Chapter Six
The three-day journey to Roscraig had not been unpleasant. Better, Ruaidri thought, than expected. They had, in effect, travelled in two groups of three, merely keeping each other in view. Ruaidri, along with Ewan and Hammet, usually took the lead. Behind them, Brochan rode with Fraser, his henchman, and their young squire. Ruaidri had not taken the time to learn the lad’s name.
Ewan, generally, had been quieter than usual. Ruaidri told himself it was due to being separated from Cristie and wee Kennett. Nothing had been said about the argument. There had been one miserable day of rain, coastal fog each morning, and two days of bright April sunshine. They had arrived at Roscraig at noon on the fourth day,
The castle stood on a finger of granite that pointed east, out into the sea. There was only one way in to the stronghold and, consequently, only one way out. Ruaidri had always considered Cathan to be a wild and windy place, but it paled in comparison to this windswept pile of rocks.
Lachlan Ranald’s warm welcome offset the chill of the wind. Lachlan was a hefty bear of a man with an even heftier personality, his Norse heritage evident in his reddish-blond hair and matching beard. There were eleven guests besides Ruaidri and Brochan; all powerful men. Ruaidri knew most of them. The welcome banquet had been a raucous affair, as he’d expected, with an over-indulgence of food, wine, and music. Ruaidri did not fail to notice a couple of comely lasses lingering at the back of the room, either, their purpose obvious. Not that he was tempted, especially since he was due to meet Lachlan’s daughter on the morrow.
To add to the entertainment, there’d been a couple of fights, both quick to start and quick to finish. Otherwise, it had mostly been a night of good humour and camaraderie. Even so, Ruaidri had been glad to retire, though his sleep had been troubled, as usual, by strange, nonsensical dreams.
As always, he’d awoken in the night to change the candle at his bedside. Somehow, he always knew when the flame was reaching its end. Perhaps it was the crackle and hiss of the tallow as the wick died down. In any case, at such times he would take a fresh candle from his satchel and light it. God forbid that he awoke to see nothing but darkness. The mere thought of doing so quickened his pulse and drew sweat to his brow. He dug into his satchel and pulled the new candle out, noticing the broken sprig of heather when he did so. In truth, he’d forgotten about it, or rather, them, since there were now two pieces. Elspeth MacAulay briefly came to mind. His thoughts then shifted to the morrow, and his meeting with his potential bride. A short while later, with the new candle lit, Ruaidri returned to his bed. Sleep, however, eluded him.
It was mid-morning. Having broken his fast, Ruaidri now sat in Lachlan’s solar, though the sun was lacking due to grey skies. He’d been there for over an hour in the company of his potential bride, Màiri Beth Ranald. It had been an educational experience.
Firstly, he’d discovered that the lass did not have a face like a pig’s arse. Far from it. Lachlan’s description of ‘bonny’ did not do her justice. She was, in fact, remarkably beautiful. Taking after her mother’s colouring, her raven-black hair fell to her narrow waist in a mass of silky curls. In contrast, her flawless skin was the colour of cream, with just the faintest smudge of pink on each cheek, and not a freckle in sight. And the rich, lavender-blue of her eyes was beyond captivating. Ruaidri had never seen such a colour in a lass’s eyes.
As to her character, well, Lachlan had described the lass as headstrong. Ruaidri wondered, not too long into their introduction, if that might have been a tactful way of saying the lass was a wee bit spoiled.
Chatting almost non-stop, Màiri Beth had told him much about herself, both likes and dislikes, starting with the dislikes. She’d announced that the endless roar of the waves upon the rocks and the constant screech of seabirds actually wore on her nerves. For Ruaidri, those things were integral to his heritage, an eternal God-given chorus that he never tired of hearing. Though he maintained a neutral demeanour, he’d quietly asked himself if she could ever be happy as mistress of Castle Cathan.
The lass also expressed her fervent hatred of the English and her lifelong fear of horses. Ruaidri understood her animosity toward the English, and wondered, mildly, how she might react to Gabriel’s presence. As for her fear of horses, that was of no consequence. When it came to the things that gave her pleasure, she loved embroidery, playing her harp, and her falcon, whose name was Gavin. Nothing untoward there.
Simply as an observation, Ruaidri noted that she had not once asked anything about him. For the most part, she had talked solely about herself and he had listened with, mostly, genuine interest. They’d only just met, so the fact that the lass had not stirred his heart meant nothing. Besides, he had no expectations of love. An amiable relationship would suffice. Once married, he’d get her with child and leave her in peace.
Ruaidri was summoned to Lachlan’s private chambers later that day. He didn’t have to ask why.
“So?” Lachlan slapped a massive hand on the table top. “How did it go, MacKellar? First impression.”
. “It went well, I think,” Ruaidri replied, managing to summon up some enthusiasm. “’Tis early days yet.”
“Aye, of course.” Lachlan nodded. “I confess the lass has been a wee bit over-indulged but I’ve nae doubt you can settle her down once married. She needs to be bred, and the sooner the better. ’Tis what God intended for women, after all. Spend time with the lass whenever you can. I trust you, MacKellar, so no need for a chaperone.”
“I appreciate your trust, Ranald,” Ruadri replied, feeling a touch of relief as the conversation moved onto other, less pressing, things.
Later, he went in search of Ewan and found him practicing at the pell. “How was it?” Ewan asked, sheathing his sword. “Have you set a date?”
“Nay, not yet,” he replied. “I only just met the lass.”
“So?” Sweat glistened on Ewan’s brow. “What do you think? Is she bonny?”
“She’s beautiful,” Ruaidri replied. “Truly.”
“But?”
“There is no but.”
Ewan tutted. “I’m definitely sensing a but.”
Ruaidri shrugged. “A wee bit spoiled, perhaps. She was nervous, though, I think.”
“To be expected,” Ewan replied. “’Tis early days yet. Like I said, dinnae rush into anything, Ruaidri.”