20
“Iwish everyone would stop calling me a hero,” Isla said to Pila. They were sitting in the kitchens together, peeling turnips for dinner. “If ye had been there, Pila, ye would nae call me that. All I did was swing a stool at the man. Did I say man? I should have said giant because that guard was so tall I had to stand on tiptoes, an’ even then I could only reach his neck.”
Pila was sanguine. After all the mayhem and death, the castle was slowly returning to normal. The merchants, tradesmen, and crafts folk were traveling back to live in the bailey village; the soldiers from the island had been rowed back safely; and the mercenaries who had surrendered had been paid what was owed them and left. Isla had hardly laid eyes on Finlay for days.
After the fight, they had turned to see where the steward had gone, but he had seen his chance and ran downstairs, trying to escape. It must have spooked him seeing the other guard lying dead at the entrance to the stairwell because he put up no resistance when they found him hiding in the alehouse. The steward had lifted his hands in the air so fast it looked as if something on the floor was trying to bite his fingers. Finlay had thrown the man into the dungeons.
After Finlay had locked the cell door, Alex stuck his face to the door hatch, saying, “Ye can stay here until ye work out how we escaped. How does that sound?”
Then the two men had ridden with a small entourage to the border to parlay with the McTavish. The peace negotiations were equitable: both sides were sick and tired of war. No remunerations were called for, and each laird returned to their castle to repair the damage created by their forefathers’ enmity.
Pila was not finished praising her friend.
“What about that magnificent swim ye made, Isla? If that does nae make ye a hero, I dinnae ken what will!”
Isla scoffed, “There will be nay swimmin’ for me for a long while. The healer says me ribs are bust. I’m so bored o’ doing tasks that require me to sit down all the time!”
The cook’s headstrong daughter batted her eyelashes. “It’s such a pity, Isla. Ye will nae be able to dance at the royal reelin’ with all the braw young men, but I ken it will nae bother ye overmuch because ye have yer eyes on our new laird!”
One of the first announcements Laird Finlay Dougal had made was for minstrels to be summoned from the town and the great hall to be prepared for a feast and a reeling. It nearly broke Isla’s heart to know she could not dance. But then again, it did not bother her too much; Finlay was not able to dance either because of his leg.
The cook came back into the kitchen and saw the two girls.
“Hoots! What are ye about wastin’ yer time down here? Upstairs with ye! Go get ready for the reelin’!”
Isla saw Pila widen her eyes and jerk her head in her direction, and laughed.
“Och, there’s nay need to tiptoe around me. I’m sure it’s just as nice to watch dancin’ as it is to actually do it.”
She was sad as she went to the new castle quarters that had been appointed to her. All the beautiful gowns she had planned to wear had to wait until her ribs healed.
Laid out on the bed for her was a soft, red velvet gown with a black ribbon to tie it around her slim waist without pinching her. After piling her long red tresses on top of her head, when she looked in the mirror, with her pale skin and wide green eyes, Isla thought she looked like a fiery spirit.
The merry tootling of pipes and violas stopped when she entered the great hall, replaced by a blast of horns. Confused, Isla looked around her and saw all of her friends and her father cheering and clapping. As if in a dream, she walked forward to where Laird Finlay was standing at the high table, waiting for her. When she reached his side, Finlay got down on one knee and held her hand.
“Sweet Isla McDonnell… Will ye do me the honor of becomin’ me wife?”
Such beloved words; they could not possibly be meant for her!
“Fin,” she whispered so that only he could hear, “ye cannae want to marry me. I’m the daughter of a blacksmith, an’ ye’re a laird…”
He stood up and bent to kiss her cheek. “Ye’re so much more to me than that, Isla McDonnell. Ye are brave an’ fearless enough to be one o’ those warrior Pictish princesses in days gone by.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “All ye need is an eagle feather in yer hair an’ ye would be mistaken for the wild chieftain wives that live up in the mountains. I think I will be the only laird in the Highlands who can say that his wife swam over an ocean to save him. An’ if ye think I won’ be proud to tell folks that, ye’re mistaken!”
He leaned closer so that only Isla could hear the words he growled into her ear.
“I wanted ye from the first time we met in the forge, Isla, but after seeing what a brave and adventuresome lass ye are, I love ye with all me heart too. An’ tonight at the beddan…I will show ye.”
He raised his head and looked around at all the happy faces in the hall.
“Raise yer glasses to toast the future Lady Dougal!”
Loud cries and cheers sounded as Finlay slid a heavy golden band bedight with rubies onto her finger after Isla blushed and nodded, saying, “I will marry ye, Finlay Dougal.”
An even louder cheer went up from the crowd.
“Hurrah for the laird an’ the blacksmith’s daughter! Saviors of Castle Dougal!”
But Isla and Finlay heard nothing. They were already living in their own special world of love.
