Page 4 of Highlander’s Evil Side

Chapter Two

Fraser

Scottish Highlands

July 18, 1432

Fraser stared at the walls surrounding Castle Dunnegan. Saturated from the morning drizzle, moss crawled over the darks stones of the castle, making it appear like an enchanted palace of the fae. Castle Dunnegan was nothing like the bustling streets of Edinburgh, filled with people selling their wares and crowding the closes—nothing like the exquisite craftsmanship of Paris’s finest hall. In all his years away from the estate, he had imagined what it would be like to return home. The beauty of his birthplace was nothing like his memories. It was far more glorious.

And it was home.

The large fortress rested on the top of a steep hill surrounded by a vast meadow. Sheep and cattle lazily grazed while dogs protected their flock. A smile came to his lips as he pulled at the reins, halting his horse from proceeding any further so he could gaze upon the beauty around him. Two guards he hired for the journey sat on either side, appearing as worn and weary as Fraser felt. They had just emerged from the forests that took up most of the MacClery land. It was good to know his journey was finally coming to an end.

Fraser’s smile widened while he urged his horse forward. After two months of travel, it was nice to see a familiar place. It had been an adventure returning to the highlands. His time was filled with scouting for brigands and scavenging for food when there was no town nearby or the road was too long. There were hardly any inns to rest in, and his back ached in want for a comfortable bed to lay his weary body upon. They spent most of their travels on uncommon paths due to highwaymen known for stealing merchants’ goods. Thankfully, the journey was mostly safe. They encountered a scuffle here and there, but Fraser tended to himself, and his men were paid well for the hardship.

The early morning drizzle seeped into his worn clothes. His leine was frayed at the hem, and there were holes in his wool stockings from long days of riding. A chill rippled through him as he urged his horse faster. He had forgotten about the cold Scottish summers during his time away. The French summers were warm and filled with outdoor celebrations and sunshine that left his skin tanned. Edinburgh had the drizzle and gusts known to Scotland yet lacked the bone brittling chill that came with the highlands. He regarded the memories fondly. However, he missed neither Edinburgh nor France, for they were not home.

A decade passed since he last laid eyes on this castle—a decade since he left the highlands to complete his higher education in Edinburgh. Soon after that, he went to France to strengthen his clan’s financial alliances. All that time away, and he never journeyed back—never saw his father one final time before his death.

Fraser grimaced while recalling the last time he saw his father. As the portcullis of the castle rose, he recognized the very courtyard where he bid his family farewell. His father was a dour man. He had been strict in every way imaginable and rarely smiled. The former Laird MacClery wanted his son to be the best. Each day Fraser lived in this castle, he was met with a list of duties and a hint of frustration from his father.

“Yer the only one to carry on the family line,”Fraser remembered his father saying. “Our clan has been plagued with civil strife for years. What will ye do when another conflict emerges?”

Fraser understood his father’s worries. He understood why his father was hard on him. It made him into the man he was today. He only wished he had one last opportunity to say farewell to the man who had supported his studies, no matter how strict of a father he had been.

His eyes softened as he continued through the courtyard, finding a woman standing at the opening to the keep. She was thinner than what he remembered. Her black dress hung off her shoulders while she clutched a thick shawl to her face. He stopped his horse before her. The rain fell harder now, soaking through his clothes and chilling his skin. Water dripped from his dark, matted hair to the beard covering his jaw. Carefully, he dismounted his horse, handing the reins to the stable master.

As he approached the woman, the wind whipped harder, making several strands escape from under her shawl. He noticed how grey her hair had become, how wrinkled her appearance looked. Ten years had flown by within a blink of an eye. During that time, he had become a man, while she had become a widow. She placed a hand against her mouth. Dark circles marred her widening eyes.

“Mother,” he murmured while holding out his arms.

With his movement, she lurched away from him as if she worried he would strike her. His head tilted while his brows furrowed in confusion, wondering why she looked so fearful. She was his mother. He had never harmed her before, nor would he ever. His father taught him that only weak men harmed the women around them. Strong men listened and learned from those not in a position of power, for they were the ones who suffered under others’ rule.

“Mother,” he tried again, worry ebbing his voice as he took another step toward her.

“Fra-Fraser,” she stuttered, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms tightly around him. “Yer home. Yer finally home.”

He leaned into her touch. “‘Tis been too long,” he murmured while she pulled away.

She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned away from him, pressing a hand to her mouth again while retreating inside the keep in silence. Fraser followed his mother, unable to stop the worry from churning his stomach. He hadn’t seen her in ten years, and she turned away from him as if his touch burned. Her shoulders slumped forward and shook as if she bit back tears. She seemed smaller than last he remembered, as if her whole frame had shriveled.

Something was wrong.

“Mother, is—”

“We should get ye cleaned up,” she rushed out, her words bouncing off the dimly lit walls.

The doors closed with a thump behind him, silencing the pattering of rain. Droplets dripped on the floor where he stood while darkness seeped into every corner of the dimly lit hall. No maids or guards stood to welcome him. Had he come too early?

Or was there something else?

“I’ll have a bath drawn for ye tonight,” she continued while walking through the dark corridor. “We have much to discuss. I’ve already laid out a fresh change of clothes for ye in yer rooms. Ye can change, and then we can talk about-about—” His mother shook her head, unable to finish what she was about to say. She sniffed, her head bowed low while she continued down the hall.

Fraser watched her go, not knowing if he should follow her and ensure her health. She was acting strange. Her eyes had hardly met his. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but he knew this definitely wasn’t it. The silence was deafening. Never before was his home so shadowed in darkness. He remembered running down these halls, laughing while his mother scolded him. Soldiers had guarded every corridor, ensuring order.

But now, everything seemed strange in this place, as if he had stumbled upon another land. He had been away for too long. He should have returned sooner; he knew that. His mother had been alone for two months now, and during that time, she grieved without any family to console her heartache.

With a sigh, he turned away from her and trudged up the steps towards his old quarters, where he found a fresh leine laid out for him on his bed with thick wool hose and clean boots. The garments were old. He recognized them from days when he was a young boy and knew they would be a snug fit, given he had filled out over the years. Once he was able, he would have to call upon the tailor.