by Terry Spear
“And what would ye have me do, Father? Is iomadh rud a nì dithis dheònach.” Two willing people can do many things.
His father’s expression became pained. “How do ye expect to take my place one day as laird when ye make such foolish decisions? The men looked to ye to pass judgment. They expected ye to consider their words and didnae expect ye to make a mockery of their grievances. Ye are my only heir. If I die on the morrow, I cannae say that I would blame the clan for choosing Doughall over ye to be chief.”
“Doughall? He doesnae want to be laird. His only purpose is proving to everyone that he’s the best warrior in all the Highlands.”
“This conversation is long past due.” There was an edge to his father’s voice. “Ye know King James demands that the lairds travel to Edinburgh every year. Ye need to show the clan that ye’re able to make wise decisions in my absence. And contrary to what ye might think, tying a sheep to a thief and a wife to her lover isnae one of them. Ye need to think in the best interest of the clan, always. That’s what makes a good chief. ʼTis time to change, Luthais.” His father stood.
“Ye need to think of someone other than yourself.” He paused, tapping his finger on the desk and staring at it in a trance-like state. “Your mother was a good woman. Mayhap that is what ye need.”
“I donna understand.”
“A woman, one woman. Mayhap what ye need is a wife. Ye’re one and twenty. What better way to learn to be accountable for someone else than to have a wife?”
“Surely ye’re jesting.” Luthais knew his father was not.
“I’ve heard rumors that Laird Gunn seeks a husband for his daughter. Your marriage could bring an alliance between our clans.”
“I’m able to have a wife of my own choosing.”
“Then do so before I choose for ye.”
Luthais stiffened as though his father had struck him. He knew his sire was tired of his careless behavior, but another pecking bird in his life was not what he wanted or needed. At least his own birds minded him. “Father—”
“I just returned from Edinburgh and once again had to clean up your mess. I want to bathe. I want to eat. And I am done talking.” The laird walked around the desk and held up his hand, giving fair warning when he passed and walked out the door.
“Damn.”
“What did he say?”
Luthais looked over his shoulder and growled at his friend who had just entered the room. “He wants me to wed.”
There was a heavy silence.
“I see that look in your eyes, Doughall. Out with it.”
“As I said before, I’m thankful I’m nae the laird’s son,” his friend said with a chuckle.
“That’s all ye have to say? Ye have nay advice to offer me?”
Doughall shrugged. “I wish ye luck with that.”
***
Luthais rode through the village, continued through the glen, and then made his way to the loch. He tied off his faithful mount, a beast of an animal. The sturdy chestnut warhorse never hesitated when given a command. Gazing around the loch, Luthais watched as one of his hawks skimmed the surface of the water with its talons and flew into a nearby tree. Luthais climbed the small, grassy knoll, realizing he hadn’t been here in the daylight for a long time. He always favored brooding alone in the darkness. But as he reached the standing stones, he stopped dead in his tracks.
A woman sat with her back resting against his favorite rock. Her light-brown hair hung in loose waves over her shoulder and her brow was furrowed. She was so engrossed in the small journal she was reading that she didn’t hear him approach.
“Ye’re clearly nae reading about the MacKays or ye’d know ye were trespassing on our lands.”
Emerald eyes met his, and without warning, he felt like he’d been punched in the gut by Doughall. The woman closed the book and rose, smoothing the skirts of her day dress. The apricot and milky shades of her skin reminded him of light-colored cream. She had a genial mouth and sparkling eyes. When the wind picked up, tousling her brown locks, the faint smile that she gave him held a touch of sadness. Her steps slowed as she walked toward him. From her demeanor, she looked as though she could be as playful as a young lass or as composed as an intelligent woman.
“Please accept my apologies. I was just about to take my leave.” She walked past him and around the circle of standing stones.
“And where do ye think ye’re going?”
She laughed over her shoulder. “Mayhap ye’re the one who needs to pick up a book. I told ye I was about to take my leave.”
“Dé’n t-ainm a th’ort?” What’s your name? When she paid him no heed and continued to place distance between them, he added, “Fuirich mionaid!” Wait a moment! Luthais ran to catch up with her. He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. When she gripped the journal to her chest in a protective embrace, he instinctively rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Her eyes widened. “Surely ye donna think I’m going to cause ye harm. Now if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking my leave.”
His hand came down on her shoulder as she tried to turn away from him again. “Are ye alone?”
“And what gave me away, pray tell?” She exhaled with agitation.
“Ye have a sharp tongue.”
Her slender hand touched his forearm. “Please accept my apologies. I only sought peace and quiet. I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. I will nae come here again. Ye have my word.”
She grabbed the reins of her horse and mounted with ease as Luthais stood there like a dolt, trying to figure out why he didn’t move to stop her. In fact, he found himself at an actual loss for words, which was a rare occurrence.
“Ye didnae tell me your name.”
She straightened her shoulders and lowered her eyes to his. “Nay, I didnae.”
The lass kicked her mount into a gallop. Thundering hoofbeats pounded the earth around the loch and into the dense forest. Luthais didn’t tear his eyes away until the woman passed out of sight. He’d never seen her before. Where did she come from? He couldn’t answer that question, but he knew the answer to another.
She’d set foot on his enemy’s lands.
Chapter 3
The wind whipped through her hair. A branch slapped her in the face. A thorn scratched her leg, and yet Ceana didn’t slow her horse. She needed to place as much distance between herself and that man as she could. Uncle John would serve her head on a platter if she was caught trespassing on MacKay lands. She turned her head over her shoulder, praying she wasn’t being followed.
Who knew what had drawn her to the standing stones in the first place, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She’d always remained on Gunn property around the loch. But her father’s lands were becoming far too crowded with Sorcha’s admirers of late. She needed a change of venue to escape the chaos inside and out. When her mind wandered back to the guard who caught her where she wasn’t supposed to be, she shuddered. Thank God she was able to talk him into letting her leave of her own free will.
The MacKay guard was an imposing man, especially with the large broadsword that was sheathed at his waist. She could barely remember his features because her only thought at the time was escape. But she did notice that he wore a blue, green, and black kilt and had leather straps on his shoulders and forearms. He was battle ready. She tried to keep that in the back of her mind because the next time she saw the tartan, she’d be sure to flee. Not that there would be a next time, but perhaps his companions wouldn’t be as kind.
Ceana slowed her pace when she cleared the trees. For once, her home was a welcome sight. She suddenly longed for the security of the stone walls, even with mad Aunt Marta and haughty Sorcha. In a way, her experience with the MacKay guard had both thrilled her and frightened her. She wasn’t sure how that was possible.
As soon as she entered the bailey, Anna walked hurriedly toward her.
“Ceana, make haste.”
“What has happened?” She dismounted, handing the reins to
the stable hand. She knew her short-lived adventure was over because she was instantly thrown back into her disorderly life.
“Come with me, and we’ll kill her together.”
Ceana followed Anna through the great hall. Seeing the servants readying the midday meal, Ceana prayed that the food on the tables wasn’t for another one of her cousin’s suitors. As the sisters climbed the stairs to their private rooms, Anna spoke over her shoulder.
“ʼTis Sorcha. She ransacked your bedchamber searching for one of her dresses. She’s mad. She thinks ye took her gown because ye admired it.”
When they reached Ceana’s room, they found Aunt Marta standing in the hall in front of the door. Their aunt began to shake when she saw Ceana. “But if ye donna do what is right, sin is crouching at your door. It desires to have ye, but ye must master it.”
Ceana placed her hand on her aunt’s shoulder. “I’m afraid the only sin crouching at my door, Aunt Marta, is your daughter. I havenae taken anything of Sorcha’s.” Ceana entered her chamber and bit down hard on her lower lip to control her anger.
“Where is it? What have ye done?” Sorcha whipped the dress that she held to the floor and stormed toward Ceana, closing the distance between them. “Where is my gown?”
“What gown?”
“The one that I wore last eve. The one ye admired.”
Anna flanked Ceana, her face a glowering mask of rage. “Leave her alone, Sorcha! She doesnae have it! Tha sin gu leòr!” That is enough!
“I donna have your dress, nor would I want it.” Ceana stepped around her pampered cousin and gazed at her once well-kept room. All the clothes from her trunk were scattered about. The blankets from the bed, including her mother’s golden embroidered coverlet, lay in a heap on the floor, and the edge of Ceana’s journal stuck out from under the feather mattress. But when she spotted her mother’s pendant, which had been thrown across the room with complete callousness, Ceana’s temper flared.
Each stride was fluid until she dropped to her knees in the corner of her chamber. She cupped the jewelry in her hand, fingering the delicate object with fond memories. This was the only piece of jewelry remaining from her mother’s things. The gold pendant was set with a yellow-brown garnet and a deep yellow-green gem. A single sapphire teardrop hung on the bottom, a gift her father had given her mother on their wedding day. And her cousin had tossed the jewelry on the floor like it was nothing more than yesterday’s trash.
Ceana’s expression darkened, and she rose. She glared at Sorcha with burning, reproachful eyes as Aunt Marta stepped into the room, waving her arms.
“Sorcha, cease! Cannae ye see she holds the amulet? The power is within her to—”
“Droch sgillinn ort!” May an evil shilling find you! Ceana declared.
Aunt Marta raised her hands over her lips, and Sorcha gasped.
“Aye, Aunt Marta. I hold the amulet that cursed Sorcha.” Ceana thundered out the door and down the hall as Anna followed in her wake.
“Ceana, wait!” Anna grabbed her sister’s arm to slow her pace. “Please stop and talk to me.”
Ceana didn’t pause until they reached the bottom of the stairs to the great hall. A score of men and women were now gathered at the tables for the meal. Ceana was so furious that she didn’t even notice Uncle John studying her from the dais.
“Ceana?”
“I have put up with our cousin’s wicked behavior long enough. Did ye see, Anna? Did ye see? She threw Mother’s pendant on the floor as if it meant naught. Naught! ʼTis bad enough Uncle John had Mother and Father’s belongings removed from our home and their portraits taken from the verra walls on which they hung, but I will nae have our mother’s memory thrown away and banished from thought.”
“Shhh…lower your voice. I know how much Mother’s pendant means to ye.”
A hand clasped down on Ceana’s shoulder. “And why are my nieces so distraught, pray tell?”
Ceana turned. Her uncle stood a head taller than she was, and even though he was five years younger than her father, the resemblance was discomforting. Uncle John’s dark hair was full with graying strands, and she could see her father’s eyes in his. But where her father’s eyes had held warmth, Uncle John’s did not. He wore the Gunn plaid of blue, green, and red, and affixed at his shoulder was the clan badge—her father’s badge—which read “Aut pax aut bellum.” Either peace or war.
“Uncle John, I—”
“Aye, Cousin. Do tell Father the truth of how ye stole my gown and then cursed me in my own home.” Sorcha, the dragon, made a grand entrance as she descended the stairs with Aunt Marta nipping at her heels.
Ceana’s anger and hurt could no longer be controlled. “Och, I’m certain ʼtisnae the first time ye’ve been cur—”
Anna stepped on Ceana’s foot at the same time Sorcha’s lady maid walked into the great hall, carrying Sorcha’s gown. The way the girl quivered in Sorcha’s presence incensed Ceana even more.
“Please accept my apologies. The maids told me ye were looking for your lovely dress. After I helped ye remove it last eve, I noticed a small tear in the shoulder. I took your dress to mend it. I had hoped to replace it before… I’m sorry.”
“There, there, Beitris,” said Aunt Marta. “All is well.”
Uncle John chuckled. “I’ll leave ye ladies to your dresses.”
“Take the gown back to Sorcha’s chamber, Beitris.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
Aunt Marta turned, giving Sorcha a half-scolding look. “Sorcha, donna ye have something to say to Ceana?”
Sorcha brushed Ceana’s arm as she passed. “Aye, we’re going to be late for the meal.”
“My Sorcha has always been a willful child. Ceana, my dear, could ye please find it in your heart to remove the curse ye placed on her? She is looking for a husband, ye know. I’m certain ye were angry, but I know ye donna wish your cousin ill.” When Ceana didn’t respond, Aunt Marta lowered her voice. “I will have her clean the mess she made in your bedchamber.”
“Nay.” Ceana didn’t need her cousin setting foot in her room again. “I’ll do it. And I already removed the curse, Aunt Marta. Sorcha is free to find her husband and start a new life far away from here.”
***
“I’m verra proud to call ye my sister.” Anna smiled from ear to ear. “And I thought Aunt Marta was the witch in the clan.”
Sitting in the ladies’ solar with her sister, Ceana placed her embroidery to the side. She needed a moment to think about how to broach the subject of Samuel. When she gazed around the room and noticed Aunt Marta’s more recent touch, she shook her head. “I suppose our cousin didnae see her future husband when she washed her sleeve after all. Aunt Marta has added something new for Sorcha’s luck.” She nodded to the table.
“The heather?”
“The white heather.”
Anna lifted a brow. “Why would she do that? Ye told her ye lifted the curse.”
“Malvina.”
“Pardon?”
Ceana studied her sister thoughtfully for a moment. “Ye donna remember Mother telling us the tale of Malvina?”
“If Mother told us, I’d love to hear the story again.” Anna sat forward in the chair with her hands on her knees. “Tell me.”
“According to legend, Ossian, the famous bard, told a tale of Toscar’s daughter, Malvina. Now Malvina was the bonniest lass in all the land. It wasnae long before she fell in love and captured the heart of a strong Scottish warrior named Oscar. The two of them became betrothed. In order to provide for his future bride, Oscar took his leave in search of coin to fill the coffers. But as time passed, Malvina missed him dearly.”
Ceana continued. “One day she was sitting with Ossian in the Highlands talking about the love of her life, her Oscar, when a man staggered toward them across the moors. Ye see…the man was a messenger who had been sent by Oscar. He told Malvina that her beloved Oscar had been killed in battle, and then the man handed her a spray of purple heather. The heather was a
final gift from Oscar, who pledged his undying love for her with his verra last breath.”
“That’s tragic. What became of her?”
“Malvina was inconsolable when she learned that Oscar had passed. She ran across the moors and through the glen, weeping bitterly. When her tears fell on the ground beneath her feet, the heather turned pure white. When she saw this, she dropped to her knees and prayed that others might ne’er be as unfortunate as her. The white heather is said to be a token of good luck and fortune to those who find it and pluck it. I’m nae surprised Aunt Marta has gathered some for her dear Sorcha.”
Anna’s expression was grim. “Malvina loved him.”
“Aye. We need to talk about Samuel.”
“I was wondering how long it would take for ye to broach the subject.” Anna glanced at the door and then lowered her voice. “I told Samuel that ye found out about us. He wants to speak with ye but nae in the castle. Can ye meet him at the loch in the morn after ye break your fast?”
“Aye.” When the memory of the MacKay guard came to mind, Ceana pushed back the thought. She’d be certain to remain on her father’s lands from now on. “Please tell me Raonull, the rogue, doesnae know of your trysts. The man boasts of his conquests to anyone who will listen, and he has a loose tongue. Ye donna want the entire clan knowing about ye and Samuel.”
“I asked Samuel nae to tell his brother. He gave his word that he wouldnae. I trust him, as should ye.”
“With our parents nay longer here, ʼtis my duty to protect ye and do what’s best for ye. Samuel is courting my sister. I’ll be sure to give him the same courtesy our father would’ve given him.”
“Aye, that’s what I’m afraid of.”
***
Ceana wasn’t thrilled to be meeting the man who was courting her sister, but she had given her word that she would speak to him. She tied off her mount to a tree and sat on a rock at the loch’s edge the next morning. The water lapped gently against the shore and two big birds, perhaps hawks, flew into a branch not far overhead.
