Callan had been a lad of six years, yet he still recalled every vivid detail, from his mother’s ragged sobs as she, once proud and fierce, cowered beneath the hateful blows and words.
The searing pain that cleaved him in two when they were cast out with nothing more than the clothes on their backs left to struggle and starve, all because she fell in love with the wrong man. The accusations still rung in his heart, leaving wounds that had yet to fully heal.
Mist rolled in across the hills as Callan carefully tucked the letter away so it would not get wet.
A black rage spread from his heart through his body as he slammed his fist against the unforgiving rock, fresh pain splitting across his knuckles. Three drops of blood dripped from Callan’s fingers, falling onto the rough stone. His chest heaved, breath escaping in ragged gusts that formed white plumes in the cold air.
If his stepfather hadn’t confessed to the priest, or if his mother hadn’t spurned the chieftain’s son when she was sixteen, their lives might have been very different. Joan, his mother, would have married the chieftain’s son. She would have held a place of respect amongst the clan, though Callan, as he was now, would not have been. But instead, they became the lowest outcasts.
Why had she never left the highlands? He’d asked, but she’d only look out across the sea and say she needed to be here. He understood now. She’d been waiting for a man who would never return.
Yet in all those hard years, she had smiled, a smile tinged with sadness as she made a life for them in a small abandoned croft they’d found, far away from clan lands. She’d protected him at any cost, her only regret leaving him alone when she passed, knowing the clan would never accept him.
Callan was thirteen when she passed from a broken heart. Alone, he’d learned to survive, never to trust, to do whatever he must to make his own way.
Now, a man of a score and two years, he found he needed answers, wanted to meet the man who had ruined their lives so many years ago.
“Who am I?” Callan’s voice, raw and filled with unspoken questions, was carried away on the wind.
Dusk fell across the windswept highlands as he stretched, stiff from sitting for so long.
Callan turned from the looming mountains that marked the farthest reach of his world.
In that moment, as he strode across the land, he made a choice.
The air turned cold as he walked. He had left the croft years ago when his mother passed, sold the few animals and meager belongings, and lived rough, finding shelter in caves or sleeping under the stars. He cared not.
With a talent for fighting, he made his way in the world, not caring who he fought for or why, only that he had coin for his future.
As the last light faded from the sky above, Callan gathered fallen branches and started a small campfire. With each snap of dried wood and the crackling spark of the flames, memories of a life forever left behind whispered through his thoughts.
Lingering questions still plagued him, gaps in his history that only one man might yet illuminate. To find the missing pieces, he decided he must seek out his father and ask why he had so ill-used his mother, why he had never returned for them?
And then? Then he would find somewhere new to make a life, somewhere where no one knew his name or his lineage, for no longer would the past bind him. Now he had a purpose and perhaps in time he might even find peace.
CHAPTER 11
The Faire opened today to perfect weather. Daisy was so excited she could hardly stand it. It took place every weekend for almost two whole months. Since she’d forgotten to call and ask, maybe someone there could look Callan up and would have some contact information for him. Frankie strained at the leash as they got out of the car, excited about whatever they were doing.
His kilt was back from the cleaners, along with his linen shirt. Last night he’d polished the worn leather boots and this morning he’d pulled his hair back. Talk about breathtaking. He looked like he’d stepped off the cover of a steamy romance novel. She had opted for a long, flowing pale pink sleeveless dress, since it was going to be hot. Definitely no wool for her, not in this heat.
People were laughing and calling out to each other. Music filled the air and carried the rich smell of roasting meat to them, making Callan inhale deeply.
He was so busy looking around at the colorful tents and vibrant costumes of the Faire-goers that he almost tripped over a little boy.
“Apologies to ye, lad.”
The boy looked up at him. “Are you fighting today?”
Callan shrugged. “Mayhap, we shall see.”
The boy ran to his parents, shrieking, “I met a real highland warrior,” making Callan grin.
“Here we are,” Daisy announced, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and nervousness as she practically dragged Callan towards the registration area. She gripped Callan’s arm as they made their way through the crowd, heading straight for the information booth and registration table adorned with fluttering flags and hand-painted signs.
At the table, a cheerful volunteer in a medieval dress with a flower garland in her hair greeted them.
“Welcome to the Faire! How may I assist you on this fine day?” she said, voice as bright as her smile.
