Highlander's Sword Read online

"Aye, she'll make a fine nun," replied the other as the voices faded from hearing. Fortunately, no one heard the pitiful moans of the ever-pious Lady Aila.

  MacLaren and his men joined Graham's forces and sped toward the fire to douse the flames and pursue the culprits. To avoid panic, Graham had tried to play off the arsons as accidents, though the soldiers knew the truth, and many others were starting to suspect. MacLaren doubted Graham could keep this secret much longer.

  Though permanently injured, the Dundaff laird insisted on joining the party. Grievously wounded at the battle of Halidon Hill, John Graham would fight no more. Merely walking was a struggle. MacLaren considered it rather game of Graham to even attempt to ride. Out of respect, MacLaren remained with his new father-in-law, though he would have preferred to be among the group of faster riders. He was impressed Graham actually made the journey, since his old wounds clearly pained him.

  When they arrived at the smoldering field, the fire had been doused, and the destruction was minimal.

  "Good work, lads," Graham's big voice boomed. To MacLaren he said, "We'll get that bastard McNab next time."

  MacLaren searched the scene, but no evidence to the identity of the raiders could be found. He was at a loss as to why anyone would do this. Raiding another clan's livestock he understood, perhaps a little too well. But what benefit could there be in burning another man's fields? Graham was convinced his neighbor McNab was behind the attacks. MacLaren preferred to be more certain before initiating a clan war.

  "With respect, my lord," said MacLaren quietly to Graham, "how do ye ken for sure it be McNab responsible for the attacks?"

  "McNab sent a message, offering to help me against my enemies, demanding Aila's hand in marriage in return," Graham said with disdain.

  "Is this no' the same offer ye made me? Why are ye so convinced o' his guilt?"

  "Do ye ken what that McNab clan has done?" Graham asked, his thick brows furrowed. "They feigned friendship wi' Wallace and then betrayed his men to the bloody English. They fought against Bruce and only supported his cause after he had won. Bruce was right to strip McNab of his most of his holdings. Should have left him naked in the Highlands, I say, but the abbot interceded, more's the pity."

  MacLaren considered Graham's logic but remained unconvinced. The current Laird McNab was too young to be guilty of the sins against Robert Bruce or William Wallace. That past generations of McNabs sided with the English was hardly enough evidence for condemnation. MacLaren was all too familiar with the fickle loyalties of the aristocracy to be overly shocked by the behavior. Still, someone was burning the fields, and even if McNab was not the culprit, he was at least trying to profit from it.

  MacLaren opened his mouth to continue the debate but stopped, noticing Graham's pained expression. Laird Graham was a proud man, one who had earned the respect of all true Scots. He had always supported the call for freedom against the English and had person ally fought for both Wallace and Bruce. His wounds were badges of honor in MacLaren's eyes. Indeed, MacLaren held the Graham laird in high regard.

  "I see your point, m'lord," MacLaren agreed. "Our work is done here. I suggest ye take yer men back to Dundaff while my lads and I ask the crofters if they saw anything notable."

  "Verra good, lad." Graham smiled, looking somewhat relieved. "Our fortunes will turn wi' ye, my son."

  MacLaren watched the Dundaff laird ride away.

  Son.

  No one had called him that in a very long time.

  Four

  AILA GRAHAM REMAINED ON THE CHAPEL STEPS UNTIL it seemed pointless to continue to do so. Despite her world coming to an end, everyone else's continued to move along, and eventually she got up to join them. It was still St. John's Eve, and this unexpected and inconvenient marriage had put her behind schedule.

  She worked with efficiency to ensure all the preparations were proceeding as planned. She consulted again with Cook, conferred with Pitcairn, the steward, and supervised the building of large piles of wood that would serve as the bonfires for later that eve. As she focused her attentions back on the familiar task of managing the castle, the events of the morning faded like a confusing dream. It seemed so unreal.

  Remembering a promise, she dashed to the main solar to help one of her young students, a merchant's daughter named Sara. She looked over some arith metic problems with the girl and made some correc tions. It was Aila's responsibility to teach the pages their letters and sums in the most relevant languages of Gaelic, English, and Latin. It was not her responsibility to teach girls, but she enjoyed it, and as long as it was done discreetly, no one knew to raise a fuss.

  Hamish, a new page and foster from the powerful Campbell clan, saw Aila in the solar and stopped, asking, "Do we have lessons today, m'lady?"

  "Nay, Master Hamish," replied Aila.

  "Then what are ye doing?" He looked confused. "Ye're no' teaching that wench, are ye?"

  "Hamish," replied Aila sharply, "this dinna concern ye. Go assist Pitcairn if ye are without employment."

  "Wait till my father hears o' this. He says teaching women is nothing but a waste. They have no head for it," the lad said with a smirk.

  Aila glared at him. The truth that he was being taught by a woman did not seem to interfere with his prejudice.

  "Hamish, get thee gone," Aila repeated with all the firmness she could muster.

  "I'll tell my father to talk to Laird Graham about this. He'll put a stop to it," boasted the lad, puffing up his chest. Aila considered the ramifications of his threat. Her father did not know she was spending time teaching girls. If he found out, would he stop her? She reckoned he would do anything if demanded by the Campbell. She folded her arms across her chest. Hadn't enough been taken from her today? She looked down at Sara, who looked up at her with big, forlorn eyes. Would this arrogant pup rob a poor lass of her only means of education?

  "Hamish, ye will no' tell anyone," said Aila with warning in her voice.

  "Or what?" mocked the lad, overconfident in his position. He was from a powerful clan, one whose alliance they needed, but his bravado was too much. Something inside her snapped.

  Aila opened her mouth, and out poured the vilest curse she had ever heard her mother utter. Hamish's mouth dropped. Sara started. Hamish turned white.

  "Well then," she said briskly, "'tis St. John's Eve, much to do."

  She walked from the solar, wondering what had come over her. Well, someone needed to put that little brat in his place… but she never thought it would be she. From Hamish's reaction, neither did he. It was not like she would actually ever carry out such a threat. Honestly, she didn't even know what a scrotum was.

  The midday meal approached and with it another requisite visit to her mother. Aila dreaded revealing to her mother that she had married. How on earth could such news be delivered? She respected her father, but it seemed rather cowardly of him to run away rather than facing Lady Graham's wrath.

  In an attempt to calm herself, Aila focused on Latin grammatical rules, a trick she had learned during her studies to deal with unpleasant situations. Unlike most girls, Aila had benefited from an extensive education, since her mother planned for her elevation in the Church. Latin had been a primary lesson, since it was the language of the scriptures. In her youth, she had asked why the Bible was not translated into English but was told in shocked, hushed tones that such thoughts were heretical.

  Aila muttered Latin verbs, Latin nouns, and even tried a little Italian. Nothing helped. She trudged up the tower stairs as if she were mounting the steps to the gallows. Taking a deep breath, Aila entered her mother's domain.

  "Good day, Mother," she said in a voice she hoped was not too loud nor too soft, too cheerful nor too gloomy.

  Her mother was wrapped in fur and reclining in a high-backed, padded chair. Her wheat-blonde hair was arranged in an ornate style, plaited high on her head and held in place with jeweled pins. Lady Moira Graham had been a stunning beauty in her youth and still retained much of her looks. A nervous
-looking lady's maid stood behind her, while two serving maids laid out the midday meal on an ornately carved table in front of her. The sitting room was filled like a priceless heirloom labyrinth with expensive objects displayed on delicate tables placed around the room.

  The faint smell of perfume hung in the air, rising from the dried lavender and rose water liberally sprin kled over the fresh rushes covering the floor. Colorful tapestries hung beside one another across the outer stone wall of the tower room, covering the window openings and making the air hot and stale, giving the room a stifling feeling. Daylight effectively banished, the room flickered with the dancing light of numerous wax candles, too many to count.

  Lady Graham frowned at her daughter, the expres sion marring her beautiful face. "Ye're late," her mother stated, her voice cold. "Yer lack of attention to yer responsibilities and fidelity to yer own kin is disappointing. I had certainly expected better from ye than to make the entire household wait until ye decided to deign us wi' yer presence."

  "I apologize, Mother." Aila took her seat across the table. The wedding had put her behind schedule, but Aila recognized that mentioning it would hardly help her case.

  "Ye apologize, do ye? And ye believe that an adequate recompense for yer discourteous, disre spectful behavior?"

  Aila did not provide a response, as none was required, and turned instead to the maids. "'Twill be all for now, thank ye."

  At their dismissal, the maids vanished like smoke in a sharp wind. Once they were alone, Aila pulled her chair around the table and moved her food so she was sitting next to her mother. It was only then Lady Graham removed her hands from beneath her fur cloak, revealing her disfigurement. Her bony fingers were red and swollen at the joints, her hands twisted into immovable fists. Aila cut the meat in the trencher into bite-sized chunks and began to feed her mother. Lady Graham reached with both hands to drink from her goblet and would have spilled had Aila not caught it. Her mother made a small sound that might have been anger or frustration or shame, and grudgingly continued to allow Aila to feed her.

  Aila knew it was mortifying for her mother to be unable to do for herself and attributed much of her mother's bitterness to that fact. Lady Graham took great pains to prevent anyone, particularly her husband, from knowing her condition, which had slowly and painfully worsened over the years. Lady Graham was a proud woman, though her life had begun simply enough, the daughter of a merchant. She learned early in life to use her beauty to its best advantage, and her hand in marriage had been much sought after. She had even been betrothed prior to meeting Graham. But Sir John Graham, then the heir to Dundaff, made a richer prize, and Lady Graham's father made a tactical change of alliances.

  Once their midday meal was finished, the servants entered again to clear the table, and events proceeded along predictable lines. Lady Graham complained bitterly about the poor quality of the laundry, the taste and selection of food, the insufficient number of candles, her husband's neglect, and that inexcus able cough from a terrified maid. She gave multiple commands as to the particulars of the St. John's feast and admonished her daughter to return to her tower before the burghers from Carron arrived.

  "I dinna want ye exposed to that sort. Dirty, disease ridden the lot o' them."

  "Aye, Mother," replied Aila without attending to what her mother was saying. Her mind spun, trying to find a way to gently broach the subject of her marriage.

  Marriage?

  Heavens above! She did not have words to explain it to herself, let alone her mother. Her mother was adamant Aila join the convent and had already deter mined that Aila would be abbess. It was a life Aila had long ago accepted and expected. It was the only future she had ever known, the only option she had ever been given. Aila sat on the bench, nodding at the appropriate times without really listening, as Lady Graham ranted about something.

  "Sooth, child, where's yer smock?" chastised Lady Graham, turning her critical eye on Aila. "Dinna be ruining yer fine kirtle now."

  "Sorry, Mother, I must have left it at the chapel," replied Aila without thinking.

  "Chapel? What were ye doing there? Father Thomas does the morning mass at the Church and mass at our chapel at eventide, does he no'?"

  She was caught. How was she going to explain being in the chapel? Aila chewed her bottom lip, looked at her hands, glanced at her mother and back down at her hands. Several clever lies crossed her mind. But no, there was no escaping it now. She held onto the bench for support.

  "I was getting married."

  Silence filled the room as her mother, two maids, a serving lass, and the ghillie carrying a pitcher of wine all froze and stared at Aila.

  "What did ye say?" asked her mother in a hoarse whisper.

  The room was utterly silent as five sets of eyes stared at Aila. Drums pounded in Aila's ears, and she was dimly aware it must be her own heartbeat. The room grew unbearably hot, and she resisted the urge to run for the door, her knuckles turning white as she held onto the bench with a death grip. She knew she must speak, and when she did, it sounded small and far away, as if she was watching events unfold from afar.

  "This morn, father took me to the chapel where I married Sir Padyn MacLaren. Father said that since I am now his sole heir, he'd no' have all his inheritance go to the Church. So I… we were married in the chapel by Father Thomas."

  All heads now turned to stare at Lady Graham. Her face went white with frozen horror, yet remained eerily silent. She stared at Aila for what felt like an eternity. Aila began to wonder if the shock of such an announcement had caused an apoplexy. Then Lady Graham's face flushed red, and her features twisted into fury as she took a deep breath. Aila gripped the bench even harder and prepared for the onslaught.

  "How could ye betray me like this? After all I've done to give ye a good life. I would ha' ye be abbess, but no, ye treat my love wi' contempt. How could ye… I dinna… how did… Argghhh!" Moira Graham was reduced to sputtering her words yet still managed to curse with such ferocity the ghillie dropped his pitcher. The maids swarmed to help clean the splat tered wine while attempting unsuccessfully to calm their lady. Aila remained seated, the one point of calm in a raging sea.

  "And him," said her mother with a sneer when she regained intelligible speech. "How could yer father make this decision wi'out even consulting me? He'll regret this, I swear to ye he will. And ye will, too. Married. Ye ken nothing o' what that means. And to who? A nothing, a nobody, an opportunist come to claim yer inheritance."

  Her mother's derogatory assessment of MacLaren roused Aila to speech. "But, Mother, remember MacLaren is laird o' his clan now and was knighted fighting the English in France. Dinna forget what our family owes him for his kindness toward our kin what fell in battle."

  Her mother dismissed Aila's defense with a snort and a toss of her pretty head. "If I wanted ye to be married, ye'd be married to royalty, maybe even David himself."

  "King David is being held by the English in the Tower o' London," Aila reminded her mother. But Lady Graham would have none of these petty realities and continued to berate Aila for getting married, using such vitriolic language it made Aila cringe.

  "Ye belong to him now." Her mother escalated to the point of shrieking. "He can do anything he wants to ye. Anything! Ye ken? I canna protect ye. Go. Sleep in the bed ye made. I doubt ye'll be liking it overmuch. Go now! I canna stand the sight o' ye. Go, all o' ye. Now!"

  Eager for release, the servants ran down the tower stairs and flew in every direction to spread the news. Aila followed slowly behind and was soon to discover that castle gossip spreads faster than fire on the fields. As she emerged from the tower, Mrs. Haden, the washer woman, came running across the courtyard and, much to Aila's surprise, wrapped her strong arms around Aila, giving her a smothering hug.

  "Och, m'lady, forgive me," said Mrs. Haden, letting Aila go. "I'm so excited about yer marriage to Laird MacLaren. Such a fine young lad he be. He wa' knighted in France, ye ken. Looks right braw." Mrs. Haden sighed and looked up at
nothing in particular, a wistful smile on her face. "I recall when I were first a bride. My Haddy and me had quite the time afore the bairns came." Mrs. Haden looked back at Aila with a mischievous smile. "Ye will, too, if ye ken my meaning."

  Aila had no idea what the laundress meant, but the stout woman seemed to require no reply and walked off humming. Before Aila could consider the woman's odd behavior, more castle dwellers came to offer their well-wishes, and even Cook left his kitchens to squeeze her hand in his massive fist.

  "God bless ye, Aila. I was so worrit for ye. Ah, such good news," said Cook, wiping his eyes with the corner of his apron.

  Cook was not alone in giving Aila warm sentiments and congratulations. Hopes were raised as the news of Aila's marriage spread through the castle and to the town of Carron below. It had been a long winter after the grievous tidings of their losses at the battle of Neville's Cross. So many men had left to join the young King David; so few had returned. The Scots were a pragmatic folk. While an alliance between Aila and Sir Padyn MacLaren was not prestigious, it did give the Grahams the one thing they lacked— seasoned, battle-tested warriors. That alone was reason enough for celebration.