Highlander's Heart Read online

  “So ye’re from England?” asked a blond-headed Campbell sister.

  “Yes.”

  The young lady moved over to sit next to Isabelle, despite some ferocious frowns from some of the elder ladies in the room. “I have ne’er been there, nor am I likely to, since there’s a price on David’s head. What is it like?”

  Isabelle smiled at the forthright nature of this young Campbell. “I have lived in my castle at Alnsworth, and I like it very much. Though Innis Chonnel appears quite pleasant too.”

  “Thank ye. David is expanding it. It was getting a wee bit crowded.”

  “You have a large family.”

  The girl laughed, “Aye, we are a large family to be sure. Have ye met all o’ us? David’s the eldest and he’s no’ married, though I dinna ken why. Then there’s Malcom, he married Innes, and he is holding one o’ our fortresses to the north. Then Tomas, he wed Janet and holds a castle to the south. Mairi is next; she was married but her husband died. She serves as chatelaine here until David marries.”

  The blond Campbell lowered her voice to a whisper, “She is always bossing me about.” Isabelle had no difficulty believing that of the tall, thin, shrewd woman.

  “Dain was the next born. He married Fiona over there, she is expecting a happy event soon. Then there’s Anne, she married Conall and lives wi’ him, then Gill and Finn, twins, ye ken, then Hamish, then me, I’m Cait, I’m eighteen, then there’s Effie and Elyne, they are sixteen, more twins, then Gwyn is fourteen, Jyne is thirteen, and then Rabbie. He is the baby.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.” Isabelle paused, trying to recall the name of the girl in front of her. “Cait?”

  “Aye, ’tis a pleasure to meet ye too. Then there are the cousins…” Cait prattled on, telling Isabelle the names of all the women in the room. Isabelle hoped she would not be questioned on this later. Listening to Cait list her extended family was like listening to the priest read from the book of Numbers. It was too much for her tired brain.

  “Och, but ye can barely keep yer eyes open. Ye must have had a long journey. Let me fetch ye a pillow,” said Cait, midway through her genealogy lesson.

  “Thank ye kindly,” yawned Isabelle. She was tired, though better for having met a friendly face. Isabelle leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes. She needed to rest.

  When darkness fell she would try to escape.

  ***

  “Ow!” Isabelle woke to a sharp kick in the ribs.

  “Och, sorry. I dinna recall ye being there,” whispered a female voice in the dark.

  Isabelle sat up from the straw pallet they had put on the floor for her. She had been given some floor space near the window in a sleeping chamber for some of the younger Campbell sisters.

  “I’ve got so much on my mind, I forgot about ye.” The voice moved nearer the window, the curtains were pushed aside, and the shutters opened.

  Cait Campbell stood in the moonlight in a white linen chemise, a plaid draped around her, her long, straight, blond hair loose. The Campbells were a handsome lot.

  “No harm done,” said Isabelle, standing up and rubbing her sore side.

  “I like to sit here when I need to think on something. I would like to take the view one more time, if ye dinna mind, before I leave on the morrow.” Cait climbed into the large window opening, the thick walls providing room to sit. Isabelle leaned on the window ledge next to her. The view of the moon and stars was spectacular, but the steep drop at least five stories to the moat below would give anyone pause.

  “Nasty drop,” commented Isabelle, noting that this was one wall she would not like to climb down.

  Cait grinned. “Aye. Dinna tell David I’m sitting here or he’ll give me a lecture. He is forever yelling at me not to fall off a tower or out a window or some such.”

  Isabelle sat down beside Cait on the window ledge. “I hear I am to wish you felicitations on your betrothal.”

  Cait turned toward the inky landscape. “Aye. To Gavin Patrick. They say I’ve met him, but I dinna recall.” Cait wrapped her plaid around her a bit tighter. The night air was cool and damp.

  Isabelle stooped and picked up her own blanket from her pallet and wrapped it around herself. She sat gingerly back down on the rough stone ledge trying to find a spot that was not too bumpy on her sore backside, still tender from her long journey.

  “’Tis no’ the most prestigious o’ marriages. Gavin is apparently the nephew o’ Graham’s son-in-law or some such thing.” At Isabelle’s blank look Cait added, “Graham is a well-respected clan, ye ken.”

  Isabelle did not ken, but she nodded obligingly.

  “At least Gavin is my age, no’ some auld gray-hair,” muttered Cait.

  “Then you are lucky,” said Isabelle. “My husband, Lord Tynsdale, was widowed three times before we were wed.”

  “Och.” Cait scrunched her nose. “Have ye been married long?”

  “Since I was sixteen years. ’Tis good to marry a young man. You might be able to prevent him from developing bad habits.”

  “Does yer husband have bad habits?”

  Isabelle sighed and stared at the black water below. “One or two.” If you counted a tendency to murder your wife a habit.

  “I am sorry for ye. At least David tries to take our feelings into account when he makes a betrothal.”

  Isabelle grunted in a most unladylike fashion. “The only thing my uncle took into consideration was how much coin he could get to secure my betrothal. I wish I could have had a chance to make my own marriage.”

  Cait raised an eyebrow in a gesture that was reminiscent of her older brother. “Make yer own marriage?”

  “I had a maid who fell in love, or so she told me, with one of the soldiers. He wooed her for months, bringing her flowers, reciting poetry. Does it not seem unfair that our servants are free to marry where they choose but we are not?”

  Cait stared at her for a moment, leaning her head back against the stone wall. “I ne’er thought o’ it that way.”

  Isabelle closed her eyes. In the dark it all seemed hopeless. “More than anything I just want to be free.”

  “Come,” said Cait, grabbing her hand. “This is a good view, but I know one better.” Isabelle followed her through the dark room and out the door. Isabelle wondered with a splash of hope whether Cait knew some secret escape route from the castle, but instead of going down, Cait took her up the circular stairs.

  They emerged onto a tower lookout, the cold night wind teasing their hair. The view was indeed impressive. Loch Awe surrounded the castle island, and reflected the pale blue light of the moon. The black outline of the hills formed a distant wall around them. The night sky was ablaze in stars, a band of white star clusters crossing the sky. Isabelle took a breath, it was indeed something to behold.

  Cait gazed up at the stars and spun in a circle, laughing. “I used to come up here a lot.” She dropped her wrap and scrambled up on top of the parapets.

  “What are you doing?” asked Isabelle, questioning the sanity of her new friend.

  “Flying. Watch.” Cait stood on the battlements, her arms stretched wide.

  “Come down or you’ll fall!” exclaimed Isabelle.

  “Nay, I used to do this all the time.” Cait leaned forward, the wind flapping earnestly at her chemise. She turned to Isabelle and smiled. “You said you wanted to be free.”

  Isabelle returned a hesitant smile. It was mad, but… Isabelle was pulling herself up on top of the stone wall that protected her from certain death, before she could consider the consequence of one false step. Copying Cait, she stood up on battlements and stretched out her arms. She was afraid to look down, so she closed her eyes.

  The wind blew strong and cold against her, waking her senses. Her heart pounded with the excitement of doing something colossally stupid. She leaned ever so slightly into the wind. Cait wa
s right, it was like flying. For one moment, she was free.

  “Och! Get down! Get down!”

  Startled by Cait’s fierce whisper, Isabelle stumbled on the battlement. Her heart stopped and her stomach lurched as she lost her balance, but she caught herself on the stone wall and rolled down onto the top of the tower.

  Isabelle lay on the tower floor, her heart beating a rapid chastisement for being so addlepated as to attempt such a feat.

  “Whatever did you scare me like that for?” she demanded of Cait, but her friend was not paying any heed. Instead, Cait was lying on her stomach with her head between the stone battlements.

  Isabelle crawled forward to see what had so rattled Cait. In the courtyard below a man was leaving a wooden building and walking with purpose to the stone castle. Even in the faint light, Isabelle could tell by the fluid walk and the broad shoulders that this was David Campbell. She stared at him, unable to turn away. Despite being held for ransom by this man, she still enjoyed watching him move. If only things could have been different.

  “Dinna let him see ye,” Cait whispered. “He caught me up here once before and was so angry he swore to have me flogged if I e’er came up to the tower again.”

  Isabelle, who had decided that battlement flying was definitely not the sport for her, was in sympathy with Laird Campbell in this instance. “What is he doing?”

  “Leaving the chapel. He often goes to pray after everyone has gone to bed. He is always worrit o’er something.”

  Isabelle watched the shadowy figure of Campbell enter the tower house and disappear from view. She considered the conversation she overheard between Campbell and the Steward of Scotland. It appeared both the steward and Douglas wished him to marry into their clan. Yet there was more at stake than simply choosing a bride. Neither of them were free.

  ***

  David Campbell lit a candle in the wood frame chapel. It had been a long day reuniting with family, sharing the latest news. Yet some things he could share with no one. Some burdens he alone must carry. When everyone else took to their beds at night, he came to the chapel. He dropped to one knee before the altar and prayed for guidance.

  Stewart, Douglas, Bruce, and Campbell: those were the names of the powerful clans in Scotland. Years ago they had united for a common purpose of defeating the English and maintaining their independence. They were bound by more than just politics, they were united by blood. His mother was a Stewart. His father’s dame was a Douglas. Even the current king of Scotland, David Bruce II, was his second cousin. And yet these clans were heading toward war, sure as the morning mist settled on the loch.

  He had to choose a side. Yet this rivalry was a mistake, born of allowing the English to manipulate them into fighting amongst themselves. What a waste. He could stand with Douglas, his foster father, and with his king. Yet if Stewart was correct, as he often was, and King David and the Douglas were plotting to gain land and freedom at the expense of the Scottish throne, how could he support such a scheme?

  No, he would fight to the death before allowing England to claim the throne of Scotland. However, to stand with Stewart meant treason against his king and war against the Douglas. Not something one entered into without considerable reflection upon one’s better judgment.

  Campbell shook his head. Neither option was acceptable. He could support neither one. He bowed his head and prayed with earnest pleas for guidance. Opening his mind, he asked the Lord to show him the path that he must tread. He brought to mind both ladies to whom he was informally betrothed. One of them must be his destiny.

  He asked for guidance, yet as the night wore on his mind began to wander. Instead of thinking of his future bride, an image of Isabelle came to mind. The more he tried to brush her away, the more his mind wandered back. She was beautiful, and determined, and brave, and amusing, and… another man’s wife.

  The last fact hurt more than it should. Why had she not told him? Why could she be so devious and yet act so kind? Who was this Lady Tynsdale? His mind wandered back to kissing her, to caressing her. His offer to care for her for the rest of his life had been spontaneous, yet sincere. Despite the unfortunate fact that she was married to an English lord, he still wanted to take her to his bed and finish what they had started last night in the inn.

  Campbell stood, disgusted with himself. He had intended to pray for guidance, and instead coveted a married lady in the house of God. He was pathetic. Campbell stalked out of the chapel no closer to the answers he sought. He wished for some easy resolution to this situation, some way he could simply walk away from the growing conflict, but he knew that was impossible. He was the laird of the Campbells and this was the legacy his parents had left him.

  He would never be free.

  Thirteen

  Isabelle woke early and began a careful tour of her prison island to ascertain the potential for escape. The Campbell women had too much to do with the departure of Cait to give Isabelle much mind. Isabelle wished her new friend well and tried not to be embittered that the only person to show her kindness was leaving so soon. It only gave her more reason to escape. Campbell must have been confident in her lack of options since he let her roam free, without so much as a guard to watch her. Still, there must be a way off of this island.

  Isabelle grabbed a plaid that one of the Campbell ladies had left on a bench and wrapped it around her head and shoulders. Perhaps she could just walk off the island. The flat barge was ferrying people back and forth and much of the attention was drawn toward Cait’s departure. This may be an ideal time to slip away.

  Isabelle strolled casually to the dock, but when she tried to step on, she was held back by the ferryman. He was quite polite, quick with an “aye, m’lady” and “nay, m’lady” but he was not going to ferry her across, not without Laird Campbell’s say-so.

  Thwarted, Isabelle continued her review of the castle grounds and approached the small chapel she had seen Campbell leave the night before. She was not sure what she expected to see. Surely this place could not aid her escape, as her disastrous attempt at prayer yesterday amply proved. Yet Campbell spent time here and her curiosity was raised. The stone chapel was built into the castle wall, using one of the thick stone walls of the inner ward as its back wall. The roof was arched, constructed of timber and thatch.

  The chapel had not yet been finished, and workers buzzed around the building busy at their tasks. Outside two young men were painting the stones white, while a very old man trimmed the doorway in blue with a steady hand. No door had yet been hung, so Isabelle stepped lightly around the worker and walked inside.

  Inside, the chapel was cool and smelled of new wood and fresh paint. Light streamed through leaded glass windows, forming slanted pillars of light. Isabelle walked toward the light and stood in its glow. She took a deep, slow breath and experienced an odd sense of peace. Maybe this was why Campbell came here.

  A new idea began to take shape. Maybe she could appeal directly to the Church. Alnsworth castle and the lands she inherited may prove a powerful inducement. She could ask for sanctuary and request to join a convent, offering Alnsworth to the Church in exchange for a divorce.

  Living a cloistered life was not her first choice, but it was far and away preferable to being Lord Tynsdale’s wife. Surely the Church would be a kinder master to her people than either Tynsdale or Douglas. It wasn’t much of a life, but it was a life… which was more than what awaited her if she did not escape her husband.

  Isabelle wandered to the front of the chapel, trying to picture herself living a cloistered life. The front wall had been built up beyond the height of the castle wall and had a large, round opening at the top. Many baskets were strewn about, each containing a different color of glass pieces. A picture was being laid out in glass on the floor. Fascinated, Isabelle moved closer to look at the drops of colored glass, like a treasure of colorful jewels.

  “It will be the Lord seeking his lo
st lambs when it is finished,” said Campbell from behind her.

  Isabelle spun and her heart lurched to see him. Campbell had clearly bathed and shaved since she last saw him. He was a crisp figure of clean lines from his broad shoulders to his square jaw.

  “Beautiful,” murmured Isabelle. She caught herself and added, “the window, I mean.”

  Campbell said nothing, his face unreadable.

  “You come here often, I understand,” said Isabelle, trying to fill the awkward silence.

  “Aye,” said Campbell. He gazed at the ribbons of light streaming through the windows. “I have many decisions to make as laird.”

  “Does coming here help?”

  Campbell gave her a grave look. “I’ve always thought the Good Lord has a greater understanding than I.”

  “And God shares his plans with you?”

  “I woud’na quite say it that way. But often when I pray I feel that one option seems lighter, like the better choice. I have tried to live my life within God’s will and under the protection of our Savior.”

  Isabelle was filled with a frustration she could not quite name. She envied Campbell, his family, the safety they enjoyed. “It must be pleasant to live in a world where God hears your prayers.” The bitter comment escaped her lips before she could censor herself.

  “God may hear my prayers but he does not always answer. Or perhaps I am too distracted to listen.” He took a step away from her as if she carried an infectious disease. “Why are ye wandering about? Should ye no’ be wi’ the women?”

  “I did not realize my movements were restricted. Perhaps you would feel more comfortable if you locked me in the cellar.”

  “I have a dungeon that would do nicely, come to think o’ it.”

  Isabelle glared at him. “You are a perfectly odious man.”