Christmas in the Glen of Travercraig

by Fiona MacEwen

  “The Laird has acted strangely these past years, the loss of his wife hit him harder than such a thing upon any other man I know,” one man said.

  “Aye, and such things can turn a man,” another said, others nodding their heads.

  “He wants to make her his wife,” William said. “Her honor is at stake, we cannot sit here and let that wicked man defile her.”

  “He is not so wicked. Heartbroken but not wicked,” another man said, shaking his head.

  “Ah, but ye did not see him the other day in the forest. He threatened me and told me he would see me on the end of his sword. The man is mad, his loss has driven him into madness and now he holds poor Nairne a prisoner, won’t ye help me,” William said.

  There was a general muttering of agreement and several of the men stood up.

  “Aye, we will help ye. If what ye say is true then Nairne is in great danger. Come now men,” another said, and several more rallied around.

  But as they stepped out into the night, their swords and daggers drawn as though in readiness to defeat a mighty foe they realized they too would be defeated—not by swords but by the weather. The snow swirled around, and a heavy fog had descended upon the village. Lying out across the loch, as though a great white spirit had come down upon them and engulfed all in its wake.

  “We must wait until the morning, if not the next day before this weather clears. If the Laird really does wish to make Nairne his wife, then she shall surely come to no harm if we delay until the weather lifts,” the landlord said, ushering the men back inside.

  “Do not forget your promise,” William cried, “for I shall have Andrew Douglas’s head, and make no mistake of that.” And with those words he strode off into the night, breathing murderous threats against the man who even now was doing all he could to ensure that the lass whom William Wilson purported to love would still live to see the end of winter.

  Chapter 9

  Sweet Sorrow

  “Ye are looking better, Nairne,” Andrew said on the afternoon of the next day.

  It was Christmas Eve and Nairne had been at the castle for three days, regaining her strength little by little as she sought to recover from her ordeal at the hands of the robbers.

  “I feel a little better, my temperature is lower, and I feel less sore when I turn over,” she replied, smiling at him as he came to sit by her.

  “I have brought ye some soup to try to eat, it is not much, but it will make a change from porridge. There is a little bread too,” he said, laying the bowl of soup in her lap and passing her a crudely carved wooden spoon.

  “Where is all the finery which this castle was so known for? Did ye not once host the most wonderful feasts and banquets for the good folk of this glen?” Nairne asked, looking puzzledly at Andrew, who blushed a little.

  “It gathers dust in the great hall, what use have I for it all? I do not entertain, ye are the first visitor I have had since … since that day,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

  “And I am glad I am here to keep ye company tonight,” she replied, smiling at him and patting his hand.

  “Ye … ye remembered that tonight was the night on which Lorna passed away, these ten years since?” he said, smiling weakly at her as though an unspoken word had passed between their hearts

  Instinctively he took her hands and as their eyes met, he smiled once again.

  “It is common knowledge in the village. I grew up hearing the sorry tale, and I always wondered about ye, here in the castle all alone,” she replied.

  “Aye, I suppose I am the talk of many in this glen. I am glad ye are here, though I wish it were under different circumstances. I was foolish not to come and speak with ye when ye came to the gatehouse the other day, ye were only being kind,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Well, ye have more than made up for it since then and I am glad we have had such a time to talk. Ye have not lost the art of conversation,” she replied, eating hungrily.

  “I am glad. I was unsure if ye would find me to be happy company. I fear that in my sorrows I have forgotten how to be cheerful,” he said.

  “Ye can be cheerful if ye let go of your sorrows,” she replied. “Lorna would surely not have wanted ye to spend these past ten years as a recluse. Ye have tortured yourself, and for what? Ye cannot bring her back,” Nairne said as Andrew looked up.

  “Aye but … her … her memory, it is a disservice to her,” he said, though his words sounded empty and meaningless, as though he did not really believe what he was saying.

  “Ye can honor a person’s memory without living eternally within it. I have been here only a short while and I can see that ye bear such a burden which ye do not have to. Lorna would not wish that upon ye, she would tell ye to go on with your life and to be happy. To remember her for the joy she brought you and not for the pain of that final moment,” Nairne replied.

  Andrew had not removed his hand from hers, and they lingered together for a moment longer as Andrew breathed a heavy sigh.

  “Ye speak truth, Nairne McBryde, but such truths are not easy to hear when one feels so trapped by the past,” he replied.

  “And perhaps this Christmas Eve is the time to lay the past behind. Surely that is one thing the Christ child teaches us: that there is hope in the future even when the present feels very small and weak,” she said, laying aside her bowl of soup and taking his other hand in hers.

  “Too long I have mourned, I know that,” he said, sighing and shaking his head, “but if I forget her then who will remember her?”

  “Ye will never forget her, not for as long as ye live, that is certain, but clinging to the past will not help ye Andrew Douglas. Ye will never bring her back but ye can find happiness in the future, of that I am certain,” Nairne said, and reaching out her arms to him she took him in her embrace.

  Quite suddenly he began to sob, as though the emotions of the past ten years overwhelmed him, and a great dam burst forth. He wept upon her shoulder, tears running down his face. Clinging to Nairne, the sorrow of these past years erupted as he wept in lament for the time he had wasted longing for that which could never be.

  She held him close, her soft voice reassuring him, the fire casting its warm glow upon them as the two sat together on the bed, side by side. At length he wiped his eyes and smiled weakly through his tears. They had cleansed him and he felt as though a great burden had been lifted from him, the burden he had carried all this time so readily alleviated by the simple kindness of another.

  “I am sorry …” he began, “I …” but Nairne put her finger to his lips and embraced him once again, her soothing words enough to soften his heart even more.

  “Allow yourself to be happy, Andrew Douglas,” she whispered, and as their eyes met, he leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss upon her lips, allowing his hand to caress over hers as she returned his kiss and held him to her.

  He had expected to feel guilt at such an act, as though he had betrayed the memory of Lorna but instead he could feel only tender attraction towards the beautiful lass who had come to captivate his heart and who had given him a sense of peace such as he had not felt since that fateful night ten years before.

  Chapter 10

  The Eve of a Rescue

  Nairne’s mother was busy baking in the croft. It was Christmas Eve and in Nairne’s continued absence she had tried her best to distract herself with preparations for Christmas, telling herself that Nairne would be home very soon and that together they would celebrate the feast.

  She was busy kneading dough to make sweet cakes when the door opened and William Wilson appeared, looking pleased with himself as he lay down a large salmon on the table.

  “A fish for the feast,” he said. “And now we depart for the castle, the weather has eased a little and we shall be able to get through the snow and confront the Laird. Nairne will be home by the morning and we shall celebrate as a family.”

  “Ye are still certain that she is his prisoner then?” Mary McBryde said, as she plac
ed a batch of rolled dough next to the fire to bake.

  “Of course she is a prisoner. It is not just I who believes that, the men of the village talk of the Laird as a recluse, a man whose mind has been twisted by grief. He wants only one thing, and that is the return of his wife. And since even the darkest magic could not achieve such a thing, he has resorted to a devilry of the human heart to bring him a new wife. It is Christmas Eve, the night when Lorna Douglas died, an accursed night in the Laird’s eyes, we must get to her now, else it may be too late,” William said, and turning he went back out into the night.

  Mary could hear him shouting to several of the men who were beginning to gather outside, and Mary watched through the window as around twenty of the clansmen assembled. They carried with them an assortment of crude weapons, ready to do battle with whatever foe they came face to face with. Mary shook her head, she could not believe, despite William Wilson’s claims to the contrary, that Nairne was a prisoner of the Laird.

  She remembered young Andrew Douglas as a boy. He was kind and gentle, always well-mannered, and often he appeared in the village speaking with the local people or running errands for his father. The old Laird had been a kind man and there had been much sorrow upon his passing, but Andrew Douglas had been a just and benevolent master of the glen. There had been much sorrow and grief for the young man when ten years ago that night his dear wife Lorna had passed away, but could grief really turn a man into a devil such as William Wilson described?

  It was with a heavy heart that Mary McBryde watched the men set out that night, flaming torches held high and threats being breathed against a man whose only fault it seemed was his desire to cut himself off in his grief.

  “Is that the search party off?” her husband said, settling himself before the fire.

  “Aye, and William is convinced they will find Nairne a prisoner of the Laird,” she replied.

  “And on Christmas Eve of all days,” he said, shaking his head as Mary watched anxiously, the men disappearing into the forest beyond.

  “Find my Nairne,” she whispered, praying silently for her daughter’s safe delivery.

  ***

  “A fine night for the hunt,” William Wilson said, striding through the snow ahead of the men who followed behind him.

  “It may take more than we few men to storm the castle, William,” one of them replied, as they left the path and headed through the forest.

  “He is only one man, and one man cannot defend a castle alone, we shall burn the gates down if we have to,” William replied, as the castle walls came into sight.

  “Ye do not even know if Nairne is there or not, and if she is, it may be of her own free will,” the man continued.

  “What nonsense, the lass is mine, she would not remain with another man unless he were holding her, look, see, there is a light in the upper keep. Quiet now men, let us take him by surprise and then ye shall see that I am telling the truth about our reclusive Laird,” William said, as he lowered his torch.

  The snow had drifted so thickly around the castle walls that parts were almost accessible by climbing the drift. They passed around the wall to the gatehouse and William kept glancing up to the solitary light coming from the keep above. What treachery was occurring there, he wondered, and what wicked designs did Andrew Douglas have upon Nairne?

  “Do we call out for him?” one of the men whispered, as they arrived at the gatehouse, the castle gates firmly barred before them.

  “No, we shall break in and catch him by surprise. If he has evil designs upon Nairne, then we shall find him in the act,” William said, glancing up again at the keep.

  “And what then? Ye do not plan to kill him do ye? Not on Christmas Eve,” the man said.

  “He has taken Nairne against her will and I will avenge her,” William said darkly as he stepped forward searching for a way to break into the castle.

  Around him the others fanned out, ready to take the Laird by surprise and catch him in whatever wicked schemes he had devised against the innocent lass. That night they would have their revenge and see to it that Andrew Douglas’s long exile would come to a dramatic end.

  ***

  “Ye mustnae feel guilty about a kiss, Andrew,” Nairne said as the Laird pulled away from her and blushed in embarrassment. “Ye can love again.”

  “Aye … I … I know, it is just … it is just the feelings ye have roused in me, it is all so sudden. Ever since I laid eyes upon ye in the forest just a few weeks ago I have found myself thinking of ye often, I felt guilty for doing so but now that ye are here and we have spent this time together I cannae help but know that I have fallen in love with ye, Nairne,” he said, glancing at her and turning away once more.

  “Ye shouldnae feel sorrowful for that, Andrew,” she replied, smiling at him and squeezing his hand.

  “But … do ye?” he stammered.

  “How could I not have fallen in love with ye? Ye are kind and caring, generous and gentle, ye are everything that my betrothed is not. When ye challenged him in my defense, it was as though for the first time I felt valued by another, except my dear mother and father, of course. William has never valued me; he has never treated me as ye have in just these few short days. At first, I felt a fascination for ye, and I felt sorry for ye too, cooped up here in this castle with no one to keep ye company. Now that I am here, I find myself growing daily in affection for ye. Neither of us can help the feelings of our hearts, Andrew, and it is no disloyalty to Lorna that your heart and mine should have come together in this way,” Nairne said. Andrew turned, their eyes meeting as she leaned forward and kissed him again.

  “But … but what now,” he said. “Ye are betrothed? I cannae just take another man’s woman.”

  “Aye, but I can break off the engagement. I have no desire to marry him and I do not think my parents desire it either. My mother at least, she has seen through him, seen what he is really like. He is nothing but a tyrant and will stop at nothing to see me subjected beneath him and in his power. I am in no one’s power except that of the love I feel for ye and which grows each day,” she replied.

  Andrew was about to speak but a sound from down below startled them both. Rising from the bed he crossed to the window to look down upon the courtyard below.

  “What is it?” Nairne asked. “Surely not someone come to the gate begging alms at such late an hour.”

  “No, folk know well enough to keep away from the castle. It is rare I have anyone come to the gate. The last person was ye of course and before that only the man who brings me food from time to time,” Andrew said, staring out into the night.

  The noise had come as a shock to him. It sounded like wood against wood, a dull banging, though now it had gone. There was no sign of anyone down in the courtyard and he wondered if it was perhaps just a tree falling in the forest beyond or the sound of a piece of wood spitting from the fire in the great hall below.

  “It is probably just the wind,” he said, returning to the bed and seating himself next to Nairne.

  “Is the weather still bad out there? It would be the most wonderful Christmas present to my mother and father if I were able to return to them tomorrow, ye could come too and meet them,” Nairne said, smiling at Andrew who blushed.

  “It is ten years since last I was in the village, I do not think I would be welcome,” he said, shaking his head sadly.

  “Of course, ye would be welcome, there is much sympathy for ye amongst the good folks there. Some speak of ye as a recluse and they try to make out that ye are so some sort of madman for remaining here as ye do, but they will soon see the truth,” Narine replied.

  “And what about when they learn I have stolen the heart of their favorite lass? One whom is to be married to one of their number?” Andrew said.

  “There is no love in the village for William, I assure ye of that,” Nairne replied, but just as she was about to speak ill once more of her betrothed a great crash came from the courtyard below, and racing to the window Andrew looked out in
horror at the scene below.

  “Men, Nairne, dozens of them, they have torches too, the gates are flung open, it must have been some sort of battering ram we heard earlier. What devilry is this?” Andrew cried.

  Nairne struggled out of bed and crossed to the window, taking hold of Andrew’s hand as she looked out on the scene below.

  “It is men from the village,” she gasped. “My father’s friends, good men too, what devilry has got into them that they would break into the castle like this and make such mischief?”

  “They are looking for ye,” Andrew said quietly, “don’t ye see? They must think ye are being held a prisoner here against your will and that I have somehow enchanted ye, spirited ye away.”

  “And I know just who is responsible,” Nairne said as the figure of William Wilson strode through the gates, followed by the remaining men.

  ***

  Having failed to find a quiet point of entry to the castle the villagers had felled a tree and used it as a battering ram, which now lay discarded in the middle of the courtyard. William Wilson was pleased, the castle was his, and it had been easy enough to gain entry, the metal hinges of the gates giving way easily after years of rust and neglect.

  “Andrew Douglas, ye are mine,” he said, glancing around him as the villagers milled around with interest.

  It was ten years since any of them had set foot in the courtyard which, despite being covered in snow, they could still see was overgrown, the flagstones buckled and trees, once so neatly kept, growing wild and in disarray.

  “We used to have many happy times here in the past,” one of them said, looking around.

  “Aye, before the Laird turned into a devil,” another replied.