Chapter Two
Dunraven Castle
April, Year of the Lord 1309
The large dark shape, emerging from the gloom, almost caused Elspeth to faint.
It spoke. “What are you about, m’lady?”
She had almost escaped without notice.
Almost.
Biting back an unladylike curse, Elspeth raised her chin, looked Dunraven’s burly watchman dead in the eye, and answered his question. “A walk, Tavish. I’m going for a walk.”
“A walk, is it?” Tavish glanced up at a night sky burdened with clouds that hurtled along on an easterly wind. “Odd time for a walk. And I believe the laird would need to give his prior consent to such an outing. Have you obtained it?”
“Since he’s still abed, I didnae see the need to bother him with it,” Elspeth replied, “Besides, he’d no’ have refused me anyway, and the sun will be up within the hour. See?” She gestured to the far horizon, where a pale line indicated the start of a new day.
Tavish followed her gaze and appeared to mull for a moment. “That may be so, m’lady,” he continued, “but I wager the laird’s consent would also have included an obligation to take an armed escort with you on this walk of yours. ’Tis also required, without exception, that those comin’ and goin’ from Dunraven pass through the main gate, which is always manned. As I’m sure you’re aware, this here postern gate is generally used only in the event of an enemy attack, and since I havenae cause to believe such an event is underway, I can but surmise you were planning to pass through it without telling…” he paused and cleared his throat, “that is, I’m thinking you must have forgotten to tell anyone that you’d be leaving Dunraven through this particular ga—”
“I was sneaking out, Tavish, all right?” Elspeth crossed her arms and glared at the watchman. “Now, if you’d be so kind as to let me be on my way, you can lock the gate after me.”
“Nay, I fear I cannae do that, m’lady.” The man crossed his arms as well. “’Tis still dark, and this wind has muscle enough to pick you up and drop you in yon loch. The laird’ll have my head on a spike if I let you go out there alone and something happens to you.”
“Naught is going to happen to me, and the wind is no’ that bad,” Elspeth countered, her words snatched away by a sudden gust that tore the hood from her head and blew a handful off curls into her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she raked the curls back and attempted to tuck them behind her ears. The wind merely howled at her efforts and tugged the curls free again. She took a steadying breath and levelled her voice. “I’m certain I’ll be fine, Tavish. I dinnae mean to go very far.”
“Hmm.” Tavish scratched at his beard again. “I trust you carry a biodag, m’lady?”
“Aye, of course.” Elspeth pulled back her cloak, exposing the dagger tucked into the belt at her waist. “See?”
A pained look came to his face as he glanced up at the sky again. “And how far is no’ very far, precisely?”
Elspeth sensed the man’s potential acquiescence and summoned up her best pleading voice. “Down to the edge of the loch, and precisely the wee cove where Fergus keeps his boat. ’Tis a favorite place of mine. Sheltered too,” she added, before the obstinate fellow made another comment about the weather. “I’ve no’ put a foot outside of Dunraven for nigh on a month, Tavish. I need to look at something other than stone walls and tapestries.”
At that, the man’s bushy brows lifted. “Are you no’ away with the laird to visit your wee sister on the morrow?”
“Aye, I am.” And the mere thought of it set off flutters of anticipation in both her heart and stomach.
Tavish sniffed. “Which means, if I’m no’ mistaken, that you’ll be havin’ a full day-and-a-half of looking at something other than grey stones and tapestries. Can you no’ wait till tomorrow, then?”
“Nay, Tavish, I cannae.” Elspeth firmed her jaw. “I’ll no’ be gone long, I promise.”
Heaving a sigh, he shook his head. “M’lady, I dinnae think I can—”
“’Twill be between you and I.” She drew a cross over her heart.“If my brother finds out, which he willnae, but if he does, I’ll take the blame. I swear it. Your name willnae be mentioned.”
The pained expression returned. “I dinnae fear for myself, m’lady. ’Tis only your safety which concerns me.”
Elspeth tussled with a touch of guilt. For sure, Tavish would be the one held responsible should anything happen to her. Her resolve deflated. “Aye, you’re right, of course,” she said. “I’m being horribly selfish. Forgive me, Tavish. I’ll… I’ll go back indoors.”
“Och, now, just a wee moment, m’lady. If this walk is that important to you, I’ll escort you myself.” He winked. “A compromise, if you will. All I ask is that you wait here while I tell Alec I’ll be gone a wee while.”
Elspeth opened her mouth to refuse, but stopped when a thought, one that surely merited no consideration at all, slid into her head. “Why, that’s very kind of you,” she said, with a smile. “If it isnae too much trouble.”
“Nae trouble at all, m’lady.” He gave a nod and turned to leave, but paused, eyes narrowed as he regarded her once more. “You’ll wait here, aye?”
Elspeth slid a hand behind her back and crossed her fingers. “You can be certain of it, Tavish.”
Looking a little less than convinced, Tavish turned and disappeared into the predawn shadows.
Elspeth halted at the edge of the small cove a short while later, hand pressed to her heaving chest, the wind snatching her clouded breaths. She glanced over her shoulder, half-wishing she could have seen Tavish’s expression when he returned to find her gone. She imagined it anyway, and laughed softly, ignoring the twinges of guilt. He’d be along soon enough and likely in a sour mood.
It was worth it. Elspeth needed to be free from the distractions and confines of Dunraven, if only for a short while. She needed to be out here, where the wind roamed without a care, and the air smelled of loch and forest and mountain. The liberation of it always helped her to see things differently, to put things into perspective. At least, that’s what she told herself.
Capitulating to the wind, Elspeth released her hold on her hood, which was instantly snatched from her head. Then, inhaling deeply through her nose, she stepped onto the rocky shore and gazed out across the dark, churning expanse of the loch. As if bestirred by the wind and waves, a memory surfaced, that of Cristie clambering into Fergus’s rowboat and setting out across the water.
On that occasion, the night had been still and silent, the loch an unblemished mirror to the stars. Cristie’s mission, to rescue a man from Alastair’s evil clutches. She had succeeded as well, and with only minutes to spare, for the prisoner had been destined to die that morning.
The prisoner.
Ruaidri MacKellar.
The man meant to be Elspeth’s husband, or so she’d been falsely led to believe. She’d been none too happy about it at the time, either, being told she must marry a man she’d never met.
But she’d since come to know him.
“And I would give anything, now, to be your wife,” she murmured, looking toward the west, toward Castle Cathan. “God knows, Ruaidri, I understand your hate for Alastair. Nay, I share it. But it should not be a barrier between us. It should not.”
For a while, and despite the evil Alastair had done, Elspeth dared to believe Ruaidri was drawn to her as she was drawn to him. But that was before Alastair, thought to be long dead, surfaced from the grave and abducted Morag, who barely survived her horrific ordeal. Ever since, something akin to indifference darkened Ruaidri’s eyes whenever he looked at Elspeth. Aye, he was as polite as ever, charming even, but she had the impression it took effort on his part, and served only to veil his resentment.
If you could only look at me without seeing Alastair, you might recognize what lies in my heart. Then again, perhaps you already do, but choose to ignore it.
Her cloak flapped in the wind as she moved closer to the water’s edge, where white-tipped waves hurled themselves onto the shore to shatter against the solid sides of Fergus’s beached rowboat. A prickle of icy spray dampened her face and she drew her cloak closed again as she suppressed a shiver. The wild weather, as it happened, suited her mood, which had been balancing on a knife edge for the past few weeks.
It all began when Brochan received an invitation from Laird Lachlan Ranald to attend a clan gathering at Roscraig Castle, a western coastal seat, situated to the north. Several clan chiefs were listed as invitees, including Ruaidri MacKellar. Since Cathan was more-or-less on the way, Brochan had sent a missive requesting to travel with Ruaidri.
Elspeth was never intended to be a part of it until a reply came from Castle Cathan, agreeing to Brochan’s request. “Apparently, Ewan is going to Roscraig as well,” Brochan had said, waving the missive at her. “That being so, Cristie is asking that you accompany me and stay with her at Castle Cathan while we’re away. What say you, lass? You can spend some time with your wee Godson.”
Elspeth could do naught but agree. She’d seen neither Cristie nor wee Kennet since the turn of the new year. The thought of seeing Ruaidri MacKellar, however, even if only for a short while, had her stomach tying itself in knots.
“Och, dinnae be so daft!” She picked up a stone and hurled it into the loch with a cry of frustration. “Ruaidri MacKellar is just a man, after all. ’Tis his loss if he cannae see my worth!”
Brave words, perhaps, but they did little to lift the weight from Elspeth’s heart. Wiping the spray from her eyes, she glanced toward Dunraven, its sombre silhouette emerging from the darkness. It was probably time she returned to face Tavish’s wrath. With that thought, she began to formulate an appropriate apology for Dunraven’s exploited watchman. It was odd, she thought, looking over her shoulder, that he hadn’t come looking for her. Maybe he’d simply decided to let her go on her way after all.
As she turned from the loch, movement off to the side, beyond Fergus’s boat, caught her eye. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a small clump of white flowers on the edge of a grassy bank, bristling beneath the touch of the wind. Something about them, however, snared Elspeth’s attention. She had visited this small cove countless times over the years, but had never noticed the flowers before. They seemed out of place, somehow. A vague impression nudged at her brain as she stared at them. A sense of significance. Or was it familiarity?
Curious, she approached, parting with a gasp when she realized what they were. She crouched, and trailed her fingertips over the tiny blooms. They were familiar, aye, but in shape and form only. It was their colour, or perhaps the lack of it, that had her holding her breath.
“What the hell are you about, lass?”
Elspeth let out a squeal and shot to her feet, staggering as a sudden wave of dizziness had her world tilting on its edge. A strong hand closed around her wrist and held her steady.
“Brochan!” Glaring at her brother, Elspeth pressed her free hand over her racing heart. “By Odin’s hairy arse, you shouldnae sneak up on folk like that.”
Brochan’s lip furled. “Be thankful ’tis me doing the sneaking, and no’ someone who would do you harm.”
Elspeth winced at the remark and wrenched her wrist free of his grasp. “Aye, you make a good point, but wait till you see what I—”
“What I see is a lass who has a habit of ignoring the rules,” he said, through gritted teeth. “The laird’s sister, flaunting her damn status instead of setting good examples. ’Tis no’ acceptable.”
“Aye, I’m sorry, but will you just—”
“You’re sorry?” Brochan’s chest rose visibly as he sucked in a breath. “You disobeyed my chief of security, and before you start accusing the man, nay, Tavish didnae run to me telling tales. I caught him on his way out of the postern gate and demanded an explanation. You’ll apologise to him when we get back, nae argument. Understood?”
Too excited to argue, Elspeth nodded and pointed. “Aye, I will, but look at what I found, Brochan. ’Tis the white heather, and in bloom as well. I’ve never seen it here before. Have you?”
Brochan, fists clenched, regarded her for a moment and then made a sound somewhere between a huff and laugh. “Did you hear a single word of what I just said?”
“Aye, of course. I’m nae deaf,” she replied, frowning. “I regret my behavior and I’ll apologise to Tavish, but look at this. ’Tis a wonder, aye? I dinnae understand how it can be blooming at this time of ye—”
“I dinnae give a shite about the damn heather.” Brochan glanced at the windblown skies. “I dinnae like the look of those clouds, either. Come on, let’s get back before we get a soaking.”
Elspeth scowled and pulled her biodag from beneath her cloak. “May I at least take a moment to cut myself a sprig of this damn heather?”
Brochan’s mouth twitched. “Aye, go on then, but be quick.”
“Why, thank you, Laird MacAulay,” she said, still scowling as she bent to take a cutting. “God’s teeth, you’re like a bear with a thorn in its paw this morning. I hope you’re in a better mood tomorrow, or it’ll be a miserable ride over those mountains.”
“I dinnae have a thorn in my paw, I have a sister who’s a pain in my arse.” He turned and headed toward the path, calling over his shoulder. “As for tomorrow, I’ll be leaving first thing and I swear, if you’re no’ ready and waiting, I’ll leave without you.”
Elspeth listened with only half-an-ear, since her mind was already exploring a different scenario, one that included Ruaidri MacKellar and a magical sprig of white heather.
“I’ll be ready, Brochan, dinnae fash,” she said at last, twirling the sprig in her fingers as she hurried to catch up with him.
“Who’s it for?” he asked.
She feigned nonchalance and held it up. “What, this?”
“Aye, that.”
“Um, no one.” she replied, without looking at him.
Brochan grunted. “I fear you’re wasting your time, lass.”
That drew her glance. “I dinnae ken what you mean.”
“I mean, ’tis enough that Ruaidri MacKellar lets us through his gates, and I suspect that’s only because of Cristie’s presence there.” Brochan shook his head. “No matter how many sprigs of heather you give the man, white or otherwise, he’ll never let you near his heart, and I dinnae believe I need to explain why.”
Brochan’s insight landed rather like a punch to Elspeth’s stomach, and she slowed her pace, dropping behind him. He halted and waited for her to catch up again.
“Dinnae sulk,” he said, as they moved on.
“I never sulk,” she replied, even as a shadow of misery darkened her thoughts. “As for Ruaidri MacKellar, I like the man well enough, but that’s about it. I dinnae have any other intentions at all, if that’s what you meant.”
A sudden howl of wind joined with Brochan’s laughter. “I trust your fingers are crossed, Ellie, given all the lies that just fell from your mouth. We shared a womb, remember? You cannae hide things from me. You should ken that by now.”
“Aye, I suppose I should,” she said, after a moment, “and I’m no’ sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. Is it that obvious, Brochan?”
“That you have feelings for MacKellar? ’Tis apparent to me, at least, aye. I suspect Cristie sees it as well.”
“Well, shite.”
“Dinnae curse,” Brochan said, frowning. “’You curse a lot. Tis no’ very becoming for a lass.”
“I dinnae care.” She winced as a large splat of rain hit her cheek. “There are times when cursing is the only appropriate response.”
“I doubt Ruaidri MacKellar would approve.” Brochan glanced skyward. “And we’re about to get wet.”
“If Ruaidri MacKellar doesnae approve of me, ’tis no’ because I curse. ’Tis because I’m a MacAulay.” Elspeth eyed the sprig of white heather, which had suddenly lost its allure. Blinking back tears, she tossed it aside. “You have the way of it, Brochan, right enough. I’m wasting my time.”
“Och, Ellie, dinnae throw it away.” Brochan went to retrieve it and handed it back to her. “My answer is nay, I’ve never seen the white heather growing here before, and I cannae explain why it’s flowering when it shouldnae. Here, keep it. Maybe it’s a sign.”
“A sign of what?” she demanded.
Before Brochan could respond, the heavens opened, unleashing an angry, drenching horde of fat raindrops. Elspeth let out a shriek and ran after Brochan, who was already sprinting toward Dunraven’s gates.