Christmas in the Glen of Travercraig

by Fiona MacEwen

  “Ye do not know that. For all ye know he is still a good man,” came the reply.

  “What sort of man shuts himself away like this?” the other said.

  “A man of sorrows,” came the reply, as the man shook his head.

  “Enough of your idle speculation,” William said, and he looked up towards the keep where the silhouette of Andrew Douglas and Nairne could be seen at the window, “and there is the object of our mission.”

  “Hail Andrew Douglas. Laird, what wicked designs have ye upon the lass ye hold here in this forsaken place?” William cried up, his voice echoing through the cold winter’s night.

  “Make no reply to him,” Nairne whispered, looking down on the scene below with disgust.

  “They will burn the castle down if I do not,” Andrew replied. “Though I do not think he will listen to reason.”

  “What answer make ye, Laird? We have ye surrounded and there is no escape. Allow the lass to leave and we shall perhaps spare ye,” William Wilson called up through darkness.

  “Nairne is no prisoner here ye fool,” Andrew called back. “She was attacked by robbers upon the road whilst she was walking alone because her betrothed did not accompany her. She was badly beaten, and I took her in, she has been under my care since then. Now be gone from here, it is Christmas Eve and I wish only to be left in peace.”

  “Ah yes, Christmas Eve, a night well known to ye, Laird,” William called back. “The night on which your dear wife Lorna was taken so cruelly from ye, a night on which ye must surely wish the company of a lass as bonnie as Nairne.”

  At these words Andrew’s hand went to his sword and Nairne took hold of his arm, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “He is a wicked, wicked man,” she wept, but Andrew remained silent.

  “Aye, so ye thought ye would snatch an innocent woman from the path and make her your own did ye?” William continued. “Ye cannot have the long dead lassie and so instead ye take one of your choosing, is that it, Laird?”

  “Leave this place, or it shall be the worse for ye,” Andrew cried, his voice stuttering amidst the emotion that William’s words were arousing in him.

  “Not without Nairne,” William cried, and signaling to the men he advanced towards the keep as they brought the battering to bear again upon its doors as Andrew and Nairne watched in terror from above.

  “We will be trapped if we stay up here,” Andrew said, taking her by the hand. “Are ye strong enough to walk? Let us go to the great hall, at least there we can face him with some dignity.”

  Nairne nodded to him, and they rushed from the room, down the steps to the great hall where the picture of Lorna lay propped against the wall and a small fire was kindled in the hearth where earlier Andrew had prepared Nairne’s soup. Down below came the sounds of splintering wood and the cries of the men who now rushed up the stairs of the keep towards the great hall, scattering Andrew’s meager possessions before them, torches raised high in the air.

  “Stand back, Nairne,” Andrew said, drawing his sword and placing his arm in front of her.

  “He will not believe ye, Andrew, it is me who must convince him that ye had not held me here against my will,” Nairne said, as the doors to the great hall burst open and William and his men rushed in, brandishing their weapons and surrounding Nairne and Andrew as they stood helplessly in their midst.

  “Trapped, ye are trapped in your own castle, Andrew Douglas. A sorry end but one entirely deserved for a man who has caused such misery to this lass. Let her go, and at least show that ye have some compassion in ye, or have ye forgotten your wife,” William said, pointing to the portrait of Lorna which seemed to have taken upon itself a forlorn air, her eyes looking out sorrowfully at the scene now playing out before her.

  “Such misery?” Andrew said. “I have helped her. I have helped her when ye were absent, ye should have gone with her into the forest and …”

  “Enough, let the lass go. Ye come here now Nairne, ye are safe now,” William said, stretching out his hand and beckoning Nairne to him.

  But as he did, so she stepped forward and stood between Andrew and William, facing him defiantly.

  “Ye are wrong, William. Wrong about it all. I am no prisoner here in Andrew’s castle, what he has told ye is right. As I walked to my aunt and uncle’s house I was set upon by robbers on the road. They took everything from me, and I am terrified to think what more they might have done to me had Andrew not rescued me. He fought them off and brought me back here to the castle. I was too weak to move, and he had nursed me back to health, but the weather prevented him from leaving to summon help. I am no prisoner and I have stayed here of my own free will, without Andrew I would have died,” she said.

  A murmur went up from the men and several of them lowered their weapons, looking hard at Nairne and Andrew, as they faced them defiantly.

  “Ye have stayed here of your own free will? Ye did not think that we would be worried for ye or think that some mischief had befallen ye? Well it seems it has. How easily ye have been bewitched Nairne, the Laird has taken ye in and told ye a story that ye were set upon by robbers, he has pretended to care for ye but all the while he has kept ye here and for what reason?” William said. And he pointed towards the portrait of Lorna, “There is your reason, ye are here, he has brought ye here to replace her.”

  “Ye are a fool, William, and an evil one at that,” Nairne replied as Andrew hung his head in sorrow. “What kind of man can think such evil thoughts, thoughts which are not true. This poor man has mourned the loss of his dear wife all these years, and yet ye mock him and think of him as being wicked. Ye are the wicked ones.”

  “Whatever has happened here it is high time ye left,” William said, stepping towards her. “Come with us now and we shall leave this man to his grief, come back to the man who loves ye, I can be merciful if I so choose, but mark my words if ye have laid so much as a finger upon her, Andrew Douglas I shall …”

  “Loves me?” Nairne said. “Ye do not love me, ye have never loved me, William. I am but a prize ye have won and ye could not bear the thought of me being in the presence of another man, let alone one I have fallen in love with.”

  And she pulled herself up to her full height and faced William Wilson, whose face turned apoplectic with rage as his hand went to his sword hilt.

  “What did ye say?” he said softly.

  “I said I love Andrew and I do not love ye and I have never loved ye, now go and leave us in peace. Ye should all be ashamed, following the lies of this man and on Christmas Eve too. I have no intention of coming with ye, William, be gone from my life and know that as ye have never loved me I have never loved ye. It is Andrew who has shown me what true love is these past days, and it is with him that I intend to stay,” Nairne said, turning to take hold of Andrew’s hand.

  But as she did so, William grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and snarling as she tried to pull away.

  “What witchery is this? He has bewitched here, can ye all not see? This man is nothing but an evil sorcerer, a devil,” William said, pulling Nairne roughly to him as she struggled in his grip.

  “Ye unhand her this minute,” Andrew said. “The only devilry here is that of a man who can only think of himself and not the happiness of others. If ye cannot believe the sincerity of Nairne’s words then know this too, I love her and whilst my grief has been a burden almost too great to bear these past years, her coming into my life has brought a light such as I never thought possible.

  At these words William threw Nairne to the ground and drew his sword, facing down Andrew who backed away, drawing his own sword ready for the fight.

  “I will kill ye where ye stand, Andrew Douglas, for daring to take Nairne from me in this wicked manner,” William cried, and lunging at Andrew he began to fight, wielding his sword back and forth as Andrew dodged out of the way.

  “Stop it,” Nairne cried, “stop it now! William, I do not love ye and nothing ye can do now will make me ever love ye, leave us in
peace and be gone.”

  But William paid her no attention, striking his sword again towards Andrew, who clashed his own against it, the sounds of metal upon metal ringing out across the great hall as the two men fought. William’s face was red with anger and it was as though nothing else now mattered to him except revenging himself upon Andrew.

  The Laird had no desire to fight, he was a peaceful man not given over readily to violence, but his skills with the sword had been unmatched in his youth and despite the ferocity of William’s attack he lunged back and forth, soon gaining the advantage.

  “Cease this foolishness,” Andrew cried, as the two men crashed back into the tables, scattering the surrounding men, William stumbling as he lunged at Andrew once again.

  “I shall have ye on the end of my sword,” William cried, raising his sword and bringing it down onto the table which just a moment before Andrew had been up against.

  “And see this poor lass miserable all her life, ye are nothing but a coward,” Andrew cried, striking another blow at William which he caught upon his sword, the two men now close together, forcing each other back.

  “Ye will not win,” Andrew said, and with a final effort he pushed William back and he fell to the floor, sprawling at Nairne’s feet.

  Andrew had the tip of his sword pointed at William’s chest and keeping it there he took hold of Nairne’s hand, drawing her to him and shaking his head at William who grimaced.

  “I could run ye through, I could kill you where you lie, it is no more than ye deserve for the way ye have treated this lass and the vicious rumors ye have spread about me. But I am not such a man and I will not have your blood upon my hands if ye now do that which is honorable. Allow Nairne to choose who it is that she marries, let her choose her own happiness and release her from her bondage to ye,” Andrew said, his eyes fixed on William’s face.

  He scowled and tried to turn over, but Andrew pressed the sword to his throat again, as he groaned and let out a string of curses.

  “I love Andrew, William, I do not love ye and I do not wish to be bound to ye any longer. Release me and find some happiness in your bitter and twisted heart, I am not your prize,” Nairne said, resting her head on Andrew’s shoulder, feeling only pity for the pathetic man now cowering beneath Andrew’s sword, the man who had been so ready to accuse him of treachery and who was now showing such mercy.

  “Ye … are betrothed to me,” William said.

  “Then I renounce that betrothal and I declare before all these good men, men I know do not believe your lies, that I am Andrew’s, I am his betrothed,” Nairne said as a gasp went up from the gathered assembly.

  William sneered, and Andrew drew his sword away, turning to Nairne and kissing her on the cheek.

  “And I am yours if that is what ye want,” he said.

  “Laird, we ... we are sorry for believing this man’s lies about ye, forgive us, if ye will,” one of the men said, stepping forward and bowing to Andrew who smiled.

  “And I am sorry that I have led the life of a recluse these years, I have been no Laird to ye but perhaps now I can make amends. See to it that this man is returned to the village and make it known to Nairne’s parents that she is safe and well. Invite them here to the castle. Invite everyone here to the castle, for today shall be a day of celebration,” he said, turning to Nairne who laughed with joy at the happiness now spread across his countenance.

  “This is the Andrew Douglas I knew was buried beneath his sorrow,” she said, taking him in her arms as William Wilson slunk off towards the courtyard followed by the men of the village who chastised him for his foolishness.

  “It is thanks to ye that my happiness has returned, Nairne,” Andrew said as they stood alone in the great hall. “Ye have reminded me that life can be good and that I should not live in the past but look to the future. Lorna would not have wanted that, she would want me to be happy and to find a new love if it be God’s will.”

  “And do ye think it is God’s will?” Nairne asked.

  “Well, it is Christmas Eve, when soon all shall be made right with the world, let us make our own little corner of this world right,” Andrew said.

  They were standing before the portrait of Lorna and Andrew smiled as Nairne stepped forward to examine it more closely.

  “She was ever so beautiful, and we shall see to it that this portrait is restored to its rightful place so that she can look down upon the happiness which will fill this castle again,” Nairne said.

  Andrew stepped forward, and he placed his hand upon the portrait, as though reaching out to Lorna as he did so.

  “Too long have I grieved, but now I shall remember Lorna with happiness and look to the future in just the same way. It may have taken ten years, but finally I have found the happiness which once I dreamed of,” he said. And taking Nairne in his arms he embraced her, thanking her again for showing him a new way and for loving him as he had come to love her.

  Chapter 11

  A Happy Christmas

  William Wilson slunk back to the village, the other men had mocked him on the way for his pathetic show and reminded him that next time he should wish to cause such trouble he should think twice before doing so.

  It was clear to all that Nairne had not been held captive but had rather found her salvation in the Laird and in his rescue. In turn, he too had discovered a new way of life and the men of the village marveled at the transformation which had seemed to take place before their eyes, a true miracle of Christmas.

  Back in the village they rushed to inform Nairne’s parents that all was well and despite the depth of winter there was a warm in glow in everyone’s heart that night as they celebrated Nairne being found alive and well.

  “She is well? Ye have seen her?” her mother cried, looking at William but he only turned away and sneered.

  “She is well, though she suffered at the hands of those vicious robbers. If it were not for Andrew Douglas then surely, she would have died. We have seen the lass with our own eyes, she regains her strength and she and the Laird are like love birds in the spring,” one of the men said.

  “Love birds? Ye mean …?” Mary said, a look of shock and delight across her face.

  “Aye, the two of them declared it and now we are to celebrate, they are to be married. The Laird has invited all the people of Travercraig to the castle and to a feast in the morning, just like the old days,” the men said, as William Wilson disappeared towards the tavern, wishing nothing else to do with any of them.

  “What wonderful news, but … what of William, where is he, why did he slink off like that just now, and why has not returned with her to us?” she continued as the house filled with a steady stream of men returning from the forest to impart the good news.

  “He was wrong about the Laird; he was a liar and it could have cost the poor man dearly had Nairne not spoken up. He did not deserve your daughter, Mary, but it seems she has found a man who does in Andrew Douglas,” the main said, taking a drink from his hip flask and stamping his feet as though in expectation of the feast to come. “We must prepare to return to the castle.”

  “A feast?” Mary McBryde said, “but he will have no food there, no logs for the fire, nothing with which to celebrate.”

  “Then we must take the feast to him,” her husband said, pointing to the great number of pies and pastries which were laid out on the table in the croft.

  “Aye, that we shall, we shall gather up all we can from the village and on Christmas morning we shall make our way through the forest and feast with the Laird,” the man said, and so the villagers prepared, leaving the McBryde’s to their delight at the knowledge that their daughter was safe and well.

  ***

  Nairne and Andrew did not sleep that night, instead they stayed in the great hall, preparing for the coming feast. The whole castle had been neglected these ten years past, and it was covered in dust and cobwebs inches thick. The shutters had been closed across every window and as Nairne pulled them back the light of
the early morning came flooding into the hall, illuminating Lorna’s portrait with the winter sun.

  “I have not seen the portrait in such a light since that day,” Andrew said, pausing from his work and looking at Lorna with a smile across his face.

  “She is beautiful, and we shall see to it that this portrait is returned to its rightful place,” Nairne said, pointing up to the chimney breast above where once Lorna had looked down from.

  “And perhaps a new portrait will hang here one day, a portrait of ye, dear Nairne,” Andrew replied, embracing her and kissing her on the cheek.

  “The Laird too needs a portrait, does he not?” she said, twirling from his embrace and laughing.

  “I am glad to see ye are feeling better now,” he said, looking her up and down.

  “Aye, well, your ministrations and I think the excitement of last night, both have revived me. And it is Christmas Day, after all, how could one be sorrowful on such a day,” Nairne said.

  “For the last ten years I have simply gone to bed on Christmas day and lain with my thoughts and memories,” he replied, “but today is not like that, though I have no gift for ye,” and he sounded forlorn.

  “No gift? Why, ye have given me a greater gift than any I could imagine. Is not true love a gift itself? A gift freely given and freely received? The gift of Christmas is surely love,” she replied, smiling at him as he blushed.

  “Then we have both received a gift beyond value,” he said, and he was about to take her in his arms once again when a commotion from outside caused him to startle.

  “Not more trouble do ye think?” he said, looking at Nairne.

  “No, of course not,” she replied, “ye invited them, look,” and she pointed out of the window and down into the courtyard.

  Andrew joined her at the window and the sight brought a tear to his eyes. There, flooding through the gates were the good folks of Travercraig and they were bearing every sort of delight imaginable. At their head came Mr. and Mrs. McBryde, the good lady laden down with packs of food, her husband rolling a barrel of what must have been ale and whisky. But they were not the only ones so burdened, behind them came others carrying all manner of packs and parcels. The bar keep was instructing several of the stronger men in the art of barrel rolling too and the children were hauling a great fir tree, singing a carol to the Yule log as the courtyard filled with people. All smiling and laughing to once again be in the home of the Laird.