William sneered at her and let go of her arm.
“Very well, go then, see if I care, we shall see if ye are right about strangers in the woods, but hurry back tomorrow, ye hear me?”
But Nairne had already run off into the trees, caring little for William’s word and glad to be alone. The forest was a wonderland of winter, the trees bedecked with snow which occasionally fell in great flurries from the branches. The animals and birds had long gone into hibernation but as Nairne walked, she found herself followed by a Robin who hopped from branch to branch as she made her way along the path.
“Good day to ye Mr. Robin redbreast, will ye follow me all the way to my aunt’s?” she said, watching as the bird flew ahead of her, alighting on the path just ahead.
Nairne paused for a moment, her breath drifting up in clouds as she shivered a little and pulled her shawl around her.
“I shall want a warm nest to, like ye,” she said, stamping her feet a little and running on.
The trees grew thicker the further along the path she went but Nairne had walked this way many times before. She knew the forest as well as she knew the shore of the loch. It had been home to her all her life and come rain or shine, summer or winter, she knew its ways and paths as well as anyone. She was now not far from the castle of Andrew Douglas and she found her mind wandering to thoughts of the mysterious face she had seen at the window just a few days previously. How sad that the poor man should shut himself away like that and see no one; did no one care for him at Christmas? She thought that perhaps she could leave a gift for him by the castle gate, a freshly caught fish perhaps or a little wooden carving. Something to remind him that even amidst tragedy there can still be hope, especially at Christmastime.
So preoccupied was she with these thoughts that she didn’t notice the Robin fly away, nor the sky darkening above her. The afternoon was drawing in and now the path turned westwards, narrowing a little as it entered a denser part of the forest. Here the trees grew tall and close, and the woodland floor was covered with only the barest of fresh snow, the canopy above almost concealing the sky above. She rubbed her hands together, pulling the pack of gifts up onto her back a little more and tightening the strap around her shoulders. She was fiddling with the knot when she was startled by a voice to her right.
“Well now, what have we here? A pretty wee lassie out in the forest,” a man said, stepping out from the trees.
“A very pretty wee lassie, and what has she here on her back? Gifts perhaps? It is Christmas time,” another said, crossing from the other side of the path and blocking her way.
“We all deserve a gift at Christmas, don’t we lads?” a third man said, appearing from behind her.
So fixated upon her own thoughts had Nairne been that she had not noticed the little hollow to the side of the path where a fire smoldered and a crude camp had been set up. The detritus of a meal lay around the place and a horse was tethered to a tree on the other side, its back loaded with packs.
“Who are ye?” Nairne said, for she knew all the villagers and these men were strangers. The word went through her as if William himself were stood whispering in her ear.
“Strangers.”
“I think the lassie should tell us who she is first,” the first man said, moving in front of her and leering forward.
He was dirty, with an unkempt beard and greasy hair which straggled over his shoulders. His tunic was ripped and dirty and two of his front teeth were missing, making his face even uglier than it would naturally have been.
“My name is Nairne McBryde, a resident of the village of Travercraig by Loch Geira. This is a free road and I am traveling to my aunt and uncle who will miss me if I am not there soon,” Nairne replied, sounding far bolder than she thought.
The forest seemed suddenly close and foreboding, the trees looming over her as another of the men grabbed at her pack and she let out a scream. The knot which held the pack in place came loose and the gifts for her aunt and uncle tumbled onto the ground.
“A treasure trove of delights, my dear,” the man said, reaching down and picking up one of the neatly wrapped packages.
“Put that down, they dinna belong to ye,” Nairne said, snatching the pack from him.
“She is a feisty wee thing and make no mistake,” the man to her right said, and he grabbed hold of her as the other two took the gifts in their hands and laughed.
“Let me go, let me go,” she cried, but his grip was too strong, and no amount of struggling would release it. She kicked back into his shin and he let out a cry of pain.
“Get her lads, this one isnae going to come easily,” he cried and the three of them pounced upon her, sending her sprawling to the ground.
Nairne felt the hard-frozen ground as she fell, her knees smarting as they dragged her along the forest floor. Feebly she tried to struggle, but she knocked her head, her sight becoming fuzzy, she felt herself about to pass out when another voice came faintly through her haze of semi-consciousness.
“Stand aside ye hideous men, unhand that lass immediately,” the voice cried. Nairne thought she recognized it but she could only make out vague shapes, the darkness of the forest and the swirling flutter of snow surrounding her as her eyes closed.
The clash of metal and a scream as though some terrible injury had been inflicted above her. She was dropped, rolling over in the snow just as another scream rang out in the silence of the forest. A gentle arm then lifted her, and a soothing voice spoke in her ear.
“It’s alright, lass, no need to fear anymore,” it said, and then she fainted.
Chapter 6
A Welcome Hearth
Nairne blinked and opened her eyes, her head was aching and her whole body felt bruised and battered as she tried feebly to turn over.
“Do not try to move just yet lass, ye have had a nasty shock and received some terrible injuries. Lie there and rest,” a voice came from across the room.
She lay back on the soft and cozy bed, which was surrounded on two sides by thick drapes hanging down about her. Through the semidarkness she could see a figure by the fire which was the only source of light in the room. He was sitting warming himself and watching her. She could not make out his face, but the voice was familiar, and the images of her ordeal now began to return.
“I … where am I? I was just …” she stammered.
“Ye have endured a terrible ordeal. It was lucky I came across ye when I did, I heard your screams through the forest and rushed to find out what was happening. When I arrived those three devils had set upon ye. They are wicked men and deserved their punishment for what they were doing to ye, and all for a few Christmas gifts,” he said, standing up and approaching the bed.
Nairne could now see his face and she recognized him at once as the Laird whom she had spoken with in the forest and who’s fleeting face she had seen in the window. Weakly she smiled at him and raised her hand a little.
“Th … thank ye, ye have saved my life, I would have died if it weren’t for ye,” she said, pain shooting through her head as she clutched it in pain.
“Aye, but I fear the worst is yet to come. I have stoked the fire as best I can, and I have made some herbal tea for ye. My mother used to make it when I was sick as a child and it always seemed to help, but what ye need is rest and the ministrations of a healer,” the Laird said as he stood at the end of the bed.
“I am inside the castle?” she said, still confused by what had happened to her, “I was … I was on my way to my aunt’s house, but my mother will think I have arrived and …” she began.
“Do not upset yourself lass, there is nothing ye can do but rest. Aye ye are in the castle, much against my better judgement, but I couldnae just leave ye in the forest now, could I? Ye are the first person to cross that threshold in ten years but for what it’s worth I appreciated your words the other day, your words of thanks and so I was surprised to find ye again the forest just now,” he replied, his words trailing off.
“I came to t
hank ye the other day, for protecting me against William’s hand,” she replied, closing her eyes and sighing.
“Your betrothed, I presume?” the Laird said, shaking his head. “A lass like ye could do far better than a common idiot like him. I have seen his type before, lazy, self-centered, arrogant and egotistical.”
Nairne nodded but made no reply, but he was right of course. Her marriage to William Wilson would only make her unhappy and she had only a life of servitude to look forward to, a life which would become far worse once her parents had died, leaving her only at the mercy of that man.
“Get some rest now, the hour is still early and we have a great deal of the night to get through before the dawn comes. I fear the snow is coming,” he said, and he stepped back to the fire, wrapping a cloak around himself and throwing fresh wood upon it which crackled and spat as flames rushed up the chimney.
For a moment the light caught his face and as Nairne opened her eyes, she saw his countenance outlined in the glow of the fire. He was strikingly handsome, despite a life lived in the manner of a hermit. His beard was neat and his face unworn, like so many of the men she knew in the village. There was a confidence and a nobility to him which she had glimpsed in the forest but now seemed to emanate more strongly from him, a sense of his own dignity. Yet in his eyes there was sorrow, and as he seated himself she heard him sigh.
“Sleep now lass, I shall watch over ye,” he said, as Nairne pulled the blankets up over herself.
The memories of her horrible ordeal that day haunted her dreams and her sleep was restless, interrupted by the pain which shot through her body. Her head ached, and she felt as though a fever were rising in her, the effect of the chill and the terror and shock which being set upon by those terrible men had induced in her. As the night wore on Andrew Douglas continued to check upon her, offering sips of warming herbal tea and stoking the fire so that despite the harshness of the winter outside the little room at the top of the keep was warm and inviting.
Eventually she fell into a deeper sleep, not waking until the morning when the dawn cast its milky light into the room, and she could see the snow falling heavily outside. Andrew Douglas was nowhere to be seen, and she attempted to stretch out her arms, a sharp stab of pain going through her side as she did so, and she let out a cry. She realized she was unable to move from the bed and her body felt weak with fever as the sound of a door banging below echoed up to her. A moment later the Laird appeared, he looked concerned and kneeled at her bedside, a steaming bowl of porridge in his hand.
“Ye look very unwell, lass,” he said, touching his hand to her forehead, “and ye have a temperature, despite the chill in the air. Do ye think ye can manage something to eat?” And he placed the bowl at her side.
“I … I will try,” she said, reaching out for the spoon.
“It will help, I am sorry there is little else to eat. I am a solitary man and do not care for myself as perhaps I should,” he said, standing up and pulling a chair around to her bedside.
Nairne took the bowl and spooned some porridge into her mouth. Despite its simplicity it tasted as though it were the most delicious meal she had ever eaten and once again she thanked the Laird for rescuing her from the robbers, their leering faces a terrible memory of her ordeal.
“Ye were lucky, lass,” he replied, shaking his head. “Men do wicked things in this world, and some are Godless.”
They sat in silence for a while as Nairne ate hungrily, taking sips of the herbal tea as she went. But the fever appeared to be setting in and despite Andrew’s ministrations Nairne could feel herself still growing weaker. She gave him a weak smile as she finished the porridge, lying back in the bed and breathing heavily.
“I do not even know your name,” he said, breaking the silence, “I suppose ye know mine, though it has been so long since anyone had cause to use it that perhaps ye do not. I am Andrew Douglas, and what is your name, lass?”
“Aye, I know your name, most folk do. Ye are still often talked of in the village. The mysterious Laird who lives in the castle, all shut away,” she replied.
“Aye, well I have my reasons,” he replied, his tone altering, “but tell me your name.”
“Nairne, Nairne McBryde,” she replied, turning her head to him and smiling.
“A pretty name and I promise ye Nairne McBryde that I shall do my best to look after ye, but I am afraid there is no chance of summoning help yet. The weather has turned even fouler than before and the snow is falling fast. I fear the tracks to the village will be impassable already and besides, ye are not well enough for me to leave ye. So it is I who must play the physician and the nurse maid to ye as best I can, though my skills at both are severely lacking,” he said, looking down at her with a worried look upon his face.
“Ye seem to be doing well enough so far,” she replied, as he took her empty bowl and cup.
“I would not see history repeat itself,” he replied, and nodding to her he left the room as Nairne lay back in the bed and closed her eyes.
***
Andrew Douglas had heard Nairne’s screams as he was out collecting firewood in the forest. He had been about to return to the castle, the meager bundle of sticks enough to see him through the next few days as he contemplated the sorrow of the Christmas season ahead. He denied himself any comforts, preferring the simplicity of life without the trappings of his rank. What was the point, he reasoned, of living the life of a Laird when there was no one with whom to share it? The forest was growing dark in the late afternoon and the skies above foretold worse weather to come. He had shouldered the bundle of sticks when the cries of a woman in terror came through the trees. Andrew had rushed in the direction of the cries, casting aside the wood and drawing his sword lest an enemy be at hand.
He was shocked to emerge onto the path which led back towards the village to find three men setting upon a lass whom they were dragging along the ground as she kicked and screamed.
“Unhand her at once,” Andrew had cried, charging forward and laying the flat end squarely into the side of one of the men who cried out in pain as he released the lass from his grasp. “Vile devils, what is the meaning of this?”
“Go about your business and leave us to ours,” one of the men said, drawing a dagger from his belt and lunging at Andrew.
But the Laird had not lost his skills as a fighter and despite there being three opponents, they were no match for him or his swordsmanship. He reigned down blow upon blow at them, driving them off into the forest and challenging them ever to return and face him again. As the cowards ran, he turned to the lass, lying dazed and confused upon the ground. Andrew was startled to discover that he recognized her. It was the same lass whom he had met in the forest the other day and whose companion he had chastised, the same lass who had come to thank him and whom he had seen from the window of the keep.
“Ye have had some bad luck to ye, lass,” he said, and reassuring her further he picked her up, carrying her over his shoulder back to the castle.
His actions had been instinctual, and it was only as they crossed the threshold and he closed the gates behind him that he realized that, apart from himself, no other person had set foot in the castle of his ancestors since that fateful Christmas Eve ten years ago. But Nairne was clearly ill, her body shaking involuntarily, and this was no time for Andrew Douglas to feel sorrowful for the past. He carried her upstairs, laying her in the bed which had once been his wife Lorna’s and stoking up the fire. Such flames had not been seen in that hearth these many years and Andrew soon had a merry blaze burning in the grate.
He watched as Nairne lay resting in the bed, occasionally turning, her eyes closed and her expression pained and withdrawn. What wicked men could do such a thing to a poor lass, he thought to himself, and cursed them once more.
As he watched over her that night Andrew could not help but feel a deep sense of worry as to what her fate would be. She looked ill and her fever was rising, her face bruised and battered. His thoughts turned to Lorn
a, and he dreaded the thought of losing another woman in the castle so close to Christmas. Was this a curse returned to haunt him? Was he doomed to repeat the horror of what had occurred in that place all those years ago?
“I won’t let it happen,” he said, shaking his head and clenching his fists, just as the sound of movement came from the bed and Nairne began to stir.
Chapter 7
A Winter Prison
“How are ye feeling this morning, Nairne?” Andrew asked as Nairne edged herself up in bed and took the steaming bowl of porridge which he proffered to her.
“Still weak, though my head has stopped hurting as much now,” she replied, beginning to eat.
“I am glad of that, ye seemed feverish in the night and your face is still so pale,” he said, looking at her hard as though willing her to get better.
“And I worry that I will be missed, it has been two days now that I have been here and still no change in this terrible weather,” she said, shaking her head.
“And if anything, it grows worse,” Andrew said, crossing to the window and looking out on the wintry scene below.
The snow was lying thick in the courtyard and beyond the walls there was nothing but an icy wilderness, the forest stretching seemingly endlessly on towards the mountains which were obscured by thick gray clouds which foretold of more snow to come.
“They will send a search party to your aunt’s house, perhaps? And then they will know ye did not reach it with your gifts. When the weather improves, I will make the walk to the village, but I cannot leave ye as ye are. Ye are too weak and if anything happened to me on the path, then neither of us would survive,” he said, turning to her. “For now we must wait out the storm.”
“Ye have spent many a lonely winter here,” she said, as he came to sit on the chair next to her bed. “It must have been a difficult time for ye, all alone here with your thoughts. Did ye never wish for company?”
Andrew did not answer immediately, staring ahead as though lost in his thoughts. Slowly he turned to her, shifting a little in his chair.
Christmas in the Glen of Travercraig Page 4
