The Thistle and the Rose

by May McGoldrick

“We both knew that if we received a poem from the other, then the message was really the exact opposite of what was written. It was a kind of code we had, and he's doing it now.”

  “Then what does he mean?”

  “Look at the lines,” she said, pointing at the message. “`Walking solitary, you alone.' He knows I'm not alone. `Nothing but sticks and stone.' He heard Eustace talk about Kildalton Castle as a paradise. As far as `this joyful sound,' when did you ever hear Father William sound joyful?”

  “I'll buy that,” Edmund joked.

  “The bottom line is that Argyll's place must not be too `merry,' and he doesn't want us to be there.” Celia thought over the message in her head. Something wasn't quite right. If Father William thought that the Argyll part of the plan was no good, then why hadn't he simply come to Kildalton? There was something he was not sure of. She wished she were there to see for herself.

  “Then we wait,” Edmund shrugged. “Maybe now that Argyll's returned, whatever has been bothering Dunbar will be resolved.”

  “Maybe. But what about the things that Eustace said in front of Colin?” Celia wondered.

  “Do not fear the Campbells, Celia. We have to trust Dunbar's judgment about going to Argyll right now. Until he sends us word, this is still the safest place for Kit.”

  Fear Colin Campbell? Celia thought as they passed through the drawbridge of the castle's thick curtain wall. Never. Celia knew that she would pour her body and soul into his hands if she could. If she only could.

  After spending an hour with Kit and Ellen, Celia returned to the Great Hall. There were no new arrivals, but many of the injured were still in distress. Children were running here and there among the groups of wounded peasants, and the sounds of dogs and children lightened the air of suffering in the room.

  Celia went from group to group, checking the wounds and the burns, talking to those who felt up to it, cheering those who could be cheered, comforting those who could be comforted.

  It was in the midst of this that she saw him. Colin, still wearing his heavy leather cloak, was standing with his father, talking to him. She could see his eyes were roaming the room, she saw them fix upon her. She had just sat down to change the dressing on a young man's shoulder. Celia tried to focus on the shoulder wound, a gash that had been stitched so neatly. The wound was clean, she thought.

  But it was no use. Colin's eyes were piercing her to the core of her existence. She felt her eyes drawn irresistibly to him. He had turned his head and was saying something to Lord Hugh. As she watched, his face was that of a statue, his eyes were ice as his gaze returned to her.

  She could not stand Colin's glare any longer, so she lowered her eyes and devoted her attention to the patient before her. But she couldn't help wonder whether she had been the subject of the discussion between father and son. She dreaded the talk that Colin had warned her about. Oh, how she hated the lies. And how she hated, more than anything else, the scornful way Colin had looked at her at the harbor.

  How he must hate her now. Now that he knew that she was bringing his enemies to their door. Now that he knew that she was the one being sought after. Now that the blood of innocent Highlanders was being spilled because of her. How he must despise her.

  Celia nodded at the young man as she finished her work on his shoulder. Standing, she looked up at the spot she'd seen Colin standing last, but there was no sight of him. She let out a weary sigh, relieved that the anticipated discussion might be put off.

  Celia backed up slightly to make room for an elderly woman who was trying to pass.

  Celia backed into a human wall. Startled, she knew who it was before he even spoke.

  “I want to talk to you now.”

  Celia could tell from his tone that he was not going to be put off.

  She turned around and looked at him questioningly, hoping against hope to see some hint of softness, some hint of gentleness. Celia was hoping... But his expression was hard, revealing nothing. He took hold of her hand, expecting her to follow. She held back.

  “Where are you taking me?” Celia asked, delaying the inevitable.

  “A place where we can talk...privately,” Colin said, facing her. “I believe there are a few things that you and I need to discuss.”

  Without another word exchanged, Colin led Celia from the Great Hall into a narrow arched corridor in the older section of the castle. Celia had not been on this side before, although she knew that Edmund's room was somewhere above her on the second level. The corridor intersected other corridors, and there were a number of solid oak doors along the passage.

  When Celia had returned from the village, she had noted two soldiers stationed in the upstairs hallway that led to her bedroom. Now, in this older section of the castle, they passed several more guards, stopping before one who was standing before one of the entryways. The soldier stood aside for Colin, who pushed open the heavy wooden door, and Celia followed him into the dark chamber.

  She knew before she even stepped through the door that this room was the Campbells’ library. The odor of vellum and old parchment swept out into the corridor like escaping spirits. But these were not spirits antagonistic to Celia. She loved this smell. It was the smell of knowledge, of wisdom.

  Celia knew it was also the smell of money. The guard posted at the door was protecting some of the Campbells’ most valuable possessions. Only the wealthiest of the nobility in Scotland could own books, though many of them up to the present had chosen to forgo what they saw as the “luxury” of a library. That’s what the wealthy, old monasteries were for. But since James IV put into law that the sons of the lairds had to learn to read, the value of books was increasing rapidly.

  Colin moved through the library and lifted the wooden bar on another oak door. Pulling it open, he ushered Celia out into the misty twilight of the Scottish dusk.

  She found herself standing on a broad stone terrace, and the sight before her was breathtaking. A garden, or rather what had once been one, stretched out in front of her, and beyond the wall at the far end, the line of cliffs and crashing surf of the firth curved away into the mists.

  Two stone stairways flanked the terrace, and the high wall of the South Hall to Celia's right bordered the west side of the garden. To her left, a high stone wall provided privacy from the rest of the castle's outbuildings and training grounds. The garden itself, large enough to exercise a troop of mounted horsemen in, had been broken up into four sections by four tunnels of latticed wood, radiating from a raised stone pool in the very center. The symmetry of the design was exquisite.

  But if the design was superlative, the overgrown garden beds themselves were not. Her eyes took in the trellised tunnels, the wild tangle of climbing roses that covered them. Celia looked at the areas of lawn where the precisely knotted designs of low hedge or herbs had grown into an unruly mélange of brush and sticks. The low walls, too, that formed bench seats around several sides of each of the sections had once been planted with grasses or close-growing herbs. But now, huge tufts of weeds sprouted at intervals along the walls, last season’s growth spilling from the seats in a brown cascade.

  There was, however, one aspect of the garden that appeared to have matured in spite of going unheeded. In each of the four corners of the garden, there was a large cherry tree. The trees were all approximately the same size, and as Celia went to the top of one of the stairways leading from the terrace, she could see that the fuzz-covered buds on the branches were preparing to open. Reaching out to one that was overhanging the stairway, Celia could almost feel the life within the small bud, growing steadily, pushing at the season, preparing to burst into a renewed cycle of life.

  Of all the things Celia had missed growing up on her father's ships, she most regretted not having a place to grow things. She had always dreamed of a cool green place where friends could meet amid the reds, and blues, and yellows of the spring and summer flowers. A protected place where she could take refuge when she was sad, and hurt, and confused. A place of solitu
de strangely devoid of loneliness.

  Celia loved this place. She never had any idea that Kildalton Castle had such a garden, and she wondered why it had been so ignored.

  Abruptly she turned to Colin, wondering why he had brought her here. Why now, when his anger seemed to be all that was left of the few precious moments they had shared. The giant warrior was standing by the low stone wall at the edge of the terrace, looking out at the untended garden. Turning to her, his eyes showed none of the coldness that Celia had seen in the Great Hall.

  “I'm going away for a day or two,” Colin said simply. “I want you to stay here until I come back.”

  “Stay? Why?” she questioned. At first perplexed by his request, Celia suddenly felt all the doubts, guilt, and sorrows that she'd been keeping pent in inside her gush up, flooding her conscious mind with overwhelming emotions. “Why? Haven't I done enough? Haven't I caused enough trouble and suffering for you and your people? Your Great Hall is filled with innocent people who are hurt and homeless simply because I passed near their homes. Don't you know that the same could happen here?”

  Celia's head dropped to her chest. Two tears rolled off her cheeks to the stone slabs at her feet. A chill swept over her as she stood alone, not wanting to look at him. She hugged her arms around her and turned toward the tree as she spoke.

  “Don't you hate me? For what I am? For what I've done?”

  Removing his cloak, Colin moved to Celia's side and wrapped it around her. Pulling her to him, the young warrior enclosed her in his arms, laid her head against his chest, pressed his lips against her hair.

  “Hate you? You really do not understand, do you?” Colin whispered, softly rubbing his chin on the top of her head.

  Celia braced her arms against his chest, pushing back slightly until her eyes met his.

  Colin looked down into her velvety eyes. They were glistening from the tears that had welled up in them.

  “Celia, I care for you deeply. I want you and Kit to be safe,” he began. “Look around you. This garden is so much like the Campbell lands, so much like Scotland itself. It's a place where life must begin again, where new starts can...nay...must be made.”

  Colin released her from his embrace and, taking her by the hand, sat her beside him on the low wall at the edge of the terrace. As they sat, he clasped her hand firmly in his, resting them in her lap.

  “And I want us to spend time here, the two of us,” he continued. “Getting to know each other. I want to know everything about you, and not just the glimpses you've allowed me now and then. And I want you to know me as well. You do not know me; that's why you do not trust me. But if you stay, you will know me. You will trust me.”

  Celia sat quietly, her exterior hardly betraying the tumult of emotions within. This was all she had ever dreamed of, more than she had ever hoped. She had never even imagined that the overwhelming happiness that was surging within her could also hurt so terribly. The tears began to flow freely as she answered him.

  “Colin, I want all these things, as well. My life was an empty shell until I met you. These past days have filled something in me. They have given me something that I will cherish my whole life.”

  Celia paused and, pulling her hand from his, stood up and backed away from him. She turned slightly and looked out beyond the garden at the mist-enshrouded sea.

  “But I cannot,” she continued. “I will not make a promise that I cannot hope to keep. I care for you too much to be the cause of even greater sorrows that are sure to follow...when it is all over.”

  “Over? Why over?” he asked. Something in Colin hardened at her words. “Celia, is there someone else?”

  “Aye,” she said, stumbling over her answer. “And no.”

  The muscles of Colin's jaw contracted in anger and frustration. Celia saw the hurt and anger flash across his face. His hands clenched into fists as he stood, turning away from her.

  “I'm telling you the truth,” she said quickly, laying her hand on his arm. “If you really want to know me, then you'll listen now. But you have to promise me that what I tell you will be enough. Please promise me that you'll ask no questions.”

  Colin turned back to her, looking steadily into her eyes. Aye, he was angry...and disappointed, too. But looking at her, Colin saw the pained look in those black eyes. She spoke of telling the truth, but should he believe her? A voice inside was telling him that this was not pretense. She was as upset as he was. And Colin knew he must hear what she had to say. There was so much he wanted to know about her. He nodded solemnly. “I promise you.”

  Celia took a deep breath and sat on the wall again. Colin placed one foot on the wall beside her and leaned one elbow on his knee. His gaze wandered from Celia to the garden behind her, finally coming to rest on the tree beside the terrace steps.

  “When I was very young, arrangements were made for me to marry. But it was to someone I've always hated and despised, now more than ever. These plans were made after my father died. I was only fourteen at the time and a ward of the court, and I had no say in the matter. At that time it was only because of Edmund that I was able to postpone the marriage. He would not even agree to a formal betrothal. But I knew the time would come that not even my uncle could stop it from happening. When that time came nearer, I ran.”

  Celia paused, tired of the pretense, tired of being someone else, tired of hiding from what she wanted most.

  “I ran away from court, in part, to escape that marriage, to escape a fate that is to me worse than death, but it is a fate that I know I cannot escape in this life.”

  Celia's eyes surveyed the stone slabs before her. The area beneath the tree branch appeared spotted and stained. They were dark stains, like drops of blood. If there was one thing she was afraid of, it was the lie she was about to reveal.

  “And, I'm not who you think I am. Perhaps you were taken with that someone else. But I'm telling you now, I'm not Lady Caithness. That was just a ruse to disguise us. The real Lady Caithness is in England.”

  Celia raised her eyes to Colin's face. His gaze shifted to meet hers. She was trusting him, and Colin knew it. It was a trust he would not betray. He felt a glow of affection, of appreciation for the honesty that Celia was exhibiting, even though she was telling him something he had already discovered. In Colin's mind, this trust elevated the feelings between them to a more precious level.

  “Colin, I've known my fate for a long time, and because of it, I've avoided knowing…or caring…for anyone. That is, until now. You've changed all that. You've made it impossible. But that is all I can tell you right now. All you can know. So please let it be, as you promised.”

  Like a bolt of lightning, the thrill of her words charged Colin's spirit. She cared for him, as he cared for her. Mutually, exclusively, sincerely. They would make this relationship a possibility. He knew it now.

  With a single sweep, Colin lifted her up from where she sat, crushing her body to his. His mouth found hers, and their lips bruised each other with a passion so different from anything they had shared before. It felt to Celia as if their souls had entwined as their bodies were seeking to. All the insecurities that had been following her, tormenting her, evaporated into the garden's misty air. She felt his tongue searching the warm recesses of her own, and she responded with a desire to envelop him, to take him in as far as he could reach.

  Colin's passion seemed to explode, but there was nothing in Celia that even thought to hold back. The untried passions that she had so carefully disciplined for so long erupted. Indeed, Celia was as frantic as he, her fingers gripping his hair, compelling him to kiss her. She wanted more of him. There was a fire building within her body, traveling through her veins, sensualizing her being. She never had known this urgency before, and nothing mattered now but to touch, to feel, to taste. She could not get enough of him.

  Colin felt an inferno raging in his loins. The unbridled passion of Celia's response was pushing him to the very limits of his control. He knew that in the span of a moment,
he would take her where they stood, regardless of the consequences.

  But a thought was pushing through the white hot sensations that were engulfing his conscious mind. The thought began as a cold blue spot, and steadily grew, forcing itself through the blinding flames of his lust and his desire for her.

  This would be their only lover's embrace. She was giving herself to him for this one moment of passion. For this one moment only, he realized.

  Abruptly Colin ended the kiss.

  Entwining his fingers in her dark locks, he pulled her head gently back, his lips still only a breath away from hers. Looking into her passion-clouded eyes, he forced himself to say the words he knew he must.

  “Celia, this moment will not be enough for me. Tell me that there will be more, that this is just the beginning.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and her ragged breathing gave way to a soft whisper as she responded from her very soul.

  “Colin, my future is not my own. It has not been for a long time.”

  “Celia, I will not let you go. It cannot be your destiny to wed someone you do not love.”

  These were words that, for so long, Celia had not even allowed herself to dream of. But now, hearing them come from Colin, the only person in this world who seemed able to awaken in her the feelings, the sensations...the love...that she thought would never be hers to have or to give.

  Was this only a dream? If this be a dream, she never wanted it to end.

  But the way he held her, the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her...these things were not dreams. His touch and his words radiated through her. And she believed him. For the first time, Celia saw a glimpse of herself as a woman with a future. A future!

  And what would that future hold? Love, she thought. As her parents loved. A sharing of dreams. Through hardships and joys. And only one man had ever made her think this way. This man.

  But first, there were battles that needed to be fought.

  “Colin, it's more than that.” She stumbled for the words.

  “Then tell me, make me understand.” Colin released her from his embrace, gently taking hold of her hands.