Page 81 of Highlander’s Forbidden Fruit

“Aye, there are many of those in Ireland. What of it?”

“I wish to join one.”

“Dinnae jest.”

“I’m certain, Da. I want to join a convent.”

Laird MacLeod stared at her as if she had gone mad. Then he rose up from his chair and hurled the apple across the room, so it smashed against the far wall and crumbled to the floor.

“Yer ungrateful, unfeeling, and selfish!” he roared, picking up plates and throwing them about with every word. “Ye think this is a game? Last time ye left I understood and let it pass; ye asked me for my blessing for an English suitor, I consented. Now yer asking to be entombed behind the four walls of a convent, never to be seen again, and ye want me blessing?”

Evanna’s lips trembled, but she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from crying.

“I understand yer grieving, but that doesnae mean ye run away from yer problems. I willnae have my only child become a nun. Ye dinnae get my permission.” He pushed the chair down, so it crashed against the floor, and he stalked out of his room.

Evanna sat there for a while staring at her hands. Kezia had said that fates changed, not every destiny was predetermined. How much was her ill-fate the result of the lines etched on her hands? Or were her actions and her decision responsible for the mess she was in?

She had always counted on her father supporting her, and now, even he had washed his hands of her. The more she tried to fight her fate the more entangled she got within it.

Standing up she began to clean up the mess. The maid came in and tried to take the broken plates from her hands, but Evanna ignored her and cleaned up every piece. It was only when she returned to her room that she saw where she had cut her palms on broken china, creating new bloody lines all over her destiny.

* * *

By noon, the little sunlight that had bathed the castle disappeared behind thick gray clouds. Evanna hadn’t been sure if it was appropriate but she had chosen to dress in black. She joined her father in the main hall to await their guests. Aleck was among the men the Laird had invited to be part of the receiving party. He gave her a small encouraging smile that Evanna could not reciprocate. She was sure he must be nervous about facing the Winchester’s, maybe more than she was. But she could not bring herself to give any encouragement.

Laird MacLeod would not look at her. He pretended she wasn’t there. His treatment hurt her, but she understood it came from a place of deep love. In his mind, she had hurt him by being inconsiderate of his feelings and what he wanted for her future.

Yet he was not looking at things from her perspective. Because of her, John had been attacked and killed. She was solely responsible for his fate. John had made the mistake of loving her, of choosing to marry her. He was innocent. How could she face his family or the rest of her life knowing she had betrayed the man who loved her and wanted to marry her?

Panic fluttered like a host of butterflies in her stomach. She felt sick. The horses' hooves clipped on the road and the sound of carriage wheels crunched the stones underneath. Standing with her head bowed low, Evanna waited for Ashton to alight from his carriage and accuse her of his brother’s death.

The carriages came to stop in the yard. Evanna couldn’t help but recall Aleck walking the horses back with John’s body in the same yard. Her knees trembled, but she dug her nails into her palms to dispel the horrid images in her head.

Ashton stepped out of the carriage first. He seemed older than she had seen him last, the remnants of a tan still clinging to his skin. Their eyes met. Evanna was stricken by the blank stare Ashton gave her as if he was looking right through her. It cut her to pieces.

His father, Lord Winchester, alighted next. Evanna gasped and her vision focused in-and-out. She recognized the signs of a swoon. Strong arms took hold of her, and she looked up at John—a much older John with gray hair and deep lines around his eyes, but the spitting image of John. Or it would be more correct to say that John was the spitting image of his father, Lord Winchester, who was holding Evanna up lest she faint.

“I beg yer pardon, Lord Winchester,” she managed to say. “I didnae mean to lose my composure.”

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, my dear Miss MacLeod,” he said, helping her stand steady on her feet. “You're still in shock and grieving for my murdered son.”

His personality was much the same as John too. Strident but with underlying pools of care and affection. Aware of her duty, she introduced Ashton and Lord Winchester to her father.

“Yer welcome to Glenlivet. I’m sorry it’s naught under better circumstances,” Laird MacLeod said. “Please come inside. It is cold out here.”

Lord Winchester ignored the request. He gave the castle a once over with his eyes and must have found it wanting because he did not look pleased. Evanna did not take offence to that. The man was not here visiting, he had come to collect the body of his beloved son and heir.

The staff unpacked the carriages and removed the bags to the East wing. Evanna took Lord Winchester’s arm. “Would you like to see John?” she asked.

Lord Winchester looked surprised that she had guessed his desire so well, and nodded, swallowing so hard Evanna saw the movement in his neck. They walked arm in arm to the church, the rest of the party behind them.

A light snow fell from the heavens. The flakes caught in their hair. The heavy church doors were open, and Father Gilmore stood at the entrance to greet the guests. Evanna had not visited the church since John had died. She had been too sick to move for days, and then she could not bring herself to look upon John’s face. Once had been enough.

Therefore, she was pleasantly surprised by the arrangements. Candles, lit by the villagers seeking God’s mercy for John Winchester, burned on every surface, suffusing the church in brilliant light. John was laid on a bed of rich purple velvet, his body preserved by the snow every night, and laid in state every morning. It was arduous, but someone had conducted the whole task like a labor of love. John’s hair was brushed and lay pleasingly on his brow, his clothes perfectly ironed and devoid of dust.

Even the pallor of his face was much better than what she remembered seeing. The cheeks were hollow, and there were bruises under the eyes, but the gaunt haunted look had been smoothed away.

She swallowed, but the tears came rushing out. She stepped back and let Lord Winchester and Ashton move forward to pay their respects. Aleck came to stand just behind her and discreetly squeezed her hand. It was for a brief moment, over before she could blink her eyes twice, but it was enough to tell her that he was with her, worried for her. His concern made her feel worse about herself.