by B. J. Scott
When she didn’t respond immediately, Donella nudged Mareal’s shoulder. “Answer him, lass,” she said softly. “He needs to hear it.”
“I . . . I promise.” She had to force the words, but when a contented smile curled her father’s lips and he began to breathe more evenly, she knew she had done the right thing. She was not sure she could follow through with the request, but she would deal with that later. Right now, her father’s peace of mind was all that mattered.
“Thank you,” the laird said, then caught Donella’s gaze. “Is Andrew close? I wish to speak with him privately.”
“I will go and check.” Donella padded across the floor and left the room.
The laird stroked Mareal’s cheek. “No father could love a bairn more than I do you, and you brought me immense pride and joy. It wasna easy raising a daughter alone and I am sure I made many mistakes along the way, but I canna wait to tell your mam about the fine young woman you have become.”
“I love you, Da, and you were a wonderful father.” She rested her head on his chest, her tears dampening his night clothes. “Say hello to Mother for me when you see her.”
****
Andrew entered the chamber and found Mareal leaning over her father’s chest, sobbing. He’d have come in sooner, but wanted to give them some time alone and a chance to say goodbye. From what Donella told him about the laird’s rapidly deteriorating condition, there was not much time left. Were it not for the occasional shallow intake of breath and harsh exhale he heard as he approached the bed, he’d have thought he was already gone.
“Mareal.” Andrew cupped her shoulder. “Donella told me that your da wished to speak to me.”
She jerked her head up and quickly scrubbed the back of her hand across her cheeks, catching the tears. After squaring her shoulders, she spoke. “Aye, he did send for you.” She released her father’s hand, slowly rose, and turned to face Andrew. “He is weak, so I dinna want you to stay long. He needs his rest,” she said, her voice wavering and cracking with emotion.
“I promise not to tax him.” Andrew glanced down at the laird. “I am here, m’lord.” His gut twisted the moment he saw the laird’s ashen face, his lips devoid of color. Donella was right, he was not long for this earth.
The MacCurtry opened his eyes and focused them on Andrew. “I appreciate you coming, lad, and wish to speak with you alone.” He shifted his gaze to Mareal. “If you will please give us some time together, Daughter.”
Without hesitation, Mareal kissed her father’s cheek. “I love you, Da, and will be waiting in the hallway,” she said, then turned and left the room.
Watching what could be the final exchange of words between Mareal and her father, was harder than Andrew could ever have imagined. He could see how distraught she was, and wished he could offer her comfort. He was certain that saying goodbye was equally difficult for the laird. If only he could come up with a way to ease his mind and pain.
The laird pointed to the stool beside the bed. “Sit. I never liked talking to a man who was hovering above me.”
Andrew quickly complied with the laird’s request and sat on the stool. “I am flattered you wished to see me, m’lord, but one would think you would like to spend this time with your daughter.”
“It is because of Mareal, I asked to speak to you.” The laird sucked in a shallow breath, then closed his eyes for a moment before he continued. “I have told my daughter all I wanted to say, but I need your word that you will honor your promise and find her a husband when this is all over and done. It must be a man of honor who can assume my place as laird and will care for the clan. It willna be easy, but I believe you are up to the task.”
“I will do my best, m’lord.” While tempted to mention their encounter with Kayden in the forest, and his obvious intent to challenge for the seat of laird, Andrew decided against it. He did not want to add to the laird’s worry and would deal with Kayden when the time arose. Just as he was still not certain that Mareal would agree to marry the man he chose. This too he would confront when the time came. He hoped that when Elise arrived, it might make his task easier.
“I am counting on it,” the laird mumbled. “My daughter may pretend to be strong and feisty, but I know she is a gentle, delicate woman who will need all the support she can get to help her come to terms with my death, then to do what is right for the clan. I hope you can see in her what I do.”
“Mareal is a unique young lady,” Andrew said as he recalled the wild bairn from his youth and stubborn outspoken woman he’d met upon his arrival, along with the devoted daughter and caring gentle healer he saw today.
“If I had my way, you would be the man to take my place, Andrew,” the laird blurted. “However, I know that is far too much to ask. As tanist to your father, you will someday be laird of Clan Fraser, so couldna be laird here.”
Taken aback by the MacCurtry’s statement, Andrew was not quite sure how to respond. The thought of being the chief of any other clan but his own had never crossed his mind. While he’d seen some positive aspects of Mareal’s personality shining through her tough exterior, and could not deny his attraction to her on a physical level, he still did not see them as a suitable match. They were too similar in some ways and total opposites in others. If married, he was certain they would be butting heads and shouting at each other more than they would be living in harmony.
“What you say is true, m’lord. I am to be laird of Clan Fraser someday, a responsibility and honor I dinna intend to shirk. I am also na yet ready to take a bride, and even if I did choose to wed Mareal, I am sure she would never consent to leaving her home and clan, any more than I could leave mine.”
“No one can blame a man for hoping,” the laird said. “I am aware that finding a husband for Mareal might na be as easy as it sounds, but I trust you will get it done.” He took a minute to catch his breath, then pointed to a sword, resting against the foot of the bed.
“Do you want your blade?” Andrew didn’t wait for a reply, and retrieved it. He had seen the weapon many times in his youth, and it hung at the laird’s side when he’d visited Fraser Castle. He placed it on the bed beside the MacCurtry, aware the weapon held sentimental value, and that warriors often asked to have their sword buried with them.
Too heavy for him to lift in his weakened state, Laird MacCurtry ran his fingers along the blade, then traced the clan crest. “This was my father’s, and belonged to his before him. I had hoped to pass it on to my son someday, but alas, it was na to be.”
Andrew hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Do you wish to take it with you when you go?”
“Nay. Give it to the man who takes my place,” the laird replied. “It is my hope that Mareal will have a son, an heir who will someday be the chieftain of Clan MacCurtry. My grandson can then continue the custom started by his ancient ancestors, and hand it down to his son when the time comes. Until she marries, it is my wish that you carry it.”
“I am honored, and will see your wish is carried out, m’lord,” Andrew promised. “Have you any other special requests of the man who succeeds you?”
“Only that a MacCurtry always sits as laird. He who marries my daughter, must take our clan name.”
For a laird to ask the man who marries his daughter to take her surname, forgoing his own, was not an uncommon request. Another reason Andrew could never see himself married to Mareal. He would not forsake the Fraser name, regardless of the reason.
“Have you heard from any of the men I invited to attend the tournament? I hope Kayden doesna get wind of it.” The laird’s face blanched, he arched his back as if suddenly in excessive pain, and began coughing and gasping for air again.
Andrew rested his hand on the laird’s shoulder. The mention of Kayden’s name had upset him so much, he feared the end was near. “I have na heard anything yet, but am sure I will receive some responses soon, so you need na trouble yourself with that now. As for Kayden, I will deal with him accordingly if the need arises. I give you my word,
he will never sit as laird of Clan MacCurtry.”
“Thank you. I can leave this world knowing my daughter and clan are well cared for,” the laird whispered, clutched at his chest, then drew his final breath.
Andrew lowered his head and muttered a prayer for the laird’s soul, and at the same time, asked the Almighty for the strength to break the sad news to Mareal.
The door flew open as Andrew reached for he was going to need to honor Lorne’s wishes. He had lost a good friend and mentor, but the hardest part was yet to come. He had the latch and Mareal burst into the room. She brushed by him, rushed toward the bed, and dropped to her knees. “Father!”
The gnawing ache in his chest intensified when he saw her lift her father’s limp hand to her cheek, then lean in to kiss him. While tempted to go to her, he stood fast at the door, respecting her need to say goodbye, to grieve.
“Is it over?” Donella asked as she stepped into the room.
“Aye. You can tell Amos to notify the clan. The laird is dead.” The words left a bitter taste in Andrew’s mouth. He spoke to the healer, but his eyes remained fixed on Mareal.
“Rest well, Father. I know Mother will be waiting to greet you,” she sobbed on a ragged breath, then lowered her head, and released a torrent of tears.
Chapter Eight
The three days that followed her father’s passing were a blur for Mareal, each one running into the next. She had spent the entire time sitting at her father’s side, catching a nap when she could, and only leaving long enough to tend to her needs and to stretch her legs. She still couldn’t believe he was gone, and kept hoping it was all a bad dream from which she would soon awaken.
Lorne MacCurtry made many friends over the years and was so well-revered, they extended the visitation, giving people traveling a distance the chance to offer their condolences and to show their respect. She greeted countless visitors from all four corners of Scotland, a sea of sympathetic faces, most of whom she had never met before now.
While she found a modicum of comfort in the fact so many came to honor her da, her gaze darted around the crowd. Unable to shake the fear that Kayden might appear and cause a commotion, she was relieved to learn he’d not yet dared to show his face. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation between him and Andrew. Yet, she was very much aware that even though he did not come to pay his respects, it did not mean she could let down her guard. Once he’d made a threat, Kayden was not the sort of man to change his mind. He could turn up at any time and demand what he considered his birthright—the leadership of Clan MacCurtry.
In addition to tales about her father’s gallantry during Scotland’s fight for independence from England, his sense of humor, and generous heart, she also overheard the occasional whispers about Andrew’s presence and her father’s bequest that he choose a suitable husband for her. Pleased to hear and share fond memories with Laird MacCurtry’s brothers in arms, she was equally grateful when no one outwardly broached the subject of marriage. She’d face that inevitable aspect of her life and future soon enough, but now was not the time to discuss it. Her heart ached with sorrow, and she could only think about the present.
Andrew remained steadfast at her side through the entire vigil. While she’d resented his presence and interference in her life when he first arrived, she had to admit his taking charge of the funeral arrangements and clan duties in her father’s absence was a huge weight off her shoulders.
“My deepest sympathy for the loss of your father, Lady Mareal. Lorne was a wonderful man and a good friend. He will be sorely missed,” a man said.
Mareal lifted her chin, her eyes locking with those of a tall, handsome warrior, with broad shoulders, a muscular build, and finely chiseled features. His hair was as black as coal and lightly dusted with a hint of grey. If she did not know better, she would swear she was looking at Andrew in about twenty summers.
“This is my father, Laird Connor Fraser.” Andrew ushered the man forward. “He arrived from Fraser Castle about an hour ago, along with my uncle and my cousin. They have come to pay their respects.”
“I met you when you were a wee bairn. You could na have been older than four, so I am sure you dinna remember me,” Connor said. “It was when I visited your father many summers ago. At that time, it was decided Andrew would foster here when he reached the appropriate age.”
“I vaguely remember.” Mareal rose and glanced just beyond Andrew’s father at his uncle and a lovely, slender, young woman, her dark auburn locks falling loosely about her shoulders.
“I am Bryce Fraser, and this is my daughter, Elise,” the man said, then looped his arm around the lass’s shoulders. “Our deepest sympathy, Lady Mareal. Our brother Alasdair was na able to come, but sends his regards and condolences.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you all.” Mareal dipped a curtsy, then despite her grief and sadness, she forced herself to smile. Her father would be pleased to know that the Fraser brothers had come to his funeral. Even though this was the first time she’d met any of them—aside from Connor when she was a bairn—she felt as if she already knew them. Andrew spoke of them often when he was fostering with Clan MacCurtry and so did her father. In addition to his father’s brawny build, she could clearly see where Andrew got his handsome looks and good manners.
She shifted her focus to Elise, her pale complexion, slight build, and quiet demeanor so different than her own. “You have had a long journey, mayhap you would like to freshen up and take a nap. I can have my maid show you to a chamber and assist you, if you would like. I can even have a bathing tub sent up if you so desire.”
“You are most kind, but if you dinna mind, I will stay with my father and Uncle Connor. Andrew can show us to a chamber when he has the chance.”
“I am surprised you were able to come so swiftly,” Mareal said to Connor. “I thought Fraser Castle was at least a three- or four-days’ hard ride. By the time Andrew dispatched a missive upon my father’s death, it should have taken at least a sennight.”
“We actually left four days ago,” Connor said. “Andrew sent a missive confirming he got here safely, and mentioned your father was gravely ill. He also asked Elise to join him here, so Bryce and I decided to escort her, and to pay your da a visit.” Connor explained, then hung his head. “We were hoping to see Lorne afore he passed, and am sorry we dinna get to say a proper goodbye.”
“Father would be honored you came. He spoke of you often.”
“Connor, Bryce,” a man approached with his hand outstretched. “It has been a long time, my friends.”
“Aye, Brandon. It has been at least six summers. How are you?” Connor slapped the man on the back and grasped his wrist. “I wish we were meeting again under happier circumstances.”
“Lorne was a good man and I am sorry for your loss, Lady Mareal.” Brandon MacDunna—the laird from the clan bordering to the east of Clan MacCurtry—offered his condolences to Mareal before extending his arm to Bryce. “You are looking as spry and fit as ever. Still charming the lassies?”
Bryce laughed. “I gave that up a long time ago. I am married with five bairns.” He puffed out his chest and proudly looped his arm around Elise’s shoulders. “This is my oldest daughter.”
“She is a comely lass,” Brandon said.
“Aye. Like her mam,” Bryce replied.
While Connor and Bryce spoke with their friend, Mareal caught Andrew’s attention. “Your father and uncle have been friends with my da for a long time, so I am na surprised they came to pay their respects, but I dinna understand why you asked your cousin to come.” She glanced at Elise, who was silently standing at her father’s side.
“I hope you are na upset that I told my father about your da’s grave condition afore he passed.” Andrew shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and studied the ground, rather than look her in the eye. “I know how close you were to your da, and am also aware that with your mam gone and no female relatives, you dinna have anyone to help you cope with his loss.”
“I am na angry you told your da to come, but I am still na sure I understand about your cousin?”
“I am told a woman needs to consort with other women in such times of grief. My cousin and you are of similar age, and I thought she might be of comfort to you.”
“I see.” Mareal looked at Elise. While they had just met and did not know each other, she didn’t see why Andrew would think she would have anything in common with a shy, demure young woman who in the time since she had arrived had only spoken a few words. She appeared to be pleasant enough, but her pale ivory complexion and slight build, led Mareal to believe she was a frail, sickly lass that a strong wind could easily blow over. Again, she wondered what on earth they might share. She also got the impression from the way Andrew guarded his answer and avoided making eye contact that there might be more to her visit than he was saying.
“The priest has arrived and wishes to begin the internment, Lady Mareal.” Amos announced.
After saying a quick prayer for the courage to get through this arduous ordeal, Mareal responded. “Thank you, Amos. Will you please inform the others?”
“Right away.” Amos bowed and hurried off.
“Best we na keep the priest waiting,” Andrew said, then cupped Mareal’s elbow. “I’ll escort you to the graveside if you’d like.”
Aware she could no longer put off the inevitable, Mareal nodded. “Thank you. Lead the way.”
To her relief, the burial ceremony was brief. But as they lowered her father’s shrouded body into the ground and the priest uttered the last of his benediction, Mareal dropped to her knees and prayed the Lord granted his wish for a reunion with her mother. After tossing a handful of dirt into the grave, along with a thistle flower she’d been clutching for days, she rose.
“I am sorry for your loss,” a man said.
With a hand clutched to her throat, Mareal turned, coming face-to-face with a tall, handsome young man, she guessed was in his early to mid-twenties.
“I apologize if I startled you, Lady Mareal.” He bowed.
