Pansy was also dressed like a boy, to the delight of Alex’s men and the belligerent annoyance of her husband, who, seeing his comrades eyeing his wife’s shapely legs hugging her pony, became quite jealous. Before Pansy on her saddle rode little Dugie, although sometimes Dugald couldn’t resist carrying his son himself to both his and the boy’s delight.
Velvet’s heart began to hammer with excitement when on the third afternoon Alex suddenly said to her, “We’re now on BrocCairn land, lass.”
“Where isDun Broc?”she asked, looking about.
He smiled at her innocence. “ ’Tis several miles away over the next ridge of hills, but ye canna see it yet.”
They rode on through the forest, sunlit this afternoon, and around a small lake he told her was called Loch Beith, meaning birch. Indeed, the loch was surrounded by them, their leaves bright gold with the autumn sun, reflecting themselves vainly in the blue, blue loch. The sight took her breath away.
On they rode up the hills surrounding the loch, through the pine forest, and once Velvet thought she saw a fox, and another time a family of pine martens. Alex told her that the area was home to weasels, wolves, and wildcats as well. When they reached the top of the small mountain that Alex insisted on calling a wee hill, the sight that met her eyes as they stopped to rest the horses was one of incredible beauty. Below them was a small glen where the village of Broc Ailien was located as well as the manor house of his brother-in-law, Ian Grant, Alex told her. She could see a great herd of cattle grazing in a meadow near the village.
“Cattle, lass, is the sign of a man’s wealth here,” he said. “A good deal of our wealth comes from them. We raise the cattle, and then each autumn a portion of the herd is slaughtered, then pickled, and barrels of it shipped to France, Holland, Denmark, and certain German states. I have a permit from the king to take salmon from my waters, and these, too, are exported either smoked, salted, or dried. My wealth comes from my cattle mainly, however.”
“Who ships your goods?” she demanded, ever her mother’s daughter.
He chuckled. “In my youth I convinced my father to let me invest in the purchase of several ships, and we now ship our own goods rather than pay another to do it. Before that time we had to contract out to a middleman who usually took too great a fee and still cheated us.” He pointed. “Look across the glen, Velvet, and then look up upon the mountain above it.”
Velvet’s eyes followed his finger, and suddenly she saw it, a castle that seemed to spring up from the very rocks of the mountainside.
“Dun Broc!”he said.
A small thrill raced through her.Dun Broc! Her home!It was not a large castle, but, oh, how beautiful it was with its battlements and towers soaring high above the glen. It would be practically impregnable, she thought. She could not even see how one could reach it, and she asked Alex.
He smiled. “Look carefully, lass. There is a very narrow, walled road that leads from the glen up toDun Broc.”
“Then the castle cannot be attacked, can it? You couldn’t get enough of an army up that narrow road at one time to make an attack, could you?”
“Nay,” he answered, “but we are not totally impregnable, lass. The north side of the castle sits atop the mountain on a narrow plain. Although we are walled, like any castle walls they are breachable in certain instances. Still, only once in the history ofDun Brocwere those walls scaled successfully, and that was during the reign of James IV. A castle serving girl who was in love with one of the opposing soldiers let a ladder down to her lover one night, and he, after rendering her unconscious, opened the main gate to the king’s soldiers.”
“Why was the lang besiegingDun Broc?”asked Velvet.
He smiled. “ ’Twas a small dispute over a pretty lady. The lady, however, preferred my ancestor and married him after he had carried her away. The king broke in and found them honeymooning, but instead of being angry he is said to have laughed, admitted he was well bested, and given them a wedding gift of a golden candelabra, which you will see on the sideboard in the Great Hall tonight.”
Velvet laughed. “ ’Tis a very romantic place that is to be my home.” Then she turned, her face radiant. “It’s beautiful even from here, Alex, and I know that I’m going to love it!”
“Let’s go home then, lass,” he said, and they began their descent into the glen.
“The earl is coming!” A barefooted boy ran at top speed through Broc Ailien shouting, “The earl is coming!” He was proud to be the first one to trumpet the news.
The cottage doors flew open, and the residents of the village poured forth to welcome their lord and his wife. Broc Ailien, Velvet noted, was more prosperous-looking than so many of the other villages that they had passed through. Some of the cottages had front gardens that did indeed boast flowers, and those that didn’t had boxes of herbs on the windowsills. The faces were smiling and filled with welcome; the men casting approving looks at Velvet, the women nodding slyly at one another.
“Welcome home, m’lord!”
“Welcome to yer lady, m’lord!”
“God bless ye both, m’lord!”
The greetings came thick and fast, and Velvet couldn’t help smiling. Alex, who knew each and every resident of his village, had a word for them all. “Allan, I thank ye kindly! Gavin, ye’ve gotten fat while I’ve been gone. Hae ye been poaching in my woods again, man? Jean, another bairn? This will make three in three years, won’t it?” They looked absolutely delighted to see him, to be acknowledged so personally. He knew all about them, their problems, their strengths, their weaknesses, and Velvet could tell that they loved him for it.
There was a small village square with a Celtic cross to mark it, a small inn, and a little church in Broc Ailien. This is a good place to live, thought Velvet. Then a woman stepped directly in front of Alex’s horse. She was petite and blond, and she was holding up a child, a little girl.
“Will you not bid your daughter a good day, Alex? Have you brought her a fine gift as I promised her?” the woman asked boldly.
“Ye should nae promise what ye canna give, Alanna,” Alex said quietly, and attempted to move his horse by her and her child.
Alanna poked her daughter, and as if on cue the child cried out, “Papa! Papa!” She was too tiny to say much more, but it had its effect.
Unable to help himself, Alex reached down and took the child up into his arms. “How are ye, Sibby?” he asked, his face tender. It was obvious that he loved his daughter.
