Highland Angels

by Ceci Giltenan

  “It’s none of yer business, but I’ve told ye before, I loved Joan. I don’t want to love anyone like that again.”

  “Get yer head out of yer arse. I never knew ye were such a selfish coward.”

  “Ye don’t know what it’s like to lose yer beloved, and until ye do, ye have no right to call me a coward.” But even as he said it, Andrew knew Graham was right. Hadn’t he admitted as much to Anna when she confronted him about Davy?

  “Perhaps I don’t know about that kind of loss, but I know a bit about courage. I have witnessed a wee lass, a reviled MacKay, who, when she saw a child in danger, gave no thought to herself, to what might happen to her, or even to the possibility that her actions might have resulted in her own death. She simply acted. If she had turned around on the bluff that day, none of us would have known and no one in her clan would have blamed her. But I’ll warrant it never occurred to her to protect herself. Then she did it again the morning she challenged you over going riding with Davy. Ye were enraged and ye practically dragged her out of the hall.”

  “I would never have hurt her.”

  “Of course ye wouldn’t, but I doubt she knew that. And yet she clearly stood her ground because whatever it was she said awakened ye to the fact that ye had been pushing yer own son away for years. I’ve already told ye, the rest of us knew it, but we also knew how badly ye were hurting and none of us were bold enough to call ye on it. Andrew, she gave ye back yer son…twice.”

  “I know she did, but—”

  “Nay, there is no but. That wee lass has a heart bigger than the Highlands and she gives her love freely, without worrying about how she could be hurt. She deserves yer love in return.”

  Andrew shook his head in frustration. Everything Graham said was true. He tried again to make his brother understand. “There is more to it than fearing the pain of loss again, and it isn’t that I don’t want to love her.”

  “Then what is it? Do ye not desire her? That’s hard to believe.”

  Andrew scowled darkly. “Of course I desire her. That has nothing to do with it.”

  “Then I am at a loss. She cares for yer clan, she adores yer child, and she loves ye. What could possibly keep ye from loving her in return?”

  There was only one answer Andrew could give. “Guilt.”

  “What? What do ye have to feel guilty for?”

  “If I allow myself to love Anna, I fear I’m letting Joan go.”

  “Of course ye’re letting her go!” Graham practically shouted. “She’s dead, Andrew, ye must let her go, but it doesn’t mean ye love her any less. If I’m not much mistaken, she would be furious over this. She loved ye too, but she was as loving and generous as Anna. Joan wouldn’t want ye to lock yer heart away, and she certainly wouldn’t want ye to eschew Anna’s love out of some foolish devotion to her.”

  Andrew was silent as he let the things Graham had said sink in. It was true. Once again he had been focused only on himself, on what he had lost. Furthermore, with his misguided notion of loyalty he hadn’t allowed himself to see any other perspective. Graham was right about Joan too. She wouldn’t begrudge him this. She would be thrilled that another woman cared so deeply for her son, and she wouldn’t want Andrew to live the remainder of his days without love either.

  “Do ye still think ye can’t give Anna yer heart? Because if ye do, I’ll go now, take her to Naomh-dùn tonight, beg her brother to break the betrothal and face Da’s wrath in the morning.”

  “For the love of all that’s holy, Graham, don’t do that. I fear I gave her my heart the moment I carried her from the dungeon. I just didn’t…I couldn’t…”

  “Don’t tell me. Tell her—if she’ll even speak to ye.”

  Andrew nodded and left the room.

  When he reached Anna’s chamber he knocked. Hearing nothing, he knocked again. “Anna, please.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Anna, we need to talk.” He frowned when she didn’t answer. He knocked again. “Anna, I’m coming in.”

  He opened the door only to discover the room was empty. He left her chamber and practically ran down the stairs.

  He burst into the great hall and, on seeing his father, asked, “Da, have ye seen Anna?”

  Obviously concerned, Dougal frowned. “What’s happened?”

  “We had a…misunderstanding. Did ye see her?”

  “Aye, she was here not long ago. She said she was going to the chapel to speak with Father Ninian.”

  Without another word, Andrew left the keep, crossing the bailey to the chapel. Someone was there; the windows glowed with candlelight. He took a deep, calming breath before stepping inside.

  There sat Anna, her back to the door, speaking earnestly with Father Ninian.

  The priest looked up. “Ah…Andrew…good evening.”

  Anna’s back went rigid. “Leave me be.”

  “Anna, I’m sorry. Come back to the keep with me, there are things I need to tell ye.”

  “Nay, Andrew. I said leave me be.”

  “Anna, please, it’s late. I’m sure Father Ninian is ready to retire. Come with me now.”

  “I said nay.”

  Andrew was growing frustrated. He knew she was angry and she deserved to be, but he didn’t want to discuss this here. “Anna, I threatened to throw ye over my shoulder once before. Don’t make me do it again.”

  Father Ninian stood up. “I’m sorry Andrew, I can’t allow that. Anna has asked for sanctuary and I have granted it.”

  “Sanctuary? From what?”

  “From marriage.”

  “Ye can’t be serious. Anna, the betrothals are signed. They can’t be broken. Isn’t that right, Father Ninian?”

  The priest shook his head. “That’s not precisely true, Andrew. A betrothal can be broken in some circumstances, if both parties agree.”

  “Well, I don’t agree.”

  “And,” continued Father Ninian, “a betrothal can be broken unilaterally if one party seeks to make religious vows. Anna has requested sanctuary and safe passage to an abbey. I cannot deny her that.”

  This couldn’t be happening. He had to change her mind. “Anna, please, give me the opportunity to explain.”

  Finally she turned around. The hurt and anger in her expression gutted him.

  “There’s nothing to explain. Ye’ve made yerself abundantly clear.”

  Damnation. He needed to talk to her…alone. “Father, I accept that ye’ve granted Anna sanctuary. I swear to ye that I will not force her to leave. However, there are things she needs to hear. Would ye give us privacy?”

  The priest appeared to consider the request for a moment before drawing Anna’s attention by putting his hand on her shoulder.

  “Anna, clearly something happened this evening to upset ye. The decision to enter the religious life is a serious one. I believe it would be best if ye discussed whatever has happened with Andrew. I also believe that he will honor yer request for sanctuary, but whether I stay or leave is your choice.”

  “I’ll speak with him alone,” she said softly.

  He nodded. “Well, then, I’ll leave ye for now. Andrew, if she decides to remain in sanctuary, please let me know. She’ll need blankets if she’s to sleep here tonight.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Father. If she still chooses the religious life when we’re done, I’ll not stand in her way.”

  “I’m sorry, my son, but ye do not have the power to release her from the betrothal. Only Laird MacLeod can do that and I am certain that he will not. Lady Anna, if you choose sanctuary, do not leave this chapel.”

  She nodded. “Aye, Father.”

  They waited in silence until Father Ninian had left.

  “Anna, I—”

  She put her hand up. “Don’t. Ye said ye have things to tell me, but I am tired of being told. I was told I couldn’t go home. I was told I had to marry ye. I was told to accept that it was the best thing for our clans. I was told that ye could never give yer heart to anyone again.”


  “Anna—”

  “Wheesht!”

  Andrew was taken aback by her vehemence.

  “I have been told a lot of things. Right now I am going to tell ye a few things and I don’t care if ye find what I have to say hard to hear.

  “Ye’ve been greatly blessed, Andrew. Yer father arranged a marriage for ye to a wonderful woman who ye came to love passionately and who by all accounts loved ye in return. Few noblemen are given that blessing even for a little while. Ye were blessed to have her in yer life for almost five years. Ye were blessed with a wonderful child from that union. And yet for too many years, ye’ve focused on your loss rather than the blessings ye were given. Ye feared the pain of that loss so much ye even locked yerself away from yer son and vowed never to marry, never to take a risk with yer heart.

  “Then another blessing came into yer life. Me. I was a blessing. Right now I’m the slightest bit irritated about that, but it is true. Aye, I was where Davy needed me in order to save him, but it’s more than that.

  “Neither one of us wanted this betrothal, but my reticence was born from fear. Fear of my clan’s enemy and fear of the unknown. But that isn’t why ye didn’t want to marry me. Ye’re life would hardly have changed. Ye still live in yer home, among yer clan, and ye are still the laird’s heir. Marrying one little MacKay might be an annoyance, but nothing more. Ye certainly didn’t fear me. But make no mistake, Andrew, ye were afraid.”

  “Aye, I was.”

  She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Ye were afraid of risking yer heart again, afraid of loving me and perhaps losing me as ye did Joan. Yer life had become all about protecting yourself, ensuring that ye didn’t ache with loss again. But tell me this, if before ye married Joan ye’d known how brief yer life together would be, would ye have chosen not to love her? Would ye have chosen never to experience her love for ye. If ye could have avoided all of this pain, would ye have?

  “Nay.”

  “Of course not. But ye’re willing to shut me out. Well, I’m sorry Andrew. I didn’t ask to be brought here or betrothed to ye. I didn’t ask to fall in love with a wee lad who fights dragons or a clan I thought was my enemy. And I certainly didn’t ask to fall in love with a man who was too scared to love me back. But I did. I had no choice in any of this, but now I do. I deserve better.”

  “Aye, ye do, and ye won’t be happy in a convent.”

  “I’ve learned that happiness is a choice. I refuse to spend my life lamenting what I can never have. I will be happy wherever I decide to be happy.”

  “Then decide to be happy with me.”

  She stared at him, stunned. “I tried, and ye just keep pushing me away.”

  He stepped towards her and took her hands. “Ye’re right. But as much as I’ve tried to guard against loving ye, I failed miserably. I think I’ve loved ye from the start. I also think part of me felt guilty loving ye. I worried that somehow I was setting Joan aside. I was wrong. I’m sorry I hurt ye, but please, Anna, if happiness is really a choice, I’m begging ye, choose to be happy with me.”

  “Why should I?” she asked warily.

  “Because I love ye and ye love me too. Ye just said so.”

  Her brow drew together. “I did, didn’t I?”

  He chuckled, pulling her in his arms. “Aye, angel, ye did. And ye love Davy. And ye love my clan.”

  “I said all of those things?” But as she looked up at him a small smile played around her lips, suggesting that her hurt and anger were evaporating.

  “I assure ye, ye did.”

  “And ye promise to stop pushing me away?”

  “I promise.”

  She sighed. “Then, aye, I suppose I’ll choose to be happy with ye.”

  He cupped her face in his hands and finished what he had started early in the evening. He kissed her, deeply and passionately, and she returned his kiss with ardor. For several moments nothing existed but the two of them. When he finally broke the kiss they were both left breathless. He continued to simply hold her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

  Realizing they were still in the chapel, Andrew breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. She was indeed a blessing, an incredible gift from the Almighty that he had nearly lost through his own blindness.

  “Come back to the keep with me now?”

  He held her hand as they left the church and walked across the quiet bailey. When they entered the hall, his father sat by the hearth, watching the door, looking ready to do battle. Lairds Chisholm and Sinclair had evidently retired.

  Andrew called, “Goodnight, Da. I’ll see Anna to her chamber before I retire.”

  He had hoped to avoid any questions, but nothing else this evening had gone as expected, so it was no surprise when his father said, “Stop right there. Neither one of ye are going anywhere until ye tell me what’s going on.”

  A hot blush rose on Anna’s cheeks. “Laird, I…”

  Andrew put one finger to her lips. “Anna just had to help me recognize a minor error in judgement.”

  “And did ye?” his father demanded.

  “Aye, Da. I did.”

  “Good. See that it doesn’t happen again.”

  “I will.”

  His father harrumphed. “I believe ye, thousands wouldn’t.”

  ~ * ~

  From the moment Anna had arrived at Curacridhe, her first thought on waking was some version of, I miss home. Even as she had worked to fit in and find happiness, she couldn’t quite suppress her longing for Naomh-dùn. However, when she woke the next morning, she was happy and content. Her first thoughts were of Andrew and Davy and the things that needed to be accomplished that day.

  She was looking forward to her brothers arriving for the wedding, but not simply because she had missed them. Now she was excited to show them her home and help them see the MacLeods as she did.

  When she entered the great hall for breakfast, Andrew looked up from where he sat and gave her a smile, so filled with love and adoration, it made her knees go weak.

  He didn’t wait for her to reach the table but met her halfway, caught her in his arms, spun her around and kissed her full on the lips. If there had ever been any question whether the MacLeods were happy with this union it was laid to rest that morning. The cheer was deafening.

  When he broke the kiss, he looked around at his obviously happy clan before asking quietly, “Ye haven’t changed yer mind about the abbey have ye? I don’t think I could face them. They love ye almost as much as I do.”

  “Nay, I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Anna firmly believed that happiness was a choice, but this morning she had to admit, it was a much easier choice when wonderful things happened.

  Chapter 19

  Ten days after the messenger arrived from Lewis with news of Laird Morrison’s illness, another arrived during the midday meal.

  “Laird MacLeod, I fear I bear sad tidings. Laird Tyree Morrison suffered another apoplexy yesterday, which took his life. God rest his soul.”

  Laird MacLeod made the sign of the cross. “God rest his soul. He was a good man and will be missed. I’m certain his sons are grieving. We think very highly of Darach and have missed him these last days.”

  “The requiem Mass will be three days hence, Laird.”

  Dougal rubbed his forehead. “Under other circumstances, I would want to be there myself with the lad. However, my oldest son’s wedding will be held on the Feast of St. Mark, but ten days away. I am expecting allies from all over the Highlands to begin arriving soon. I cannot leave.”

  The messenger nodded. “I understand, laird, and will offer yer regrets to the family on my return.”

  “Nay, lad, ye misunderstand. I cannot go myself, but, I look upon Darach as a member of my family. My son, Graham, will represent me. He’ll leave for Lewis today with a contingent of men—Darach’s comrades—to pay our respects and offer any assistance which may be needed.”

  Graham nodded and rose from the table. “I will make prepar
ations immediately. If we leave this afternoon, we can sail on the morning tide and reach Castle Morrison tomorrow afternoon.”

  ~ * ~

  Darach had done what was asked of him. He stayed and attended his father faithfully. After his discussion with Coll the night he arrived, Darach never revealed the deep hurt he felt to anyone else. His father seemed grateful and truly happy that Darach was home. When the second apoplexy claimed Tyree Morrison’s life, Darach was saddened as one would be to lose an acquaintance, but he was not grief-stricken.

  Although it was rare for clans from the mainland to send representatives to a funeral on the island, Darach was beyond pleased when Graham arrived along with several guardsmen and men-at-arms. To Darach, these men felt like brothers. Graham greeted him more warmly than Fearchar had.

  “Da sends ye his deepest condolences. He would have come himself, but Andrew’s wedding is a little over a week away.”

  “Aye, Graham. I know that. I’m just glad ye could come.”

  Having Graham and the other MacLeod guards there was a blessing Darach hadn’t expected, and it made the whole ordeal tolerable.

  The day after the funeral, during the evening meal, Graham said, “Darach, we’ll be leaving at high tide tomorrow morning. Ye can travel with us or come later, if ye wish.”

  “I’d like—”

  “He won’t be returning to Curacridhe,” said Fearchar.

  Graham looked from Darach to Fearchar and back. “He hasn’t finished his training.”

  “Nay, I haven’t,” said Darach.

  “He belongs here. He’ll finish his training here,” said Fearchar flatly.

  “Fearchar, perhaps it would be prudent to let him go back for a while at least,” said Coll. “This has been a shock for all of us. He can return at the end of the summer.”

  “I don’t want to stay now and I don’t want to come back at the end of the summer.”

  Fearchar rose to his feet, growling. “I don’t care what ye want. I’m yer laird now and I said ye’re staying here.”

  Darach rose to his feet as well. “Ye aren’t my laird yet. I’ve not sworn fealty to ye.”