Laiden's Daughter

by Suzan Tisdale

  Duncan stood in front of a cottage with his arms spread wide. The sound of people yelling “Surprise!” erupted all around her. Her father and Isobel were there, as well as Bree and Mary. Black Richard stood near them, with Rowan, Manghus and Tall Gowan and countless others.

  Her heart pounded in her chest and her lips curved into a very surprised smile.

  “Welcome home, Aishlinn,” Duncan said as he bowed towards her.

  “Home?” She asked.

  “Aye,” Duncan told her. “This is what I’ve been doin’ with me days of late,” he said, walking towards her, smiling brightly. “Building us a home.”

  She was dumbfounded. She had thought her husband had gone back to training with his men, a notion she had objected to quite vociferously. Aishlinn worried it had been too soon after taking the arrow to his shoulder and nearly dying from it. But he hadn’t been training; he had been building them a home.

  Tears came to her eyes when she stood before the stone cottage. Duncan scooped her up and carried her across the threshold. His smile never left his face as he sat her down and watched her closely while her eyes searched the room.

  It was much bigger than the home she had grown up in. A massive fireplace stood to her right, a large kitchen to her left. A table, much too big she supposed for just the two of them took up a place not far from the kitchen. She caught sight of a heavy curtain covering a doorway next to the fireplace. A ladder led to a loft above it.

  “Duncan!” She exclaimed. “It’s beautiful!”

  He grabbed her hand and led her through the curtain. “This’ll be where we’ll make all our wee bairns,” he whispered to her as she looked about the room. A large bed stood against the wall while stands flanked each side of it. The fireplace stood directly opposite it. There were rugs upon the floor and tapestries on the wall. She recognized them from Duncan’s room in the castle.

  The house had quickly filled with family and friends, all wishing them good luck. Ale was poured and many toasts were made for them to be blessed with many bairns. Aishlinn could not quit smiling, for she was indeed truly happy. Blessed she was, to finally have a home of her own.

  Aishlinn stood near the fireplace, hugging herself, watching the people around her having a grand time. It came to her then, as she looked about the home that Duncan had built for her, that nothing in this home was actually hers. Sadness threatened to creep in at thinking of it. She had nothing of her past, nothing of her mother’s, nothing of her own here. She knew she should be happy, but she felt a tug of sadness in her stomach.

  Angus and Wee William came to speak with her. “Do ya like the house, young Aishlinn?” Wee William asked smiling. “I helped Duncan ta build it!”

  Aishlinn smiled up at the lumbering giant and noticed there was plenty of headroom for him. She imagined he would have to stoop over in order to fit into most cottages. “Aye, I do William!” She gave him a hug about his waist. “I notice we’ve quite tall ceilings.”

  “Made sure of it!” Wee William boasted. “I get such a crick in me neck when I visit others.” He winked at her.

  “And ye’ll be noticin’ also, the glass in the windows?” Angus asked. “I insisted upon it. Nothing too good for me daughter, ya know.” He smiled as he accepted the hug from her.

  “Thank you both, so very much,” Aishlinn told them. She tried to keep the smile upon her face, but the melancholy in her heart threatened to dampen her spirits. She wanted not to seem an ungrateful person.

  Angus picked up on her mood. “What be the matter, lass? Do ya no’ like yer new home?” he scowled at her.

  “Nay! I love it!” She assured him. “It is more beautiful than I could have imagined.” She tried smiling again, but it wasn’t working.

  “What be the matter, lassie?” Wee William asked. “Is there somethin’ ya be wishin’ we did different?”

  Aishlinn shook her head. “Nay,” she told him. “It is quite silly really. Nothing at all for you to be concerned with.” She rubbed her father’s arm.

  “I’ll no’ be believin’ ya, daughter,” Angus told her. “Now tell me, what be the matter?”

  Knowing well that they would not give up until she confessed what bothered her, she sighed heavily. “When I look about the home, and it is a grand home,” she said, pausing to take a deep breath, “there is nothing of mine here. Nothing of my mother’s.”

  She waited to see if they would laugh at her silly notions. When they did not, she continued to explain. “I know I did not have much in the way of an upbringing. And it would be very nice to leave my past behind me. But I’ve nothing to remind me of my mother. I had to leave her things behind.” It seemed a lifetime had passed since that fateful day.

  “When my brothers told me I was leaving that day, I hid some of my mother’s things in the barn. Up in the loft there was a spot I could hide things in. So I hid her candlesticks and her trinket box, thinking I could come back for them some day. I even hid the bowl she used to make her bread in.” She wiped away a tear as Angus and Wee William looked at her. They didn’t look at her with pity, just sadness.

  “Lass,” her father said. “It breaks me heart to see ya so sad. We’ll replace those things for ya. I ken it won’t be the same.”

  “Nay,” she told him. “Duncan and I will fill this house with our things. I was just sad for a moment. I’ll be fine and I don’t want you worrying over it.” She gave him a big hug as Isobel approached.

  “How do ye like it, Aishlinn?” Isobel asked.

  “Tis beautiful!” Aishlinn answered. “I’m certain you helped with it, for I see books and art all about.”

  Isobel smiled. “Aye, I did. And I’ve something else I want to show ya.” She took Aishlinn’s hand and led her into the bedroom. As Aishlinn sat upon the bed, Isobel went to the trunk that sat at the foot of it. She pulled out a basket and sat it between the two of them.

  “These are some of yer mother’s things,” Isobel told her as she opened the lid of the basket. “There isn’t much mind ye, but a few things I saved after --” she stopped short and shook the memory from her mind.

  Isobel removed a leather necklace with a small seashell fastened to it and carefully handed it to Aishlinn.

  “Yer mother made this when she was a little girl. We had gone to the ocean to stay with some of her father’s relatives for a time. She was eight, I think, when we were there.”

  Aishlinn felt her heart swell with joy. She was holding a piece of her mother’s past in her hands. Tears welled in her eyes as she draped it around her neck.

  Next, Isobel pulled some colorful threads from the basket. “These were some of her favorite colors to weave with,” she said, laying the spools in Aishlinn’s lap. Dark green, dark blue, crimson and goldenrod colored threads filled her lap. Aishlinn tenderly brushed her fingers across them, knowing these were things her mother had loved and had once held in her own hands. Aishlinn promised herself she would make something from them very soon.

  Isobel gently removed a small blanket and handed it to Aishlinn. “This was yer mother’s blanket when she was a bairn.” Aishlinn noticed that Isobel’s eyes were brimming with tears. She was glad for the gifts, but sad that Isobel’s memories were so painful.

  “Ye can wrap yer own bairns in it,” Isobel said, wiping a tear away. “I think she would have liked that.”

  Aishlinn held the soft blanket to her face, breathing in the scent of heather and lavender. The small blanket soaked up the tears that fell from Aishlinn’s eyes.

  Not able to stand it any longer, the women embraced, hugging each other tightly as the tears came. Angus had been standing quietly in the doorway. He came to them and knelt on one knee hugging them both tightly.

  “I hate it when lasses cry!” he said with a scowl. A tear came to his own eyes then, thinking of Laiden, of his daughter and of what had taken place over the years.

  Isobel and Aishlinn laughed at him wiping away tears from each other’s faces. “I haven’t met a Highlander yet, who co
uld stand the sight of a woman in tears,” she told Aishlinn as she hugged her again.

  Later that night, long after the guests had left, Duncan held Aishlinn close to him in their bed. She slept peacefully with her arm draped over his chest, her head nestled into his shoulder. He enjoyed the way her breath tickled his skin and how warm she felt next to him.

  It had taken weeks for him to be able to sleep soundly without the fear that he would wake and find her gone. Tonight, he lay awake thinking about their future, the bairns he wanted to give her, the life he wanted her to have. He felt blessed, more blessed than he knew he deserved to be. His entire world was under this roof, in this bed, and he didn’t think he could ever be happier than he was in this peaceful moment.

  “Husband?” Aishlinn whispered sleepily, startling him slightly. “Why are you awake?” She asked, snuggling in even closer.

  “Just thinkin’, wife,” he said as he gently caressed her bare arm.

  “Thinking of what?” She yawned, hugging him gently.

  Duncan let out a sigh. “How much I love ye. How blessed I am to have ya as me wife.” He hugged her; his heart filled with more love than he felt a man ought to have for someone.

  Aishlinn lifted her head and looked at him with sleepy eyes. A warm smile came to her face. “I love you as well.” She kissed him tenderly, her lips barely touching his, but it was enough to bring desire to his belly. Damnation, he thought. All she had to do was cast him a glance, barely touch him, and he was filled with want and lust of her.

  An urgent need, one he thought she had quenched for him just a few hours before, rose once again. Never in his life had he felt so starved or so needy. 'Twas as if the more she fed him, the more he needed. There’d been no other lover he had ever taken that had managed to make him feel this way. Nor had there ever been one who to satisfy him with the intensity his wife managed to bring to him.

  He rolled her over to her back, his hands desperate and needy, caressing every inch of her soft skin that he could reach. He could feel her desire for him rising with each rapid breath she took, as she tenderly caressed his back and arms, pulling him closer.

  As he nuzzled her neck, he whispered in the dark to her. “I want to give ya many bairns, lass.” Her neck was soft and smelled of lavender, the scent of her made him nearly delirious.

  “You will,” she said as she released soft moans of pleasure, pulling him on top of her. She loved the way he felt when he was joined with her, the sweet rhythm that would increase with his desire and need of her. His need to bring her pleasure only intensified the explosions that washed over her each time they joined. Knowing she brought him just as much satisfaction made it all the more wonderful and left her feeling quite proud that she could make him call out her name.

  She had been keeping a secret from him for many days now, wanting to wait until the moment was right. As he made love to her now, speaking of the many bairns he so desperately wanted to give her, professing his love of her, she felt was it the perfect time.

  “Come spring, the first should be here,” she whispered in his ear as she pressed her fingers into his back.

  Duncan stopped instantly and looked at her not certain he had heard her correctly. His mind whirled and he forgot for a moment that he was supposed to be making love to his wife. “Aishlinn?” he asked. “What did ye say?”

  She smiled up at him. “I said come spring you’d be getting your wish. Our first bairn should be here then.”

  Stunned, he could only look at her. “Are ye certain?”

  “Aye, I am certain.” She kissed him, wanting very much for him to return his attentions to loving her.

  Duncan doubted his heart could ever be filled with more joy than at that very moment. He was going to be a father come spring. Come spring, their cottage would be filled with the delight of a bairn, the love and laughter that he and his wife had so profoundly wanted to give to each other.

  He stopped for a moment to look at the beautiful woman he had married. “Are ye certain ‘tis all right to do this? I dunna want to bring you any discomfort.”

  “The only discomfort you’d bring me is if you stop now,” she whispered in his ear as she pressed her fingers into his back, urging him to continue. “Now haud yer wheest and love me.”

  To be released December, 2012

  Prologue to Findley’s Lass

  Scotland’s Highlands, Autumn 1344

  ‘Twas not long after the heather had bloomed that Findley and three of his men left Castle Gregor on their journey northeast. Had they been on horseback, and not driving heavy wagons, they could have arrived at their destination in three short days instead of the five it was taking them.

  The sun shone brightly in the bright blue autumn sky. A whisper soft breeze caressed the deep crimson, gold and purple trees that spread across the Highlands. No other season was as beautiful as autumn in the Highlands, well, other than winter, spring and summer.

  Although there was plenty of time before winter would arrive, Findley was quite eager to get to the reiver camp before the fall rains set in. It was difficult enough traveling by wagon in good weather and he had no desire to travel through mud and muck with wagons hopefully full of people.

  For days now he had been quietly mulling over in his mind what he wanted to say to Maggy. He needed to convince her and what remained of her clan to return to Castle Gregor with him. He prayed that she and her people would be glad for the offer of a safe and permanent home.

  Findley had met the woman once, months ago, when he and his men had tracked down the reivers that had stolen cattle from his clan. The reivers, as it had blessedly turned out, were five young boys, the oldest of which was ten and two. They had stolen the cattle for two reasons: one, to convince their mother and their clan that they were indeed fine warriors and two, to feed them.

  It had taken very little effort to convince his chief and the counsel that this small band of people were in serious need of assistance. Findley had appealed to the chief’s strong sense of honor and duty toward the less fortunate, but he had personal reasons for wanting to bring them back. He was quite certain that he had fallen in love with the beautiful mother of five. Or that he had lost his mind all together.

  At the moment, he was leaning more toward insanity, for how could a person fall so hopelessly in love with someone after only a few hours together? It had not, by any stretch of the imagination, been a romantic interlude they had shared. Nay, ‘twas far from that for most of the time had been spent with Maggy scolding her sons for stealing, for skulking away in the dark of night and terrifying her beyond measure. She had admitted to Findley that day that her biggest fear was the boys had either been kidnapped for ransom or taken as slaves. Either way, she would not have had the means necessary to procure their freedom.

  She had apologized repeatedly to Findley and his men for her sons’ stupidity and apparent lack of morals. Between apologizing and scolding her sons, there had been little time for anything even remotely resembling romance. There was just something about the woman, even as she scolded her sons, that he found intriguing. He could not have told anyone what that something was, only that he felt drawn to her.

  At some point after leaving the reivers and their beautiful mother, the image of Maggy’s dark auburn hair and bright green eyes began to creep into his thoughts. If he thought about it long enough he would surmise that those thoughts began to creep in approximately one minute after saying good-bye. It was all downhill from there. For some God-forsaken reason he was consumed by her.

  Even when he had taken a dirk to his side in a battle against the English that summer, his thoughts had been of Maggy. As he lay in the bloodied battleground, clinging to life, his last thought before losing consciousness had been of her. He fought death as fiercely as he had fought any battle in his life just so that he might live to see her again.

  During their first and only meeting, Findley had learned that most of her clan had been wiped out three years before by the pox. All that
remained of her clan were a few auld people, a small handful of men in their late forties, and the five boys.

  Maggy had borne only one of the boys, the eight-year-old named Liam. Unfortunately the lad was as stubborn and willful as his father had been. While it was indeed a fine trait to have as a grown man and as a warrior, it made raising him alone a difficult task. The other four boys had lost their parents to the pox and Maggy had taken them in to raise as her own.

  When it came time for Findley and his men to leave, she had thanked them for the hundredth time for returning the boys to her. Those beguiling eyes of hers had been brimming with tears of joy at having her sons back. She had told him that day that she would forever be in his debt.

  Findley and his men, Richard, Patrick and Wee William drove the wagons as fast as the rocky terrain would allow. As far as Findley was concerned they couldn’t go fast enough. The longer they travelled, the more anxious he became and he could only pray that Maggy and her people would listen to reason and agree to leave.

  It was early afternoon when they crested the small hill near the River Clyde where Maggy’s clan camped. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Death lingered in the air. The smell of it made his heart and stomach seize. His men caught the distinct scent as well and instantly broadswords were drawn and horses pulled to a stop. Alert eyes scanned the remnants of the burned camp and the surrounding hills and land for any sign of life.

  They paused for a few moments to study the sight before them. From the looks of things, the attack had taken place days ago.

  Findley’s heart raced as he threw on the wagon brake and leapt down from his seat.

  Nothing remained of the hut where the auld had at one time slept save for the charred wooden frame and three bodies burned beyond recognition. He choked back the bile that threatened and began to breathe in through his mouth and pressed his arm to his nose to help block out some of the stench.