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“They’re on their way,” Stephen came rushing into the barracks where Evan McPherson was waiting with his guards. Stephen’s young cheeks were ruddy, his forehead glistened with sweat. Evan nodded and patted him on the back before striding in front of his men.

“Come on, lads, put yer best foot forward. We hae been preparing for this day. Let’s show the Laird how proud we are tae serve under him,” he said, puffing out his chest and trying to hide any sign of anxiety that he might have been feeling. He strode around the barracks, making sure that everything was as it should be. He checked that the blankets were tightly pulled across the bed and that the men’s outfits were as clean and neat as possible. He had to adjust a few of them, for they wore their tunics at the wrong angles. He then looked over the weapons, worried that the Laird might see the slightest blemish, and any such blemish would reflect poorly on the Captain of the Guard. Evan tried to calm his frantic heart. It thumped against his ribs, and his breaths were shallow. He was sure there was something that he had forgotten, but what? He glanced around. The barracks were tidier than they had ever been before. The men were all fierce Highland warriors, exemplifying the qualities that were sung in myths and legends. They had broad shoulders, thick muscles, and strong hearts, hearts that were devoted to defending the clan.

After the messy business with the previous Laird, the reserves of the guard had been severely depleted. Many of them had been bullies, promoted to their position because they were willing to enforce the Laird’s will at the expense of the people, rather than acting out of a code of honor. Logan, Evan’s uncle, had worked hard to rebuild the guard and turn it into a force that the new Laird could trust and be worthy of. With so many bandits hanging around, it was also necessary to form a fighting force quickly. However, Logan’s best years were behind him and after putting together a battalion he decided that he did not wish to be the Captain of the Guard any longer, but rather just a teacher to those who wished to be added to the ranks of the noble warriors. With his discerning eye, nobody who was not deserving of the position would become a guard, and it was hoped that the ranks would never be sullied with such dishonorable men as before.

His most promising student was then promoted to the rank of Captain, and this also happened to be his nephew. At 27, Evan knew that the prestigious position came to him at a young age. If not for the unique circumstances of the clan he would have had far more experience to draw upon, and would have served under a more hardened warrior. As it was, he was deemed responsible enough to lead the guard into a new era. Youth was the new theme of the clan, it seemed, with the Laird being young as well. It was a sign that things in the Highlands were changing, and everyone liked the sense of a fresh beginning that was pervading the place.

But, Evan knew there was a sense of skepticism from some quarters. While his men knew that he deserved the position on merit as he could defeat any of them in hand-to-hand combat, as well as possessing a shrewd mind, there were people who believed he had been given the position because of his blood ties to Logan. Evan wanted to prove them all wrong and make sure the Laird knew that Evan would serve the clan well.

The murmur of conversation arrived shortly before the two men walked into the long barracks. They shared a good rapport. Lachlan was older than Pascal and possessed a more savage look. Pascal had soft features, but his strength was well known throughout the clan. His renown was legendary for freeing the clan from his tyrannical predecessor and ending a long ten years of hardship and austerity. For the first time in a long time, it felt as though the people of the clan could breathe freely again without having to fear starvation or illness. Wealth and happiness were flowing through the clan, and Evan just hoped that he could protect what they all adored.

He stood to attention, puffing out his chest and holding his head high. His proud chin jutted out. Pascal nodded to him.

“Lachlan, this is our captain of the guard, Evan McPherson. He’s Logan’s nephew,” Pascal explained. Lachlan held out his hand. Evan took it and braced himself against the pain that came from Lachlan’s vice-like grip. Lachlan’s gaze focused on him, and Evan knew exactly what he was thinking.

Such a young lad. He must be here as a favor tae his Uncle.

Evan did not flinch though, and he did not allow these misgivings to flicker in his eyes.

“If ye fight as well as yer uncle then the clan is in good shape,” Lachlan said. Evan nodded.

“I try and live up tae the example he set, but I’m nae sure anyone could be a match for him with a sword,” Evan said, and then hoped that he hadn’t offended Pascal by saying this. The Laird and his guest strolled around the barracks. Evan found that he was holding his breath, only noticing when he felt his chest growing tight. He only became relieved when Pascal and Lachlan passed over the things that they were inspecting with nothing more than a murmur of approval. They walked up and down the line of men, returning to Evan eventually.

“Ye hae a fine group of men here. I’m sure the clan is in good hands,” Pascal said.

A smile appeared on Evan’s face, although he tried to make sure he remained composed. “Thank ye, Sir, and I can assure ye that we will defend the land and the people with all our might. I hae already been sending patrols out tae scout the surrounding area. The celebrations will proceed without any disturbance. Naebody will hae tae worry for their safety on my watch. My guards will remain vigilant as long as needed,” Evan said.

“I’m sure they can enjoy at least a wee sip of ale,” Lachlan winked. Evan wasn’t sure if Lachlan was teasing him, or if this was a test. Perhaps he needed to insist that his men would remain disciplined even if the Laird himself offered them a drink. However, before he could think of a reply, Pascal was laughing and Evan realized it was a joke.

“Of course, but make sure ye men are aware that threats can come from anywhere, even within the clan,” Pascal said.

“Dae ye really think that could happen? I thought everyone was happy under yer rule?” Lachlan asked.

“They are, at least that is the impression I get. But I hae learned tae be cautious. It never hurts tae be careful. I am never gaeing tae take anything for granted. Besides, it is nae my people that I am worried about.”

Lachlan nodded and wore a solemn expression. “I know it must be hard for ye tae invite people who used tae shun ye, but this is yer chance tae show them how wrong they were. They cannae ignore ye now that ye are a Laird, Pascal.”

“And that is what I am afraid of,” Pascal said with a thin smile.

“As ever ye are prudent, my Laird,” Evan bowed his head. “I can assure ye that everything will gae smoothly. Ye will nae hae tae worry about anything other than celebrating yer birthday. I will watch ye as closely as a hawk, and at the first sign of trouble I shall draw my sword and ensure that violence will nae darken the feast.”

Pascal nodded and turned to Lachlan. “There is nae finer swordsman in the clan. We are fortunate tae hae Evan,” Pascal said. He then turned back to the captain of the guard. “Thank ye for gathering yer men here. I’m quite confident that ye hae everything well in hand. Carry on,” Pascal said.

He and Lachlan sauntered out of the room. Evan felt all the tension leave his body, turning his limbs liquid. He turned to his men and smiled, ready to thank them, but as he did so he heard the faint whisper of conversation receding as Pascal and Lachlan left. The words trailed away, but they only served to stab at Evan’s heart.

“He seems like a good lad, but rather young tae be a captain, is nae he?” Lachlan asked. Evan did not get to hear Pascal’s reply. His heart sank and he almost hoped that there would be an outbreak of violence so that he could prove to everyone that he was deserving of this position. He was ready to give his life for the clan, and ready to do his uncle proud. He remembered well the words that his uncle had given him when he first promoted Evan to the position of Captain. Logan had spoken of it as though it was a burden rather than a blessing.

“Ye are gaeing tae need tae change yer ways, Evan,” Logan had said. “Up until now, ye hae been a lad, enjoying yeself. Ye hae laughed and sang and ye hae taken few things seriously, but that hae tae change. Nae longer can ye be sae arrogant and brash. Nae longer can ye only concern yerself with matters of pleasure. Ye need tae think about the entire clan. The responsibility can break ordinary men, but I see something in ye. I see greatness. I dinnae hae a son of my own, and ye are the closest thing tae it. I see a lot of myself in ye, and I hope that ye will live up tae my expectations. I am gaeing tae put my reputation behind ye, sae if ye fail nae only will ye be failing yerself and the clan, but ye will be letting me down as well. Dinnae make a fool of me, Evan.”

Even now when Evan thought about it, his throat became tight and he felt the weight of responsibility upon him. So far there had not been any true test of his abilities, but he had to be alert for when one did come, because it was almost guaranteed that one would.

* * *

Amelie had finally managed to extricate herself from the conversation. Pascal and Lachlan had returned and had many good things to say about the guards. Amelie didn’t pay much attention to this. While she admired guards for their strength and their ability to keep people safe, she had never understood how easily they picked up a sword and drew blood. The thought of violence made cold nausea flow through her and she shuddered. She knew the world needed good men to be violent sometimes, but she could never indulge such instincts herself. She simply wasn’t built for it. It would have been far easier if the world could be as peaceful as the nunnery. There was never any violence reaching them there, for they were protected by God.

With Pascal, Lachlan, Fleur, and Bridget all in the same room, the conversation was loud and raucous, and there was no chance for Amelie to get a word in. She sat there quietly and demurely, enjoying the gentle noise, feeling no need to enter the conversation at all. The others spoke around her, and in this way, she felt akin to a spirit, a silent observer that none of the others were aware of. Eventually, the others said they needed to retire. They all bid each other goodnight. Amelie hugged them each in turn and then, as they walked away in chatty pairs, Amelie shuffled back to her room.

She lit a candle and closed the shutters of the window. She preferred to keep the shutters open at night to allow the air to come into the room, but she knew that things were only going to get noisier as more visitors arrived. Pascal and Lachlan had spoken about people from the surrounding clans arriving at all hours of the day. They would make use of the inns, as well as setting up their own camps in the open fields. It made Amelie shudder to think of all these people, these strangers, in close vicinity to her. Some people loved the idea of encountering new people, but Amelie only ever felt a spike of fear when this happened. It was the same even in the nunnery; when a new person arrived she was flush with anxiety and hid behind the others, only presenting herself when she was certain it was safe. It did not matter whether it was a man or a woman, Amelie was always going to be the last one to trust them.

When she closed her eyes she could see herself in a hall surrounded by these people, each of them giants that loomed over her, speaking as if forming words was the easiest thing in the world. There would be so much noise. Deafening, suffocating, cacophonous noise that would shake her skull and make her teeth chatter and it filled her with such anguish that she would curl into a ball and then be trampled by people who didn’t notice her at all.

She found herself gripping the sides of the bed. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and along her collarbone, wending its way beneath her smock. Breaths were hard to come by. It felt as though her throat was being squeezed by invisible hands.

This used to be what every moment was like for her. She had forgotten it mostly in the intervening years. Being in the convent had afforded her peace of mind and given her the strength she needed to be at peace. But this place plunged her back into despair, and turned all of the strong foundations she had built into rubble. It was as though she was a child again, helpless and vulnerable to the ills of the world. She wondered if she would ever change. Fleur seemed to think that she was growing up, her maturity delayed, but Amelie didn’t believe it was ever going to happen.

Perhaps things would have been easier if she had learned to wield a sword when she had been younger. She laughed at herself as she imagined herself and Pascal being the dueling twins, a pair of siblings who would never allow any injustice to take place. Would she have found solace in a sword the same way that Pascal had? He had turned to a weapon, while she had turned to God.

She fell to her knees and bowed her head, seeking comfort in her prayers. She repeated some of the verses Sister Cora had taught her, whispering so gently she barely made any sound at all. They sounded wrong as they struggled out of her mouth. Sister Cora and the others always imbued them with a lyrical, poetic quality. When Amelie spoke they were choking sounds. She opened her eyes and reached out to grab her slate board, pulling it close to her, using it as a shield. She had left it in her room, hoping that it would encourage her to speak more. Sister Cora compared her slate to a man using a cane to walk. If a recovering man relied on the cane too much then he would never learn to walk under his own power again, and in a similar manner, Amelie had to practice speaking in order to get more used to it. With her family it was usually possible, but the thought of all these strangers watching her, waiting for her to make a mistake… it was simply too much to bear.

She clutched to the same things she had when she had been a child. She went back to those things that Fleur had said before, about how she should try and open her mind to new ways of living. Fleur wanted her to change, and yet in some ways it was Fleur who prevented that change. After all, Fleur still treated her as a child, still nursed her when she fell as though she was going to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. Amelie wasn’t a child, yet she had no idea how to be an adult. Even Sister Cora had been married and only turned to the convent later in life. Amelie wanted to skip over the complicated part that involved becoming close with other people… was that so wrong?

Her mind turned to the restless horse she had observed when arriving in the clan again. She felt similar to that animal. She could feel herself wanting to flail her arms about and free. She was tangled, not by rope, but by family obligations and promises that she could not break. There was no handler to calm her down though, nobody to put their hands over her eyes and promise her that everything was going to be well.

It was only a short time longer, she told herself. Once the feast was over she could return to the nunnery and resume her duties there. She had important things to do, things that she knew she was capable of doing, and she did not have to be ashamed of failure. It was just a short time, and she knew that God would be able to provide her with the strength to get through it all. Pascal and the others could not be angry with her for wanting to resume her service to God either.

She climbed into bed and breathed deeply, thinking of the nunnery. She tried to remember all the different types of flowers that existed in the garden, and in this way, she was able to lull herself to sleep.