Page 16 of Highlander’s Wrath

Falling Deeper

The Highlands, at the turning of the season, was an unpredictable place. One day would blow in ominously grey, ice-cold clouds from the north, and the next day, idyllically warm winds would breeze up from the south. It rained a lot, but whenever the day was fine and the sky clear, Coira would take Colban outside for games and explorations.

It was in this way that she discovered the rocky coastline next to the castle and found out a bit more about the Barclay clan history. Once proud seneschals of an ancient northern clan, the Barclays had won renown throughout the Highlands from the deeds and actions of their great warriors. After a northern sea raid was foiled, due in no small part to the Barclays’ defense of the beachheads, the king had awarded them lairdly rights and permission to build a fortress on the site of the battle. It had grown to become the castle Coira lived in today.

“When were the stones and mortar last replaced?” Coira could not help herself from asking one evening as she supped with his lairdship. As the warm leaf-fall weather receded and winter pressed closer, she had not been able to shake off the air of chill dampness that followed her everywhere inside the castle walls. As it grew colder, she found it harder to imagine the castle as a romantically crumbling gothic pile and easier to see it for what it really was: a decrepit structure long neglected.

Hamish shrugged. “They have never been. Me faither told me that every Barclay castle stone was like a pearl past price, and only lesser men would find the conditions within these walls too cold.”

Coira placed the spoon in her bowl and looked at him. As much as she enjoyed her meals with Laird Barclay, there were times when she felt the unsettling presence of the man’s father looming over her. It was both unnerving and sad.

“And did you feel honor bound to uphold his opinion, even when you had a wife and young son to care for? They could not best be described as ‘lesser men.’”

Laird Barclay replied nonchalantly, “Truth be told, lass, I didnae ken me wife that well before I wed her. Me faither arranged the marriage—one o’ the last things he did before an arrow shot from behind a bush claimed his life—and once the deed was done and the lady conceived, she hid herself away in her bedchamber, with all her aunts and cousins around her, until Colban was born. Then she died. So, I never got the chance to ask her opinion of it.”

Coira said drily, “I thought you told my parents the lady had no close female relatives.”

Hamish had the grace to look shamefaced. “I had to, or else they wouldnae have allowed ye to come back with me…”

She let his deception slide; it had been the desperate action of a father trying to find a teacher for his son, after all. “And they will not help you raise Colban now?”

Laird Barclay’s memory turned back to the last time he had seen his late wife’s family. They had demanded the return of their daughter’s bride price and had been steadfastly—and very rudely—rejected. In fact, he had ejected his late wife’s father from the castle by the seat of his trews, shouting that the grasping old knave could have his daughter’s dowry back when daffodils grew in hell. Only after sterling diplomatic efforts had been made by Father Abercromby had the two clans finally agreed to the late Lady Barclay’s dowry being held in trust for Colban until the lad reached the age of five and twenty.

He shook his head. “Nay, lass, they will no’ help me raise Colban.”

Coira took another sip of her soup, saying calmly, “I think you should summon some masons to come here before the year gets much older. There are great savings to be made in the consumption of wood when the walls are thick and impenetrable.”

His lairdship took a long, contemplative swig of his whisky while looking at her over the rim of the glass. Then he pushed his chair back from the table, tilting it back on two legs. “Will that make ye happy, Coira?” he asked.

She felt slightly flustered. There had not been another recurrence of his lairdship’s attentions to her since their fireside chat one month ago. He had been the soul of discretion, meticulously polite to her in front of the servants. But this had not stopped the rumors about their relationship flying about the castle. Speculation was rife when it came to Coira’s status in the house. The servants wondered if they should treat Coira as though she were their future mistress or whether she was just like them: a member of his lairdship’s staff. They compromised and acted toward her with cool disdain.

This isolation only served to drive Coira to seek out his lairdship’s companionship even more. Father Abercromby was busy with parish duties during the week, so she only saw him on Sundays. As a result, during the week, she had come to look forward to her conversations with Laird Barclay over the dinner and supper tables more and more.

Every evening, he would send the footmen away, and they would have a cozy chat about how Colban’s behavior was progressing, how soon the winter weather would hold off, and any other sundry snippets of gossip Coira would share with him from her family’s letters from London. It was a most comfortable arrangement.

“Yes,” she replied with one of her prettiest smiles, “it would make me extremely happy to know the castle is made ready for winter. And you can start with Colban’s bedchamber and the room where we hold our lessons; it sometimes gets so cold in there, I can scarce feel my nose!”

They laughed together, then Laird Barclay said, “After I send message to the village for masons on the morrow, lass, what are yer plans for the day? More lessons in me son’s freezing antechamber?”

She shook her head and looked at him with a questioning gleam in her eyes. “No. In fact, the seamstress is visiting tomorrow to measure Colban for a new suit of clothes. The lad grows like a weed, you know.”

“Would ye care to go riding with me then?” His lairdship gave her his most winning smile.

If only he smiled like that all the time, the man would be devastatingly attractive if he chose to be so. What a pity he flies off the handle at the first chance. He’s never short-tempered with animals or Colban or with Father Abercromby, but he’s quick to show his teeth to anyone else. One hint of having his will crossed, and he turns into a complete demon.

Coira smiled. “Yes, let’s go riding together! My heart has longed to see what’s on the other side of the hills for many a week, so prepare yourself for a long day in the saddle.”

The next day, the Highland weather blessed their expedition with sunshine and blue skies. The wind might have been sharp enough to cut through thin fabric, but Coira had prepared herself for this by dressing in a plaid riding habit that had once belonged to her mother. The skirts and short coat were cut tight to the body, but the plaid wool was thick and warm. A vastly fetching plaid bonnet completed her ensemble, and after gazing critically at her reflection in the looking glass for a few moments, Coira had to admit to herself that her mother’s old outfit was both practical and flattering.

Coira’s horse had been bred for mincing up and down short, narrow London streets, and when she went down to the stables, she found Laird Barclay had commissioned his grooms to saddle one of his destriers for her. She realized what an incredible honor this was but did not want to stand on too much ceremony about it. She thanked the groom and accepted his help mounting the saddle. The animal’s height made her slightly giddy at first, but the horse was well trained and light-mouthed enough for it to respond to the slightest tug on the reins. She rode out of the stables to where Laird Barclay was waiting for her.

“Is the beast to yer likin’?” he asked her, one eyebrow raised to show he would pick up on the vaguest inflection of fear in her reply.

Coira smiled. “I must admit, I did find it dizzying when the groom first threw me up into the saddle, but now that I’m here, I love it. The views must be marvelous from so high up.”

Satisfied, he gave his horse the office to start, and they trotted out of the courtyard side by side.

Once they had cleared the fishermen’s crofts and shepherd’s cottages, Hamish and Coira gave the horses full rein and allowed them to gallop high into the monadh. When they reached the peak, Laird Barclay reined in Lancer and turned to face the coast. From here, it was possible to discern the dark grey outline of the castle as it stood guard on the cliffside rocks.