3
She was a balm to his wounded soul. After years of conflict and denying himself the comforts of home, the blacksmith’s fresh-faced young daughter was like a cool, soothing breeze blowing across a hillside full of heather. Aye, she was bonny and maidenly enough to tempt the fiercest bachelor to long for hearth and home and the warmth that can only be found between a woman’s soft thighs, but when he came upon her all alone in the forge as she was fixing the circlet on her head, she had not yielded to her terror at finding herself alone with a filthy, travel-stained stranger. Finlay was very aware that Isla had stood her ground when he approached her. He found her spirit as intensely appealing as he found her long dark red tresses and mesmerizing green eyes.
He did not gaze down at her, though, as she walked beside him; he kept his eyes on the prize. He had been gone from home too long, so long that the young children who had grown up in the village in the shadow of the castle no longer recognized him or even registered his name—if the blacksmith’s daughter’s reaction was anything to go on. He was puzzled by this. Two years did not seem so long to him but added to the long years of sieges, drawn-out forays into enemy territory, spying, harrying, and waiting for wounds to heal in abandoned shepherd crofts… Aye, he had been absent from the castle for nearly ten years.
His father, Laird Finn Dougal, had already been an old man, worn out by many years of battle and war, by the time he married Finlay’s mother. It had been hard finding a laird’s daughter willing to marry a man whose lands had been constantly besieged by war for the past fifty years. But Lady Rihan had fallen in love with the mighty but grizzled Laird Dougal from the first time she had laid eyes on him, and no war could have torn her away from him. She had died in childbirth with Finlay, and the old Laird Finn had never looked for another wife again.
Faither must be past eighty years auld now! How time has fled away from us, taking all our hopes an’ dreams with it! Thank God this war is on hold so that Faither an’ I can take our leisure in workin’ out our next move.
He had said as much to his traveling companions during their trek back home. Alex did not make much sense, being addled by the strong elixir to lessen the pain in his leg, but all the other men had agreed with Finlay; it was time to call an end to war.
“If ye ask me, Fin,” one of his men had said the other evening, “sendin’ yer son off to die in war is all very well when ye have a quiverful o’ sons to choose from, but ye are yer faither’s only son an’ heir! Yer faither was losing his ability to think straight when he sent ye away for so long to live in enemy territory.”
“Aye, McCorkindale, ye speak the truth. Me faither has nae been in his right mind since me mither died. I’ll no’ leave the castle again. I want to sort out this war by allying meself to other chieftains around us. It’s the only way we can strengthen ourselves against the McTavishes and bring peace to our land.”
It was with this purpose in mind that Finlay was coming to the castle. It was time for his father to hand over the authority and seal of leadership to him. He saw the men break into hopeful smiles as he approached, with Isla walking beside him. He did not blame them.
“Comrades, this is the blacksmith’s daughter.”
The bonny maiden stepped forward.
“Isla McDonnell, pleased to make yer acquaintance,” she said, and curtsied.
The men bowed, but Alex, who was made confident by this elixir, winked and bowed so low that he nearly fell over when his injured leg buckled underneath him.
“Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Miss Isla. Are ye workin’ at the castle?”
The young woman shook her head. “I help me faither down in the forge, sir. Me friend an’ I collect wood for the furnace.”
As they all approached the castle, Alex found something he was confused about.
“So then, why are ye trekking up to the castle when ye don’ work there, lass?”
The young maiden seemed reluctant to give her reason at first, but she must have realized that the reason would be found inside the castle once they entered and so volunteered the information first.
“Me faither an’ I want to leave Dougal Castle, sir. No offense to it being the home ye have worked so hard to keep safe, but it’s no’ the kind o’ place for a maiden to find a hus—I mean, there are never any reels for us young folk to dance at!”
She shot him a tentative look after saying it, and Finlay smiled down at her. “Och lass, that’s entirely understandable. I’m sure ye feel about reels the same way I feel about a hot bath and soft bed.”
The blacksmith’s daughter gave him a beaming smile as they trooped into the hall, and he was pleased she found his explanation relatable. The castle steward, Master McMichaels, was there, surrounded by counselors and guards Finlay did not recognize. The steward looked startled as the jingling of spurs and clanking of shields on belt buckles alerted him to their presence.
“How now? What’s all this? Is it a squadron of soldiers come to parlay? Why was I no’ informed o’ this?”
Finlay had little time for bureaucrats at the best of times, let alone having a bunch of them greet him in his father’s halls.
“Awa’ with ye an’ yer stupid speculations, auld man!” Finlay spat out the words. “Are ye blind as well as auld? I am the Dougal heir, as ye would ken well if ye keek closer at the toorie on me bonnet! Where’s me faither?”
Master McMichaels did not mince his words. “Yer late faither passed from this life six months ago, Finlay, as wellyewould ken if ye had spent more time here an’ no’ out there traipsing over the countryside, chasin’ the ghosts of yer enemies an’ shirkin’ yer duty to yer clan an’ castle!”
It was an astonishing insult, and the steward might have died then and there if Finlay had not been such a forbearing man. The steward should have stood up, bowed, and immediately vacated his seat at the head—which was in the middle—of the high table on the dais. But he did not. He stayed right where he was and beckoned two guards forward. After whispering in their ears, they left the hall.
“Why was I no’ sent word about this?” Finlay wanted to know. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
Laird Steward looked left and right, and after making eye contact with his counselors, he spoke.
“Ye have no’ only been absent from performin’ yer duties here at the castle, Finlay Dougal, ye disappeared into the wilderness with yer men, sendin’ us nay word about yer whereabouts an’ shirkin’ yer clan’s safety. What have ye to say to that charge?”
“Charge?”
