“Welcome tae Scotland, m'eudail,” Hector whispered in her ear.
The lady’s head slipped to his shoulder, “I have never been so frightened in my life.”
“I ken,” Hector said before dropping his head to kiss her on the side of her neck. “But ye handled it well.”
Victoria’s head twisted to look over her shoulder, “How did you know they were there? It was the dead of night.”
“Exactly,” Hector replied with a tight look. “I’ve been through tae many huntin' parties an’ war trainin’ tae nae ken when it’s off. When ye hunt, ye quickly learn that tha animals there would leave when somethin’ new comes amongst them, be it tha hunter or tha prey, but eventually they’d come back. We had been under tha' thicket fer hours, tha crickets an’ such wouldhae come back already. Tha night was too quiet.”
The sage words gave Victoria another reason to admire Hector, and she smiled while leaning into his hold, “Are we on our way to Cladich?”
“Aye,” Hector said, as the rush of the fight and the sprint petered out of his body. “We are.”
A slender hand floated over his arm, and Victoria’s fingers traced over the scrubby hairs there. “I hope we’ll find Andrew. We’ve come so far.”
Pressing his nose to her hair, Hector hoped for the same thing, “Me tae, me lovely, me tae.”
Chapter 23
The town of Cladich – to Victoria’s delighted surprise – was just like the village of Monstall, possibly even greater. From the derisive words she had heard all her life about the ‘wasteland’ named Scotland, she had – to her shame – expected mud huts and men in rags.
The buildings she saw coming into the town, even the ones at the edges of the city, were made of gleaming wood and had bases of cut stone. Coming into the heart of the township, she even saw some houses made entirely of stone, with walls that seemed seamless.
The brickwork on all the buildings was glorious, and Victoria could see that the work easily outdid the craft of many stonemasons she knew in England. The streets of Cladich were made of cobbled stone, and the people that passed were dressed in fine cotton. She even spotted some silks.
“I’m…” Victoria trailed off in awe, “…impressed and ashamed.”
Hector eyed her, “Yer Da probably told ye tha' we lived in squalor, eh?”
“Not Father, really,” Victoria admitted. “It was more the Lords I met in London. Some of the men there had…extremely opinionated views of this land.”
She felt the soft rumble of Hector’s laugh on her back, as the man slapped the reins a little, “Ach, tha's vera diplomatic o' ye, lass, but call it as it is, they were narrow-minded bastards tha' hated anyone who wasnae o’ their kind.”
“That was expressed perfectly,” Victoria grinned. “Thank you for reading my mind.”
Before they had gotten to the town, they had spent one night in the forest, but this time they rested with ease and rose up languidly the next morning. Hector had even gone hunting, and the three were treated to roasted wildfowl.
Victoria had gotten to bathe, too, and after packing away Mark’s disguise, she donned another skirt and blouse that Ruth had given her. Hector had viciously lit his English trousers afire and had donned his Clan’s kilt with satisfied pride.
The journey to the town was easy, and inside the bustling settlement they had come up to a building, squat and with the name of the inn Mark had told them about, painted on a slab of board. The Latha Inn was unobtrusive and probably didn’t cost much for a night’s stay, so there was no wonder why the courier carrying baby Andrew had chosen to stay there for the night.
Hector didn’t hesitate to alight from the mount and held out a hand, wordlessly asking Victoria if she wanted to join him. Just as silently, Victoria grasped his hand and with his help, landed safely on the ground. Turning to look at the building, she felt three years of searching and eight years of wonder come crashing down upon her. For a moment, she was even terrified to go inside as it made the search for Andrew that much more substantial.
“If ye dinnae wan--”
“I’m ready,” Victoria said, as she steeled herself. What was the sense of spending so many years in ambivalence and coming so far, on a journey fueled by faith, to give up right then?
Grasping her skirts with one hand, Victoria held Hector’s hand with her other, and they walked into the inn together. The inside was dim with shuttered windows, but a man, old and grey-headed, was sitting in a rocking chair at the far end of the room behind a desk, sleeping.
“Tha' must be tha owner,” Hector said, his face lit with expectancy, one Victoria hoped would be fulfilled soon.
Knocking on wood, thrice, Hector waited until the man startled and blinked his rheumy eyes open. Glancing at the two the man gravelly said, “A room fer spouses is five shillings.”
Blushing that the man had assumed they were married, Victoria didn’t even dare to look to Hector, whom she knew was smirking.
“Thank ye, sirra, but we’re nae lodgin’ here tonight,” Hector replied, “Are ye tha owner?”
“Aye.” The man replied with a quiet suspicion on his face, “Names Fionnlagh Wright, tha owner fer o'er forty-three years, why d’ye ask?”
“We need to ask you a question,” Victoria said, noting the surprise on the man’s face at her English accent. “Do you recall a man, a messenger with a baby boy, that lodged here seven-and-twenty years ago?”
The man sighed heavily and sat forward, his wrinkled hands clasping in front of him. “Tha’ cursed morn’ hae ne'er left me mind fer all these years. But what is it tae ye?”
“Tha’ babe was me brother,” Hector replied simply. “He was Andrew MacTavish.”
Fionnlagh’s eyes widened, and shock was on his aged face, “Tha’ poor child was…was Laird’s MacTavish’s son? Christ above, I never kent that! Please, let me get ye a chair so we can talk.”
He stood up with all the intentions of getting the seats, but Hector stopped him. “Bide ye - I’ll get them.”
Crossing the room, Hector took two wide stools and after setting one for Victoria, seated himself. Fionnlagh still looked shocked but his eyes never left Hector, and when the heir was seated he shook his head, “Aye, I can see tha’ resemblance tae yer faither noo. Aboot three or four years ago, a man came tae ask me some o’ tha very questions I ken ye hae fer me, so please ask.”
“When tha courier came wi’ tha child,” Hector started. “Did ye see anyone, any strange-lookin’ person come in after them?”
“Nae,” Fionnlagh replied with a shake of his head, “It was a stormy night, me Laird, nae much people come in a tempest.”
“Tha room they were in, did it hae a window, somethin’ easy tae access by a thief?” Hector pressed.
“There was a window, aye,” Fionnlagh replied. “But it was o'er a hearth, anyone climbin’ through tha' wouldhae landed on hot coals an’ wouldhae made a shout. Tha' wouldhae woken tha man an’ tha babe.”
Victoria shot an anxious look to Hector, knowing that the answers he was getting to his questions weren’t the ones he was hoping for.
“What happened tha’ next day?” Hector asked.
A small frown of thought marked Fionnlagh’s already wrinkled forehead, and he took a moment to answer. “Tha man took himself an’ tha babe tae tha warm spring tae bathe but he ne’er came back. I had feared he had skipped oot on payin’ me, but tha man I sent tae search fer him only found his horse dallyin' by tha riverside. He was gone 'til they found him in tha rushes, dead from a stab wound.”
The words the proprietor spoke mirrored Mark Johnson’s words and proved to Hector that both men were speaking the truth.
“There was one thing, though. Tha man I sent brought back tha carrier’s bag. I ken it's time it got tae tha rightful owner. I ne’er kent who tae gie it tae,” Fionnlagh said while he hefted his portly self from the chair and went to a room behind him.
Victoria felt some thrill at the news that something had been left behind, and wh
en the man came out bearing an old and shredded leather bag, Hector silently took it.
“Tha only thin' inside is a note. His money bag an’ other particulars were long gone,” Fionnlagh said, while seating himself.
Hector opened the bag and gingerly took out the note. The writing was faint as the ink had dulled, but with one look, Victoria recognized Ruth’s hand.
Tell the Father his name is Andrew, declared by his mother, Emily.
“If I had kent tha boy was o' yer blood, I wouldhae sent ye tha parcel years ago,” Fionnlagh said, his voice deep in sorrow. “Maybe ye couldhae found him.”
“Ye did what ye could,” Hector replied. “Thank ye, Wright, ye’ve done me a great service.”
Handing the man a few coins, Hector and Victoria went back outside to the waiting horse. “We better go find Donald.”
Mounting Victoria on the steed, Hector walked them to a tavern just a few stones’ throw away from the inn and took her off. The smell of cooked food wafted through the air and kindled small hunger pains in Victoria. She longed for some warm tea.
Entering the tavern, Hector instantly shielded Victoria away from the leers of drunken men and guided them over to where Donald was sitting. Making sure she was in the inside of the corner, he placed the satchel on the table between him and Donald.
“This was all tha owner could gie me,” Hector said solemnly. “The courier's bag.”
“Better than nothin’,” Donald replied while fingering the pouch, “At least ye ken tha' tha man lived.”
“There’s a note, tae,” Hector said and pulled the fragile slip of paper out of the bag. “Tell the Father his name is Andrew, declared by his mother, Emily.”
Donald's face was impassive, the corners of his eyes only hinting at some thought. “Emily, yer Aunt, isnae it lass?”
“Yes,” Victoria sighed. “And that is the writing of the woman who delivered him, Ruth. She is my governess and raised me.”
Hector’s mouth was a thin line, but then he sighed and got up. “Let’s get some scran. I’m tired o’ hard bread an’ flavorless meat.”
Finding a woman across the hall, Hector had a few words with her and with a confirming nod, handed his money over before rejoining them at the table.
“Yer nae leavin’ soon, are ye?” Donald said, his words posed like a statement instead of a question.
“Nae,” Hector shook his head, “Tha owner o’ tha inn was only tha first piece, I hae more tae seek after.”
Words were abandoned when the tavern woman brought over a tray filled with warm broth, roasted pheasant, boiled potatoes and carrots, and warm bread. It was simple fare, but to the three travelers, it was food fit for kings.
Taking up the bowl of soup, Victoria tasted the hearty and flavorful broth that was spiced generously and hot enough to remove the hollowness in her stomach. While drinking, the hair on the back of her head lifted, and a curious cold shiver ran over her skin. Someone was watching her, but based on the amounts of perverted leers she had gotten coming in, there were about ten pairs of eyes on her.
Knowing it would look suspicious for her to turn around, Victoria gently moved the bowl from her lips and without even moving her head whispered to Hector, “Someone is watching me. Don’t be too obvious but try to see who it is. I don’t think it is one of the men from the bar.”
Nodding slightly, Hector casually laid an arm over the back of Victoria’s seat and just as casually turned his head as though he was whispering something in her ear. Feeling an anxious tremor run under her skin, Victoria tried her best to act normal.
Hector turned, a confused frown on his face, “It’s only an’ old woman.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Victoria replied, “I have an odd feeling. Go speak with her.”
The MacTavish wasn’t comforted with Victoria away from his presence, though he knew that Donald would be just as protective of her. Eventually, Hector’s curiosity got ahold of him, and he nodded, “Bide ye.”
With purpose, he got up and strode to the woman sitting at the far end of the room. She was slumped over, with her withered hands grasping the handle of a broom. When she spotted Hector, it was too late to walk away. Victoria only saw him speak to her and, with a quick look over to them, he ushered the woman outside.
A few substantiating emotions were inside Victoria. One, she had listened to her sense of the woman’s stare, and second, if her look hadn’t meant anything, Hector wouldn’t have gone outside to speak with her. That had to mean something.
Finishing her broth, Victoria went on to the rest of her meal knowing that Hector wouldn’t be pleased if she didn’t eat. The food was delicious to a hungry stomach, and she surprised herself by eating all of her portions.
However, by the time she was done, Hector hadn’t come back, and she was getting worried. The anxiety kept piling on as time stretched until it was evening, and Hector hadn’t returned.
Please, Victoria begged mentally while she saw Donald’s anxiety, please let there be no harm to him. Please God, keep the man I love safe.
Chapter 24
When Hector had approached the old woman in the tavern, he hadn’t expected much. Victoria had felt her stare, and with the poise he had begun to expect from her, she had told him about her strange feeling. Dutifully, he had gone and approached the woman. Though old and bent, she had eyes as sharp as a hawk’s.
She took one look at him and said, “Greetings, MacTavish.”
Surprised that she knew who he was, Hector nodded, “What d’ye ken o' me, woman?”
“No’ o’ ye,” she replied, “but o’ a mystery aboot a boy child o' yer kin, ye should ken o'.”
Ach, Victoria was right! Wi’ senses like that she’s a natural leader!
Even more surprised that she knew about Andrew, Hector ushered the woman outside where there was quietness, and solitude to speak in. Walking with her to a shaded eave, Hector felt unease fill his mind as he faced her, “Speak ye, what do ye ken o’ this mystery?”
“My name is Hagar an’ Fionnlagh is my cousin, an’ though I dinnae kent tha babe o' o'er twenty years ago was yer kin before today, I may tell ye what I kent happened tae him,” the old woman spoke.
A surge of hope lurched into Hector’s chest so strongly that he was speechless for a moment. She knew what had happened to Andrew! A tremulous yearning that she wasn’t going to tell him that the boy had died cramped Hector’s stomach. He eventually worked through his shock and managed to say, “Ye ken what happened tae him?”
“Nae entirely, ” Hagar replied. “But many years ago, when yer kin arrived here, there was a woman, old an’ barren, here long ago. She was known tae take some o' the dìlleachd around here an’ raised them but was ne'er able tae hae a babe o' her own. I ken she took yer kin ’cause tha next day after tha messenger was found, an' tha babe was marked missin’ she was gone from here.”
That means Andrew may still be alive! Hector felt his hope surge even more.
“Do you ken where she went?” Hector pressed, praying and begging God that she could tell him.
“Nae,” The woman sighed in regret. “But I can tell ye tha' it wouldnae be strange tae me if she took him. Her house is on tha same riverbank tha man who carried him here was found in.”
“Would ye take me there?” Hector asked, completely forgetting about going back to Victoria and Donald. This was too much of a gift from the heavens to not follow upon.
“Aye,” Hagar replied, “but ye’d need tae help me down tha slope.”
Hector would have carried the woman on the top of his head if she had asked him to, with the amount of anticipation running through him like a river.
“Come ye,” the woman gestured.
Hector followed her down the lane, metering his steps to match her slow shuffle and from there through a track in the woods. She led him deep inside and then they came upon a slope, the one she had begged Hector’s help with.
Aiding the elderly woman down the slick slope, they came upon a river b
ank. The water was wide but not deep and had break off to the sides where water gathered in small pools. The river banks were lined with rushes, tall, thick water-grass, where hungry birds perched to drink water.
They carefully picked their way down the sandy bank and stopped at a point. The woman pointed at an old house standing on the opposite bank. The roof was caved in, and the doors were missing. Wild grass had grown high at its sides, and the wood that made the body of the house was dark with rain and rot.
“She used tae live there,” Hagar replied. “A woman named Ivana or Ivy.”
Ivana! Hector’s hope surged. No’ tae far from Ivy, is it? This must be her!
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 19
