Legacy of Luck (Druid's Brooch Series 3)

by Christy Nicholas

  What was out there? She had heard of fearsome beasts in the wilds of America, but couldn’t think of any equal horrors in Scotland. Unless you count the monster in Loch Ness, but that would be no worry to someone on land. Water horses were a danger, appearing on land as a beautiful horse. The foolish person who dared ride such a gorgeous beast would soon find himself drowning as the creature returned to its lair beneath the lake.

  Irish legend told of a headless rider called the Dullahan, who rode a black horse and carried his severed head under his arm. Rumored to be a fearsome creature, it used a human spine as a horsewhip. If the Dullahan stopped riding, someone died.

  She hoped it wasn’t the Dullahan following them in the black of the night.

  Finally, after an endless night of pain and dizziness, they slowed as the first glow of dawn appeared on the horizon. The breeze picked up into a strong wind, skipping through the valley with a howl. A deep cobalt sky revealed nothing but harsh mountains dotted with the faint glitter of tarns. The deep cleft between them, along a river road, wound in and out of the rocky outcroppings.

  Before Katie could make out more details, Donald turned the group off on a side trail. Not a road, only a crofter’s path to an abandoned cottage. The sides were still solid, but the thatched roof drooped at an alarming angle. Still, it worked as a shelter of sorts, and better than their tents.

  The cottage hid behind a rocky outcropping, ostensibly to shelter from the wind. However, the rocks also served to hide it from sight of the road. An excellent place for avoiding discovery.

  Donald moved the wagons behind the cottage to further disguise their presence. He and Lochlann unharnessed the horses and let them graze. The three of them then entered the house.

  It smelled of wet wool and sheep dung. Beasts must winter here from the worst of the Scottish weather. Katie did her best to sweep the worst of the droppings out, but it was a losing battle. It would take more than an hour to properly clean it, and she was ready to drop.

  With a grunt of effort, she shoved her bedroll into one corner. The thatch was firmer on this end, and this wall sheltered against the blowing wind. Stray eddies of breeze would be more likely to come in the other end of the croft. Not even bothering with food or drink, she collapsed into her blanket. Her bruises made her regret such a graceless fall. Shifting about to find a less uncomfortable position, she heard Lochlann and Donald muttering to each other in the opposite corner.

  She thought she heard Éamonn’s name. Had he truly followed her this far? It was so unlikely. Then she heard the name of the castle they were headed towards, Dunvegan. She also heard Lochlann sobbing. How could that be? A grown man, crying? Sure, and he wasn’t the strongest of men, but still. What would make a man cry?

  Chapter Twelve

  The next two days were a blur for Lochlann. They traveled as quickly as they might, but it wouldn’t be fast enough to be in time. Word had come to Donald of their father’s illness while had been were sleeping at the inn. He had taken a turn for the worse, and they were needed right away. At least a day and a half for the messenger to find them, and another two-and-a-half days for the wagons to make their ponderous way up the road to Skye. Would their father hold on long enough to meet his new daughter-in-law? Lochlann prayed he would.

  The last hours of the journey were the longest. Work through the mountains, along the shoreline, ferry across to the island, and then repeat it all again. By the time they arrived at Portree, they were all exhausted. The three of them slept in turns on the wagon bench, but the horses needed to rest. Just a few more hours, a few more and they would be home.

  Would my father be happy with my new wife? It became a matter of much debate between him and his brother both before the deal had been struck and after completion. The added complication of the Irishman following them made it even chancier. Lochlann had half a mind to let the girl go, let her run back into the arms of the man she obviously lusted after. But then what? He would have to explain to his father how he had traded his incredible horse for a woman, and then lost the woman. Worse than lost—he would have let her go. This was not the way one conducted business.

  He glimpsed the turrets of the castle over the trees, a square, solid structure, with pale golden stonework. A curtain wall built several centuries before surrounded the keep, and it commanded a fantastic vantage point on a rocky outcrop next to Loch Dunvegan.

  The MacLeod wasn’t in residence—no banner flew from the pole. As they got closer, they found the massive gate barred against all invaders.

  There were several guards at the gate.

  “No one is permitted in at this time. Laird’s orders.”

  “My father is in the castle. We must get in to see him. He’s very ill!” Lochlann felt ashamed that his voice cracked.

  The guard, a sandy-haired man about Donald’s age, scratched his beard.

  “What do you reckon, Duncan?”

  “Aye, well, let them go on in. But the wagons must stay here. We’ll keep an eye on them.”

  Lochlann didn’t much care for the sound of that. A glance at Donald showed he liked it even less.

  “Leave the lass to watch over them, if you’re a-feared we’ll do aught to them.” Duncan leered at Katie, who looked too exhausted to notice the attentions.

  With a snort at that idea, Donald glared at Katie, then Lochlann, and then back to the guards. Lochlann almost heard his brother’s mind working.

  “What if I go in, and then my brother does, one at a time? We can’t leave his wife on her own in a strange place, now, can we?”

  “Fine, if it’s what you must do. Go on then. Be quick about it.” Duncan pouted, but he had already made the offer, and he couldn’t renege on that now.

  “Donald, what if Da is—” Lochlann couldn’t finish.

  “If he’s gone, then he’s gone. We’ll bury him and move on to the house. If he’s still alive, I’ll come right back for you.”

  Lochlann had to be satisfied with that. He stared at his brother’s broad back as it disappeared down the long, winding garden path to the castle’s main door.

  The guards proceeded to ignore him, other than on occasional glance at his wife. They muttered between themselves, but Lochlann lost interest in them. Katie slumped on the bench in a puddle of fatigue and pain. Awkwardly, he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged.

  “It’ll be time to rest soon, my dear. If Da is… if he’s still alive, he’ll tell the guards to let us in here. If not… well, if not, we will have to go back to the house anyhow. It’s only a few miles from here. Perhaps two hours’ journey with the wagons.”

  “Two more hours?” Katie’s voice sounded faint, as if coming from another world.

  “Only if Da is gone. If he’s alive, he can let us in here, and you can rest.”

  “Rest. Rest sounds good.” She rested her head on his shoulder. Her weight was warm and liquid as if all the bones in her body had turned to water. He reveled in this tableau. She had rarely offered him affection or consideration since the wedding. He understood her anger and sense of betrayal but was glad she had dropped her fences enough to trust him this much.

  An eternity passed before Donald returned.

  Donald normally had a belligerent expression. Now he looked deflated, as if someone had sucked a part of his soul away. Donald had no need to tell Lochlann they were too late.

  Lochlann held in his grief until they were away from the guards. The tears were hot behind his eyes, and his throat closed. Katie roused when he moved his arm to hold the reins, but then she mumbled and curled up again to sleep against him.

  Both he and Donald let the tears fall once they were out of sight of the gate. They didn’t speak to each other at all but shared their grief in silence.

  Two hours later, exhausted and wrung out from grief, they pulled up to the farmhouse.

  It wasn’t a crofter’s cottage, filled with black smoke and thatch, but a proper house, with a slate roof and a chimney on each end. It rose two storie
s, made of gray stone and white mortar. Several outbuildings lay behind it. The white front faced the water, a rocky shore on the south edge of Loch Dunvegan. An old ring fort lay on a promontory to one side.

  The sun shone now, which was wrong to Lochlann. Such a nice day for such a horrible event.

  He unharnessed the horses, leaving Katie where she lay for the moment. She slept soundly now, and he didn’t wish to wake her until he needed to.

  “Donald?”

  His brother took the packs off Clarence.

  “Donald? When did he… when did he go?”

  “Just after the messenger left, apparently. We would never have been on time, no matter how hard we pushed.”

  Lochlann nodded. That he had no control over the events didn’t make him feel any less guilty about missing his father.

  “Had… did he leave any word?”

  “A letter, yes. We’ll both read it when we’re settled.”

  He must be content with that. There would be much to do yet.

  The horses and the mule were unburdened, brushed, and stabled. The wagons were stowed, and Katie carried to what had been his mother’s bedroom. His wife didn’t stir once as he carried her up the wide stairway to the large bedroom. It smelled musty, but it was still in good shape.

  Lochlann gazed at Katie, her boots removed, and all tucked in the linen sheets and wool blanket. She acted so agreeable when she slept. The anger faded from her brow and cheeks, and the sharp lines softened. She appeared far younger. He wished she would remain thus.

  With a sigh, he drew the curtains closed and left her to sleep. She would likely sleep out the day and most of the night. He wanted to do the same, but he couldn’t yet.

  He brought bannocks and cheese and left it, with a pot of ale, next to her bedside, should she wake hungry. Then he went to find Donald.

  Donald had started a fire in the hearth and stared at the glowing peat.

  “Donald? Where’s the letter?”

  Donald gestured to the table without turning his head. It remained unopened, the red wax seal still holding the grey outer envelope together.

  Lochlann glanced back to his brother, whose face flickered in the hearth light. “Do you want to open it?”

  Donald didn’t move or speak.

  Lochlann walked to the table and picked up the oiled linen envelope. The red wax seal bore the mark of their father’s signet ring, a bull’s head, a variation on the MacLeod crest. They didn’t have their own family crest but sheltered under the protection of the larger clan. MacCrimmons were well known throughout the Highlands, despite their small size. They were the pipers of the land, great clan chiefs sent their own pipers to MacCrimmon lands to master their craft.

  He stood, reluctant to open it. Loath to read what his father’s final words would be.

  Donald came behind him and snatched it out of his hands.

  “Hoi!”

  “Just open the bloody thing, won’t you? It’s not like you can argue back any more.” Donald broke the seal and read the heavy, dark script. Lochlann read over his brother’s shoulder.

  It didn’t look like his father’s writing. Always a precise penman, he had taken great care in his letters. This had obviously been penned by someone at his behest. Had he been so weak at the end, then?

  Lochlann read the words.

  To my Sons:

  If you should receive this after my death, please know that my Last Thoughts were of you. I would have wished for you to be here, but alas, it is not to be.

  To my eldest son, Donald: it is my greatest wish you should follow in my footsteps and take up the pipes for the MacLeod in our time-honored family tradition. I realize you have a great facilitie others in the family may not have for this work, and it is our duty to continue this fealty to the laird. I know you will make me proude from the Heavens.

  To my youngest son, Lochlann: I wish you to become Tacksman for the MacLeod, should it Please him. You have a gift for the horses, and such is not to be taken lightly.

  I wish both of you to take a wife and continue the Honorable Familie Name.

  The growing Unrest in the country can only mean Warre, ultimately, and I should hope you shall Triumph over the Rebels in the End.

  I shall be watching over you from whichever Realm I now reside in.

  Your Father,

  Calum MacCrimmon

  This 20th Day of May, in the Year of Our Lord, 1745.

  Donald had been right. He no longer had any way to argue with their father. And how could they go against his dying wishes? It wouldn’t only be ungrateful, it would be a betrayal. They would be shunned from the clan, their names blackened forever. They would have to become Travelers, never to return to their own home.

  Lochlann sat like a lump on the old stool by the hearth. His arms and legs were leaden as if submerged in water. The anguish dragged him down into the despondent earth.

  “Well, I guess he did get the last word in after all.” Donald’s words were a mile away. “Is the girl upstairs?”

  Lochlann nodded, numb. The peat glowed in a random pattern of hell and brimstone. He briefly entertained the notion of falling face first into that bit of torture. Would he die quickly? Or linger in pain and pity?

  “I suppose she’s passed out from exhaustion. I think I’m for the same. Get yourself up to your room, Lochlann. You have a wedding night tomorrow, after all.”

  “A wedding night?” He couldn’t make sense of Donald’s words.

  “Yes, ye bampot! You can finally swive the shrew. She was waiting to meet Da, no? Well, that won’t happen now. She’s no more excuses left.”

  * * *

  Katie woke in complete confusion. She lay on a well-stuffed feather bed, with fine blankets of soft wool trapping the warmth. The light streamed through lace curtains in the windows of an obviously well-constructed and wealthy house. Where was she? Try as she might, she couldn’t recall the circumstances which had led her here.

  She had vague memories of an interminable ride on the wagons, a hard, wooden bench making bruises upon bruises on her aching backside. Her wrists were chaffed and scabbing from days in the ropes. She had a flash of a massive castle, guards, and more traveling. And then she woke up.

  Was this Lochlann’s home? She had no idea it would be so grand. She got out of bed, though her abused and neglected muscles screamed when she moved. Slowly, ever so slowly, she stretched each muscle. Her ankles, legs, waist, shoulders—one by one, she massaged the kinks out and got her body under control once again.

  The cool wooden floor creaked as she walked. She only wore her shift. Had Lochlann undressed her? She blushed, foolish as that seemed. Spying the food and drink on the press, a wave of gratitude swept over her at his forethought. The water remained chilly but tasted good down her parched throat.

  From the view out the window, she wasn’t on the ground floor. One story up? Two? She saw water outside. An inlet from the ocean or a loch? Waves crashing on a beach up the shore argued for the former and she smelled the tang of salt on the air. The water looked deep grey-green, dappled with sunlight peeking through scudding clouds. Below her lay a carpet of green fields, studded with rocky outcrops. A couple farmhouses and smaller crofts dotted the land. Several sheep fed on the grass.

  The air tasted sweet and cool. She took several more breaths before abandoning her vantage.

  At a basin and ewer of more water, she did her best to clean off the grime and dust of travel. It would have been wonderful to wash in a stream and slough off layers of dirt, but she couldn’t do that here. She must make herself presentable to her husband’s father.

  The idea arrested her movements. The father. She remembered stopping at the castle. Had she heard someone saying the father had died?

  Either way, her respite was over. She could no longer postpone the consummation of the marriage. Éamonn hadn’t found her in time, and she must to go through with… she cringed. Lochlann wasn’t disgusting or even objectionable, but he wasn’t her love. He w
asn’t the one she wanted to caress, to feel his hands on her—

  Pushing the thought out of her head, Katie proceeded to dress. Lochlann had also brought her trunk into the room. She must have been truly passed out not to hear. How long had she slept? Pulling out several pieces of clothing, she put on her shift, stays, petticoats and a dark wool skirt. She had a dark grey jacket somewhere in here, didn’t she? Somber colors for a death in the family. Of her father-in-law. Unaccountably, tears threatened at the loss of family she had never met. Perhaps a father who might have cared for her and welcomed her. A father who wouldn’t have beat her. A father like Turlough was to Éamonn.

  Holding back a sob, Katie wished with a deep ache in her bones Éamonn had come, but he hadn’t. Either he’d lost his way or he’d abandoned her. She must make the best of her life now. She pulled on the jacket. It had pale blue embroidery on the cuffs, but subdued enough for mourning. Then she attacked her hair.

  Matted and tangled tremendously, the mess resisted her efforts. She had done little to tame it in the last harrowing days of the journey, and she paid for her neglect now. She sat in front of a cracked mirror and got to work. The comb pulled, tore and jerked until she finally had an acceptable head of hair. It was filthy, and she would have given her left arm for a way to wash it. Lacking that, she pulled it back into a tight bun. A sour old maid glowered back at her in the wizened mirror. She pulled a couple of curls around her face to soften her appearance.

  With some restored confidence, Katie left the room and descended the stairs.