Rescued by a Laird

by Fiona MacEwen

  She looked down and smiled, as their hands rested together for a moment, but then a look of melancholy came across her face and she sighed.

  “I am only delayin’ the inevitable,” she said. “Nay doubt Stewart McKinnon will send a ship for me soon.”

  “Stewart McKinnon doesnae know ye are here, lass, and nay ship will be sent for ye until yer strong enough and wish to embark upon it. I promise ye that,” Bryce said, as she looked up at him.

  “Ye mean ye will nae send me away to him?” she said, a look of hope in her eyes.

  “Is this some sort of arranged marriage ye have entered into?” Bryce said.

  “Nae that I have entered into, it has been entered into for me. I have never met this Stewart McKinnon, though few seem to have a good word for him. Is he known to ye?” she asked.

  “Aye, he is known to me, and to this clan. When my father died, he sailed here to make a claim over my lands. He is a bully and a man with little honor, I must say both my mother and I were surprised when ye told us of yer betrothal to him,” Bryce said, “in my dealings with him I have found him to be quite the most unpleasant of men and full of self-entitlement. Why ever did yer father agree to such a match, and without ye havin’ met him, either?”

  “My father is an old man, he worried that if I dinnae have a man to marry, then I would be left all alone in the world. It seems that Stewart McKinnon came along at just the right time, though it was with a heavy heart that I left my dear home,” she said, a look of sadness across her face.

  “Nay lass should have to marry a man she doesnae wish to. Ye should not have to trade yer life away just to find security for yerself, lass. That is nay life at all,” Bryce said, shaking his head sadly.

  “Tis’ the fate I am called to, or so it would seem,” she replied. “But tell me something of yerself, are ye betrothed to a lass? I am sure there are many suitors for a man such as ye.”

  Bryce laughed and shook his head.

  “Nay, lass. I have nay such interests, I am happy to be Laird and that is that, I dinnae need such company, I prefer my own. I am a solitary creature, that is why I came across ye as I did. I like to take a walk along the beach, just as I was doin’ when I came across the wreckage of the ship. I was alone then, but I had come back to the castle for help with the hoard, if truth be told we believed there were nay survivors, I am just glad ye found the strength to shout up,” he replied.

  “It was all the strength I could muster, there was little hope left, but that was when I heard voices and saw ye on the brow of the rock.

  “Thank the good Lord that ye did, lass,” Bryce replied.

  “But a solitary Laird intrigues me, dae ye not find yerself lonely without a lass for company? Has nay lass ever captured yer heart Bryce Dunbar?” Ailsa said, looking at him with a bemused expression upon her face.

  “Nay, lass, none ever has, though I would nae be averse to such a thing, if the right lass came along,” and he smiled at her and bid her a good day.

  Downstairs he found his mother busy at her spinning and reported to her that Ailsa seemed in much better form that day than they had so far seen her.

  “The lass is a fighter, but I worry terribly about what will become of her. Even the strongest of lasses is powerless against an arranged marriage and when Stewart McKinnon discovers she is here, he will sail straight to claim her, ye mark my words,” Lady Dunbar said.

  “She will go nowhere against her will and she will nae leave here until she is better, I assure ye of that, Mother,” Bryce said, settling himself before the fire. “Besides, no one knows she is here, for all Stewart McKinnon knows his betrothed perished out at sea. Ailsa will remain here with us, and if she wishes to stay I shall dae everything in my power to ensure she is able to dae so.”

  Lady Dunbar smiled, she had not seen her son so passionate about a lass before, and as she spun her wool that afternoon she wondered if perhaps the ship had delivered a more precious cargo than either of them had imagined.

  Chapter 4

  On McKinnon Island

  Bryce Dunbar was certain that his clansmen were loyal, and for the most part they were, all but one, a man named Hamish Macleod, who bore a grudge. Hamish Macleod had been in the pay of Bryce’s father, a mercenary of sorts who had proved useful on certain occasions. He hung about the castle like a bad smell and was distrusted by the other clansmen.

  Bryce had tried to get rid of him on numerous occasions, but he always found a way of worming himself back in. He was a sly man and was often found listening around corners or observing that which he shouldn’t. Hamish disliked the Dunbar’s as much as they disliked him and when the opportunity to spy upon them had arisen, he had been more than happy to oblige, especially given the renumeration which would be his due.

  It had been after the death of the old Laird, when Stewart McKinnon had arrived at the castle, that he and Hamish Macleod had first met. The Laird over the waters had offered Hamish a fine bounty if he would pass on information to about the goings on in the castle to him, information that would prove useful when the time was ripe for attack.

  Hamish had watched the arrival of Ailsa with interest, though he had done little to assist her, listening, instead, for anything that might come in useful. He had been outside her chambers when Ailsa had revealed to Bryce and Lady Dunbar that she was betrothed to Stewart McKinnon and at this revelation Hamish had pricked his ears up. He knew he would be handsomely rewarded and taking a quill to parchment he wrote out a letter detailing what he had heard.

  The procedure for getting information across the waters was simple enough. Each week a ship would depart from a nearby village, rowed by men loyal to Stewart McKinnon. They would brave the treacherous waters to make their way to the castle carrying supplies for the Laird and his men. Stewart McKinnon had wealth far exceeding any of the other nobles in that area and he would reward them handsomely for their efforts.

  If there was news from the Dunbar castle, then Hamish would make his way quietly to the village on the pretense of visiting the inn there, or on some other such errand, passing the sealed letter to the Stewart’s men as he did so. Thus, the day after he had heard the revelations regarding Ailsa Kennedy he had hurried to the village with the parchment and instructed the men that it was to be delivered without delay.

  The seas had been surprisingly calm that day and the rowing ship set off across the waters, bound for the castle of the McKinnon’s. There it was met by several of his men, who acted as a go between, ferrying the supplies from the ship to the castle. One of the men explained that there was a letter from the ‘source in the Dunbar,’ as Hamish was covertly known, and with great haste his letter was taken to Stewart McKinnon.

  Stewart McKinnon was everything that his reputation foretold. He, like Bryce, had inherited the Lairdship from his father at an early age. But there was where the similarity between the two young men came to an end.

  Stewart was a hard and cruel master, and it was a hardy man who could stand life on the island of the McKinnon clan. The castle rose up from the shoreline, built into the cliff, a large tower reaching up into the sky and affording views across the island. The peasants of the clan eked out a living through farming and fishing, whilst their Laird lived a comfortable life in the castle. He was a hard man to deal with and rarely given over to mercy for anyone who crossed him.

  He had been angered by Bryce and his refusal to hand over lands which Stewart McKinnon believed were rightfully his. They shared the same ancestors, for the McKinnon’s and the Dunbar’s had not always been enemies. Over the years the clans had drifted apart, so that now there was little they shared, except a mutual distrust. It was Stewart’s secret desire to possess the castle of the Dunbar’s and see his standard raised above it. It had been his belief that marrying a lass would help strengthen his claim and produce children to take up the cause with their father.

  He had expected Ailsa Kennedy to arrive several days previously, the arrangement with her father stating that she wo
uld arrive, ready to be married, on the first day of that month. When no sign of her had come, he had sent a ship to the mainland and learned that a storm had shipwrecked a ship some miles down the coast and that all hands had been lost at sea. There had been only one conclusion to this, and that was that Ailsa Kennedy had perished. Having never met the lass Stewart McKinnon was not inclined to mourning. As far as he was concerned another lass could be found to replace her, and she too could provide the children he needed to secure his inheritance.

  But when word came that a letter from ‘the source of Dunbar,’ had arrived he demanded to see it immediately and the letter was brought with haste to the Laird who was seated in the great hall of the castle, surrounded by his men.

  “What have we here then, lads,” he said, breaking the scroll of the letter and reading it with interest.

  The clansmen turned with interest to their master as he shook his head, an angry scowl coming across his face.

  “What treachery, how dare he, what treachery,” he said, looking around him, “McKinnon men, today our clan has been dealt a wicked blow by that young pretender in the castle of the Dunbar’s. The lass whom we thought had perished in the sea is very much alive and according to our source in the castle, she is being held there, rescued from the shipwreck,”

  A general murmur went up from the men and Stewart McKinnon called again for quiet, his anger now kindled against his enemy across the water.

  “Tis’ clear who the wrecker of that ship was, is it not?” he said.

  “Aye,” the men replied, drawing their swords.

  “Bryce Dunbar, the wrecker, tis’ he who has caused the ship to be dashed upon the cliffs and tis’ he who now holds the lass who was to be a McKinnon bride captive for his own wicked doings. Well, we shall not stand for that, shall we lads?” Stewart said, standing and drawing his own sword.

  “Nay,” they cried.

  “Then let us make our plans and seize an opportunity to bring her to her rightful place. No McKinnon lass shall find herself at the mercy of that fiend, or my name is not Stewart McKinnon, Laird of this isle and master of the seas,” Stewart said, and he roused the men into a frenzied cheer, as together they vowed to lay waste the Dunbar castle and see to it that Ailsa was taken to her rightful place at Stewart’s side.

  Chapter 5

  The Lass’s Recovery

  It was now ten days since the shipwreck and Ailsa’s rescue from the beach. Her wounds were healing well, and she was now strong enough to take her meals downstairs with Bryce and Lady Dunbar. Her leg was set in splints and she walked with Bryce’s help, though growing stronger day by day. The two delighted in one another’s company and Bryce had found himself hurrying through his daily tasks to be able to spend time with Ailsa in the afternoon and evening.

  He told her of the land thereabouts and of his childhood. spent amongst the woods and beaches of that part of Scotland. She, in turn, told him of the manor house in which she and her father had lived so happily together and from which she had been so cruelly sent away. She longed to return there and wondered just what might become of her once her strength was regained.

  “Will I be forced to go to the island of the McKinnon’s’?” she asked on the tenth day of her stay at Dunbar castle.

  “Nay, lass, I have promised ye that nae one will force ye to go anywhere ye dinnae wish to,” Bryce replied, as the two of them sat together in Ailsa’s chambers.

  She smiled at him and he patted her hand, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

  “But if my father insists, and if Stewart McKinnon is as you say him to be, then perhaps I will have no choice,” she replied, a worried look on her face

  “Nay one can force ye to dae anythin’ ye dinnae wish to, lass, nae yer father, nae Stewart McKinnon, nae me, nae anyone,” he replied.

  “I am scared though, Bryce, scared of what might happen if I refuse, scared of what might happen to ye,” she replied, looking worriedly at him.

  “Dinnae worry about me, lass, worry about getting better and then we shall see what happens,” he replied, a grim look on his face as he tried to sound more confident than he felt.

  Bryce Dunbar was worried, he had no wish for an all out war with the McKinnon’s, but the more time he spent with Ailsa the more he found himself wanting to protect her. He had never felt like this about a lass and for the first time in his life he began to think about what the future may hold for him if he sought more than simple friendship with a lass.

  That evening he found his mother about her spinning in the Great Hall and came to sit beside the fire, watching her at her work.

  “I shall lose my thread if ye keep watching me like that, Bryce Dunbar,” she said, looking up and smiling at him.

  “I am sorry, Mother, I just … well … I need some advice,” he said, looking around to check no one else was nearby.

  The Great Hall was quiet that evening and only Hamish Macleod was in the far corner, sweeping up after the dogs. Outside the evening was drawing in and a patter of rain was falling against the windows, as the wind murmured around the castle.

  “And what advice can I give to the Laird,” she asked, returning to her work as she listened.

  “Tis’ Ailsa, I cannae allow her to go to Stewart McKinnon, the man is a tyrant, ye and I both know that. She would have an unhappy life in his company and that is certain. I dinnae wish that upon her, but if I send her back to her father than she will suffer the same fate too, he will just send her there on another fateful voyage,” Bryce said, shaking his head sadly.

  “So, ye are saying she was fortunate to be washed up on the shore in the storm and that if she hadnae she would have suffered a far worse fate?” Lady Dunbar said, still not looking up from her spinning wheel.

  “Aye, I suppose so, but what are we supposed to dae? Can she remain here with us?” Bryce said.

  “Well, Bryce, ye are the Laird, what is yer decision? Dae ye want her to stay? It seems to me that yer mind is made up already,” Lady Dunbar replied.

  Bryce sighed; he had wanted his mother to tell him what to do. But instead she had turned the tables on him and made him admit that which his heart desired, but his mind warned against. He had fallen in love with Ailsa and now that he faced the decision of letting her go, he had no desire to do so. Not simply because the life she would be forced to lead was so dreadful to comprehend, but because he wanted her to stay, so that the two of them might come to know each other better.

  “She must stay until she is fully rested,” he said.

  “And then what?” his mother replied.

  “And then it shall be her decision as to what happens. If she wishes to stay then I shall dae all in my power to make it so, but if she wishes to leave, then so be it. But the choice will be hers,” Bryce replied,

  His mother smiled and nodded, returning to her spinning wheel as Bryce left the Great Hall and walked out into the courtyard. He looked up at the graying skies above, the first spots of rain beginning to fall, and made his way out of the castle gates and down to the beach.

  The tide was far out now and he could see across to the islands beyond, murky and foreboding in the late afternoon, as the clouds rolled over the horizon. He walked for a while along the beach, kicking stones and making patterns in the sand with his boots. He relished these moments to be alone with his thoughts and found himself close to the wrecked ship, its treasures still lying on the beach, though covered by silty sand and mud from the sea.

  In the excitement of the rescue he had completely forgotten about the treasure washed up on the beach and leaning down he forced open one of the chests. Inside much was waterlogged but there was a strong box, hidden beneath a soggy cloak and he pulled it out to examine. The hinges had already begun to rust with the sea water and it did not take long to force the container open. Inside was a smaller wooden box and curiously he opened, startled at what was inside.

  It was a beautiful broach, a large red stone, surrounded by a gold inlay and pin. It was undamaged by
the water and even in the dull light of that late afternoon it sparkled and shone, as though it had just been crafted by a master jeweler. Bryce whistled to himself and tucked the broach into his pocket for safe keeping.

  As he stood, he surveyed the scene around him, the sad, broken hull of the once proud ship slowly decaying before him. They had found no other bodies, no other sign of life, except for Ailsa and Bryce offered up a prayer of thanks for her safe delivery, as he walked back towards the castle.

  It was growing dark as he reached the gates and the lamps of the gatehouse had been lit for the night watch to begin. He nodded to the guards and cast a last look out to sea as he went inside, surprised to see Hamish Macleod hurrying past him.

  “Where are ye going at such a late hour? The gates will be locked, ye shall find yerself shut out for the night,” Bryce said, eyeing the man suspiciously, for he did not trust Hamish Macleod one little bit.

  “My business is my own, Laird,” Hamish replied, wrapping his cloak around him, “I dinnae always remain at the castle each night, I have friends in the village with whom I stay. I may ask ye too why ye were walkin’ along the beach at such a time, now that night is fallin’ and the gates are to be locked?”

  “Go on yer way, my business is not yers, but the safety and security of this castle is mine. So be, if ye wish to be locked out for the night then that is yer own concern, away with ye,” Bryce said, and he waved his hand dismissively in the direction of Hamish who skulked off down the path from the castle.

  Bryce watched as he went, shaking his head and returning inside. The man could not be trusted, but he had never found cause as to why he held such suspicions. Merely a gut instinct, though Bryce was usually right about his feelings and he could not help but feel that Hamish Macleod was up to no good. Darkness had fallen now, and the castle was lit by torchlight, a fire burning in the Great Hall as he came to sit with his mother, who was still at her spinning wheel, candles burning all around her as she worked.