decided only to reveal the familiar name people used for her mother. She repeated her parents’ story and the details of their deaths.

  “So Innes told me, but ye have no proof of that. Ye have nothing but a dead man’s brooch. And, while it’s been a long time since I’ve laid eyes on him, ye don’t look anything like him, or like Innes for that matter.”

  “I looked like my mother. Everyone said so.”

  He harrumphed.

  “Why is that so hard to believe? Only one of yer sons resembles ye.”

  He frowned at her. “Well aren’t ye a bold, lass? Actually, my son Boyd looks like me as well. Still, that’s a fair enough point. But why was it Tristan never told his mother where he was, that he had a family, or even that he lived? Innes was broken hearted. I know he was angry when he left but I wouldn’t believe him to be so callous.”