Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3

by Ceci Giltenan

  Gillian sighed. Maybe she had been causing her own turmoil. She knew Jeanne was right but she didn’t know how to break the pattern she had started. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t think so much about it, lass. It is the simplest thing in the world.”

  “Where do I start?”

  “Just let it happen. Let him woo ye. He seems to be doing a pretty good job of that. Let yerself enjoy his attention without feeling guilty about it.”

  “I guess I can try.”

  Jeanne laughed. “Lass, if I were forty years younger, I wouldn’t have to try to enjoy that young man’s attention.”

  Gillian left the kitchen feeling no less confused. She thought of their conversation all afternoon and knew her old friend was right. Although she had promised Fingal she would try not to hate him, she had actively been working to keep her hate alive. She had to try and let her guard down where Fingal was concerned. Maybe if she made an effort to get to know him better it would be easier.

  In spite of her good intentions, as she sat beside him during the evening meal, she felt as awkward and unsettled as she always did. She decided not to try to resist the strange warm feelings that rose in her but it didn’t help. If anything, she found the attention he paid to her, even his very presence, more disconcerting when she wasn’t trying to resist his charm. She also felt the stark disapproval of her mother and a few other clan members. One thing was clear; she couldn’t do this with an audience.

  When the meal was over, she noticed the determined look on her mother’s face. Fearing that she might bring up the topic of a betrothal for Fallon again, Gillian thought it best to escape. “Fingal, I am very tired tonight.”

  “Aye, ye look tired. Everyone has been working hard of late. Perhaps we should say our goodnights.”

  “Would ye mind terribly?”

  “Nay, of course not.” He rose from his chair and to those who remained at the table said, “please excuse us, Lady MacLennan and I will retire early.”

  “But Laird, there were some things I wished to discuss with ye,” Owen said.

  “I will address them with ye first thing in the morning, Owen. I think some rest could do us all good.”

  Hand in hand, they exited the hall. A quick glance back at her mother told Gillian that Owen was not the only person who was irritated by their early departure. Lana’s jaw was clenched and her eyes narrowed. She was clearly not happy at missing the chance to speak directly with Fingal.

  ~ * ~

  Gillian’s sudden desire to retire early had surprised Fingal. She usually waited until the latest possible hour to leave the crowded hall. Then, she would curl up on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as she could possibly get and wouldn’t go to sleep. He knew this because, while he too tried, it was no easier for him to fall asleep with her lying beside him, knowing he couldn’t touch her. He took a small amount of pleasure in the fact that he disturbed her as much as she did him.

  He didn’t have to wait long to learn the reason for the change in pattern tonight. After they were out of hearing distance of those left in the hall she said, “I thought maybe we could get to know each other a bit better. We have both been working so hard and haven’t had much time together.”

  Get to know each other? She had done her level best to avoid time alone. While he wondered at her change in attitude, he wouldn’t question it. They did need time alone if the barriers between them were ever going to come down. “Aye, I’d like that.”

  He thought it best to let her take the lead, so when they reached their chamber he unfastened his sword belt, sat in one of the chairs at the table by the hearth, and stretched out his legs, warming his feet near the fire. It was no surprise to him that she stood awkwardly in the center of the room. “Ye know, sometimes it is easier to get to know each other by doing something fun together.”

  The look of shock on her face caused him to laugh heartily. “Although there are many fun things we could do together. I was only suggesting that we play a game. Do ye have a board for fox and geese, or maybe chess? If ye don’t know how to play, I could teach ye.”

  Her look of relief reminded him of just how far they had to go. “Aye, chess would be good. My grandfather taught me to play. He died when I was still very young. I tried to teach Fallon, but she didn’t like to play. When I was a little older I played with Eadoin some or with my da.”

  Fingal worried that this might not go as planned. It could remind her too intensely of her loss, thus causing her to withdraw more, but she was already digging in a chest, evidently searching for a chess set. “Ye played with Eodoin?”

  “Aye, when we were children. We have always been friends. His wife Alana is my closest friend. We taught her to play but she wasn’t very good and always preferred to sit by Eodoin and watch.” She grinned and confided, “Alana said it was so she could learn to play better but I knew what her real game was.”

  Fingal laughed and was relieved. Thankfully she had other wonderful memories of playing chess.

  “Here it is,” she announced when she found the board. She set it up on the table, fingering the pieces lovingly. “This was my grandfather’s set.” Before sitting across from him she asked, “would ye like me to call for someone to bring us some ale or wine?”

  “Nay, I think I may need to keep my wits about me in this game.” She laughed. Fingal hadn’t heard much of that but he loved the rich sound of it and the way her face lit up.

  She picked up a pawn of each color and put her hands behind her back for a moment before presenting him with her closed fists. “Pick a color.” He tapped her right hand and she revealed the white pawn. “Ye go first.”

  Chapter 11

  When Gillian had agreed to marry him, Fingal knew that winning her acceptance was going to be a challenge. He had been encouraged by her obvious physical reaction to him. During the first month of their marriage, he had done his best to woo her, but in spite of all his efforts she seemed rigidly determined to remain as distant as possible. That was until the evening they spent playing chess.

  They hadn’t talked about anything terribly important. She told him about her family and friends and various other members of the clan. He told her about the MacIans and what it was like training under Laird Chisholm. All in all, it had been a very congenial evening. When they finally retired she seemed less tense than she had earlier and sleep had come easier to both of them.

  For the next several evenings it became their pattern to spend time alone, playing chess, before retiring. They chatted about a variety of things from the progress on the curtain wall to Ailsa’s newest attempts to get their mother to let her have a pet. They assiduously avoided any mention of her father or his mother. He truly enjoyed this time spent with her, but he was acutely aware of the topics they avoided. He believed that for her to be able to set aside her hatred, they couldn’t continue to ignore the source.

  Fingal didn’t want to spoil the easy comradery that had developed between them, but as he sat across from her tonight he knew he needed to broach the topic. As Gillian prepared the chess board he thought to raise the subject by asking about her mother. “I couldn’t help but notice, yer mother seems a bit short-tempered with ye recently.”

  She laughed a mirthless laugh as she made the first move. “Recently? She is usually short-tempered with me.”

  Fingal moved a pawn. “Is she? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose it has to do with all of the changes recently.”

  Fingal frowned as he remembered something Ailsa had said. “Gillian, the night I arrived, when we were discussing the king’s dictate, Ailsa said something that puzzled me. She said she needed ye because yer mother only cares about Fallon. What did she mean?”

  Gillian became flustered but tried to hide her disquiet by focusing on the chess board. “I-I don’t know what ye’re talking about.”

  “Aye, ye do. Ye wouldn’t be so upset if ye didn’t.”

  She sighed. “I don’t want ye to thin
k me disloyal, but, well—I suppose ye are bound to find out sooner or later anyway. My mother has always been much closer with Fallon than with me or Ailsa. I think it was less obvious when Da was alive but since his death everything is harder.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I know she loves us all and wants the best for us. It’s just, Fallon is so good-natured and sweet, everyone loves her. I’m...well...pricklier. I suppose it is normal to be closer to one parent than the other.”

  “I don’t think ye are ‘prickly’ Gillian and I don’t know if it is normal or not. I fostered with the Chisholms and they seemed to adore all four of their children as well as every lad who trained there, but I am fairly certain my mother didn’t care a whit for me or Niall.”

  Gillian became very serious. “How can ye say that? She must have loved ye. She and Laird Malcolm laid siege to Duncurra all so ye could be laird of both clans.”

  “Gillian, I can assure ye, the only person Eithne ever loved was herself. She was downright cruel to us when we were lads. Niall had it worse than I did. She took a strap to him so often over the smallest things he always had bruises. She beat me too but I didn’t have to suffer her harsh nature for as many years. I was still very young when she left for Edinburgh.”

  “How terrible. It’s true mother isn’t overly affectionate with me and Ailsa and she can be quick to find fault, but she has certainly never beat us. Why did yer da allow it?”

  “He didn’t know.”

  “How could he not know?”

  “He was busy with the business of running our clan and she was very good at hiding her evil side from him.”

  “Fingal, I am so sorry. At least Ailsa and I had our da.”

  Until my mother killed him trying to save her own worthless skin. Fingal was sorry he had raised the topic, but he pressed on. “Eventually, I had the Chisholms. I couldn’t love Lady Chisholm more if she had been my own mother. I would like for ye to meet her someday. Ye remind me of her in many ways.” As soon as the words passed his lips, he knew they were profoundly true. Gillian was strong and self-reliant, but she had a tender heart just like Lady Chisholm.”

  Gillian smiled and her eyes lit. Clearly she understood how sincere a complement it was to be compared to the woman he loved as a mother.

  They played in silence for a while before Gillian said, “My da always liked ye and Niall. All circumstances aside, I think our marriage would have pleased him.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  It was as if those four little words battered open the wall she had carefully erected between them. She told story after story about Duncan as they continued to play. Fingal’s heart nearly broke for her loss as he came to know Duncan, the loving father, through Gillian’s eyes.

  The game ended when Gillian declared checkmate with glee. Fingal realized this beautiful, determined, resilient woman had captured his heart as surely as she had his king.

  A bit later, as they lay in bed she said, “Thank ye, Fingal.”

  “For what?”

  “For this evening...for asking about my da. I haven’t been able to talk about him. Mother gets angry, and my sisters burst into tears. It was nice to just remember him and not worry about hurting someone else in the process.”

  “Maybe yer sisters need that too.”

  “Aye, I suspect they do. But now I know how.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It was nice to just talk a little about happy things and not focus so firmly on how much I miss him. It made it easier. I can make it easy for Fallon and Ailsa now and I thank ye for that.”

  ~ * ~

  When they woke the next morning, Fingal sensed a subtle change in Gillian. The tension which had seemed ever-present with her had finally eased some. At last things seemed to be moving in the right direction. He started his day more hopeful than he had been in weeks. That was until they entered the great hall to break their fast. Diarmad met him with unwelcomed news.

  “Laird, there has been a raid to the southeast, near Grant lands.”

  Fingal shook his head. Somehow it never failed. Ever since he became laird here, just when he started to see progress in one area, a new problem arose. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Nay Laird, but we lost a score of cattle.”

  Fingal swore, “God’s holy bones!”

  “That many?” Gillian asked. “We can’t sustain losses like that and survive. Can we increase the patrols like Aunt Meara did in the fall?”

  Fingal shook his head. “We don’t have the men to both increase patrols and finish the work on the wall quickly.”

  Diarmad nodded. “And if we ignore this, it may tip the Grants off to our weakened condition.”

  Fingal pinched the bridge of his nose. The MacLennans’ predicament—his predicament—was an utter lack of resources. The MacLennans didn’t have enough skilled warriors to ride patrols and protect them from raiders so Fingal set about to train them. Then they discovered the curtain wall, their primary defense, was crumbling. So he stopped training men hoping the weather would deter raiders and set the men to repairing the wall. Now spring approached, the Grants had started raiding again, and he still didn’t have enough trained men nor did he have a completed curtain wall.

  “Aye, ye are right in that. If we let this pass, they will be attacking the keep next. With an unfinished wall and a depleted garrison, I don’t want to risk that. The only thing to do is bluff.”

  Diarmad clearly agreed but Gillian’s mouth gaped in disbelief. “Bluff?” she asked. “How can ye possibly do that?”

  “As much as I hate to leave the keep less well guarded, I will take a large party of our best warriors on a raid. At the very least, we will recover our livestock and perhaps a few more. If we run into any Grants in the meantime, our numbers and skill will be impressive.”

  “Aye, they would never assume ye’d risk the cream of yer garrison on a wee raid. It will send the needed message. The MacLennans are strong and not to be trifled with.”

  Gillian’s brow furrowed. “But what if ye run into a greater force of Grants? What if they kill or capture ye?”

  The concern in her voice touched him. “Gillian, don’t worry yerself over this. We will be fine. I suspect the Grants believe we are critically weakened. They will be expecting us to pull in and lick our wounds, not retaliate with any show of strength.”

  Diarmad tried to reassure her as well. “Aye, my lady, the men we will be taking can defeat a force three times as large. Furthermore, ye may not know this, but there are few men who can best the laird in a swordfight.”

  “Ye are certain?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Aye, my lady, I’m certain,” answered Diarmad.

  “He speaks the truth, sweetling. There is no reason to worry. Finish yer breakfast. Diarmad and I will go now to make plans.” Fingal kissed her cheek and took a bannock and some smoked fish from the table before leaving with Diarmad.

  “It has been a while since I was on a raid, Laird. Who do ye propose to take with us?”

  “Most of the men from Duncurra, Eadoin, and a few MacLennans of his choosing. But Diarmad, I want ye to stay here.”

  “Ye told yer wife ye’d be taking yer best warriors and I told yer brother I would guard yer back.”

  “I know ye did, but in spite of what we told Gillian, I am worried that drawing us out is exactly what the Grants meant to do. If we do meet an overwhelming force, we won’t be able to hold them off forever. I will send a messenger back and I want ye to take Gillian, her family, and as many of the clan as will go with ye to Duncurra.”

  “She will never agree to go if she thinks her clan is in danger.”

  “Diarmad, if I send ye a message, it’s over. There will be no way to defend Brathanead and attempting to do so will only result in more death and destruction.”

  “I understand that, but will she?”

  “Ye will make her understand or ye will bind her and force her to go. Either way, I do not want to ri
sk her or her sisters winding up in Grant hands.”

  “T’would be better to leave Eadoin behind. She trusts him.”

  “Aye, but if the worst happens, I’m not sure I can trust him to stand up to her and do what must be done to keep her safe.”

  Diarmad shook his head. “I don’t like it, but ye have a point. Aye, I’ll stay behind. But if ye have to fight, for the love of God give it all ye have.”

  Fingal grinned. “I intend to.”

  “Ye know, Niall will kill me if anything happens to ye.”

  “Well then, I promise to do my best to save my own skin as well as yers.”

  Fingal spent the rest of the morning preparing for the planned raid. Shortly after the midday meal, he rode away with twenty hand-picked men. It was many more than necessary for a raid, but not nearly enough to do battle with an invading force. Still, if he had taken any more, no one would believe that he simply planned a retaliatory attack.

  ~ * ~

  Gillian couldn’t help but worry as she watched Fingal, Eadoin, and a large contingent of their men ride out of Brathanead.

  “Where is he going?” demanded her mother.

  “Didn’t ye hear? The Grants raided again last night. He is taking a few men to investigate.”

  “Aye, I heard but that is more than a few. Who is left to guard us or repair the wall and why does the laird need to go with them?”

  “Don’t worry mother, everything is under control. Fingal will be fine.” Gillian had a bit of trouble believing this herself. It did seem foolhardy to take their very best warriors, leaving few skilled men to protect the castle and finish the work on the wall. At least Fingal had left Diarmad in charge while he was gone, although she would have preferred for Eadoin to stay behind.

  “I’m not worried about his well-being. I’m worried about the leadership of this clan if something happens to him. He hasn’t sorted out Fallon’s betrothal yet.”

  Gillian couldn’t keep the rein on her temper. “Mother, even if something happens to him, I am still very much here and alive. I am Lady MacLennan, not Fallon.”