The Piper’s Lady: The MacLarens (Book Three)
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The Piper’s Lady
The MacLarens (Book Three)
Sherry Ewing
Copyright © 2020 by Sherry Ewing
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book reviews.
Kingsburg Pres
P.O. Box 475146
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The Piper’s Lady is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Editor: Jude Knight
Cover Design: Sherry Ewing
Cover Couple Photo: The Kiss by Francesco Hayez (1791–1882)
Cover Background: View of Tantallon Castle by Alexander Nasmyth (1758–1840)
This media is in the public domain in the United States. This applies to U.S. works where the copyright has expired, often because its first publication occurred prior to January 1, 1923. {{PD-US}} This work is in the public domain in the European Union and non-EU countries with a copyright term of life of the author plus 70 years. {{PD-old-70}}
The Piper’s Lady/Sherry Ewing -- 2nd ed.
ISBN eBook: 978-1-946177-55-1
ISBN Print: 978-1-946177-56-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020917760
The Piper’s Lady:
The MacLarens, Book Three
By Sherry Ewing
True love binds them. Deceit divides them. Will they choose love?
Lady Coira Norwood spent her youth traveling with her grandfather. Now well past the age men prefer when they choose a wife, she has resigned herself to remain a maiden. But everything changes once she arrives at Berwyck Castle. She cannot resist a dashing knight who runs to her rescue, but would he give her a second look?
Garrick of Clan MacLaren can hold his own with the trained Knights of Berwyck, but as the clan’s piper they would rather he play his instruments to entertain them—or lead them into battle—than to fight with a sword upon the lists. Only when he sees a lady across the training field and his heart sings for the first time does he begin to wish to be something he is not.
Will a simple misunderstanding between them threaten what they have found in one another or will they at last let love into their hearts?
Other Books By Sherry Ewing
Medieval & Time Travel Series
To Love A Scottish Laird: De Wolfe Pack
Connected World
To Love An English Knight: De Wolfe Pack
Connected World
If My Heart Could See You: The MacLarens (Book One)
For All of Ever: The Knights of Berwyck,
A Quest Through Time (Book One)
Only For You: The Knights of Berwyck,
A Quest Through Time (Book Two)
Hearts Across Time: The Knights of Berwyck,
A Quest Through Time (Books One & Two)
A special box set of For All of Ever & Only For You
A Knight To Call My Own: The MacLarens (Book Two)
To Follow My Heart: The Knights of Berwyck,
A Quest Through Time (Book Three)
The Piper’s Lady: The MacLarens (Book Three)
Love Will Find You: The Knights of Berwyck,
A Quest Through Time (Book Four)
One Last Kiss: The Knights of Berwyck,
A Quest Through Time (Book Five)
Regency
A Kiss for Charity: A de Courtenay Novella (Book One)
The Earl Takes A Wife: A de Courtenay Novella (Book Two)
Nothing But Time, A Family of Worth: Book One
One Moment In Time: A Family of Worth, Book Two
Under the Mistletoe
A Second Chance At Love in Fire & Frost: A Bluestocking Belles Collection
Learn more about Sherry’s books on her website at www.SherryEwing.com/books
Join Sherry’s newsletter at http://bit.ly/2vGrqQM
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Author Notes
Other Books by Sherry Ewing
About Sherry Ewing
For my dear friend Melissa.
Distance may keep us apart but you are always close to my heart. I love you, sis!
Chapter 1
Château d'Usson, France
Winter, the Year of Our Lord’s Grace 1181
The raspy breathing of the man lying prone upon the bed filled the chamber. Death had been hovering close at hand, ready to claim another soul, and yet still he clung onto life. Even the blizzard outside the chateau’s walls hinted at how little time he had left.
Coira Norwood sat at her mending near the hearth. For months, she had watched her once vibrant grandfather dwindle into a frail old man. ’Twas hard to observe the knight who had raised her come to such a fate. She had followed him for years to wherever their paths would lead. True, he had told her on more than one occasion ’twas well past time she should wed instead. Still, she could not bear to leave his side, not when he had done so much for her. She had resolved to stay as his companion for however long he graced this earth. Time was no longer on his side.
The door to her grandfather’s bedchamber unexpectedly opened. Flakes of the flurry pelting the outside world clung to the dark red mantle of the knight who entered. He shook the rest of the snow from his thick, shoulder-length mane of black hair before discarding his cloak and draping it over his arm. Morgan, lately of Berwyck, was like another brother to Coira. He had known her since she was a small child, when she had followed behind him and her older brother, Rolf, begging for their affection. Yet boys would be boys, and in their youth, they had teased her relentlessly. Setting aside such childish spats, she had long since forgiven them both, although she had not seen Morgan for many a year.
“Morgan,” she exclaimed, keeping her voice hushed so she did not wake her grandfather. “This is such an unexpected surprise. Welcome!”
“’Tis good to see you, Coira,” he replied, with a smile she remembered from their youth together.
She took his mantle, tossing the garment on a nearby chair, before grasping his chilled hands. “You are freezing, Morgan. Come, sit by the fire and warm yourself.” He leaned down to fondly kiss both her cheeks and followed her to the hearth.
“’Tis good to at last locate you, Coira,” he declared, holding out his hands towards the flames.
“You have traveled far to find us, I see.”
“Aye. It has been a difficult journey riddled with misfortune. ’Tis almost a miracle of God I have found you at all.”
She waited for him to tell her more, although her heart already sensed the heavy weight of whatever news he carried. One did not travel all the way from England and the whole length of France in the dead of winter to bear tidings of joy.
“I should see to having a meal prepared for you. You must be famished.” She ran her shaking hands down the length of her gown as she jumped up to see about his meal. But Morgan had other plans. He halted h
er progress to the door by grabbing her wrist.
“That is not of import right now, Coira.” He hesitated and nodded towards the bed. “How is he?”
She followed his gaze and shook her head. “Stubborn as always and wishing to be home instead of abusing the good graces of a distant cousin. He has been ill for a while now. I have been afraid to have him travel in his current condition. Considering how long it would take to reach home now that winter has set in, I am not certain he would survive the journey. To be honest, I am surprised he has lasted this long.”
Morgan gave a heavy sigh. “Then I fear the news I bear will not do you, nor him, any good. I was tasked to find you almost a year ago but met every possible obstacle on my way. I did not expect you to be traveling this far south and had just about given up hope of ever reaching you.”
“Aye, we are a long way from home, Morgan. My grandfather seemed to be on a sort of pilgrimage… his words, not mine. He wished to see all the places of his youth before he departed this earth. I could hardly let him travel so far without me.”
He gave a small smile. “That sounds just as I remember him. I have always admired the man’s youthful stamina.”
Coira gave a quiet chuckle. “You should tell him so. ’Twill bring him joy to hear such words from someone he cares so much about. But you did not come all this way for idle conversation. What is your news? Is it Rolf? What has my handsome brother been up to near the wilds of Scotland?” Her teasing manner was forced. Better to make light of the situation whilst she could, for her heart whispered she would not like where this conversation would eventually lead.
Movement upon the bed had them both waiting to see if her grandfather had awoken.
“Coira, who… is here with you, child?” her grandfather forced out. They went to the bedside. Morgan helped the fragile man to a sitting position. “Morgan… dear boy—” he began before coughing stole his breath. After several minutes he was at last able to speak. “Are you really here with us, or are you but a figment of my imagination?”
“Grandfather, he is hardly a boy any longer, just as I am no longer a mere child,” Coira muttered, embarrassment flushing her face. At the age of a score and ten, her youth was long past.
“Aye. I am here on a most serious matter,” Morgan replied, taking hold of the man’s hand before turning his gaze upon Coira. “Sir Walter has earned the right to call me anything he so wishes, is this not so, sir?”
Grandfather squeezed each of their hands before closing his eyes. A tear slid down his cheek. “I was dreaming… of Rolf. It has been so long since I have seen him. In my dreams, he gives this old man comfort, telling me stories of his exploits with the Devil’s Dragon of Blackmore.”
“Lord Dristan is now at Berwyck, Sir Walter, and has resided there for many a year. He is married with two children now.”
“Married? I can hardly believe such drivel,” Grandfather declared, as though his strength returned to him with the mere mention of Rolf’s liege lord. “The Devil’s Dragon? Settled? Surely you jest with me.”
“I would not dare, sir,” Morgan replied, hiding a smirk.
The old man’s eyes opened. “And Rolf?”
Coira gazed upon Morgan and watched his face fall. She knew what his next words would be. “’Tis why you are here, is it not? To give us word about my brother?”
“Aye, but ’tis not news you will wish to hear.”
“No! Do not tell me my brother is gone from this world, I beg of you,” she cried out.
“More than anything, I wish I could give you news he yet lives, but he has perished. I am sorry I was not able to let you know of his demise sooner.”
“Did he… die… in battle?” Sir Walter choked out, with a sob.
“Aye. No knight could ask for a more noble or honorable death. He was saving Lord Dristan’s sister-in-law, the Lady Lynet. His sacrifice allowed her to get away with another who was sent to rescue her.”
Coira collapsed into Morgan’s arms, sobbing. His arms enveloped her, and she felt his hand brushing her hair to offer her comfort. “No! Tell me you but speak a falsehood.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I am most sorry, little one. You know Rolf was like a brother to me, as well. I miss him dearly.”
Her grandfather’s coughing had Coira rising and rushing to the hearth where she kept broth warm to sooth his parched throat when he was in need. She helped him sip the brew before he fell back onto the pillows. Exhaustion and pain marred his face.
“Where is he buried?” her grandfather asked, when he could speak again. Coira sat on the edge of his bed, numb.
“At Berwyck Castle, Sir Walter. He rests in a place of honor within the family cemetery. The Lady Lynet cared for your son very much, as did all those who resided within the castle walls.
“Morgan, I must ask a favor of you.”
“I am yours to command,” Morgan answered with a nod.
Her grandfather reached out for her hand and joined it with Morgan’s. “I must ask you to… to take care of my granddaughter. She must wed—”
“Grandfather! I cannot marry Morgan. He is like a brother to me,” Coira blurted out in shock. “Besides… look at me. I am far too old for any man to want to marry me. And too plain! Who would want to look at this face for the rest of his life?”
“Stop that!” her grandfather bellowed with far more strength than she would have thought possible. “First and foremost, you are a beautiful woman in any man’s eyes if they but care to look deep enough. You would do a knight proud as their wife.”
“But Grandfather, Morg─”
“Second… do not interrupt your elders, missy,” he teased with blue twinkling eyes. “I am not asking Morgan to wed you, although heaven knows he would be blessed if you took him for your husband.”
Morgan breathed a sigh of relief, and Coira raised her brow at him. “No offense, Coira. You know I love you, but only as a sister.”
Grandfather cleared his throat. “May I finish, children?” At their nod, he continued. “Take her to Berwyck with you, my boy, and see to it you and her cousin Lord Dristan find someone to love her for who she is. I will give you monies to see to her comfort, but I do not wish to pass from this world without knowing she is taken care of by someone who cares for her.”
“I cannot leave you, Grandfather. You need me,” Coira protested, leaning in to give the man a hug. He gave her an affectionate pat upon her back.
She sat up, and he cupped her face with his hands. “You have been such a blessing in my life, dear sweet Coira, but ’tis time for you to spread your wings and fly. You have done your duty by watching over me all these years, and no grandfather has ever been prouder to have his darling granddaughter by his side. I have been selfish, keeping you with me for so long. You should have wed and had children of your own by now.”
“I did not mind. You know how much I love you,” she murmured.
“And I love you as well. Go to Berwyck. Say a prayer at Rolf’s grave for me and live your life. You have done your duty to me, child. Now ’tis time for you to find someone of your own to love and call your husband.” He turned his gaze upon Morgan. “You will take care of her for me?” he asked with pleading eyes.
“Aye, sir. I will treat her with all the respect I have always held for her… as a beloved sister.”
“’Tis good, then. Now, Coira, leave us so I can discuss arrangements with this young man and hear about his travels. And perchance, I will live one more adventure through his eyes.”
Coira left the bedchamber to seek out a servant to send a meal up to Morgan. Emotionally drained, she then went to her own room where she could mourn the loss of her beloved brother. She could still hardly believe he was gone.
Several more months passed before Morgan and Coira were at last able to begin their travels to Berwyck Castle. With a final farewell to the chateau she had called home and spring finally in the air, she rose from her grandfather’s gravesite. Morgan had assured her he would see the pr
operty her grandfather had left her was secured, and yet she was still uncertain that any would willingly wed her, given her age. The thought of the other life for a single woman—as a nun—made her shudder. Entering a convent to devote her life to God was not for her. Quaking at the thought, she lifted her chin and took her first steps towards her new future.
Chapter 2
Berwyck Castle, near Scotland’s Border
Summer, the Year of our Lord’s Grace 1182
The mournful sound of a bagpipe filled the early hours of the day. Deep baritone voices of the garrison knights shouted as they practiced their maneuvers in perfect unison. Feet stomped and chainmail clinked whilst the men pounded their swords upon their shields before raising them over their heads or in front of them, depending on their position. They quickly formed into a tight formation as though they were protecting themselves from arrows flying through the air.
Piper Garrick of Clan MacLaren maintained the steady rhythm of his instrument, keeping the army at its paces upon the lists. How they managed to drill so relentlessly for hours upon hours was beyond him, although he knew that any complaints would merely serve to anger their liege lord. Garrick was only too happy to keep to his task instead of joining the men at their training. He knew just how physically brutal such training tactics could be.