Chapter 3 Serendipity
Brun had spent the best part of the afternoon sitting in his office staring at the letter from the new Viscountess Lochellen, unable to decide what to make of it, feeling an odd mixture of emotions while he read her small signature over and over as if he could extract a deep hidden meaning from those two names printed in blue ink.
Elizabeth Endell.
That she was also named Elizabeth felt like a fate”s cruel irony.
No one will ever replace you, my sweet Triarell…
More than two hundred and fifty years had passed since he entered Triarell’s chambers that fated night, and not one day had gone by without him being haunted by the moment when he helplessly watched Triarell exhale for the last time, leaving him alone with his immortal loneliness.
The only woman he had ever loved.
He had loved Triarell from the first moment he had laid eyes on her, even knowing that his was an impossible love.
Triarell was a full-blooded Fae, an Enchanter, while he was only a Changeling, a human given magic powers and long life. Although she had always been kind, treating him like a member of her own family, she had never felt for him more than a sisterly love.
When Triarell took Ryul as her husband, Brun had begged on his knees for Fayla to release him from his Changeling bond, to allow him to age and die like a mortal man, but she had adamantly refused, speaking of prophecies and unfulfilled fates, of duty and honour. His torment was a remnant of his human nature, she had explained, a sentiment he was perfectly capable of mastering.
Dutifully he stayed in Glennloch, watching the woman he loved marry another man, but eventually, his burden became too heavy for him to bear. Brun defied Fayla’s commands and ran away before he went mad with jealousy. He turned into a recluse, a little better than a hermit, shunned as a pariah amongst his dying brethren.
However that decision proved to be a fatal mistake, because while he cowardly hid away in the unapproachable corners of the Scottish Highlands, the Dreams Thief cunningly found a way around Triarell’s magical defences, claiming the soul of the last Endellys Sister and effectively destroying any hope that he could ever be defeated.
Brun closed his eyes tightly. That wound was as fresh today as if two and half centuries had not passed.
It had taken a fortnight for Triarell’s heart to stop beating, and Ryul followed her to the grave only a week after, leaving Brun as Warden to their young son, Darron, and of Glennloch. Heartbroken, he fulfilled his duty and made sure that the boy was properly educated and cared for – though his ability to teach him magic had been limited – but once Darron was of age, Brun left for good, watching the Endellys Clan from afar, losing hope at each generation that a female would be born to take the burden of caring for Glennloch from his hands.
Triarell has left us one last hope.
Brun looked down at his right hand, staring at the bonding ring with the familiar loathing it provoked. The spell still held strong, preventing him from removing the jewel, keeping him from aging and dying, curing wounds and sickness faster than normal, but the once deep blue rock was again paling into a gray hue. Fayla’s life energy was fading and soon her spell would fade with it.
And finally he would be free to die.
He had believed – had prayed even – that all would die with him once he too was gone, but then, twenty four years before, he received the news he had long considered impossible, and frankly, had even dreaded.
An Endellys girl had been born after two hundred and fifty years of an unbroken line of men!
He should have left his exile as soon as he was informed of her birth, to ascertain for himself whether the girl had inherited any of Triarell’s power, and to protect her should that be the case, but after so many generations breeding with humans, what magic could be left in the Endellys Clan? Triarell’s great-grandson had possessed nothing but a phantom of Fae magic, barely enough for silly parlour tricks.
Convinced that the Endellys’ legacy had died with Triarell, he did not bother to act until the girl was eighteen years old, when he closed the house in France where he had lived for forty years and returned to Scotland, introducing himself as Brun James MacLugh, the legal warden of Glennloch.
The estate had been in disarray then. Naturally, over the centuries he had kept a close eye on its finances to preserve the Endellys fortune but had given little attention to the manor itself when it had no real mistress, providing only sufficient maintenance to prevent the building from collapsing. After returning to Scotland, he had spent the last six years bringing Glennloch back to its former glory and preparing it to welcome the new Viscountess Lochellen when she came of age.
Still, for reasons he could not fully explain, he had not found the courage to make himself known to her as he should have done.
He examined his ring again. Surely that foolish nonsensical feeling of guilt could be attributed to the bonding spell as well.
With a sigh, Brun tossed the letter over the desk. The missive had been printed, thus there was little to say about Ms Endell’s handwriting apart from the small signature at the bottom of the page. Its contents had been simple and practical, which was a relief, and considering that Ms Endell had recently finished her medical studies at Oxford, he was reasonably convinced that she was a mature young woman.
Heavens forbid he had to deal with an entitled post-teen losing sight of her senses because she was now a Viscountess!
She had politely apologised for the delay in providing him with a reply by saying that she had been busy with her final exams and setting the day for her arrival in Glennloch for the fifteen of July if that would be suitable, asking him to confirm it by e-mail as soon as possible so she could make the necessary arrangements for her trip.
Brun rolled his eyes and scoffed. Young people and their texts and e-mails! Despite having lived mostly by himself in over two centuries, Brun had remained abreast with technological developments and was perfectly capable of using a computer and sending e-mails, after all, he had seen the whole thing being invented!
Also cars, and airplanes and rockets…
Feeling uncharacteristically restless, he got up from the chair and went to stand by the window of his office. The weather was blissfully sunny and warm. The forecast was of more sunshine for the next week or so, which would certainly make the arrival of the new Viscountess Lochellen a great deal more pleasant. He had made all the arrangements with Glennloch’s staff to ensure the manor was fully prepared to welcome its new mistress.
Everything was in perfect order, and yet…
And yet, neither the birth of a new Endellys female nor that letter were the issues truly troubling him.
Huffing, he reached for the keys in his jacket’s pocket and turned back to his desk, opening the top drawer and taking out the roll of parchment that Fayla had given him on that fateful night, when she had condemned him to three more centuries of misery.
Slowly he unfurled the document, reading the four lines for the umpteenth time. He was no closer to solving that riddle now than he had been two and a half centuries before.
Thirteen fathers will be in their graves after the gate is opened.
Nine mothers will be born before the second comes.
Victory arrives when the bridge of time is crossed.
Darkness is vanquished when the heart is sacrificed.
When Triarell’s great-grandson died, leaving yet another powerless son, Brun had been convinced that Fayla had been mistaken in her scrying and that the power of the Endellys blood was all but dead.
Now this girl came – a mortal woman like her forebearers. The first girl born in the Endellys line in possibly thousands of years if the stories he had been told were true.
Not that he believed that this girl could have even a drop of Triarell’s power, but Fayla had said that Darron was a carrier and he vaguely recalled reading something about the asymmetrical way in which power was transmitted within Fae families.
He set the parchment down and rubbed his eyes. Even if the girl had somehow inherited any magic, he doubted it would be strong enough to attract the interest of the Dreams Thief.
Assuming the monster was still in the human world.
Notwithstanding the logic of his reasoning, he was determined to not commit the same errors of the past: he would keep Triarell’s heir under his protection while he lived.
That, after all, was the fate that Fayla had traced for him nearly five hundred years before. He would see it fulfilled, whatever the cost.
Cursing rather colourfully for an early summer afternoon,Lizzie scoured her bedroom for her ringing mobile. She did not have the foggiest idea where the device could be, considering that the room had turned into a disaster zone after her mother arrived from one of her shopping expeditions that morning and dumped an obscene number of bags over her bed (anything above two was scandalous in her opinion).
That first night at home, following the astonishing conversation with her father and after drinking her whiskey faster than it was medically acceptable, she had decided that there was no point in postponing the inevitable, so she went back to the family room to tell her mother she would be travelling to Scotland in a few days to get the documents of her inheritance sorted.
As predicted by her father, her mother had a fit when Lizzie shared the news.
Charlotte had paled, then turned beetroot red and fanned herself with a magazine, letting her back fall on the sofa and asking for water in a weak voice.
Ignoring her request, Ben had placed a glass of double whiskey in her hands and sat beside his wife, patting her hand gently, whispering comforting words. Lizzie had actually felt sorry for her mother who spent the next five minutes unable to utter a single word.
No doubt a new personal record.
Then, as if jolted awake, Charlotte had jumped to her feet saying she would cancel all her appointments that week to take Lizzie shopping for a proper wardrobe for a Viscountess, whatever that could mean in the twenty first century. Lizzie had tried to point out that nothing would change in her life because of that title she inherited, but her father just signed her to let it go.
Another ring snapped her back to present-day-Lizzie, informing her that the missing mobile was buried somewhere in her bed, under a pile of skirts and dresses that she would only wear under torture.
She was leaving for Scotland on the next morning and had not even began to pack her bag simply because she truly had no idea what to expect. The letter sent by Mr MacLugh, Esquire, had been so formal and his e-mail reply so lacking information (only three lines, like a telegram: Dear Lady Lochellen, July the fifteenth is perfectly suitable. I shall make the arrangements. B. MacLugh, Esq.) that had left her with no indication of what was expected of her. Should she bring a suit? A ball gown?
Not that she owned any of those…
She had slept poorly that night but as she focussed on arranging her trip on the next day, Lizzie felt her spirits being lifted after convincing herself that this whole property in Scotland affair would turn out to be a very old house in ruins surrounded by a smelly bog, most likely with a lot of debt in overdue taxes.
Upon reaching that sensible conclusion and congratulating herself on her smart thinking, Lizzie had decided – to Charlotte’s dismay – not to make too much fuss about the whole thing and take only a week’s worth of her usual attire. Ben had offered to accompany her to Scotland and help her in any way she needed, but Lizzie knew that they would not be able to keep her mother from coming too. In the end, Mr MacLugh’s letter turned out to be the opportunity she had prayed for, saving her from spending two whole months in her mother’s company.
Here”s to serendipity!
A pile of frilly blouses fell on the ground with a pathetic oof when Lizzie heard a third ring, a lot louder this time and with a smile she found the mobile under a dress that she would only wear if she were ever a guest of honour at the Hollywood Academy Awards.
Like, for Lifetime Achievements or something.
Reading the caller’s ID, she smiled in relief, feeling her spirits soar.
“Vivian! Where in the bloody hell have you been?”
Vivian Lloyd had been her best friend from boarding school all the way through college. They had written their application to Oxford’s Medicine School together as a great joke and when both were selected, it only cemented their friendship.
Since finding out about her inheritance, Lizzie had flooded Vivian’s inbox with rather anxious text messages, but a week had passed in complete radio silence.
“I’m so sorry, Lizzie!” Vivian apologized sounding mortified, “We’re in the middle of nowhere here in Greece and this is the first time in days that my mobile gets a few signal bars!”
Lizzie felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. She had completely forgotten that Vivian had gone to the Greek Islands with her family – the reason she could not go bunk with her friend this summer.
She sat down on her bed and something groaned. Frowning, she pulled a pair of black leather trousers from under her bottom and asked herself whether her mother needed immediate psychiatric support.
“No, I am the one who should apologize, I completely forgot about your family trip,” Lizzie sighed feeling stupid, “My head has been spinning for a week…”
“Well, but tell me what is going on: you said something about a Scottish inheritance? I didn’t know you had relatives there… Who died? An old aunt?”
Lizzie sighed again, wondering where to begin, “Not exactly… Are you comfortable?”
After Vivian confirmed she was sitting by the pool with a cocktail in her hands, in a few short sentences Lizzie told her about Mr MacLugh’s letter, the weird sixteenth century’s Royal Decree and her plans for the next days.
Once she finished there was a long silence in the line.
“Vivian?” Lizzie called, “Are you still on there? Bugger, am I talking to a dead line all this time?”
“Bloody hell!” was Vivian’s response and on the background Lizzie herd someone – probably Vivian’s mother – scolding her, “Are you joking right now?”
“Nope, even with my over-fertile imagination I could not make up all this rubbish by myself…”
“True that…” Vivian agreed with a soft chuckle, and then after a pause, she screeched, “Hold on a minute, does that mean I have to call you Your Highness or something?”
Lizzie winced, hearing some more scolding in the background, “Well, technically it is Your Ladyship but I’ll murder you if you call me that!”
All the way in Greece, Vivian guffawed for a whole minute, making Lizzie want to throttle her friend.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Ladyship!”
Lizzie growled.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry! I had to do it at least once,” there was another pause and then, “So when are you going to meet this Mr MacLugh?”
“Well, yeah, I’m leaving for Scotland tomorrow, and I should be in Aberfeldy in two days.”
“Gosh, taking the long way, huh? Aren’t you a lady now, can’t you afford a private jet?”
It was Lizzie’s turn to scoff, “Vivian, I doubt there’s any money in this inheritance! Other than this surreal title and a pile of ruins with hopefully some historical interest, I’ll be happy if I don’t inherit a lot of debt!”
“You’re probably right,” Vivian agreed, “After two hundred and fifty years with no owners it’s hard to imagine that anything has survived… But at least this Mr MacLugh could have offered to pick you up from Edinburgh, no? Or you could have rented a car…”
“Oh he offered, but I did not want to spend hours in the car with some old coot I know nothing about!” Vivian made a sound of agreement while slurping her cocktail, causing her a small stab of envy. Her friend was enjoying the beautiful sun of Greece while she was destined to visit a mouldy old cottage with a man probably four times older than she was, “I thought about getting a car in Edinburgh, but then decided to use the time.”
“Ah so you’ll be overthinking this whole thing from Truro there?”
“Pretty much…” Lizzie bobbed her head even though Vivian could not see it, “You know how overthinking is my forte.”
Vivian did not dispute that assertion, “And how did your parents take all this? Gosh, your mum must be flipping her lid! Did you tell your grandma yet?”
“Mum is still in shock that her daughter is now a Viscountess and disappointed that the title did not generate in me an immediate urge to wear cocktail dresses at breakfast!” Vivian laughed at that and Lizzie went on, “My dad is actually quite excited – if you can imagine that! I don’t think I have ever seen him so flushed in his life… Then again he’s always been into genealogy and the family’s history, so it must be a dream come true for him. As for Grandma, she remarked that now I have no more excuses not to find a good man and settle down.”
Vivian giggled, “Babies in her brain, right?”
“Ah, well, you know grandma…”
“Well, even if this property turns out to be just a crumbling cottage in the Highlands, it’s still an adventure for you, my friend. And, if I may add, a great excuse for you to stay away from home for a couple of weeks as you wanted.”
Lizzie let her body fall on the bed, ignoring the fact that it was a mess of old and new clothes. Something hard poked at her back. Probably the oversized buttons of a blazer she would only wear in her funeral.
“That, my friend, is the silver lining in all this!”
Vivian laughed heartily, “Well then, keep me posted, will you? I’m stuck in Greece for another week and a half, but once I’m back I can come to Scotland if you need me. I will have a few days free before starting my fellowship.”
Lizzie felt her heart warm at that. It was nice to know she could count on her friend.
“Thanks Viv, but I doubt I’ll be there for more than a week. Once all paperwork is signed and I decide what to do with Glennloch – whatever is left of it – I will be heading back home to face my martyrdom!”