by Sherry Ewing
Killian shivered, but ’twas not from the cold. He felt her draw near and something inside his heart lurched when she came to stand beside him. He peered down upon her while a frown crossed his brow. He searched his mind for where he may have seen the lady before, but no memory came to him.
Her voice, a sweet tinkling melody to his ears, caused his hands to tremble. “You will take good care of our son,” she murmured.
“Aye,” Killian said having already been told he was to teach the boys all he knew, especially the eldest, Conrad. “Laird Douglas is a fair lord. Ye and Lord Simon have no reason tae fear for them. They will be well seen tae and lack for nothing.”
The lady pulled her gaze from her boys to stare upon Killian who staggered backwards. She held her veil over the lower portion of her face, revealing nothing of her visage but her eyes and yet he knew this woman! How the devil did he know of her?
“I pray you will one day forgive me… Killian...” His name, a mere whisper in the wind, lingered between them.
“Forgive ye for what, milady?” he asked, his brows furrowed while pondering why she must ask his forgiveness.
He received no answer, for she left him standing there alone. He observed the lady taking both boys aside, giving them each a fierce hug before the lads began to fuss, most likely not wishing to be seen with their mother coddling them. A sob was torn from the lady’s lips as her husband assisted her into the wagon. A portion of a tarp or makeshift curtain dropped and the lady disappeared within. Her cries of anguish tore at Killian’s heart.
Lord Simon made excuses for his distraught wife before once more thanking Laird Douglas for taking in his sons. With a wave of farewell, their party left the bailey and made their way through the barbican gate disappearing from view.
Killian stood there, fretting over the woman’s words while watching the dust settle after their departure.
“She is a nice lady,” a young voice said standing next to him.
Killian gazed down to stare at Mistress Shona’s daughter, Kenna. The girl’s hair was as black as the midnight skies, her eyes as green as the Scottish moors. She held the hand of the little lass, Lynet, whose hair was blonde with eyes as blue as the sky above them. They were the opposite of each other and yet Kenna tended to look after the laird’s youngest MacLaren daughter at only four summers.
“Do ye know of her?” Killian asked, doubtful the child had spent much time with the Lady of Hull. He had not seen much of her during her brief time at Berwyck, as she preferred to stay in her chamber and remain at her prayers, or so he had been told.
Kenna’s laughter rang out in the morning air. “O’ course I know her, Killian as do ye. How could ye ever forget Ella?” she answered, before tugging Lynet by the hand and heading toward the garden.
Ella… something altered inside Killian once he thought on the woman’s name. He should know her name and her face, should he not? But there was no time to ponder where he met the Lady of Hull. Not when the laird of the clan called the men to the lists, nor when he began showing Conrad and Faramond the castle grounds and the place they would call home for many a year.
Ella… he would ponder her on another day.
Two years later, Berwyck castle would have but one day to rejoice over the birth of their laird’s next son, Patrick. For ’twas the fate of the Lady Catherine that she did not recover after the lad’s delivery and died but two days later, plunging the inhabitants of the castle into mourning.
’Twas but a foreshadowing of other events yet to come…
Chapter 31
Berwyck Castle
The Year of Our Lord’s Grace 1170
The training field rang out with the sound of metal clashing upon metal. Laird Douglas and Killian stood on the side watching the knights in their skirmishes. As Killian looked upon the field, he shook his head, seeing only young children practicing. What was coming over Berwyck these days?
Conrad and Faramond were holding their own and Killian watched them with a fierce sense of pride while they hacked away at each other. And why not? He had practically raised them and Conrad was almost a grown man at ten and six summers. Although their sire had traveled to Berwyck upon occasion, their mother never returned. ’Twas probably for the best, he thought, although why the woman continued to trouble him remained a mystery. He returned his gaze to the field.
The mournful sounds of the bagpipe echoed in the cool morning air while the clan’s piper taught his son Garrick, who was aged ten and six summers, the notes to keep the men moving at their paces. Aiden was off to the side practicing with bow and arrow, and cheers of encouragement rang out when he hit the center of his target.
But ’twas the laird’s daughter Amiria who held his interest while she fought with a young man who had shown up recently at Berwyck’s gate seeking refuge. Ian MacGillivray was ten and nine summers and had grimaced when the laird had partnered Ian with his daughter. Still… she was holding up well against a knight who was full of himself and ready to prove his worth to the world.
Laird Douglas chuckled while he watched his daughter. “She fights like she was born with a sword in her hand,” he said proudly. “Where has the time gone that my oldest bairns are already ten and five summers? I am starting to feel my age.”
A snort escaped Killian while he also pondered when time had seemingly passed them by. “Yer lady wouldnae have approved,” he answered tugging at his beard while he concentrated on the bairns.
Douglas chuckled. “I am not so certain of that, Killian.”
“I must point out they sound more like yer wife, God rest her soul, than they do ye, my laird.”
A grunt left Douglas while he, too, perused the group. “Aye… even Ian and Thomas could pass for English like my beloved Catherine, unless ye anger them. ’Tis when their Scottish accent gives them away. But I wouldnae deprive them of my wife’s company and she enjoyed having them about and under her care.”
“But ye are right in one aspect. Yer wee lass was born tae fight and not be stuck in a solar with the women.”
They watched when Thomas Kincaid, who had come to Berwyck prior to Lady Catherine’s death after the youngest bairn Patrick was born, stepped onto the field and advanced towards the pair. After his sire had disowned the lad, Thomas had become part of the MacLaren clan, since he was a distant relation. He had even been given his own chamber within the castle keep proving to all he was considered family.
Killian held his breath when Thomas and Ian, who were but a year apart, gave each other a salute then turned as one with cocky grins towards their young opponent.
“So… you think you can best me,” Amiria taunted, brandishing her sword. “Let us see who lands in the dirt first, shall we?”
“Mayhap ye should stop this, my laird,” Killian suggested.
“She shall hold her own, never fear, Killian,” Douglas replied with a wink of conspiracy. “She is, after all, my daughter.”
“If ye say so, but I wouldnae trust those two. I can see they are out tae teach the lass a lesson.”
Douglas turned his full attention to Killian. “Ye dinnae have faith in them?”
“’Tis not that. Mayhap they remind me too much of myself at such an age,” Killian replied.
Douglas nodded. “I have watched them carefully for some time now. Ian and Thomas have been nothing but honorable while here at Berwyck. I would trust them with my life and that of my children. ’Tis the reason I made Ian captain of Amiria’s guard. He is young but devoted tae her. I also have hope tae have Thomas as one of her guardsmen.”
“I, too, would trust either man tae watch my back. ’Tis only they appear as if they wish tae put Lady Amiria in her place. I fear for her.”
Douglas nodded. “Never let her know ye fear for her, Killian. She and Adrian have more pride in their hearts than most men I know, and Amiria makes every effort tae prove she is as good with a sword as her brother.”
A howl of pain rang out when Amiria slammed her elbow into Thomas’s sto
mach when he swung his sword wide. She took the advantage by ducking under his arm and giving him a mighty push. He may not have landed in the dirt but he stumbled all the same.
“Ha! I bested you, Thomas! Admit it,” Amiria called out. Her mistake was to turn her back on Ian who promptly yanked on her tunic. She fell backwards into his chest to find a dirk at her throat.
Ian chuckled. “Never turn away from your enemy, Amiria, lest you wish to see your life cut short.” He let the blade fall when she turned in his arms.
“But I have you to guard my back, my captain,” she smirked with violet eyes sparkling, causing Ian to laugh.
He pointed the blade at Amiria. “Remember the lesson, little one,” Ian replied before reaching down to hide the weapon in his boot.
Killian sighed in relief while witnessing the scene, but it was short lived when he saw the wee lass Lynet racing across the list, dodging the knights who barely had time to stop their training when she ran by them.
“Ian! Ian!” She called out, her blonde hair flying out behind her.
“God’s Bone’s, she is going tae be killed,” Douglas managed before he yelled out to his men to cease their training.
The youngster had no notion as to the ruckus she had caused before she made her way to Ian. Killian and Douglas came up behind her wondering what was so important.
“I finished this for you, Ian,” Lynet said, her blue eyes shining with happiness.
Ian put away his sword to kneel down before the young girl who was now but a mere ten summers. “And what is it you have accomplished, my lady?” he asked.
“Why, I have made you a favor for your arm, sir knight. See here how the thread matches your hazel eyes?” she murmured, showing him the ribbon she had sewn for him.
’Twas far from perfect, but Killian could see she took great pride in her needlework and he wondered what Ian would do next. He did not have long to wait for the answer.
“You made this for me?” he asked, while his lips curved into a pleased smile.
Lynet nodded and held out the ribbon. “Aye… will you wear my colors, Ian, and always remember me?”
Ian held out his arm so the girl could tie the favor upon his arm. “You show me a great honor, Lady Lynet. ’Tis a privilege to have you bestow upon me my first favor.”
“Truly?” she gasped. “No other lady has given you one to wear on your arm as you go into battle?”
“Nary a one. Thank you, my lady,” he said and took her hand to bestow a kiss above her knuckles, ignoring the sniggering of the knights who had stopped to watch the laird’s youngest daughter making a scene before the well-trained men.
Lynet twirled around in happiness as though the stars had shined down upon her to give a hint of what might occur one day between them. Her joy was short lived, however, when her sire gave her a fierce frown, ordering her back to the keep and the men to return to their training.
They had no more time to contemplate the goings on with the MacLaren bairns, for a servant came running up to Laird Douglas with a missive. He perused it quickly before turning the parchment over to Killian to read.
“Lord Simon is dead,” Killian read.
“Aye,” Douglas said, “and his sons need tae be told. They must return tae Hull.”
“It does not say how he perished.”
Douglas turned to him. “Does it matter?”
“Nay, I suppose not. I wonder how his lady is holding up after the death of her husband?”
“Ye shall find out for yerself when ye deliver the lads tae their home,” Douglas ordered.
“Why me?” Killian asked not sure how he felt about seeing the woman who haunted him these many years.
“Who else would I trust tae deliver the Lady of Hull’s sons tae see their sire before he is buried?” Douglas asked. “Besides, ye are close tae them both and I know first-hand they hold ye in the deepest respect. Why, ye are like a second father to them.”
“If this is what ye ask of me, then I shall see the lads home.”
That very eve, dreams began to invade Killian’s slumber. Conversations swam inside his head he knew had never taken place with the Lady of Hull. More troubling was the vision of the woman, whose face was clearly revealed when she had never shown her visage to him before. He took the lady in his arms and made love to her in a forest as they declared their love to one another. ’Twas as though the dream was in fact a memory that had been hidden away inside his mind for years, and only now was revealed for him to remember all they had meant to one another.
With a heavy heart, Killian left Berwyck to deliver Conrad and Faramond home to their mother the next morn. He was uneasy and he did not fully understand why. What did fate have him store for him and why, of a sudden, did he feel the need to have Lady Ella near his side?
Chapter 32
Hull Castle
Ella sat in her hall, exhaustion riddling her body ’til she could longer think straight. She gave a nod in acknowledgment when another of the villagers came to pay their respect to her late husband then left. Simon… he was gone from this life and had hopefully found peace in the next one. At least this time around he was not accused of treason with his head lopped off by an angry king.
But the illness that had consumed his body was not necessarily a better way to go and ’twas not as though Ella had the advantage of modern medicine to heal the man. She had wished she could have given him the medicine she knew would have been necessary centuries from now in order for him to recover. The way he had labored in his attempt to breathe made Ella assume he had pneumonia and she watched with a sense of helplessness when Simon grew worse. She made every attempt to persuade him to drink plenty of fluids but ’twas not enough and he finally succumbed to his illness and passed from this world.
“Did you love me at all, Ella…” he had whispered that last night while she sat at his bedside holding his hand.
“Aye, Simon, and I love you still,” she had answered truthfully, for she did love her husband, to the best she was capable of loving him when her heart still belonged to another. He had always known such had been the case from the very beginning and at least that one aspect of their relationship had not changed. What mattered the most was to give him what comfort she was capable of. She had saved both her sons. She only wished she could have saved her husband from his fate, too.
Was it a sin to still love Killian or was it worse to betray that love by marrying Simon? she mused. Simon’s last words still haunted her and mayhap they would echo inside her memories for years to come. Time was a bitch… the modern phrase flitted through her head while she pondered how many more years would pass before she could meet up with Killian on the beach near Berwyck. Her estimate was twelve but, ’til then, there was still more she needed to accomplish. There was still the happiness of others at stake if she failed.
The door to the keep opened yet again and a sob tore through Ella’s lips to witness her sons standing across the room. She fell to the floor, opening her arms wide. Her sons were home! My… just look at how they had grown in their absence from her life.
“Mother!” They called out to her and ran across the hall before throwing themselves into her waiting arms.
Ella at last held them at arm’s length, cupping each of their cheeks before wiping at their tears. “Let me look at you… What handsome young men you are becoming,” she beamed.
“F-father?” Faramond stammered and Ella nodded to their sire laid out in front of the hearth.
“He loved you both,” she told them while she watched unshed tears gather in their eyes. “Go pay your respects.”
She watched her youngest son leave her side but turned to Conrad who remained. My God! Could not Killian see for himself that this young man was the spitting image of him?
“How are you, mother?” Conrad asked, a worried frown marring his otherwise handsome young face.
“As well as can be expected. You have been treated fairly at Berwyck?”
“Aye. They treat us
as though we are family. I suppose Faramond must stay here now that he is Lord of Hull.” Conrad folded his arms across his chest and Ella’s heart squeezed tight.
“Aye. You can stay, too,” she said fearing his answer. “Hull is also your home.”
Conrad gave her a sad sort of smile. “It has never been my home, mother,” he replied quietly. “You are what made this place bearable. How can I stay here knowing I would be but a vassal to my younger brother?”
“You are still kin despite having different fathers.”
“Since my true sire is dead, I need to make my own way in the world, mother. Surely you can understand the circumstances for what they are?”
Ella reached out for his hand. “Will not your situation be the same at Berwyck?”
He shrugged. “I seem to belong there. The clan and people have accepted me like I am one of their own. Lord Douglas is reasonable and Killian has more or less taken me, and Faramond for that matter, under his wing. There is much I can still learn under his tutelage.”
“Killian?” she whispered before slipping down into her chair. The last thing she needed was to faint in a dead heap at Conrad’s feet.
“Aye. He brought us here but, with your permission, I would like to return with him to Berwyck.” He went to her side to kneel by her feet.
“Killian is here?” Her question lingered on her lips as all the blood rushed from her face.
“Aye. Mother… Are you certain you are well? You look pale,” Conrad asked in concern.
“I am not sure,” she murmured.
Ella clutched Conrad’s hand in an attempt to halt the world from spinning out of control. But her fate tumbled wildly out of any sense of finding stability, especially when the door to her hall opened. Killian filled the portal as though she had wished him to appear. There was no place for her to hide. He had seen her face… the one thing she had attempted to keep from him was fully exposed. She gasped, swiftly wondering if he now recognized her and how much he remembered of their time together in their future lives. God help her!
