Chapter Two
Clairinch Island, Stirlingshire
Highlands of Scotland
The decorative wooden torch mounted in the ground stood erect before the waters of Loch Lomond.
Its elaborate brass scrolls and flower etching in the wooden stand was an ill-fated reminder of who had once lain there.
Now the torch’s flame danced in the breeze and shone its brightness in the dusk of the early evening, a beacon for Breckin, Laird of the Buchanan Clan, and a remembrance of his sister who had died on that very spot a year before, almost to the day.
Breckin lowered his head in prayer, a plea that had crossed his lips many times as he worshipped at the torch. He hoped that Marian had entered Heaven but he knew it was probable that she did not. Taking your life was a grievous sin and one not easily forgiven by God Himself.
He had ridden ahead so he might ensure the torch’s flame remained lit.
He’d given his sentry the duty of keeping the fire alight throughout the day and night.
When he raised his head, he pressed back the long strands of his blond hair and tucked it behind his ears.
The wind easily dislodged his locks as he drew a deep breath and allowed the waters over the loch and the hale breeze to allay his restlessness of returning from war.
Horses tromped over the wooden bridge of the loch and crossed onto the wooded island of Clairinch.
The small tree-covered island, home to the Buchanans, provided them safety and a place to come together.
Before the bridge, Buchanan land stretched as far as five leagues from north to south and was as wide as five leagues in parts.
It was a good amount of territory to protect but none would dare to trespass on his property.
Even his most notorious enemies made a wide berth around his land for they knew they would suffer the wrath of his warriors.
His men returned from their fracas with the MacGregors who had stolen some of the Grahams’ winter stores.
They’d given their ally, the Grahams, aid when they needed strong arms against their foes.
Their quest to regain the Grahams’ stores was easy enough, and even though swords were raised, the MacGregors put up little fight and hastily returned the stolen goods.
Most of his men continued to move across the bridge except for his most trusted friend.
His commander-in-arms, Gideon, approached with heavy steps.
“Och, there ye are. I thought ye would find your way here. Ye always do.” The torch’s firelight shone on the auburn locks of his friend’s hair and brightened his beard-covered face.
“Aye, I needed to take a moment to—”
“Laird, ye still mourn but she’s been gone so long. Why do ye not put it behind ye? Douse the flame and be done with it. Ye chastise yourself for naught,” Gideon’s voice came low and he faced the water.
Breckin raised his voice in retort, “I cannot put it behind me…not until I learn the truth. Marian would not have taken her life. I am certain of that. Until I find out the reason for her death, this torch will stay lit.” He couldn’t fathom why his bonny sister would kill herself.
She had had much to live for and had just been betrothed to a man to whom she had given her heart.
Marian looked forward to her wedding and life—and then suddenly, she was gone.
“Ye are a stubborn man. She’s condemned to Purgatory or Hell. Might as well accept that and release yourself from the misery.”
Breckin’s chest tensed at his friend’s words. “Good deeds will pave the way for her.”
Gideon scoffed and pressed his hands over his reddish beard. “Ye think your deeds will aid her? She took her life, my friend, and there is naught ye can do to save her soul.”
“If I do enough good deeds, God will accept her.” Breckin wouldn’t desist in trying.
And until he learned the truth of her death, he would go forth to aid other clans against their foes.
Helping those less fortunate or unable to defend themselves might be favorable in God’s eyes.
Surely his Lord and Savior would take that into consideration.
“Ye fool yourself and hold guilt for naught.”
“I should have known what was going on in her life, should have protected her. Of course, I hold guilt, Gideon, as I should.”
Gideon shook his head adamantly. “Nay, that is not so but I will cease haranguing ye about it. One day ye will accept that she is gone and what she’d done. Regardless of how many clans ye save, it will not change what happened. Come, let us return to the keep.”
Breckin followed Gideon across the bridge and on the lane that led to the middle of the island where they’d occupied cottages, work buildings, and a large stable that housed their steeds.
On the approach to the small garrison, he saw Aymer, the gate watchman, and his brother, Alton, the stablemaster.
They seemed to be awaiting him. The brothers resembled pine trees, for they had thick dark-shaded bodies, black hair and eyes, and prickly natures.
Both held serious miens on their faces. Unsmiling and unwelcoming, they waited until he reached them.
Breckin hoped there was no trouble because all he wanted to do was find a good hearty meal and maybe get some well-needed sleep. “What goes? Given the look on your faces, it must be dire.”
Alton pressed his brother back a step. “I should be the one to tell him.”
“Go on then,” Aymer said.
“Your brothers… They are atop the stable’s roof. I tried to get them to come down but they will not listen to me. By God, they will fall to their death if they’re not careful.”
Breckin drew a weary sigh and had hoped on his return he wouldn’t gain any ill-favored reports of his younger brothers’ misdeeds.
The two of them were always finding new ways to irritate or scare the hell out of him.
Indeed, as he walked into the stableyard, he spotted Connor and Caden, twins who looked so much alike that no one could tell them apart.
But that never mattered because his brothers were inseparable.
Where there was one—there was the other.
“What are ye doing up there?” Breckin called and shifted his eyes to peer above.
“Laird, ye returned. Await us, we will be right down,” one of his brothers shouted.
Breckin flinched when one of his brothers hopped from one beam to the next. Before the boys could retreat from the roof, a crack came, and one of the upper beams folded in on the stable. He heard one of his brothers shout and then a loud bang.
Everyone within hearing distance sprinted inside the building.
In the center of the lane between the stalls, his brother lay upon a heaping pile of manure.
Fortunately, the pile of cosh was large enough to break his fall and save him from breaking his neck.
A beam was prevented from falling completely to the ground when another beam blocked it.
The roof continued to creak, and Breckin hoped his other brother made it safely down.
“Caden, are ye hurt?” This apparently came from Connor who peered through the gaping hole of the stable roof above.
“Christ Almighty, save me from these two dimwits,” Breckin said as he stared at his younger brother covered with reeking horse droppings. Even Caden’s light strands of hair were soiled with the mucky manure and bits of straw. He groaned.
Aymer stepped forward and tossed his hand down to help his brother out of the mess. “Are ye hurt, wee Caden?”
He shook his head. “Laird, we did not expect ye…”
“Apparently not. Connor, get down here, and for God’s sake, do not fall through the roof.
” As he waited for the other twin, Breckin considered what their penalty would be.
He was tired of coming up with appropriate punishments for them.
This time though, they had gone too far.
His brothers, not even half a score in age, tested his patience time and again.
Breckin hoped they’d mature, but even with arms training, his brothers still reveled in causing havoc and performing “daring feats,” as they’d called it.
Connor arrived and hurried to see if their brother was hurt. “Why, ye are not even bleeding. Ye cannot claim that as a brave feat, Caden.” He chortled but ceased when he noticed Breckin’s glare.
The two of them had long, light hair that much resembled Breckin’s in color.
Though Breckin had their father’s green eyes, his brothers’ eyes were as blue as an afternoon summer sky, akin to their mother’s.
Their grubby faces were dirty, and likewise, their garments had seen better days.
Their clothing and bodies needed a long washing in the loch.
How he wanted to be the one to dunk them in the water, if only to cause them discomfort.
“Everyone, return to your posts.” Breckin stood with his hands fisted at his waist, trying to come up with a reasonable, or hell, even an unreasonable punishment for them.
His wee brothers tried to bypass him, but he stepped in front of them before they could abscond. “Not ye two. Halt. Stay where ye are.”
They stopped abruptly and lowered their heads.
“I will not even ask why ye would risk your lives by climbing on the stable roof. Lord, Caden, ye stink to high heaven. Go, both of ye, and get cleaned up and meet me at Aunt Clare’s.
We will have our supper and I will dole out your punishment then.
Be quick about it and do not make me come to find ye.
” Before he could speak further, his brothers dashed from the stables.
He’d have to scour his mind for some unpleasant task for them to do—but he doubted they’d learn their lesson. They hadn’t so far.
Breckin reached the outside of the stable and approached Aymer. “Those two are going to force me to an early grave.”
Aymer bellowed. “Aye, aye. I kept watch on them all day but they disappeared, and then I found them hopping from one beam to another atop the roof. They have a death wish, aye?”