* * *
The morning was drawing on by the time she reached Lochrutton. The path into the village had been cleared, but it was a thankless task, as fresh clouds loomed above, promising a greater fall of snow to come.
Evie hurried to the blacksmith’s workshop, where she found the smithy only just finishing the shodding. He was a methodical man, meticulous about his work, just as her father been. She watched him with interest until he looked up, startled at having been so silently observed.
“Ah, ‘Tis ye, Evie. The horse is here and ready now,” he said, patting the animal’s mane.
“He looks happy enough,” she replied, and the smithy nodded.
“He has a fine temperament, but ye must tell yer father nae to ride the shoes off him next time, poor beast. For one who was once master of this forge, he certainly puts his horses through their paces,” he said.
“ my brothers who ride this beast, but I will tell them. Nae that it makes any difference what I say,” she replied, taking the horse’s reins.
“Elliott lasses have always had a fire in them though, take yer dear mother, for example. Did she nae have much spirit within her when she was taken by the Musgraves?” the smithy said, smiling at Evie, who nodded.
“Aye, I suppose she did so. But that is ancient history now. Why is it that so many people remember the past so readily, ‘Tis almost like they forget the present or the future at times,” she replied.
The smithy sighed. He had a face that spoke of wisdom, and it was often said that the blacksmith at his forge was amongst the deepest thinking of all men. There, on the anvil, there was little else a man could do but think, his attentions turned not to the world but only to the task in hand, his mind free to meditate upon the troubles which most folks are too busy even to contemplate.
“Ye know, we live in the present, but the past shapes all that we are. The future is a foreign land, ‘Tis a thing to fear for ‘Tis the unknown. In the past, there is a certainty, safety even. Some prefer to dwell there their whole lives, Evie,” he replied, and Evie nodded.
“ like that for my family at times,” she replied, sadly, for the smithy’s words rang true.
And they will never change their minds about Hamish, she thought to herself.
“ the same for us all, Evie. There will come a time when ye yerself are just as eager to live in the past as in the present. Daenae be so hard upon yer family just because they treasure their memories,” he replied.
“Memories are fine, but what of all the rest? All the other things which bind us and hold us back. The things of the past, things nae useful for the future, for now,” she said, and the Smithy fixed her with a curious expression.
“The past must shape us, Evie. It has to, else we are like a ship without an anchor, driftin’ aimlessly at sea,” he said, but as he did so, he smiled, “that is until someone comes and changes all of that.”
Evie wondered what he meant by that. It seemed he had an insight far beyond anything she imagined, but then that was the way of such men. Her father had been like that too when this was his forge, and the blacksmith’s tasks were his. But for Fraser Elliott, it was his hands that set him apart from others. Hands which had something to them, a healing way, a way which had brought peace and comfort to many.
The blacksmith was looking at her with interest. It was as though he could see behind her façade and read the very thoughts of her heart. Had he guessed about Hamish? Or discovered it by some means? A curious sense arose in her, a sense that she could trust him, though no words needed to be exchanged between them. She nodded, handing over a few gold coins and thanking him for his work.
“I shall be bringin’ another horse for ye to shod, Smithy, in two days,” she said, and the old man nodded.
“I thought ye would dae so,” he replied, smiling at her.
She made her way back up the snowy track, leading the horse by its reins. The snow had begun to fall again, fine and powdery. Though it made no difference to the landscape, which was already covered as though in a mantle of finest white silk. She paused as she came to the fork in the path which led eventually to the castle of the MacBrydes.
What is it that ye dae this day, Hamish? She wondered, looking wistfully off along the path.
She longed to see him longed for that moment when once more, they would be together.
Just two more days, she said to herself, just two more days, and with a heavy heart, she turned along the track towards the castle, wishing for only one thing, and that was Hamish at her side.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The ceremonies surrounding the death of a Laird were numerous. Hamish was taken up with preparing his father’s body for burial and ensuring that clansmen scattered across the borders were informed of the old Laird’s death. The burden of responsibility hung heavily upon him, a responsibility he had never coveted nor desired.
But I will prove my father wrong if he thought I would be a fool of a Laird, he said to himself, as his father’s body was carried to the hall of the castle to lie in state.
Already, any number of clansmen had battled through the snow and winds to pay their respects, and Hamish had been kept busy in receiving them. His father had been feared, though his reputation was worse than the truth. The McBryde's were a small clan, feared for their shrewd alliance with the Musgraves, rather than their might or force in battle.
In his day, the old Laird had been a formidable warrior, but in the months which had passed since his illness had begun, he had become weak and ineffectual. His enemies had circled like vultures, waiting for the kill. But if they thought that his son would be an easy man to outwit then, Hamish was determined to prove them wrong.
He had his soldiers line the wall and march out in force along the road north and south. It was they who met the clansmen who now came to pay their respects, men of the MacBryde clan, but with loyalties more akin to themselves than to their new Laird. Hamish received them alongside Isabella, who had sent word to her own family of the death of Hamish’s father.
It was clear to Hamish that she was pleased by the old man’s death. She would be married to a Laird, and no longer to an heir apparent. What’s more, their marriage would take place south of the border, with no arguments over rites and ceremonies to please the old man. If death could have made anyone happy, then it was Isabella, and Hamish could not help but feel a deep sense of distaste for how she comported herself.
It was three days since he had returned from his meeting with Evie, and despite the enormity of the situation he now faced, his thoughts had often returned to her in the days which had passed. He longed to see her again, to have her at his side, to hold her, to kiss her once more. But instead, it was only Isabella whom he was forced to endure, counting the moments until he could make his way across the moorland path and see Evie again.
“We should marry as soon as possible, a Laird should not be without a wife. It is not proper,” Isabella said, as they watched several of the clansmen enter the hall to pay their respects to the deceased Laird.
“All in good time, Isabella. The funeral rites must be performed, and I must be proclaimed Laird. That is the proper order of things,” Hamish replied, without even looking at her.
The more time he spent with her, the more he detested her. She thought only of herself and had offered not a single word of comfort or condolence for his loss. She seemed glad at the current turn of events, her comments becoming ever snider and more cutting. She had already made herself mistress of the castle and wife of the Laird. It was a position she would relish, delighting in her sense of self-importance.
“Then see to it quickly. My family demands that you make arrangements for our marriage just as soon as possible,” she said, muttering something inaudible under her breath.
“Isabella, the snow is lyin’ thick upon the moorlands. How can we think of travelin’ south in such conditions? Winter is here, and our place is here until the rites and ceremonies are performed. Dae ye want me to be Laird o
r nae?” he asked, turning to her.
Isabella scowled at him and shook her head.
“There is always an excuse, Hamish. Does this marriage mean nothing to you? Does this alliance mean nothing to you? Look around you, Hamish. Do you think these men are your friends? They are watching you waiting for you to make a mistake. Your position is far from secure, and if you are not careful, then you will find yourself at their mercy. Is that what you want? Or would it be better to have an ally in my family, a family who will come to your aid if you are married to one of their own,” she replied and Hamish grimaced.
“I am master of this clan, and I will deal with any who seek to challenge my authority. Married or nae married,” he replied, walking away from her and into the hall where his father’s body lay in state.
Several of the clansmen were gathered about, and they eyed Hamish with suspicion as he watched them from the corner of the room.
Isabella is right about one thing, they are waitin’ to pounce, he thought to himself.
It had been the same when his father ascended to the Lairdship. A challenge had been issued, and there had been a fight, one in which his opponent had met a bloody end. That had been enough to secure the Laird’s position and to ensure that no one else dared challenge him for years to come. But the disquiet had remained. The McBryde's were vulnerable on all sides; their safety only assured, as Isabella had pointed out, by their alliance with the Musgraves.
These would be testing times for Hamish MacBryde, yet he felt ready to rise to the challenge. He had Evie now, the knowledge of her presence a comfort, even in these dark times. It was nearly time for him to walk across the heathers and meet her, and he was busy formulating a reason to leave the castle when one of the men approached him.
“Yer father was a good man, a good Laird,” he said, glancing at the body lying in state, candles burning all around.
“He was,” Hamish replied, eyeing the man whose name was Crispin MacBryde, a distant cousin of his father, though no friend at all.
“And I am sure ye will be too, Hamish. Ye have a lot to learn, of course, but …” the man continued.
“But nothin’ Crispin, if ye think ye can intimidate me with yer pleasantries then ye are sorely mistaken. I know what ye thought of my father and nay doubt think of me too. Let me tell ye though, I am my father’s son, and whatever is said of me, I assure ye ‘Tis nae true. I will lead this clan, and ye will follow or be damned,” Hamish replied and smiling a sickly smile, Crispin stepped back into the shadows.
Hamish turned, anger rising inside him. He made no excuse to Isabella, hurrying past her and out into the courtyard. There, he breathed in the cold air, snow swirling around him in a blizzard.
Fools, accursed fools, he said to himself, clenching his fists and taking several deep breaths.
The moorland above was covered in a thick cloud, and he knew that the path to the stream would be treacherous. But Hamish cared not for such worries. His only concern was to see Evie, for she was only the person who could comfort him in such a desperate situation.
Let them fight it out amongst themselves. If one wishes to be Laird, then so be it, and Isabella can flee back across the borders. There will be nay marriage, he said to himself, hurrying through the gates and onto the path which led up to the moors.
He had finally admitted to himself his desire to break off his engagement to Isabella. The thought had been brooding within him for some time, even before he had met Evie and fallen so completely in love. Isabella was not the woman for him. She was nothing but a cruel and heartless woman. One whom he would be far better off without. But the thought was far easier than the reality of what he wished to enact.
To break off his engagement with Isabella would be to break the alliance between the Musgraves and the MacBrydes. There would be no aid from English soldiers, should the likes of Crispin MacBryde and his fellow conspirators seek to stage a coup. Hamish would be alone and at the mercy of those who had long coveted the title of Laird.
But at least I would be happier than this, he said to himself, tramping along the path, his feet plunging deep into the snow.
His heart was filled with thoughts of Evie. He imagined running to her down the path from the ridge, embracing her and kissing her once again. She had tasted sweet upon his lips, her hourglass figure enfolded in his arms and causing such delight in him as he had never felt before. The touch of any other woman could never compare to that of Evie, and, as he hurried along, his mind raced with her image, her smiling face a tonic for all the sorrows he had endured.
Such a lot has occurred in just three days, he said to himself, for there was much he had to tell Evie, much which would affect her too.
Quite what he planned to do next, Hamish was uncertain of. To break off his engagement to Isabella there and then would be to risk everything and with nothing to fall back upon. But perhaps between them, they could find a way forward.
Even if we ran away together, he thought, though his thoughts were so confused that right now, anything seemed preferable to what lay behind him.
As he came to the brow of the ridge, his heart began to beat faster, and despite the chill, his palms became sweaty. A surge of excitement and anticipation ran through him at the thought of seeing Evie again. He pictured her sat upon the rock by the stream, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and as he came over the brow, the sight was just as he had envisioned.
When she saw him, Evie smiled and hurried up the bank. She slipped in the snow and fell down laughing, rolling down the bank, as Hamish rushed down towards her.
“Oh, how I have missed ye, Evie,” he said, falling into the snow as she laughed, lying on her back and smiling up at him.
“And I have missed ye too, Hamish. I have thought of nothin’, but ye ever since we parted the other day. How long the days have seemed waitin’ to see ye again,” she said, as she sat up and placed her arms around his neck.
He kissed her upon the lips, the sweetness of her touch an antidote to his woes. How perfect these snatched moments felt, moments he wished would last a lifetime but found themselves so woefully short.
“Come now, lass. Ye will catch yer death of cold if ye roll around in the snow all day,” he said, helping her to her feet, as she dusted herself off.
“Brrr, ‘Tis cold,” she said, laughing, as she wrapped her shawl more closely around her.
“Then come and sit in the hollow of the holly tree. I have somethin’ that I need to tell ye,” Hamish said, a serious look now coming over his face.
She looked at him in surprise as he took her by the hand and led her towards the large holly tree which grew next to the now frozen stream.
“ serious by the look upon yer face, Hamish,” she said.
“ serious, Evie. But the sight of ye took away my worries for just a few moments and reminded me of what life could be like for the both of us one day when all these woes are gone,” he said, settling himself down and placing his arm around her.
The holly bush provided a natural shelter, and there was dry kindling strewn upon the ground, enough for a little fire when the chill had set in further.
“Tell me, Hamish. Ye look so forlorn now,” she said, and Hamish nodded.
Bit by bit, he recounted the story of his father’s death and the cruel way in which Isabella had reacted.
“The clansmen too, they circle like vultures above me, waiting to strike,” he said, and Evie shook her head in disbelief.
“My dear, darlin’ Hamish, I am so sorry for yer loss. ‘Tis like when my dear grandfather died, I was at a loss for days. I hope I can be some comfort to ye,” she said, taking his hand.
“Ye daenae know how much of a comfort ye are, Evie, how I have longed to see ye and how I wished that ye were by my side these past days. I have thought of little else but seein’ ye for ‘Tis only in yer company that I feel anythin’ but sorrow. Such a burden of responsibility and now these wicked men and Isabella’s hold upon me …” he said, shaking his head at the
burden which now was his.
“But ye are Laird now, and she should be the one to comfort ye in the wake of yer father’s death. How cruel to speak such words and for these men to covet what is rightfully yers,” she replied.
“My clan is very different to yers, Evie. When yer grandfather died yer father was the rightful heir, and all accepted it. But the MacBrydes … they are different. They will seek any opportunity to cause trouble and to make me a scapegoat for their wicked plans. My father was weak in the end, but I intend to be strong,” he replied.
“And ye are strong, Hamish. Ye have stood up to my father and brothers, ye have held yer ground, and ye will overcome this too,” she said, placing her arms around him, “and I shall be at yer side.”
A Highlander Born From Chaos (Highlanders 0f Kirklinton Book 2) Page 18
