The Niece of His Highland Enemy by Alisa Adams
10
“Shall we dismount and walk the rest of the way?” Moire suggested.
“Let us wait until we have reached the front gates and been acknowledged as welcome guests,” Fergus replied uneasily. He did not wish to elaborate, but inwardly, he was concerned that he might need to ride off again suddenly, perhaps with a hail of spears and arrows flying after him.
Moire rolled her eyes, and for a moment, it looked like she was about to reiterate that no harm would come to him. Instead, though, she kept riding forward.
He may be acting silly, she told herself, but his fear for his life is real enough, just like mine was after he saved me from the shore. I should be respectful of that, as he was with me when I went mad with fright upon waking in the castle. Besides, he will be put at ease by my uncle soon enough. I can go along with his anxieties until then.
As they drew nearer to the tall, black, imposing gates, Fergus spotted a quartet of sentries perched above the entrance. “Halt!” one of them called out. “Identify yourselves at once!” He pulled back the string on a longbow, and Fergus saw that the others who flanked him were following suit.
He took a deep breath, keenly aware that it could well be the last he ever took—taken through his nose and mouth, at least, rather than a series of whistling arrow wounds in his chest.
“I am Laird Fergus Brodie,” he announced, “and I have come in peace in the hope of returning Laird Ronald’s wayward niece to him.”
The main guard peered down at them, and his eyes widened. “‘Tis her indeed! Open the gate and let them in, this instant! Alert the laird that Moire has safely come home to him!”
The other guards scrambled to obey, colliding with each other in their eagerness to carry out their orders and mumbling apologies in the process. Within moments, the gate creaked open, and Fergus and Moire were ushered onto the grounds of the castle.
The heavy oak doors of the castle opened, and Ronald Campbell scurried out, his face full of surprise and joy. He was a tall and robust-looking man with a bulbous red nose, a shaved head, and a snowy-white beard that grew down to his waist in a pair of thick braids.
“My beloved niece!” he cried happily, running to her and embracing her. “Where have you been, child? I have been beside myself with worry!”
“I am so pleased to be home again, Uncle!” she replied. “I would never have seen you again were it not for the aid of Laird Brodie!”
Ronald raised his eyebrows at Fergus, looking him over. “Aye, is that right? Well, I imagine there is quite a tale to be told, then. I look forward to hearing it over supper. You may remain as my guest for as long as it suits you.”
Fergus breathed a sigh of relief. Thank the Lord I shall not die this day, he thought.
Except that a voice deeper down inside him grimly reminded him that such a thing was not guaranteed, that his safety might only be momentary, an act on Ronald’s part to please his niece before showing a very different face when he was alone with Fergus within the castle.
Fergus resolved to remain vigilant through the evening, just in case.
Ronald led them into the castle, and although Fergus did not turn and look, the sound of the doors closing behind him made him feel as though he was being sealed into a tomb, one he might never escape from if he did not keep his wits about him.
“Under ordinary circumstances,” Ronald told them, “I would offer my guests the opportunity to go to their chambers and refresh themselves before dining with me. But you must understand, I have been so overcome with worry these past days due to Moire’s disappearance that I simply cannot wait a moment longer to hear what befell her! I do hope you will forgive a concerned uncle this small lapse in decorum?”
“Certainly,” Fergus agreed. “If I had lost someone as charming as your niece, I would have been inconsolable as well.”
Am I merely attempting to show good manners with such a comment?Fergus wondered. Or is there some part of me that is attempting to plant the seed of an idea in Ronald’s head…that I might make a desirable suitor for Moire?
Did I truly come here to forge peace with him by returning his niece, or by proposing marriage to her?
He shook his head, frustrated with himself. He knew he could not afford to fill his head with such far-fetched notions, not when he had far more pressing matters at hand, including his own survival. Ronald may have been happy to see his niece again, but he was still the man who had ordered his men into battle against the Brodies just days earlier.
And so far, he had not mentioned the hostilities between their two clans.
Needless to say, Fergus was in no particular hurry to bring it up either. Better to let them arrive at the topic in their own good time, he decided, after building up some much-needed goodwill.
They entered the dining hall, and Fergus was immediately struck by how dusty every surface seemed. There were numerous cracks and holes in the stone walls around them, and he heard moisture trickling from various points in the ceiling. The dank smell of mold filled his nostrils, and he noticed that the few candles set into the wall holders and black iron chandelier were slagged and sputtering.
Is there no one to clean this place and tend to it? he wondered. What laird with any self-respect would willingly dwell in such a ghastly home?
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Ronald urged them, gesturing to the chairs on either side of his own. A servant boy with protruding front teeth, greasy-looking red hair, and a pockmarked face entered, and Ronald addressed him: “Boy! Bring food at once! Meats and cheeses, and bread, and wine! The best our larders can provide for our honored guest!”
As the servant boy nodded and withdrew (wiping his nose on his sleeve), Fergus felt a brief wave of nausea at the idea of eating food that had been in the filthy pantries of this castle or handled by the grubby fingers of the servant. Still, he forced a smile and a grateful nod, unwilling to risk upsetting his host by declining.
“So,” Ronald said heartily as the servant returned with food and wine, “I suppose we had best start from the beginning! Moire, when last I saw you, you were going to pick flowers outside the castle walls. I realize now that I should have sent men to watch over you, but you had done it without incident so many times before that I did not believe anything bad could befall you! I have cursed myself bitterly for my complacency ever since.”
“Hush, Uncle,” she replied soothingly, taking his hand. “What happened was not your fault.”
She told him about the three men who had assaulted her, and as he heard the story repeated, Fergus felt his blood boil with rage. He wished he could find the bastards who had tried to drown her, that he might do the same to them.
When he glanced over at Ronald, he saw a similar anger blazing in the older man’s eyes.
“You must give full descriptions of the scoundrels who treated you so shamefully!” Ronald bellowed. “I shall have my most trusted men scour the land to find those whose faces match your words, and they shall be brought before you immediately so that you may identify them! I intend to see them tortured and executed for their actions!”
“A good plan indeed,” Fergus agreed, nibbling at a hard green crust of cheese and trying to hide his disgust at its rancid taste. He hoped it wouldn’t make him ill later in the night when he was trying to be aware of his surroundings and their potential dangers...but again, ignoring what was on his plate did not seem wise either. “I am tempted to remain behind long enough to witness such punishments firsthand.”
“For now, though,” Ronald went on, focusing on Fergus, “I suppose the rest of the story falls to you to tell, eh? How you managed to rescue my niece from certain doom?”
This was it, Fergus decided. The most diplomatic way to broach the topic of making peace. He hoped he wouldn’t inadvertently ruin it; he knew much of battle but far less of diplomacy. He wished (not for the first time) that his father had lived just a few years longer so that he might have learned more about such things from him before taking his place as laird.
Well, no sense in lamenting that now. All he could do was his best and hoped it was enough.
Fergus maintained steady eye contact with Ronald as he spoke. “I was leading my clansmen away from the battlefield after our defeat at the hands of the Sinclairs…supported, as they were, by your own quite formidable forces. In doing so, I happened to discover her lying on the sand. I set about to reviving her at once, and thanks to the grace and favor of the Lord, I managed to succeed. Once I had, well, I could hardly leave her shivering and unconscious on the shore, could I? Especially since I did not know who might have harmed her or whether they might return to finish the task.”
Ronald nodded slowly, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. “Yes. I suppose it goes without saying that I learned of that day’s events soon after they occurred. I suppose we have much to discuss in terms of how things unfolded, eh? No doubt that is why you chose to embark on this journey yourself and without escort. To demonstrate that you are in earnest with regard to ceasing hostilities.”
“You are a perceptive man indeed, Laird Ronald,” Fergus answered.
“I appreciate the thoughtfulness of your gesture, young man,” Ronald said. “And I am greatly indebted to you for saving Moire’s life. Perhaps we might consider that a solid foundation for now and one we might build upon over the next several days?”
Fergus raised his wine glass obligingly. “That sounds entirely sensible to me, sir.”
