The Highland Chief

by Dana D'Angelo

  Darra didn’t know how long she cried, how long she wallowed in her long held sadness. But slowly she became spent, and no more tears could fall. She wiped her hand across her cheek and gave a tired sigh. All the heartbreak that she had stored in her body was depleted, and now there was nothing left for her to feel.

  She went on her elbows and started to push herself up when a faint voice caused her to stop.

  Looking around, she couldn’t pinpoint where the voice originated. Then she realized that it wasn’t coming from one place but from all around. Furrowing her brows, she concentrated hard to determine what the voice was communicating. At first the words were soft and muffled, but soon it became louder, more clear — come back, come back.

  Darra sank back down to the ground, her head resting on the soft grass. She stared up at the strange sky with the swirly clouds.

  “I must be in a dream,” she said to the sky.

  Subsequently the clouds began to move, forming into the image of Rory MacGregon. A sudden warmth slowly filled her soul, pushing aside the last of her lingering despondency. And then she sensed love flowing all around her, through her.

  Smiling, she took in a deep fortifying breath, allowing herself to fully experience the wonderful sensation.

  A moment later everything changed again. She blinked rapidly, trying to comprehend what she was seeing. The green meadow had disappeared, and she now was lying on a mattress.

  The smell of putrid herbs and peat filled her senses. But more than that, she felt the dull, throbbing ache at the side of her head, and she could barely contain her groan of protest.

  Darra went to raise her hand and touch the bandages on her head when she paused midway, noticing that Rory sat in a chair next to her bed. His head was buried in the palms of his hands while his elbows braced against the edge of the mattress. He was so still that Darra didn’t know whether he was awake or asleep.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but her mouth felt as dry as a wad of fleece. Reaching over, she touched Rory’s muscular forearm. The sinewy arm tensed and then twitched slightly. Slowly and cautiously, he lifted his head.

  “Darra?” He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. But his expression quickly changed from disbelief to jubilation. “Ye are awake!” He jumped up, his sudden movement toppling over his chair. Leaning over her, he took her hands in his, drawing them to his chest. A grin filled with relief and something else spread across his striking face. “’Tis about time.”

  Chapter 17

  Venora examined Tancraig Castle as the old unpleasant feelings resurfaced. She promised herself that she would never return, yet here she was, waiting for the gates to open. While she waited, the bitterness swirled in her chest, rising higher and higher and threatening to choke her. There was nothing here except for painful memories. Her hands tightened on the reins and the horse underneath her tossed its head.

  Dudley sat on his horse beside her, his patience already gone. Since he forced himself onto her party several days ago, he barely took the time to converse with her. Any interaction she had with him was through Jarin. This was fine, but truly, she wanted the knight gone from her as well. Once they were home, she would figure out a way to reverse his claim on Darra. But for now she needed to meet with the devil and his offspring.

  “What is taking them so long?” Dudley said, his voice thin with irritation. His eyes scanned Tancraig Castle and a sneer formed on his lips. His vast holdings were obtained mostly from his dead wives, and this fortress likely appeared small and insignificant.

  “He said that he would get Rory MacGregon —”

  “I heard what the guard said.” Dudely flicked his hand dismissively. “I just want to get Lady Darra and leave this shitty country.”

  Venora slanted her eyes at him and twisted her mouth in distaste. As much as she disliked returning to Scotland, she needed to defend the country of her birth. “If you mean to leave Scotland alive, you best not utter such disparaging remarks here.”

  Dudley sneered at her, and would have said something more, but a voice from above the gatehouse shouted down to them.

  “What business do you have here?” the man asked.

  “The guard already asked us this question,” Dudley muttered angrily.

  Venora ignored the knight and looked up. Squinting, she recognized the man who had held her and Fyfa hostage. She straightened her spine and gave him a cold stare. “I have come for my —”

  “Betrothed,” Dudley said, interrupting her. “I am here for my betrothed.”

  She glanced quickly at him and frowned, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were fixed on the younger man on the parapet.

  “Hmmm,” Duncan said slowly, stroking his chin. “The lass never spoke about being engaged to marry.”

  “That is because they are not yet promised,” Venora said tightly. “Open the gates, and let us in. I want to see that my daughter is well, and that she is returned safely to me.”

  Almond shaped eyes that were so like his father swung over at her direction, assessing her.

  “Who says that we’re returning her?” he quirked an eyebrow in challenge.

  Helpless anger simmered in her chest, causing her to grit her teeth. He was as arrogant as his father. If they didn’t open the gates, then it would be impossible to get to her daughter. Venora refused to shelter outside the castle. It was enough that they traveled for days without bathing and other comforts. Now that they were at their destination, it was cruel for the MacGregons to leave them in the cold. This was not the highland hospitality that she was used to. She opened her mouth to reprimand Duncan when another man emerged beside him.

  She gasped. It was Eanruing, but then she narrowed her eyes and saw that it wasn’t him after all. It was his exact likeness; the culprit who stole Darra from her.

  “Lady Venora,” Rory said. “Welcome to Scotland.”

  She nodded in response to his greeting, but she wasn’t interested in lengthy conversations over the battlements.

  “I demand to see my daughter.” She placed a hand on the neck of her horse to still its nervous movements. “Open the gates, if you please.”

  “Aye,” he said. “I’ll open them, but I do have one condition.” His eyes swept over the guards who flanked them. “I’ll allow ye tae enter, milady. The rest will have tae remain outside.”

  Dudley pushed forward, drawing the attention of the Highlanders. “I will be entering as well,” he said, not asking for permission.

  “And who are ye?” Rory asked.

  “Sir Dudley, Lord of Stuham.”

  “I have heard about ye,” he said, studying the older man.

  Venora didn’t particularly want to set foot in the castle without her escorts, but having Dudley at her side was better than nothing. The MacGregons had proved long ago that they couldn’t be trusted. And it was a lesson she wasn’t going to repeat.

  “Milady?” Jarin glanced over at her, a concerned expression on his face. Clearly he didn’t like the idea of her going into the castle without him, but she recognized that he would relent if she gave him the order.

  “I will be fine, Sir Jarin. Then raising her voice so that Rory could hear her, she said, “I will agree to your terms. However, I require Sir Dudley to accompany me. A lady cannot go into a castle unescorted.”

  Silence met her request. Suddenly she began to feel a sense of dread over voicing her bold demand. What if they spurned her? In that case, she would have traveled all this way for naught.

  But then Rory’s voice rose, filling the air. “Open the gates!”

  ***

  Anticipation ripped through Darra as she waited to be reunited with her mother. The excitement started as soon as Cailean had burst into her bed chamber, informing Darra and Rory that Lady Venora had arrived. Her mother could have just sent the guards, but she came herself to fetch Darra. This was significant. It would be remarkable if her mother finally broke free from her grief. There were so many things to ask her, n
amely why she left Scotland, and why she had never spoken about her past.

  Rory gave strict orders for her to stay in bed. And while she tried to lie on the mattress, her mind raced heedlessly, and she found that it was impossible to stay still.

  She walked over to the small window in her bed chamber to see if she could catch a glimpse of her mother. Unfortunately her chamber was not overlooking the courtyard, and all she could see was the mist covered mountains in the horizon.

  Reaching up to her head, she winced when she touched the linen bandage. Her mother would be horrified to find her in such terrible shape. She was certain that the blame would fall on Rory’s shoulders. But it was an accident, nothing more. The MacGregons treated her with kindness, and she didn’t want her mother to think that she was mistreated by them.

  Her nose flared slightly at the smell that followed her. She didn’t know what preparation that the village healer created for her, but whatever it was, it smelled awful.

  Darra spied the wash basin, cloth, and a silver backed looking glass that the servant left on the dressing table. Suddenly she had an urge to wash the poultice from her head.

  She knew that in her container, she could find a substitute that was more pleasant to her senses. Also, consuming a willow bark preparation would help dull the throbbing in her head. Reaching into her basket, she pulled out a packet of crushed willow bark, and dropped a small amount into a cup of wine that sat at the side table.

  As she drank the concoction, she drifted over to the dressing table and picked up the mirror. The woman staring back at her seemed like a haggard stranger. Her skin was sallow, and the bandage wrapped around her head made it appear large and disproportionate.

  She painstakingly unwrapped the linen cloth from her head and washed away the last of the smelly poultice. Her fingers probed the tender spot and found a small bump there. She compressed her lips in disapproval. The wound was not so drastic that her head needed to be encased in such a large amount of linen. What was the village healer thinking? To see Darra’s physical appearance, one would believe that she fell down a steep cliff, and bumped her head in several places.

  She set aside the mirror and moved to put on her clothes, deciding to also don the arisaid. When she first put on the plaid, she found it complex, but now she easily folded, and belted the material around her waist. Lastly, she secured the rest of the soft fabric over her shoulder with a brooch.

  Pleased with herself, she was about to adjust her belt when she heard voices in the corridor. Hurrying over to the door, she flung it open.

  “Mother!” she cried.

  At first, Lady Venora started at Darra’s sudden appearance, and then her eyes widened when she took in Darra’s attire. However, her mother recovered her senses and came over to quickly embrace her.

  Darra looked past Lady Venora, and noticed that Rory, his brothers as well as Sir Dudley stood in the hallway. She turned to question her mother, but her mother only tightened her hold.

  “Darra,” she said, relief apparent in her voice. “I have come to take you home.”

  The smile faded from Darra’s lips and she drew back. “But my work is not finished here, Mother,” she explained. “Eanruing is still ill, and none of my remedies have worked.” She didn’t mention that she had her own injury to attend. But that was a detail which she didn’t need to divulge.

  “It does not matter,” her mother said, leading her into the corridor. “The MacGregons can consult the village healer, and we will leave this place.”

  “The village healer was unsuccessful in healing him,” she said carefully, shocked at her mother’s callous disregard. “You advised me countless times that a healer must always use her God-given skills to heal the sick. Clearly Eanruing continues to be ill, and needs more assistance.”

  Lady Venora looked at her, conflict warring on her visage. Pain shot through her eyes, and she appeared to sway on the side of letting Eanruing die. When her mother still didn’t respond, Darra glanced away. “I have learned that the Scots are people too, that they feel pain and happiness, just like we do. ‘Tis the kings and queens that use the common folks as pawns. They are the ones that make us enemies of each other.”

  Her mother was quiet. Then she sighed. “Aye, you are right. Take me to Eanruing, and tell me what ‘tis that you have done thus far.”

  Darra turned to Rory, silently asking for his permission. He gave the barest of nods. Grabbing her medicine basket, she led her mother, and the rest of the party down to Eanruing’s bed chamber.

  The elder MacGregon was sleeping fitfully in his bed, his breathing labored and heavy. She recounted all the remedies that she tried while her mother nodded her head, listening carefully to the details.

  Finally, she said, “Show me the root that you used.”

  Darra placed the medicine basket on the side table. Sifting through her supplies, she pulled out a fresh Gaiaroot that she had dug out earlier in the day.

  Lady Venora took it from her, twisted it in her hand, and frowned. She scratched the surface of the root with her fingernail and brought it to her nose to sniff. “This is not the correct root,” she said.

  She looked at her mother, confused. “But I am certain —”

  “You are correct that this is a Gaiaroot,” she interrupted. “But ‘tis the Scottish kind that you have. These are not the same as the ones that grows in the lowlands.” She waved the root in the air, punctuating her statement. “This Scottish variety is weak and ineffective.”

  Darra stared at the offending root, stunned. “That is why the fever worsened,” she said, her conclusions making her stomach roil. If she continued to administer the root, Eanruing could have ultimately died.

  Lady Venora nodded, and put the root back into the container. “Do not fret. There are other remedies that you have not tried. Bring me the wine.”

  Darra quickly grabbed the half filled cup that sat on the table.

  Her mother dug through the contents of the basket, taking out the different powders and dried herbs that she needed. She carefully measured and mixed each ingredient into the wine, and swirled it around in the vessel. Dipping a finger in the mixture first, she brought it up and touched it to her tongue. Satisfied with the formula, she took the drink to the bed.

  But when her mother got to the bedside, she paused. For the longest time, she stood still, staring down at the old laird, a sad, distant look on her countenance. She seemed to be lost in some memory. Her mother had never hesitated like this before, and Darra feared that she would slip back into her misery.

  Suddenly Darra recalled when Eanruing had mistaken her for Lady Venora. At that time he had apologized for something that he did to her. And then it all made sense. These two people shared an unhappy history, and it was this man that had driven her mother away from the highlands. Darra felt guilty for forcing her mother to attend to an old enemy.

  But then her mother sighed. She was a healer first and foremost. Gesturing to Darra, she said, “Hold his head.”

  Darra went to the other side of the bed and held Eanruing while her mother forced his jaw open, and poured the medicinal liquid into his mouth. Some of the liquid dribbled at the side of his chin, but most of it was consumed.

  Glancing over at Rory, her mother said, “I need you to lift him so he is in a seated position.”

  Rory nodded and complied with her mother’s wishes.

  As soon as Eanruing sat up, he began to violently sputter and cough. Shortly after color flooded into his cheeks, and he became aware of the people gathered around his bedside. His gaze shifted from Darra to Lady Venora, and then a faint spark of hope shone in his eyes.

  “Venora…?” he asked faintly. He raised a weak hand as if to touch her mother’s cheek.

  “Aye, ‘tis I,” Lady Venora said, leaning away from him. “But I do not know why I saved your life.”

  “Aiya, will ye ever forgive me, lass?” Tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. “’Twas a misunderstanding…an accident. I dinnae
mean tae kill Robart. I had a dagger, and my foot slipped and I fell…” He gulped, unable to finish. “I — I tried tae find ye, tae get your help, and stop the destruction, but I didnae ken where ye went. I couldnae stop the clan wars on my own. If I had the power tae change things, I would…”

  The full weight of Eanruing’s confession hung heavily in the air, and Lady Venora became silent for a long while. After a time she drew in a deep breath and released it in a rush. “I am weary of holding this wrath inside me, MacGregon,” she said finally. “I am weary of hating you, of hating what you have done to me and my father. It has eaten away at my soul and killed the love and passion I have for my country and kin. But even so I have never supposed that you murdered my father. I believe what you say — that ‘twas an accident.” She blew out a long, shaky breath. “I forgive you. But I am not doing this to absolve you from your guilt. I am doing this to liberate myself from enmity.”

  “I can accept that.” He nodded his head slowly while his visage twisted in painful remorse. “Thank ye.”

  Rory lowered his father back onto the mattress and came to stand beside Darra. He placed his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his strength. Her mother appeared downcast, but Darra realized that she had resolved her long held grief.

  Darra was glad for her, and she felt the tears prickle in her own eyes. As if Rory knew what she was thinking, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She tilted her head to look at him and offered him a tremulous smile.

  “I am sorry to break up this precious moment,” Sir Dudley said sarcastically. “But the old Highlander is healed, and ‘tis time for us to leave.”

  He sauntered over to Darra and grabbed her arm, yanking her free from Rory’s embrace. Sir Dudley’s fingers dug into her flesh, and she let out a cry of pain.