Highlander’s Unexpected Love: A Medieval Scottish Historical Highland Romance Book

by Adams, Alisa

  He worked that night until he was drooping with fatigue, but when he went inside Bridie was thrashing and moaning as she came out of her drugged sleep. He took her to the privy, washed her, and changed her nightclothes then tried to force a little bread soaked with beef broth between her lips. She managed a few mouthfuls then turned her head away.

  "Bruce," she whispered painfully, beckoning him closer. "Will ye dae somethin' for me?"

  "Ye knaw I will dae onythin' ye want, lass," he replied indulgently, smiling at her.

  She raised a hand to his cheek, her face full of love. "Ye were aye the nicest lookin' boy I ever saw," she whispered. Her gaze wandered over his features as if committing each one to memory, though she had seen them thousands of times before. What she said next shocked him to the core.

  "Kill me, Bruce," she begged, "for I cannae staun' this ony longer. Please, if ye love me, please kill me."

  Bruce stared at her, flabbergasted, then grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, holding her as tightly as he could. "I will never dae that as long as there's breath in my body," he said, almost bursting into tears. She said nothing more as he gave her another few spoonfuls of the opiate mixture, but as she drifted back into sleep a single tear rolled from each eye. Bruce laid his head on her breast and wept until he had no tears left.

  Heather could not keep Bruce away from her thoughts. He might be the rudest and most obnoxious man she had ever met, but there was something undefinably appealing about him. She always sensed such things, and she knew that underneath that brittle exterior there was something genuine and gentle. She could not pretend to like him, but that did not stop her from being fascinated by him.

  A month later, it was almost time for all four of Tommy's shoes to be replaced and she decided to take him herself instead of letting one of the stable boys do it, which was what she usually did. She was apprehensive about doing so, remembering the way she had been received last time, but the pull of her attraction to the blacksmith was just too strong. She knew she was being absolutely foolish, but her common sense seemed to have deserted her. However, as she reined in the big black horse next to the blacksmith's forge her heart was hammering.

  Again, she waited, but this time it took her a few more minutes before she called for assistance. She noticed that the fire in the forge was going out.

  Damn it! she thought, does this man never work?

  "Hello!" she cried out, cupping her hand over her mouth in the hope of amplifying the sound. She dismounted, then went further inside where a stout wooden door separated the blacksmith's shop from the living quarters behind it. Heather knocked loudly on the door with enough force to bruise her knuckles.

  "Hello in there!" she shouted angrily, "I'm waiting!"

  The door was wrenched open so hard that it rocked back on its hinges with a crash. Bruce stood there and the expression on his face was so thunderously angry that she took a step backward in fear. Then, her anger rose to meet his own.

  "Are you working?" she asked haughtily. "For I have a horse whose shoes need to be replaced."

  His expression changed from one of wrath to one of which she could not quite be sure, but it looked like fear. He took one look back into the room behind him then said flatly, "wait."

  He went inside for a full minute, and when he came out he was wearing his leather apron over a dirty linen shirt. He went outside to see Tommy then fired up the forge again and molded the new shoes into shape before hammering them into place on the big horse's hooves. He worked quickly, efficiently, and most strangely of all, silently, saying not a word to her as she looked on.

  She watched the play of the thick corded muscles underneath the skin of his arms and the outline of his strong back bending and straightening tirelessly as he worked. He did not stop for a rest once, although he constantly wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Heather was mesmerized. Indeed, she thought she could have sat there all day doing nothing but gaze at him.

  Tommy seemed to sense, in the way that animals did, that he was in some distress because he frequently bent down to nuzzle Bruce's thick black hair and whickered softly as if trying to comfort him.

  Presently, he was finished and he stood up and looked at Heather.

  "Done," was all he said, and his expression was grim.

  He told her his fee and again she gave him a generous tip without any idea of why she had done it. He stared at her out of his steely gray eyes for a moment, gave her a jerky and disrespectful bow, then without another word, strode into the interior of the house again.

  "Bridie!" he called out as he went in, laughing. "Look! We're rich!"

  He went over to the bed and hitched himself up onto it to show her the coins in his palm, then he lifted her hand up to tip the money into it. It was limp and unresisting. The smile died on his lips as he looked at her nerveless fingers. A dreadful premonition crept into his heart as he saw that her chest was not rising and falling; there was no sound of breathing. He put his ear to her breast and heard nothing. Panicking now, he shook her by the shoulders and her head lolled back and forth like a shaken doll.

  "Naw!" he screamed, "Naw! Bridie, wake up! Dinnae leave me! I cannae go on withoot ye!"

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. He thought that if he willed it hard enough if he could bend all his concentration to the task, he could bring her back from wherever she had gone. He sat holding her until his arms were sore, and when his willpower was exhausted he began to pray, pleading and bargaining with God.

  "I will dae anythin' Lord!" he cried desperately, "I will go tae church every Sunday, pray every day an' work as hard as I can if ye will only give her back to me. Please, Lord! I cannae go on withoot her!"

  He stayed holding Bridie for another hour, rocking her back and forth in his arms. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling its natural musk for the last time before laying her down on the pillow. Already, she was becoming cold and stiff. As he kissed her cooling lips, he thought about how small she was and how helpless she had been against the savage illness which had so rapidly taken her life.

  He looked at her pale face and suddenly the enormity of his loss came welling up within him and overwhelmed him. He roared out his anger and sorrow then burst into agonized, desperate tears of pure misery. The love of his life was gone and there would never be another. How was he going to go on?

  3

  Bridie

  When the local midwife Lily McDade was not delivering babies, she and her sister Senga Young came to see to the washing and laying out of the bodies of the dead. When she was told of the death of Bridie Ferguson that afternoon she shook her head sorrowfully and heaved a mighty sigh.

  "Poor wee lass," she said sadly. "We a' knew it wis comin', but to lose a bonnie wee thing and her carryin' a bairn an a'." Then she picked up her bundle of cloths, bandages, and soap in preparation for the laying out of the body. "'Tis a puzzle why the good Lord gies young, hard-workin', an upright man like Bruce Ferguson sich a heavy burden tae carry."

  "Aye," Senga, agreed, "it disnae seem fair. That boy loved her mair than he loved his ain life, an' he wis fair lookin' forward tae the comin' o' the bairn. Ah, well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, the Minister says, but I cannae understaun' why he needed tae take a bonny young lass from the fellow who wis so devoted tae her."

  The two sisters collected their baskets and walked along to the forge, where to their surprise they saw Bruce hard at work shoeing a great plow horse. Senga went up to him and touched him gently on the shoulder. He jumped, startled, then turned to face her with the scowl which had become his habitual expression.

  "Bruce, son," she said gently, "I am very sorry for yer loss. Sich a fine young woman."

  "Aye," Lily echoed her sentiments. "Me an' a' Bruce. D'ye think ye should be workin' at a time like this, lad?"

  "Thank ye both, ladies," he replied. "Lily, 'tis the only way I can tak my mind aff things. She is inside, but mind ye dinnae make too much noise. She doesnae l
ike it."

  Then he stopped, realizing what he had just said. He put his hand over his mouth then both of them over his face. He wanted to weep, but he would not do it in front of the two women. He turned his back on them and swiftly wiped his eyes, then led them into the house.

  Bruce had covered Bridie with a white sheet and she was lying on the bed, next to which was a fire that he had just lit.

  "I knaw it's stupid," he said awkwardly, shaking his head. "But I cannae bear the idea o' her gettin' cauld."

  Lily patted his shoulder. "We a' deal wi' grief in different ways, son," she said, smiling at him. "And if this is what you need tae dae then there's nae harm in it. Dinnae' worry, we'll keep her warm."

  The ladies stripped and washed Bridie, then combed her hair. Senga had asked Bruce about a shroud, but he had shaken his head.

  "She wid want tae go tae heaven in her best dress." He smiled sadly. "She wis aye a wee bit vain that way, but she had reason tae be, my beautiful wee lassie."

  Then he left them to do their work. He stood outside for a while, closing his eyes and breathing in the fresh cold air. He seemed to be numb, in a vacuum, feeling neither sorrow nor joy. Bridie was already in heaven, not here on earth with him anymore. He felt rudderless, adrift without her to help him steer his way through the rest of his life. His tears had dried up and his heart had hardened—there was nothing more to do but go on and hope that they would meet in the hereafter, where there was no suffering and no death.

  Presently, Lily came out to call him in. She watched him for a while and saw his shoulders slumped in defeat. He had wrapped his arms around himself as if to protect himself from harm, but the worst had already happened. Lily put her hand on his shoulder.

  "A' right lad?" She smiled at him and he smiled back sadly, then nodded.

  "I will tak a few days tae recover a bit, Lily, but I will be fine, thank ye."

  "An' the funeral?" she asked.

  "I havnae even thought aboot it, Lily." He rubbed his forehead with his hand, a sure sign of stress.

  "Dinnae worry, lad. I will make a' the arrangements," she said kindly, "have ye eaten at a'?"

  He shook his head.

  "Ye must keep yer strength up," Lily said, "we need ye tae be strang because Bridie wid have wanted it, hmm?"

  He straightened up and took a deep breath. "Ye're right, Lily," he replied, "now is no' the time for greetin'. I can dae that the night."

  They went back inside where Lily and Senga had laid out Bridie for her last journey. Her hands were crossed over her breast and her face in repose looked peaceful, almost childlike. He knelt down beside the bed and bent his head in silent prayer.

  Please, Lord, take her pure soul straight to heaven to be with You forever. Please love and look efter her as I hae done on Earth. Ye saw fit tae take her in the bloom of her youth for yer ain reasons which I cannae' understaun, but take care o' her till I can join her. In Your holy name, Amen.

  The two sisters folded their hands and stood respectfully, heads bowed. When Bruce stood up he gazed down at her pale face lovingly for a few moments then kissed her forehead and turned away.

  "I am going to get the undertakers tae take her awa'," he said quietly, almost as if he were trying not to wake her up. "I cannae bear tae look at her any mair. It only reminds me o' what I hae lost."

  Senga and Lily nodded sympathetically. They had been midwives and had attended to the dead in Invergar for well over thirty years; they had brought many lives into the world and seen many out of it. Grief and joy had many faces, and they had looked into the eyes of all of them, from dark despair to splendid shining joy.

  What Bruce was feeling was not despair. He was rational enough to know that he would be able to go on with his life and perhaps even love again, but the loss of his darling wife had left a hole that no-one else could fill, at least for the moment.

  He had his head down and was holding his cloak tightly around him against the wind when he saw the figure trotting down the road on the big, black horse he had shod the day before. He kept looking down at his feet, trying not to meet the eyes of Heather who was staring down at him. The closer she approached, the more he felt her eyes boring into him.

  "Good day to you, Mr. Ferguson," she said pleasantly, reining Tommy in. "How are you today?"

  He looked up at her sullenly. "I am goin' to arrange a funeral for my wife," he said grimly, "so I am no' feelin' too well."

  Heather was shocked to the core. He wasn't serious, was he? But she saw by his face and his slumped, defeated manner that he was. She reached down to touch his shoulder in a gesture of sympathy, but he flinched away.

  "Dinnae' ever touch me!" he growled, "while I was shoein' your bloody horse my wife died, a' alain wi' naebody tae comfort her in her last minutes. Stay away fae me, ya snooty bitch!" Then he strode off down the road. Before long he began to run and soon he was out of view as the path curved out of sight.

  She sat and watched him for as long as he was visible. She rode slowly down to the forge where she found Senga filling up the water bucket.

  "Good day," she said politely, "I am Heather McVey. I have just spoken to Mr. Ferguson and he tells me his wife has passed away."

  "Aye, milady," Senga answered.

  "May I come in and pay my respects?" she asked.

  Senga looked startled at the request, but turned and let her in. "Lily!" she called, "we hae a visitor come tae see Bridie."

  Lily came out from behind the curtain that separated the bedroom from the living area. Her eyes widened and she curtsied briefly. "Milady!" she said, shocked.

  "I wanted to come and say goodbye to her," Heather said sadly, "because her husband was shoeing my horse when she was taking her last breaths. He should have been with her and I got in the way, so you can understand why I feel so bad."

  The sisters exchanged glances then stepped aside to let her go beside the curtain. Heather looked down at the small, childlike body. Her cheeks were as white as paper and her tiny hands crossed over her chest looked as fragile as little birds' wings. She felt like crying, but instead, she knelt down and said a silent prayer for the soul of Bridie Ferguson and the welfare of her husband. After a few moments, she stood up.

  "She's so small," she said.

  "A'body looks like that when they die, milady," Senga said, replacing the sheet over Bridie's face. "Lily and me's seen dozens o' deid bodies ower the years an' they a' look the same."

  Heather sighed. "I wish I could do something for them now," she said, looking down at the peaceful, sad face.

  "Come tae the funeral," Lily suggested.

  "When is it going to be?" Heather asked.

  "Probably the day after tomorrow," Senga said, "milady, Bruce's heart is broken in pieces. He loved this wee girl mair than he ever loved onybody, even hisself. Dinnae mind too much whit he says tae ye, for he is no' himself."

  Heather nodded. 'Thank you," she smiled, "you have both been so kind. Can you get a message to me about the funeral?"

  Senga smiled. "I'll get my neighbor's boy to bring it tae ye," she replied.

  "And please let me know if there is anything I can do," Heather's voice was full of sadness as she looked down at Bridie. "Goodbye, Bridie," she whispered, then looked up. "How remiss of me. I haven't even asked your names."

  "I am Lily and this is Senga," Lily answered, "an' we are very glad to meet you, milady. It is no' often the Laird's daughter comes tae see us!"

  "Pfft!" Heather flapped her hand at them. "I have the same feelings as you have, but I must be on my way. I have loved meeting you and I look forward to seeing you both soon."

  She went out and leaped in a very unladylike fashion onto Tommy, then she gave them a final wave and coaxed the big black horse into a canter. It had been a bruising experience, but she was glad she had got to know the two sisters.

  4

  The Funeral

  Heather had a secret. Very few people knew that many of the rabbits and fish she caught went to the poor. She
would leave them with the minister's wife whenever she had been hunting with strict instructions to tell no-one. She wanted it to be clandestine, not for altruistic reasons, but because she did not want to be besieged by beggars every time she went out. However, giving to those less fortunate did give her pleasure.

  She often felt guilty about her own large fortune and the plight of many of the peasants living in very poor conditions, so she did whatever she could to help them. She herself had little money at her disposal yet and she would not inherit the castle. That honor belonged to the eldest son, her brother James, who was two years older than Heather.

  Even if he had been younger than she, he would still have inherited, merely by virtue of being a man. If this caused any bitterness on Heather's part she tried not to show it because she loved her light-hearted, playful brother dearly and if the rules of inheritance were unfair then that was the way that God had decreed it. Men had strength and power; Heather had never before bothered to question the natural order of things.

  Anyway, she reasoned, was she not marrying one of the richest men in Scotland? She would have costly clothes and money to spend on anything she wanted, but there would be one sacrifice. She would not have freedom and that was the one thing she treasured most of all. She did, however, have the knack for twisting Kenneth around her little finger and she would still somehow manage her archery, fishing, and hunting. Heather McVey was not easily subdued!

  A note came from Senga to tell her that the funeral of Bridie Ferguson was to be on Friday morning, the next day. Accordingly, she had Agnes lay out her mourning clothes.

  Agnes asked no questions since she was used to Heather's little foibles, but her brother James accosted her on the stairs.

  "Heather!" he called jovially, "has somebody died?"

  "Yes, Jamie," she replied calmly, "the blacksmith's wife."

  He looked at her in amazement. "How does that concern you?" He asked, frowning. "They are peasants."