Moreover, Hector was no fool. The moment he saw her he knew that Aria was no commoner; her cloak and clothes were made of premium material. Her flawless face, well-maintained hair, and erect bearing told him that she was far from a servant woman. Even if she was from a higher class, why would something like finding a man who most thought was better gone, matter to her?
An’ she’s so bonnie, Hector thought to himself. An’ brave tae come tae me all by her lone self in tha middle o’ tha night, tae.
“Daydreamin’ aboot tha lass again?” Donald’s teasing voice came from behind him.
“Aye,” Hector replied with an honest shrug - there was no point in lying. That night when he had told Donald who had met him in the yard Donald had misgivings at first but knowing Hector always told the truth - even to the point of pain - he had grown to believe him. “She’s no’ any other normal lass, Donald, she’s…just no’.”
“I unnerstan',” Donald replied, as he joined Hector at the window. “Eh, how long d’ye ken we can stay here, in this inn, afore oor silver runs out?”
“Probably a few more days,” Hector replied with a sigh, as that newest problem came to him. “We might hae tae barter wi’ tha proprietor tae keep oor stay.”
Donald shook his head with a mischievous grin, “I kent ye’d say somethin’ like that, but there’s nae need, me frien’, an’ it’s shameful fer a man o’ yer station tae bow tae an Englishman. I’ve found us a way oot.”
Turning a curious eye to his friend, Hector lowered his brows in a wordless question only to see Donald grin further, “I went tae tha nearby village lookin’ fer other options an’ met a man who used tae live at Kintyre. D’ye, remember tha O'Brolchains, a Clan of sheepshearers that gave us wool every winter?”
Hector’s eyes shifted in concordance with his mind sifting through his memories before the name of the Clan registered, and he nodded. “Aye, me Da kent ol’ Baron O' Brolchain, tha leader o' tha Clan. He was a man wi’ this huge rawhide leather coat which he ne’er took off. What o' his people?”
“Well, I ran into Rohan O' Brolchain, Baron’s nephew. He came tae England years ago tae aid his cousin in buildin’ his home, but when tha time came tae go back, he stayed. He hae a mighty cottage at tha edge o' tha woods an’ says he’s more than honored tae gie us lodgin’ fer as long as we need, free from cost.”
If Donald was any other man than the one he was, Hector would have shaken his head in amazement, but he didn’t. Instead he clapped the man on his shoulder and said, “Ye never fail tae astonish me, Donald. We leave in tha morn.”
“Aye,” Donald replied with a confirming nod before slanting an eye to the Laird. “The bonnie lass aside, noo that we ken that Moore had somethin’ tae do with yer brother’s absence, how are we goin' tae move on from here?”
“We cannae,” Hector replied with a short shake of his head. “At least nae yet. I am burdened wi’ finding me brother. It grows e’ery day but I ken it’s nae wise tae move until I hae more o' tha tale. There might be a scooby in there we can follow tae lead us forward.”
Donald shoved him, “Righto, like that isnae code fer that ye want tae see that lass.”
“That too,” Hector admitted, “I’m tellin’ ye man, if ye saw her, ye’d be as...netted as I am. I cannae explain it tae ye, but she’s…”
“A Sassenach, Hector,” Donald filled in. “I unnerstan’ that this lass is bonnie an’ canny, but she cannae be anythin’ more tae ye than a romp in tha bed. She cannae be yer lady. Hector, tha Clan willnae agree on a stranger as their mistress.”
“Yer just tellin’ me what I already ken,” Hector replied through ground teeth, “But there’s no promise this…feelin’ will e'er go any further. Hell, I might ne’er get tae e’en kiss her much less bed her.”
Hector’s eyes were stuck on the tree line, but he could feel Donald’s eyes on him. “So, it’s just lust ye feel fer her.”
Even if there was, it’s too early tae tell, Hector thought while he nodded, “Aye, just that.”
“Yer lyin’,” Donald replied with a shrug, “But I cannae tell ye how tae run yer life. I can only be there fer ye.”
Turning back to the darkening sky, Hector then remembered that she had pledged to send him a message when she could be free to see him, and cursed under his breath, “Crivens.”
Donald squinted, “Eh?”
“Aria,” Hector replied. “She told me that she’d send a note when she’s free tae see me, an’ if I’m nae here, how’s she goin' tae find me?”
“Tha cottage isnae that far,” Donald replied in contemplation, “Ye can easily walk tha distance an’ check. But that in itself – her tellin’ ye she has tae send ye a note tells me somethin’ strange…seems tae me that somethin’ or someone is hamperin’ her movements, Hector. D’ye ken if she’s married?”
A curl of apprehension went through Hector’s chest at the very thought of it before he shook his head, “Nae, I dinnae see a rin’ on her finger.”
“That disnae mean that–
“Drop it!” Hector snapped. The words were spat so hard that Donald jerked like he had been slapped in the face, and he immediately felt remorse before his tone softened. “I unnerstan’ that yer only lookin’ oot fer me, Donald, but…can we just let it alone fer a while?”
The other man swallowed liberally, but he nodded, “Aye, we can.”
Massaging his knitted brows, Hector replied, “Thank ye. I need tae figure oot what I’m doin’ from here on. I ken I need tae focus on findin’ me brother first an’ foremost. The lass an’ all what pertains tae her can come after. Noo, let’s get oor things together an’ be ready tae move oot at daylight.”
Drifting back inside the room, Hector felt this move was the best for them. Being under disguise with the English clothing day after day was chafing - mentally and physically - and he longed for fresh air, wide spaces, and to have some physical activity, be it training, hiking, or hunting.
Going to his bunk, Hector freed his sword from under his bed and with a file started to sharpen it. The rhythmic swish of the blade’s metal under the file was familiar and soothing to him.
The sword on his lap had belonged to his grandfather, and it was an old relic that he treasured with his heart. Made of pure steel forged in a deep Ben Cruachan mountain forge, the sword had survived many battles and many hands. Looking at the curve of the basket hilt and the dulled blue jewel in the pommel, Hector wanted to bequeath this time-honed and battle-scarred weapon to his son someday, but hell if he knew who the mother was going to be.
Running a finger lightly over the edge, Hector felt the small pain that came from a cut and grinned. The weapon was perfectly sharp. Dropping it back in its scabbard, he hid it back under his bed.
Looking over to a softly sleeping Donald, Hector marveled that he had found a friend so true. Not even once had Donald turned from him. Even with many of their disagreements - some which had devolved into blows - Donald had never left.
Looking at the window, he was shocked to see the moon had climbed so high and so quickly. Laying down on his bed, he tugged a blanket over his body and tried to not sleep with Aria on his mind - but he failed.
“Tha owner was nae glad tae see us move,” Donald quipped as their horses trotted over a pastureland toward their destination. “I ken tha silver was makin’ him more than happy.”
It was just after dawn and the two were on their way to Roran O’ Brolchain’s cottage. The air was cool, but Hector knew that just after the sun moved the mist from the air, it was going to be hot, sweltering hot. Another reason why he despised the English land and yearned for the constant cool of the Highlands.
“Aye,” Hector replied while spurring his steed, Euan, from a walk to a trot. Free from the English trousers, he felt much more liberated back in his kilt. “Ye ken he was sorry tae see us go, or tha money?”
Donald frowned, “That’s a curious way o' termin’ it, why d’ye ask?”
Hector shrugged, “He wasnae hostile tae u
s at any time, he was…I dinnae…gracious an’ welcomin’, I suppose.”
“Maybe some English are nae tha’ animals we take them fer after all.” Donald mused as the two entered a tree line and followed a trodden-down trail. “Tha cottage is near, just down this track.”
Circling a copse of trees, Hector entered a large, flat land where a cottage that defied the meaning of ‘cottage’ stood before them. The house was big, made partly of stone on the lower half, and dark wood that made the walls, and topped with a thickly thatched roof. There was even an outhouse and what looked to be a tiny smokehouse, too, at the far sides.
“Ach,” Hector marveled as they neared the house. “This is beyond belief.”
“An’ wild deer here on tha land beyond us, too,” Donald smirked. “We can put oor huntin’ skills tae work while we wait fer ye tae get enough information so we can move.”
No quicker had they gotten within a stone’s throw of the house than a man, tall and burly with a head of wild dark red hair and a matching thick beard, came through the far tree line. He was bearing a bow under his arm and a quiver of arrows around his back. Slung over his shoulder were three good size rabbits, securely tied up.
“Morning ye!” Roran called over jollily, his face splitting into a wide smile at the sight of the two. “How are ye, Donald an’ me Laird?”
Reining the horse in, Hector alighted from the saddle and stuck out his hand, “Only in title, as o' yet. Thank ye fer yer hospitality, O’ Brolchain, much appreciated.”
Pumping his hand vigorously, Roran snorted, “Ah, tis nothin’! How could I ken that two o' me countrymen needed support an’ no’ offer me home? That’s nae o' oor ways. Come in, come in. Tie up tha horses under tha shade o'er there where they can rest an’ eat while ye do tha same.”
With a nod, Donald took the reins of both horses and led them toward the tree line where a large oak had spreading boughs and thick leaves enough to cover the steeds when the sun got to its peak.
“Me condolences, Laird, aboot yer faither, he was a great man,” Roran said while adjusting the rabbits over his arm. “I heard aboot it nae more than three days ago. Cha bhithidh a leithid ami riamh.”
Knowing that the man had just said that, ‘his equal will never be with us again,’ in formal Gaelic, Hector accepted the sentiment and managed a grateful nod before he replied. “Thank ye.”
When Donald came back, Roran ushered them forward, “C’mon, I hae prepared fer ye, beds an’ all. Bide ye inside a while as I make ye some scran. The English hae some strange dishes but their game is tha same as oors.”
Stepping inside, Hector recited a traditional blessing, one groomed into him from childhood to say whenever entering someone’s home, “A Dhé, beannaich an taigh, Bho stéidh gu stàidh, Bho chrann gu fraigh, Bho cheann gu saidh, Bho dhronn gu traigh, Bho sgonn gu sgaith, Eadar bhonn agus bhràigh, Bhonn agus bhràigh.”
Donald nodded as he looked around and reiterated, “God, will surely bless this house, fey foundation tae stairs, fey beam tae side wall, fey roof tae upright beam, fey ridge tae basement. Fey floor–joist tae tha roof–truss, ’tween foundation an’ attic.”
Roran nodded solemnly while dropping the hares on a table, “Thank ye. Yer beds are in tha other room where tha hearth is.”
Walking through a large square doorway, the three men entered a large room where two padded cots were made up close to the fireplace. Choosing one near a window, Hector looked out to see the arch of Monstall Manor over the tree line once more, but this time it was much clearer.
“Eh, Roran, what d’ye ken o' tha Moore family?” Hector asked with narrowed eyes. “Tis their land, isnae it?”
“Aye,” Roran replied while taking out some pots and pans, “But nae all o' it. There’s a boundary between their land an’ tha game forest, an’ to me knowledge, they dinnae pass it.”
“Ye’ve ne’er see any o’ them?” Hector asked with incredulity. “Not e'en once?”
Roran scratched his head, “Ah ken I’ve seen a servant here or there but nae o' tha family, nae. Fey what I ken, there’s only two o' tha family. Tha Duke an’ his daughter, but they keep tae themselves mostly. Why d’ye ask?”
Hector debated within himself to disclose his secret, but he decided that keeping anything from their host would be dishonest. “O'er twenty-an’-five years ago, one o' their blood birthed me brother an’ I’m tryin’ tae find him.”
Roran’s jaw dropped, and the man actively stumbled backwards. “Ach? Yer brother? I dinnae kent you hae a brother!”
“Not many do,” Hector replied while turning away from the window, “Let me help ye wi’ tha meal an’ I’ll tell ye all aboot it.”
“Nae,” Roran shook his head, “Yer me guest, it would be a travesty tae make ye help me. Please rest an’ if ye want, ye can go look around, just take tha trail I did at tha end o' tha property.”
It was a good suggestion, and it was timely, too. Hector had felt the need to stretch his legs for days now and now that he had the chance to do so, he wasn’t going to pass it up. “Aye, I’ll do that.”
Turning away from the older man, Hector reached down to make sure the knife he always carried in his boot was secure and with a nod and a farewell to both men, left the homestead and into the warm air.
Swiftly making his way to the trail’s covered entrance, Hector entered the refuge of trees and breathed some relief when the sun was blocked from searing his skin by the arching and interlocking branches overhead.
The crunch of dead leaves and dry twigs under his boots felt similar to his hikes in the mountains behind his home, and it was comforting to him as he walked. Small critters skittered out of his way, a rabbit here or a mouse there, and loped into the nearby bushes.
The calmness of the forest temporarily made him forget his second reason for taking a walk and when he remembered, his innate sense of direction - honed from years of hunting - led him northbound, toward Monstall Manor.
Spotting a tall tree with limbs higher than the rest around it, Hector nimbly grabbed a low lying branch and started to climb. Determined to see the bloody house, Hector climbed far enough, grabbed a limb, and stuck his boot in the thick joint. There, moderately covered by leaves, Hector spotted the Manor and the large acres of tended grounds around it.
The house was a sprawling structure with massive eaves to each side and a dull shingled roof that glinted a washed-out red under the sun. Carefully twisting, Hector spotted a stable, a carriage house, and further back, low rows of buildings that could be washrooms or storage rooms. He stood there, tracing his eyes over every facet of the land and memorizing all the details he could.
Once or twice, he spotted a servant or two leaving the main house to the other buildings but never anyone with enough finery to be the Duke or his daughter. Turning his attention back to the house, he briefly wondered how it would look broken down to rubble. It was the only fitting end for a place that had caused such bloodshed and grief.
The sun was getting hotter and reluctantly Hector started to climb down, vowing to get as close to the house as he could later that evening, when it was cooler. Backtracking his way, Hector made it to Roran’s cottage and even before entering, smelled the delicious aroma of roasted rabbit.
Swallowing his sudden hunger, Hector stepped into the home and was greeted with laughter and the same succulent smell.
“Aye!” Roran called while taking up a roughhewn bowl, “Sit ye down an’ eat yer fill, tha scran’s ready fer ye.”
“Thank ye.” Taking the dish, Hector took a knife offered to him and carved chunks off the meat, and after dishing out some boiled potatoes and diced wild carrots, he dug into his meal. “I ken it's time tae tell ye, Roran, aboot me family, an’ tha Moore’s.”
The bearded man frowned, “Can that wait fer later?”
“It can,” Hector replied while spearing carrot with his knife, “But I’d rather get it said.”
Roran brushed his hands off and then smoothed his beard, “All right th
en – let’s hear it.”
Clearing his throat, Hector started from the recount of sitting beside his ailing father and the request he had pledged himself to do. Then he got to the history of his missing brother’s origin. “Twenty-an’-five years ago me faither, Fergus, came tae England an’ fell in love with a lady, an Emily Moore o' tha land beside us…”
Dutifully, Hector related the tale told to him by his father and the missing pieces filled in by Aria. Roran’s face shifted from wonder to confusion to shock at every turning point in Hector’s tale.
“Halt fer a moment,” Roran asked, his face lit with intrigue, “Are ye telling me that yer Da, stole tha maiden from under her faither’s nose an’ carried her off tae Scotland without a hitch?”
“Exactly so,” Hector replied.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 8
