Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  Robert was sitting on the steps below, holding Fiona’s head on his lap. The woman’s body was sprawled awkwardly on the stones. How far she’d fallen, Kenna had no idea.

  “Look what you’ve done now.” Fiona admonished the steward weakly. “No need to look so worried, my loves.”

  “Mother.” Alexander’s voice was choked as he crouched beside her.

  “What should I do,” Robert asked, tears welling in his eyes. “Get the surgeon? Get the priest? Send someone after the laird?”

  Kenna sat down on the steps in Robert’s place. Her fingers grazed over Fiona’s brow, her head, her ears. With feathery touches, she moved her hand over her neck, down her arms.

  “Aye, get them all,” Alexander ordered. He turned to the boy standing above them on the stairs. “Get Master James and Colin . . . and Tess, too.”

  “Should we move her first from this stairwell?” Robert asked.

  “Nay. Go, both of you.”

  Kenna could feel no broken bones in her arms and legs. But when she touched Fiona’s shoulders and then her neck, Kenna’s hands warmed instantly. Alexander looked at her, and she motioned to him to speak to his mother.

  “Tell me what hurts, Mother.”

  “I have to feel something for it to hurt,” she replied. “Right now, I feel as if someone cut off my head and laid it on my chest. I feel no pain. I feel nothing. But I am beginning to feel light-headed.”

  Kenna reached into her robe and took hold of the stone. She waited for voices to direct her. But there was nothing.

  Unlike Alexander’s wound, Fiona’s injury had no blood or gash from a sword’s entry to direct exactly where to touch, where to focus her attention. Blackness surrounded Kenna. Fear raised its ugly head. She pushed it back, positioning herself lower on the steps, her fingers touching Fiona’s neck again. Heat emanating from the spine flared.

  “Help me roll her to the side.”

  Alexander helped her, though it was difficult in the confined space.

  Kenna ran her hand down Fiona’s spine. The heat drew her hand to the spot.

  “Listen to me,” Fiona whispered. “The two of you. Kenna, you are to be the mistress of this house. And Alexander, your father will step aside now. You will be laird. Life is about change. Even the final moment is simply another change. But I will not accept a change that makes me a burden to you. Not like this.”

  “Mother, perhaps you’re worrying about things you shouldn’t dwell on.”

  “Nay, Alexander. I know what has happened to me. I saw it once on Skye. A warrior fell from a horse and landed on his neck. It was terrible, and there was nothing we could do. But he lived, unable to move at all, growing more bitter and querulous for months and months. By the time he died, he hated the world and everything in it. I want no part of that.”

  “Mother—”

  “Listen to me. I’ve done irreparable damage. I’ll never move again,” Fiona said. “I refuse to be dependent on others for everything for the rest of my days. I will not live to hate anyone. So I ask you . . . to help me . . . go in dignity.”

  “What are you asking of me?” Alexander asked angrily. “Are you asking me to end the life of the woman who brought me into this world?”

  There was silence.

  “You’re asking your son to do something that—if it were I lying there—something that you yourself would never do.” He shook his head. “If I had fallen, you would nurse and cheer me on until your own final breath. You would stay near me and protect me like a lioness from anyone that meant me harm. You would help me find a purpose for living, no matter how little of my old self were left.”

  Perhaps it was Alexander’s words of love, or perhaps it was the stone itself. But as he spoke to his mother, Kenna’s hands came alive with the heat of the tablet. Suddenly, as they moved over Fiona’s upper spine and neck, she knew exactly where to touch. She closed her eyes, focusing on the injury she could now see in her mind’s eye, transferring the power running through her into Fiona’s back. Her hand moved of its own will as her mind followed some ancient intuition.

  Kenna no longer heard the words being spoken. She faded from the present. No time existed. She was vaguely aware that she no longer occupied any physical space. She hovered suspended in the infinite power of healing.

  The next words she was conscious of were her husband’s.

  “You’ve done it, my love. Look—she is moving her hands, her legs.”

  Kenna opened her eyes. Fiona struggled, but after a moment she raised her hand. She motioned that she wished to be helped to sit up.

  Voices could be heard. Running steps. Colin’s and Tess’s voices called from above. James came up the stairs three at a time.

  “I’m fine,” Fiona said calmly. “I slipped, but I’m fine now. I’ll see you all in the Great Hall in a moment. Let me just gather myself.”

  Alexander stood up and nodded to his brothers. Fiona caught Kenna’s hand before she could push up to her feet, too, pulling her face close to hers.

  “Your gift. It’s no rumor, after all.”

  Kenna smiled.

  Fiona kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, daughter.”

  Fifty years ago, Maxwell thought, this town must have been alive with trade lasting beyond these few days.

  Standing in the shadow cast by the market cross, he scanned the bustling square from the abbey walls to the livery stables at the end of the “high” road. After hanging about for three days, he’d gotten word from his men that the boys and their keepers seemed to be preparing for a trip to the festival.

  He wasn’t going to miss his chance to grab them here. Snatching them on the road would be a bloodier affair.

  “So where in bloody hell are you?” he muttered.

  If I were one of those lads, he thought with disgust, I would have been here every day, and nothing would have kept me from it.

  The town had the look of a Calais whore. Brilliant flags and banners—both Sutherland and MacKay—flew from every gaudily painted shop and house and inn. Colorful tents filled the market square, with vendors hawking everything from fruit and baked goods and ale to wool and household goods and fine woven cloth. Indeed, the face of the town looked fine and alluring in the summer sunlight, but Maxwell had a feeling the place would look a wee bit old and tired when the crowds were gone and the winter darkness descended.

  At one end of the square, beyond a herd of sheep being driven into the packed town, two drunken pipers where competing for the worst renditions of the “Plough Song,” and the equally drunken revelers around them were adding unintelligible lyrics to the performance. In a cattle pen at the other end of the square—where livestock auctions had been taking place every day—a boisterous assembly was rooting on two fighters, who were staggering about with flailing fists and spraying blood everywhere. And throughout it all, festivalgoers went in and out of market tents, and young lads wrestled for attention in front of giggling lasses by the stone wall around the kirk yard.

  A shouting match behind him drew his gaze. Two finely dressed women were jostling for a place going in to the abbey. The two pilgrims had paid for admission to the shrine of Saint Brigid’s finger, but the line to salvation was apparently not moving quickly enough for one of them.

  The only thing missing, Maxwell thought, was a fire to break out and burn down half the town.

  Then, just as it looked as if a pitched battle were about to break out, a whistle from one of his men alerted him of the boys’ arrival.

  Five MacKay warriors, looking relaxed and off their guard, strolled in a loose formation around the lads. All was in readiness.

  A company of acrobats drew the attention of the boys. As they started over toward the performers, Maxwell signaled a waiting band of Gypsies. Immediately, black-haired women with flashing eyes and tambourines floated around the warriors, distracting them with silk veils, murmured promises, and flashes of milky skin.

  And by the time the MacKay men tore their eyes from the women,
the boys were gone.

  Chapter 30

  O that I were a man for his sake!

  or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake!

  Just as Robert had said, Alexander found Kenna alone and crying in the garden.

  He moved quickly along the path toward her, his heart aching at the sight of her on the old stone bench. The steward told him Tess was there with Kenna, comforting her, but there was no sign of his brother’s wife.

  “What’s going on? Why the tears?” He crouched down, trying to see into her tearstained face, gently covering her hands with his own.

  She never lifted her head or looked at him.

  “Bad news? Robert told me that Kester came and went already this morning. The man didn’t even stop to speak to your father, or mine.” He paused, hoping she would pick up the conversation, but Kenna just sobbed softly, her hands taking hold of his. “What did he say? Come, my love. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  She only shook her head. There seemed to be no end to her misery. He stroked her hair. It wasn’t like her to surrender to trouble. She always attacked it head-on.

  “Speak to me, my love. When did tears ever solve a problem?”

  She leaned forward and buried her face against his chest.

  “You’d best tell me or I’ll ride after that worm and drag the truth out of him.”

  “It’s Emily,” she murmured finally.

  “I guessed that. But what about her?”

  “She’s gone to the priory at Loch Eil. Kester escorted her there before he came here.” She wiped at her face. “She’s decided to become a nun. A cloistered nun!”

  Alexander’s thoughts turned immediately to James. Robert also said he’d seen his brother walking near the garden.

  “A nun? I don’t imagine that will suit Sir Quentin too well.”

  She sat straight and wiped away the tears on her face. “She won’t marry him.”

  “I assumed as much. A good decision, anyway.”

  “Decision? Her reputation is ruined. But even if the Lowlander agreed to marry her, I doubt they’d be able to force her to go through with it. She’s in love.”

  Fresh tears streamed down.

  “Emily is in love?” he asked, already knowing the answer, but asking anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move behind the trellis near the gate. A red-haired shadow. James. “In love with whom?”

  “With James,” she replied. “With the most undeserving lout in the Highlands.”

  “But before we get to my lout of a brother,” he said, pulling her against him, “what else did Kester say?”

  “He told me everything. He said Emily made a mistake, but it was because she acted according to her heart. She allowed her emotions to rule her reason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After they left us, she fell in love. And by the time she got back to Craignock Castle, she’d made up her mind she wasn’t going to allow her father to sell her off to that Lowland chamber pot. So she came up with a simple plan to snatch James away for a few hours. Just so they could spend some time together. But as the bad luck would have it, everything went wrong. The MacDougalls ended up taking him to a dungeon at Dunstaffnage Castle.”

  “And the scoundrel took exception to that?”

  “Aye.” Kenna continued, telling him details he’d already heard, and some that he hadn’t.

  “But then, after he proposed to her—”

  “He proposed marriage to Emily?” He already knew this, too, but he also knew that James was listening to every word. “He proposed marriage to a woman already contracted to marry someone else? So she thought she could trap him into marrying her?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. Her love wasn’t supposed to be a trap. She only wished to buy some time to test the depth of their affection. But she only did it because she thought he cared for her, too.”

  “She kidnapped him,” he reminded her.

  “A bad plan, as it turned out. But she did it out of love. You’d kidnap me for love, wouldn’t you?”

  He would indeed, though she’d probably cut off his balls in a fit of temper. But Alexander decided this was not the time to have that discussion.

  “And was there more that Kester told you?”

  “When James proposed, of course she confessed it all. It would have been dishonorable to accept him . . . trap him, as you say. But when she told him that she’d done it all because she loved him, he threw it back in her face and stormed off. And then he came here, the coward, while her life is ruined.”

  Fresh tears ran down her face. He caressed her back, placed kisses on her hair. This was indeed a mess, but he was glad James was still by the trellis.

  “So she declared her love to him?”

  “Kester said she did, over and over. But James had made up his mind. Nothing she said was enough for him.”

  “He was drugged and kidnapped,” he reminded her.

  She pulled away and stood up, facing him with her hands on her hips. “I said nothing about him being drugged. I never said anything about how he was kidnapped.”

  “James told us some of this when he first arrived. But I couldn’t make any sense of it, to tell the truth. He never said Emily declared her love. I had the impression the whole thing was done as revenge for secrets he’d kept from her when they left us on the road to Oban. Truthfully, he portrayed her as heartless and conniving.”

  She walked away from him and plucked a leaf from a pear tree. He wanted to get up and go to her, but he waited.

  “You saw how he looked, Kenna. I’ve heard you wonder out loud why he’s been so miserable since we’ve arrived at Benmore. This explains it all.”

  “You might have told me.”

  “Told you what? That my brother was miserable because of the underhanded actions of your cousin?” he reasoned. “That would hardly have been fair to you. You’ve had enough to think about since arriving at Benmore. And then there was the accident with my mother.”

  She turned slowly to face him. “Don’t worry. I’m not upset with you for not telling me.”

  “But these tears are for Emily.”

  She nodded. “In many ways, these are tears of frustration, as well as sadness for her pain. What choices did she have? What choices does any woman have? Weeks before a wedding arranged by men, she’s abducted by men and used as a pawn in a ploy to put us together to consummate another marriage arranged by men. She was powerless.”

  Alexander considered arguing the point, but he didn’t know where to begin. This was all true.

  “And then,” Kenna continued, “when she turns the tables and tries to use the same ploy with James that he had used, she’s—what did you say?—heartless and conniving. So he rejects her, spurns her. And in the end, her life is ruined because she listened to her heart and to her head and acted independently, perhaps for the first time in her life.”

  Something deep inside of Alexander was telling him that, as a man, he should put a stop to this kind of talk, this kind of reasoning. But something else, something stronger, was telling him that, as a man, he needed to own up to the truth of what this woman—who only by chance was the woman he loved—was saying.

  She stood before him now, her hands at her sides, the summer sun illuminating her face. “For a long time, Alexander, I never thought it could be possible, but I love nothing in the world as much as you. And even this makes me understand Emily better. What she did. Why she did it. And why she suffers for it now.”

  “And I love nothing in the world more than you. I told you before that I would pull down the sky for you, and I will.”

  Still, Emily’s whole plan had been dangerous. Knowing his brother, it was a miracle no one was dead or severely injured.

  Alexander glanced upward, pretending to watch a hawk that was wheeling far above them. James had not moved.

  “You say you will do anything for me?” she asked.

  “I will. To make you smile again, I swear. Anything.”
r />   “Something to right a wrong?” she asked, stabbing at the tears.

  “Aye.” He would. And he hoped she knew it, too. She mattered so much to him. “Name it.”

  “Justice calls for action.”

  “Aye, perhaps there’s something in what you say. I need to talk to him.”

  “To start with, if he would just consider what she told him now that the heat of the moment has passed. Of course, if she was wrong, if he cares nothing for her . . . if he thinks it’s right that she lock herself away for life, then so be it. I won’t forgive him, and I’ll never speak to him again, but I’ll not harm him, either. But try to make him think this through with a clear head.”

  “I’ll try. I will,” he said, raising both hands in peace. “And for your sake, I’ll even beat it into him, if I must. But I can’t make his decision for him. I can’t force him to take the next step.”

  She gave a curt nod.

  “But I’ll say this,” Alexander continued, pulling her into his arms. “He’s certainly acting like a man in love . . . and stung by it.”

  The shadow moved, and Alexander watched James slip away in the direction of the stables.

  “Did he finally go?” she whispered.

  “Aye, love. In a few moments, if we look to the west, I’m certain we’ll see a cloud of dust from his horse’s heels.”

  Kenna smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  “You knew he was there, listening?” he asked.

  “Not at first. But your eyes gave him away.” She took his hand as they started walking back from the garden to the house. “I am glad it turned out this way. That he saw reason on his own.”

  “James cares too much for her. Anyone could see that. It was only a matter of time before he came to his senses. But that was clever of me, wasn’t it?”

  “Wickedly clever.” She smiled back, slipping her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

  He kissed her on the lips. “So, tell me. Which of my wicked qualities did you fall in love with first?”

  “With all of them. Together, they create such an entirely attractive person.” She kissed him. “But tell me. Which of my angelic qualities made you first fall in love with me?”