Highlander’s Broken Love by Fiona Faris
Chapter Twenty-Five
Once they had returned to their main camp by the ruined castle, Ian put his plans in motion. Families were given food, and the reserves of other supplies were distributed too, including access to medicinal items. Then the men were put to work. Farmers and farmhands brought back harvests while laborers began to build houses. Another well was under construction to bring in more fresh water. Soldiers had been placed around the perimeter of the new town, keeping a close eye on the outskirts, just in case there was any more trouble from Grier.
After a few days of hard work, Ian wandered between the groups, checking in on his plans. People were busy and happy. Already, Ualan and Torquil had come to visit him that morning with some plans for a new council that they wished to discuss with him. He was pleased with their plans, and they had organized a meeting for the following morning, during which they would discuss everyone’s ideas.
Ian was excited by their determination to help. If he was going to make the clan as successful as it had been under Fionntan’s lairdship, then he needed everyone’s help for the task.
Yet as he walked around the camp, he struggled to smile. Everywhere he looked, he found himself wondering what Elisabeth would think of it all. He longed to talk to her and ask her opinion of it. Then he’d have to remind himself that she was General Rolfe’s daughter, and the argument with Alex would come back to him.
Ian found he didn’t know his own mind, but it was clear that, whenever he thought of Elisabeth, he felt distrust, guilt, and heat. Three things that were struggling to settle themselves.
When Ian saw Kenny helping to rebuild some of the houses, assisting with the wattle and daub, he walked over, unable to stay away. He was managing the pain he had been suffering the last few days by avoiding asking about Elisabeth or mentioning her name at all. Kenny was the last person to see her before she was delivered to her father, so he had made a point of avoiding Kenny, too.
“Kenny?” Ian asked, calling his friend’s attention away from his work.
“Yes?” he said, rushing over with some wooden strips in his hands for the building. He was trying to weave them together in a pattern to help hurry the build. Ian went to assist him as Kenny reached his side.
“What happened?” Ian asked, giving into his curiosity at last. “When ye delivered Elisabeth to her faither?”
“I couldn’t go very far,” Kenny explained, frowning as he concentrated on the wooden strips. “I watched from the trees as she walked up to the castle. Her father ran out the door and embraced her before walking her in. She didn’t go very quickly.”
“What do ye mean?” Ian asked, intrigued by these words.
“She kept glancing back to where I was hiding in the trees. She seemed upset after I told her I recognized the flags.”
“The flags?” Ian prompted him on.
“The same standard and emblem that was on the prison,” Kenny explained, to which Ian nodded. He couldn’t make much sense of her actions. He told himself that he was just trying to read something into it. That his heart, which still bled for her, wished her to be the woman he’d thought her to be, rather than the woman she truly was, General Rolfe’s daughter. “She was sad though, my Laird. She was upset by something you said.”
“She will get over it,” Ian said with resolve as he finished helping Kenny weave the wood together. “She’s home now with her faither.”
“Can I ask what it is you said to her?” Kenny asked.
“Nay, ye may nae,” Ian said, giving Kenny a warning glance.
“Very well,” he shrugged and turned away again, speaking over his shoulder as he walked back to the building work, “but you should know this. I’ve never seen a woman cry so much as she did on that ride to Duns Castle.” As Kenny returned to the building, Ian looked away. He didn’t need to hear about Elisabeth’s sadness; it just made him feel guilty again.
Ye cannae trust her. Remember that.
He walked on through the town, continuing to survey the progress they were making. Around the castle ruins, houses were beginning to come together. For just a few days, they had already made good progress. It would take a long time to build the place up to what it had been under Fionntan’s lairdship, but Ian was willing to put in the hard work to make it successful. It would just take a little time.
“Me Laird?” Bhaltair’s voice disturbed Ian, calling his attention away from his thoughts.
“Aye?” Ian looked round to see Bhaltair approaching him.
“I think somethin’ is wrong,” Bhaltair said, shaking his head.
“What do ye mean?” Ian asked, watching as Bhaltair looked around them, glancing back and forth.
“Gilroy was assigned to lookout post this mornin’,” Bhaltair explained in a whisper. “He was supposed to come back an hour ago, and I was to relieve him. He’s still nae back.”
“Ye’ve gone to check on him?” Ian asked, feeling his body tense.
“I have,” Bhaltair nodded. “He’s nae where he should be.”
“We search for him, now,” Ian said, worried now, since Gilroy was a responsible soldier and it was not like him to be anywhere other than where he was supposed to be. His heartache over Elisabeth would have to wait for now. “Get everyone ye can. We search for him, now. The English could be back. Send the clan into their houses for now, urge them to take cover. Send more lookouts to the trees, too. If the English are here, I want to ken it.”
It only took a few minutes to gather enough soldiers to perform the search. Others joined in too, some of the builders and even Kenny, who had picked up a sword that looked a little too big for his size. Families took cover indoors, and more men took to the trees, all searching, yet no one could see any signs of English soldiers.
“Ye three, take the north side; ye four the south. The rest of ye, search the river and the land beyond. Check high as well as low. If Gilroy has met some trouble, then we could be lookin’ at an ambush here. Be on yer guard,” Ian warned the soldiers that were gathered around him. “Now, go.” He looked around as the soldiers nodded and hurried off to perform their searches.
“Where are you going?” Kenny asked, reaching Ian’s side.
“I’m goin’ to check the castle ruins,” Ian said, gesturing to the fallen remnants of what was once his father’s grand home. “Someone could hide in there very easily.”
“Then I’ll come with you,” Kenny said, walking alongside him.
“Nay, I need ye to join the others,” Ian stopped and took Kenny’s shoulder, turning him to face the direction that some of the soldiers had gone. “Go with the party searchin’ the river.” Kenny didn’t object; he walked off, though he glanced back a few times in Ian’s direction.
Ian headed into the castle, through what once was a grand gate but now was little more than a decrepit archway with the stones falling down on one side. He headed toward the main keep of the castle, constantly scanning for anything out of the ordinary with his hand on his belt, ready to pull a weapon free if it was needed.
Hardly anyone went into these ruins these days, for there was no need to. Anything of any value inside had been pillaged by General Rolfe and his soldiers when they attacked the Buchanan Clan, and Ian’s first priority was to rebuild his people’s homes. Once they were done, he would then rebuild the castle.
As he passed into the keep, he stopped in the doorway. What had before been a grand hallway, lined with his father’s clan colors, was now a shell of a room. Tapestries were blackened from the fire that had ravaged the place, and the stone floor was dappled with blood and the debris of broken furniture. At the far end of the room, the chair where his father used to sit was on its side with its legs broken.
Ian found himself rushing toward it, uncertain why, but there was this need in him to set things right. He reached for the chair and stood it right side up. Even with the broken legs, it could remain in that position although at an odd angle. He rested a hand on the back of the chair for some time, wondering what his father would say if he could be in the room now and see what had happened to his home.
Standing behind the chair, Ian could picture the room as it used to be…his father sitting in the chair with his warm and charismatic smile, looking out over the members of the clan that had come to see him. It had been a room of happiness once, but that was long ago.
Ian shook his head. It was hard not to get drawn into thoughts of the past inside the ruins of his father’s castle, but he had no time for memories right now. If just one or two individuals had hurt Gilroy and crept into camp, the ruins were an excellent place to hide.
Ian moved away from the chair and crossed to the other side of the room, determined to finish his search. He went to what had formerly been the grand staircase and climbed quickly. Here, there was more debris on the stairs from when Rolfe and his men had attacked. As he reached the first floor, there were holes in the castle walls where canon balls had broken through, revealing streams of sunlight where it had once been dark and cozy, lit only by candles.
On the top floor, Ian found his old room. He searched it quickly for signs of anyone hiding. It was stripped and completely empty, without a fragment of furniture left in it. Beside his room was his parents’ chamber. It had been similarly stripped, though there was a writing table in a corner of the room underneath one of the old windows whose glass now littered the floor and the table.
He hurried toward it and pushed the glass fragments off the surface, looking down at the table. This was where his father had sat and written most of his correspondence over the years. In one corner of the wooden surface, there were scratch marks that had been made by a quill. Ian ran his fingers over it, finding his father’s signature had been scratched into the surface.
Laird Fionntan Buchanan.
He hesitated with his fingers on the etching, marveling at how such a small thing had survived the attack on the clan. He stared at it for some time, hoping and praying that his father would be proud of what he was doing now. He had reclaimed the clan from Grier’s grasp and was going to return it to the level of prosperity it had once enjoyed.
“There are two things ye need to take care of in this life, son,” Fionntan’s voice came back to him. The memory was as clear as if it had happened just the day before, rather than many, many years ago. Ian closed his eyes, recalling what his father had been doing when he spoke. He was sitting at this very table writing letters when he had looked at Ian, barely the height of the table at that long-ago time, standing by his side.
“What, faither?” Ian had asked.
“The first is the happiness of yer people,” Fionntan had said, lifting Ian onto his lap so that he could look out of the glass window toward the people in the town below.
“And the second?” Ian had prompted him on.
“It is the happiness of yerself and yer family,” as Fionntan had said the words, he’d smiled, as Ian’s mother walked into the chamber, singing a tune softly.
Ian opened his eyes and looked down at the carving in the table, understanding for the first time what his father had meant that day.
There was a footstep behind him.
Ian spun around on the spot, looking for an intruder. The room was empty. Yet the footstep came again, out in the corridor. He ran out of the chamber and, once in the corridor, he heard a whoosh of air—the sound of a blade. He dived to the floor, rolling away from his previous position. He looked up in time to see Grier standing there in the corridor.
Grier had crept his way into the castle and was hiding there. Now, he had a sword high in his hand and was coming toward Ian with it.
“I should have got rid of ye years ago after yer faither died,” Grier muttered as he struck out at the Laird of the Buchanan Clan. Ian jumped to his feet just in time, escaping the sword blow. “I would have saved meself a whole load of trouble.”
Ian went for the sword in his belt, but Grier was quicker, and the blade caught the edge of Ian’s knuckles. He backed away, snatching his hand out of reach.
“Instead, I’ll have to deal with ye now,” Grier lifted the sword in the air another time. Ian saw his chance and took the blade from his belt, but it wasn’t needed.
There was a roar from nearby, and what happened next was a blur. Another body had jumped in front of him, sword in hand. With the sheer force of the tackle, Grier was knocked from his feet, onto the floor on his back. The second person was above him, kneeling on his chest, keeping him down on the stone floor with a sword pressed across Grier’s throat.
“Move and I cut your throat,” said Kenny.
The sight of Kenny, pinning Grier down to the floor, made Ian smile. Kenny had obviously disobeyed Ian’s order and followed him into the ruins, after all. Grier dropped his sword on the floor and held up his hands in surrender.
“Kenny,” Ian said, “Ye saved me life.”
“It’s about time,” Kenny said with a smile of his own, looking up at Ian momentarily. “I have finally fulfilled my vow to you.”
“Ye are a good man indeed,” Ian said, reaching for a rope in his belt to tie Grier’s hands. “Come on, let’s get Grier down into the dungeons. If they arenae in ruins, that is.”
* * *
By the time Grier was locked up in the dungeons, he was not the only one who had been found sneaking around the camp. Jockie had been found down by the river. They had both jumped on Gilroy while he was on lookout and knocked him unconscious before sneaking in. Gilroy had been found under a clump of trees, injured and dizzy, but he would survive.
“Did they say anythin’?” Alex asked as Ian walked out of the dungeons with Bhaltair and Kenny at his side.
“Nothin’,” Ian shook his head. “I am nae sure they needed to.”
“What do ye mean?” Alex asked.
“Grier was tryin’ to kill me. It was his attempt at takin’ back the lairdship,” Ian explained before laying a hand on Kenny’s shoulder. “Thanks to Kenny, that didnae happen.” Kenny smiled, clearly warmed by Ian’s praise.
“And ye are sure that is what is afoot here?” Alex asked.
“What else would it be?” Ian asked, watching his friend closely.
“I daenae ken,” Alex said, looking around the perimeter of the camp. “But if there were two spies that crept into yer camp, I wouldnae rule out that there could be more.”
* * *
Elisabeth now knew what people meant when they talked of a broken heart. She spent the first three days after leaving Ian’s side wallowing in her misery, and when she attempted to cheer herself up and be happy again, she found the task a nearly impossible one.
She missed him. She longed to be beside him, and, whatever she did to occupy herself, she felt like her chest was aching the entire time.
On the fourth day, it became apparent to her that her father wasn’t taking them back home. Instead, they were staying at the camp in Duns Castle in Scotland, with the soldiers doing daily maneuvers outside. Each time she caught a glimpse of a flag or saw the soldiers going about their activities, she thought of what Kenny had said about her father governing the prison.
Although she didn’t want to believe her father was truly responsible for Ian’s torture, she had to accept that it was a possibility. After all, Kenny had been sure of the flags being flown.
“Alsace, when are we going home?” Elisabeth asked her father’s aide as she passed by him in the corridor.
“I do not believe your father intends to go home for a while, my Lady,” Alsace said with a little frown. “Has he not discussed his plans with you?”
“Not at all,” Elisabeth said tightly. She had never been particularly close to her father, but, after her arrival at the castle, he had been astounded by her return and had been very affectionate for the first half hour or so. Since then, she had barely seen him, and they were back to their usual behavior, keeping a distance from one another.
“Ah, well, he is in the study if you would like to speak with him,” Alsace said before hurrying away.
Elisabeth decided it would be a good idea to speak to her father after all, but not about why they were still at Duns Castle. She had to know if what Kenny said had been the truth. She had always suspected that her father may not be the most honorable man in the world. Being a General in the army must be a difficult business, and his refusal to speak of it plainly had always been a little suspicious. Yet she didn’t want to think her father was capable of such an extent of cruelty. Was her father responsible for the torture of innocents? Was he also responsible for the invasion of the Buchanan Clan which had brought those people to their knees? All those women and children without homes and with little food?
She needed answers, and she had wallowed in her heartbreak long enough without trying to find them.
She hurried toward the study and knocked on the door, waiting for an answer.
“Enter,” her father’s voice called.
As she stepped into the room, which was dark and lit by just a few candles in the dying evening light, she found her father looking over charts and maps. He lifted his eyes to meet hers through the dusky candlelight.
“What did you want, Elisabeth?”
