Highlander's Stolen Destiny: A Medieval Scottish Historical Romance Book

by Alisa Adams

  “Ye don’t give the man enough credit. He is very sensitive and wise on occasion. Do ye want to hear it or not?” Effemy snapped when her sister continued to laugh.

  “Aye, I do… Sorry, please go on. And ye ken that I love Murtagh.”

  “Murtagh said something along these lines: ‘All the world is beautiful, and it matters but little where we go, to highlands or lowlands, woods or plains, on the sea or land or down among the crash of the waves or up high in the sky like an eagle flies; through all the climates, hot or cold, storms and calms, everywhere and always we are in God’s everlasting beauty and love. So universally true is this – the spot where we chance to be, always seems the best.’” His eyes had twinkled at Effemy at this point. “‘And yet, ye will always feel, no matter where ye are, that the Highlands is that special place in yer heart. It is that permanence, which holds ye, keeps ye enthralled by the glens and crags, burns and lochs – tis where you will forever roam even when afar.’”

  Skye swallowed deeply. “That was beautiful… Murtagh said that?”

  Effemy nodded. “Aye, he did. He said the very same thing to Mary when she first came to Scotland. What it means—”

  “I ken what it means. It signifies that Brice’s heart will forever be here,” said Skye. A few tears rolled down her cheek. “Thank ye, sister. I dinnae ken what I would do without ye.” Skye took Effemy in her arms.

  “Think nothing of it. What are younger sisters for, eh?” Effemy smiled warmly at Skye. “Which brings me to my next matter…”

  “Oh?”

  “We will, of course, need our da and Murtagh… Brice and Doogle… Ah, yes, I think our ma and the two of us… Oh, I am sure the laird will want to come too… And, how horrible of me, I nearly forgot my brothers, Bruce and Alick.”

  “Tell me already?” Skye fidgeted nervously on the grass. She had not been this excited since she last lay with Brice.

  Leighton Manor, Northumberland, England, April, 1347

  * * *

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here, eh?” the voice boomed throughout the Great Hall at Leighton Manor.

  “It looks like Brice is pandering up to a bunch of Sassenachs, Murtagh,” said Mungo, pushing past him and charging down the length of the hall toward the high table.

  “Not so fast… I want to see what is going on too.” Murtagh raced after his friend as best he could, but Mungo was intrepid in his advance. In his wake followed both Alick and Bruce, Mungo’s stepsons.

  “Ye can’t just barge in here without being announced,” said one of the servants, attempting to stop the rampaging clansman.

  “Get out of my way, ye weasel.” With one fell swoop of his arm, the poor man flew backward and landed on the ground in a heap.

  “Couldn’t ye stop him, my Laird?” asked Skye, looking nervous. “What if those two galoots ruin things with whatever Sassenachs Brice is negotiating with?”

  Alastair looked at his daughter-in-law fondly. “I may be the laird, but not even God could stop those two. They haven’t seen Brice for a very long time, and they have been dying to tell him everything that has happened. Ye ken that… The voyage down here was absolutely unbearable with them two concocting their plans for the night – that the men celebrate amongst men before the nuptials.”

  Skye looked back down the hall. “We best get up there before they frighten the Sassenachs.”

  “Aye, it looks like they have already started,” said Callum, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Well then, off we go,” said Mary, floating on ahead, inducing the others to follow.

  “Ye mangy, dung-eating dobber. How dare ye leave us alone for so long,” snarled out Mungo, stepping onto the plinth uninvited and grabbing Brice in a bear hug to the utter consternation of Sir Thomas, Third Baronet of Wooler, and his family.

  “Now, let up, Mungo. It’s my turn to greet the stinking skunner. The bastard probably smells like a Sassenach after all of this time,” grunted out Murtagh, pushing past Lady Helen uncouthly.

  “Aye, he does, Murtagh. I had to hold my bleedin’ nose, lest I die of the stench.” Mungo imitated falling over to Murtagh’s great pleasure. Mungo then turned his head to look at Sir Thomas. “So, who might ye be?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of wine and sitting down next to him and resting his arm on his shoulder.

  “Argh, ye radge wee shite, it is good to see ye again,” said Murtagh, beaming from ear to ear.

  “And ye, Murtagh,” responded Brice, completely winded by both of the clansmen’s greetings. When he recovered his breath, he asked, “What are ye all doing here?”

  “What do ye think we are doing here? We’re here to bring ye yer future wife. Poor thing’s been pining away for ye like a cat thrown into the loch,” said Murtagh, sniggering alongside Mungo, who patted Sir Thomas on the back vigorously.

  “I missed him, Murtagh,” said Skye, stepping up onto the podium. “And now if ye’d make way, I would very much like to kiss him.”

  Murtagh bowed theatrically. “He’s all yers, sweet lady.” While Brice and Skye fell into each other’s arms, he plopped himself down on a chair between Lady Helen and her daughter, Margret. “The two of ye are quite bonnie for Sassenach lassies,” he said, grabbing a goblet and helping himself to some wine.

  “Murtagh and Mungo, these are guests in my father’s house; I will not have you behaving like a pair of louts in a tavern,” chided Mary, finally arriving on the scene.

  “Aye, a blimen disgrace the pair of ye,” joined in Freya, looking fiercely at Mungo.

  “Ye listen to Lady Mary, Murtagh, or ye won’t see the insides of the kitchen for a month,” said Caitlin, who had also been invited to attend.

  Both Murtagh and Mungo stood up with alacrity and moved down the length of the table away from Sir Thomas and his family. However, not before they deprived them of all of the pitchers of wine. When they sat down, their shared mirth continued. Once again, they behaved as if nothing had happened, albeit from a little further afield.

  “It is good to see ye again, Sir Thomas,” said Alastair. “The lady in charge around here is my wife,” he added with a wink, making Sir Thomas relax again when he recognized Alastair, despite his Scottish attire.

  “And you, sir.” He introduced Mary to his wife and daughter.

  In the meantime, Doogle and Callum had rid their brother of his future bride and began to assault him with hugs and stories of what had been going on back home since they had last seen him.

  After that, the introductions and family greetings continued until everyone in the family was seated at the high table. Sir Thomas had kindly offered to retire with his family, as he had recognized the personal nature of the reunion. Still not certain if they were able to trust him, Murtagh and Mungo made especially sure that he left the manor house under their exact scrutiny.

  Alastair cleared his throat. “Now that we are all here together, I have something to announce. Before I continue, I must stress that this is not my idea, but something my son Callum and Mungo’s lovely daughter, Effemy, came up with—”

  Mungo got to his feet. “Daughter, what have ye been doing meddling in clan affairs; it is no place for a woman.”

  “Sit down and haud ye wheesht, husband. Let the laird finish what he has to say without ye interrupting him all of the time. I am sure he will let ye voice yer opinion when he is done,” said Freya, stroking Mungo’s wiry black and gray beard affectionately. With a kiss on her lips, he grunted his agreement. When he refocused his attention on the laird, Freya smiled. Even after all of these years, she loved him like on the first day. It was the best feeling in the world, and she thanked God daily for this gift.

  “As I was saying, my son and Mungo’s daughter had an idea, which I think is fair and just. At this juncture, I want to emphasize that this is only a suggestion—”

  “Out with it, Da,” said Doogle. He seemed to have grown in size since Brice last saw him. He even towered above both Mungo and Murtagh.

  Alastair scowled at his mi
ddle son, making him whither in his seat. “Ye best haud yer tongue, lest I slice it off.” His words had the necessary impact. “We thought that the burden of this inheritance…” Alastair swept his arm over the Great Hall. “… is too big to lay on one man’s shoulders. So, as a solution, Callum has offered himself as the next Lord Leighton. He may be young, but he is smart and refined. Your mother agrees that this would be the best solution. Now, I ken that I am the laird and I could order it, though, I will leave the decision up to ye, Brice.”

  Next to Brice, Skye shuddered in her seat. This was the first she had heard of it – the secret was privy to only Alastair, Effemy, Callum and Mary. Effemy had only told her by the loch that they were heading to Leighton Manor to surprise Brice and celebrate the impending marriage. This was another welcome surprise if Brice accepted. It was too good to be true. Maybe she would never have to live in England. As her mind worked, Brice began to chuckle. He shook his head with mirth. Skye had never seen him laugh so hard.

  “Great minds think alike, brother,” he said, getting to his feet. “I dinnae ken why I bother to think anymore,” he added, whistling through his teeth.

  Everyone present in the Great Hall exchanged glances. “What does that mean?” asked Alastair, still not sure what his son had meant.

  Before Callum could answer for them all, Mungo and Murtagh got up, marched down the length of the table and grabbed Brice, pulling him across the piece of furniture. “Now that’s settled, it’s time for us laddies to celebrate some of yer last nights as a free man before the ole ball and chain gets ye,” said Murtagh, slapping him on the back with his free hand.

  “Aye, usually, this is done the day before the wedding, but the two of us couldn’t wait,” intoned Mungo. “Come on, Murtagh, let’s get this radge wee shite outside so we can start ‘creeling the bridegroom’.”

  “Creeling the what?” hissed out Brice. Already Murtagh and Mungo’s combined strength squeezed him in.

  “It’s a small something we thought up for some fun,” said Mungo.

  “Aye, it’s enough to make any man think twice about getting married,” said Murtagh. This remark caused them to laugh so hard that they nearly lost grip of Brice who squirmed in the almost vice-like holds.

  “Enough of this,” yelled Alastair, getting to his feet. “What of that other matter. I ken that this evening is very important to ye both, but the future of this house trumps all.”

  “But we thought it was clear,” said Mungo, frowning as he tightened his grip on Brice’s neck.

  “Aye, yer son did say: ‘great minds think alike, eh’?” asked Murtagh.

  “Aye, that he did,” said Alastair, frowning.

  “Well, good then… it’s settled. Brice is to be the next laird after ye, my Laird. Now if ye’d excuse us, we have some ‘creeling’ to do,” said Mungo, forcing Brice around so that they faced the main door to the Great Hall. In moments, they began dragging Brice down the entire length of it.

  * * *

  Skye leaped to her feet, screaming. Next to her, Effemy grabbed her and started to hug her. Callum was whispering in Doogle’s ear, explaining to him what had happened. Mary told Caitlin and Freya. Only Alastair stood there not exactly sure whether that which his mind was telling him was precisely the truth. When it came to clan matters, he was accurate – he despised vagaries or anything that could be altered later. When Callum had finished explaining everything to a shocked Doogle, he tapped his father on the back.

  Later that evening…

  * * *

  “Put yer back into it, ye lazy walloper,” yelled Mungo, howling his mirth.

  “Come on, Brice, ye are to be the laird one day. Show us yer mettle,” cried Alick, who sat on a barrel a little further afield.

  His brother, Bruce, concurred with some more suggestions and insults. He walked right next to Brice, shouting in his ear.

  “A lass could do better than that,” said Murtagh, swigging wine from a large pitcher that Aiken constantly brought to the clansmen. He had swiftly become Mungo and Murtagh’s favorite, who had said that they would adopt him and take him with them to Diabaig.

  “Give him another drink to wet his thrapple, Doogle. It might put some sap in his manhood,” ordered Mungo, guffawing. He sat in a pile of hay, nipping on his pitcher.

  Next to him was Doogle.

  Doogle had trouble getting to his feet because of his drunkenness and the hilarious sight of his eldest brother and future laird of the Clan Macleod – carrying a ‘creel’ or a basket full of stones on his back from one end of the vast courtyard and back again. Back in Diabaig, he would have had to parade it throughout the entire town. This whole spectacle would last until Skye freed him of this task with a kiss. Naturally, she had not been informed of this. It was Murtagh and Mungo’s full intention to let Brice do this all night if need be.

  When Doogle reached his suffering brother, he thrust the leathern flask that Mungo and Murtagh had filled with wine especially for this occasion down his throat. When it was empty, Aiken would make sure that it was full again.

  “This sure beats being tied naked to a tree all night after being forced to drink until I fell,” said Alastair, loving his two oldest friend’s spectacle.

  It was at times like this, like on the battlefield or when someone passed away, that Murtagh and Mungo were invaluable. Alastair knew that life without them would only be half as good. They rivaled only Mary and his sons in their loyalty to him and the clan.

  “I thought ye enjoyed that, my Laird,” said Mungo, struggling to get to his feet and giving Alastair a mocking bow before falling back on his behind and momentarily getting lost in the hay.

  “Aye, ye looked fine the following day at the wedding,” said Murtagh.

  “A little fair puckled,” added Mungo, meaning that Alastair had looked tired. He had managed to get back into an upright position.

  They continued to share endless banter for a while. Hearing their comments made Alastair laugh from the bottom of his heart. It was the best he had felt in a long time. His son was going to get married soon, and he would follow in his footsteps to become the laird; Doogle was stable and strong as an oak and Callum would become Lord Leighton. It still surprised Alastair that he wished to do this out of his own free will.

  He got up to his feet and walked over to his youngest son who sat on a barrel, watching his brother.

  When he noticed his father approaching him, he smiled. “Well, Da. When I see this, I am not sure that I will ever marry.”

  Alastair patted his laddie on the back before rolling another barrel next to him and sitting down. “I think Effemy might have a different view on that one,” he said with a glint in his eye.

  “Ye ken about that, Da?” Callum looked surprised.

  “I think everybody in the clan, except ye, kens about it, Callum,” said Alastair, indicating with his head in Mungo’s direction. He and Murtagh were still hurling invectives at Brice, who was clearly suffering under the heavy weight of the many stones in the basket.

  The color on Callum’s face seemed to have turned a lighter shade. The weak evening light made him look like a ghost.

  “Come on, my Son. Mungo would never hurt ye. He loves ye too much,” said Alastair, reading his mind.

  “Ye saw what he nearly did to Brice when he found out about him and Skye. He nearly split my brother in half with his sword.” Callum shivered at the memory of it.

  “Brice did rather well if I remember correctly,” said Alastair, with obvious pride in his voice.

  “He is a warrior and swordsman. I am neither.”

  “Callum, listen to me. Ye fought at Neville’s Cross on the front line like the rest of us. And ye did that even though ye would have much rather been on yer way to Rome to follow yer learning. Ye are brave, Son – braver than most.” Alastair was just as proud of his youngest as he was of the other two lads.

  “Thank ye, Da. That means a lot to me.”

  “Do ye ken why I said that ye are braver than m
ost, including myself and yer brothers?”

  Callum shook his head. “No, Da.”

  “Because ye dinnae like to fight like us… And that is fine, but when the time came for ye to stand up and hold yer own, ye did not flee. Ye fought like a lion. Most learned men without much sword skill would have flown from the battlefield. Not ye… Not my boy. He stayed until the end.”

  This was the greatest praise his father had ever given him. Callum felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but his father’s next words held them at bay.

  “Now, ye may ask yerself why I dinnae include Murtagh and Mungo before…”

  “Aye, why, Da?”

  “Because those too have been struck by lightning and have lost their minds.” Both father and son chuckled. Alastair soon became serious. “Why did ye do it? Choose to become Lord Leighton?”

  “Because Brice does not belong here. He belongs in Diabaig by yer side as the heir,” said Callum.

  “But so do ye,” said Alastair, frowning.

  “Aye, I ken, Da. But I wanted to travel and go to Rome anyway. What difference does make if I live in England, travel from here from time to time and at the same time support the clan by having someone we trust in England. And besides, it’ll be nice for Ma to be able to visit her childhood home from time to time.”

  “Ye are a remarkable laddie, ye ken? I love ye, Callum.”

  * * *

  “I love ye too, Da.”

  In the meantime, the ladies celebrated with Skye by washing her feet and pampering her. They sipped wine, and the older women exchanged anecdotes about married life. Their main objective was to keep Skye inside for as long as possible so that she could not relieve her betrothed too soon with a kiss – should she find out what was going on.

  “So, are ye happy with the outcome, daughter?” asked Freya, smiling.

  “I couldn’t be happier. It is the best news I could’ve hoped for.” Skye sipped her wine slowly. “I must say, I feel relieved for the first time in months.”