Highlander’s Wrath by Adamina Young
Chapter 1
Ewan heard Laird Drummond’s words as though they came from very far away. He had not slept well since his mother had woken the staff before dawn with her piercing screams nearly two sennights ago. His manservant, Gillespie, had torn apart the curtains surrounding his bed not long after, breathlessly imploring his master to rise and go to his mother’s side at once.
He had rushed to his parents’ chambers after hastily donning some trews under his nightshirt, only to find his father already stiff, cold, and grey. Lady Sheena Brodie must have been sleeping next to a corpse for most of the night if she had decided to visit her husband’s bedchamber during the night—something she often chose to do. It was a well-known fact that, besides still being very much in love after five and thirty years of marriage, Laird and Lady Brodie took great pleasure in each other’s company. The union had produced three surviving daughters, all not yet old enough to leave the schoolroom, and one son, Ewan.
Laird Andarsan Brodie had brought his young bride back to the clan lodge when he was not quite thirty years of age. He considered it late in life to be settling down and setting up a nursery, but the late laird had been fond of adventure and was stubborn enough to wait for the perfect woman to come along before he gave up his wandering life.
There had been no rush for him to produce an heir; he had a younger brother, Malcolm, who was more than capable of taking his place. In fact, Malcolm handled all his affairs when he traveled. Andarsan thought of his young brother as a cross between a steward and a secretary, and his journeys became more frequent, with fewer visits home in between them.
One visit home was all it took for Andarsan to lose his heart. He met young Sheena MacDougal while visiting the local village, and knew at once his traveling days were over. She was a wee slip of a girl, five and ten years of age, long blonde hair, and eyes as green as jade. They were married as soon as the banns had been read.
After their son was old enough to understand the politics of clan business, Andarsan had sat him down and spoken to him about taking his time to find a wife.
“As much as I would love for ye to make an alliance with one of our neighboring clans, Ewan me boy, ‘tis far better ye bide a while and marry when ye are good and ready—and make sure it’s to a woman ye adore. Marriage lasts a long time, an’ that’s too long to be livin’ with someone ye cannae abide!”
Ewan had been happy to take his father’s advice. That was, until he turned twelve and had a chance encounter with the wee Drummond girl.
He had been riding his new horse through the woods when he had heard the sound of crying. Brought up to be kind and helpful by his mother, Ewan guided his horse to where the sound of sobs was coming. He found a small girl sitting in the undergrowth, bawling fit to scare away every bird within earshot.
After dismounting and tying the reins to a tree branch, he approached the child.
“What is wrong? Are ye lost?” he asked softly, not wanting to frighten her away.
The girl’s blonde hair was tangled into knots, and her short skirts were dirty. She did not shy away from him when she looked up. Her big blue eyes full of tears and her little mouth dragged down in sadness, she said, “Nay, I’m nae lost. But me daggie is. I cannae find him, and I ken he went in here.”
Ewan stretched out his hand to the girl, and said, “Wheesht, child, let’s go look for yer dag together, shall we?”
The minute the girl stopped crying, Ewan heard whimpering. He followed the sound, bringing the girl with him. The whimpering came from a rabbit hole.
Placing his riding crop on the ground, Ewan stuck his arm as far down the hole as it would go. He had to push his face into the turf and insert his entire shoulder before his fingertips felt a small paw. He grabbed it and pulled. The paw kicked back, and he lost his hold a few times before the animal realized he wanted to help it. With one hard tug, the terrier had come out wriggling and yelping, and jumped into the girl’s arms.
“Thank ye, thank ye!” The girl had beamed up at him, her face wreathed in a smile. “Would ye like to come home with me and Nursie will take care of those stains on yer coat for ye?”
Ewan glanced down at his grass-stained coat and said, “Nay, lass, ‘tis well enough. Where do ye live? Are ye nae a wee bit far from home yerself?”
As though reciting her lessons, the small girl said proudly, “Me name is Abigail Drummond, and I live up at Drummond Castle Keep. And this is me daggie, Spillikins.”
Trying to hide a smile at her formality, Ewan said, “Pleased to meet ye, Abigail. I’m Ewan Brodie, one o’ yer neighbors. Allow me to carry Spillikins and ye back to the keep.”
Little Abigail kept up a flow of artless chatter as he carried her home, sitting in front of him on the horse, the terrier clasped in her arms. When they were within sight of the gates, he dismounted and held out his arms for her to jump into.
“Weeee! I’m flying!” she squealed, kicking her legs out until they made contact with the ground again.
“Come home with me!” She tugged on his hand, trying to take him with her.
Ewan smiled. “We’re neighboring clans, Abigail Drummond, so I’m sure ye’ll be seeing a lot more of me in the future.”
She nodded solemnly, and replied, “Aye, I will see ye again because when I get bigger, I’m going to marry ye.”
And on those words, she skipped away and ran inside the castle gates.
Ewan could remember that day as though it had happened yesterday. And now, here was Laird Drummond telling him the wedding—the wedding Abigail and he had been planning and yearning for their whole lives—was off! All because of the whisperings of some deranged monk? It was impossible.
Before he even had time to collect his thoughts into a coherent argument, Laird Drummond had already turned on his heel and walked away.
Ewan did not bother to go and watch Lady Drummond lowered into the grave. Instead, he dashed for his horse and rode like a madman all the way back to the lodge.
As he strode past the guards and slammed into his bedchamber, Ewan knew his actions were not fitting for the new laird of the Brodie clan, but he no longer cared. He was frozen by the clamoring voices in his head: the sound of his mother’s cries when she was dragged away from his father’s coffin.
The tears of sorrow in Abigail’s eyes when she had spoken to him at the chapel.
The loud laughter of his father, which he would never hear again.
These visions and memories were all he could seem to think about. Ewan paced around his bedchamber, kicking out at the armchair that got in the way of his steps, cursing under his breath.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
“Go away!” Ewan snarled, and then he heard the sound of feet shuffling away.
What on earth has happened to our two families? There has to be an alliance between the Brodie and Drummond clans. With all the encroachments on our lands from aggressive Highland men, eager to prove themselves worthy of lairdship, it has never been more important for us to band together and strengthen ourselves through the union of marriage.
A resolution did not present itself to Ewan, no matter how much he paced his room like a caged lion. It did not seem as if Laird Drummond was in his right mind. He knew, as much as Ewan did, that when Abigail married into the Brodie clan, it would make their families one of the most powerful in the region, above the petty conflicts that persecuted other clans. And here he was calling the whole thing off because of what some lone advisor had told him?
There was only one way to set things straight. Ewan resolved to go up the mountain and see the hermit for himself.
The serving maids had left him some bannocks and ale on a salver. He crammed a few of the heavy slices of baked oatmeal into his pocket and drank some ale. It would not be wise going thirsty and starving up the impressively steep Cairngorm mountains.
He threw a traveling cloak over his wide shoulders, and ran to the stables. Not long after, Ewan was riding up toward Braeriach, where he knew he would find the hermit’s shelter.
The ridge leading up Braeriach was invitingly smooth and level, but Ewan knew this part of the Highlands like the back of his hand, and was not deceived by its enticing appearance. Traces of snow could still be seen on some of the peaks even though the air was warm in the valleys; if the mountains felt like it, they could create a freezing mist or chilling gale in the blink of an eye. Ewan watched the clouds suspiciously, ready to turn back if they threatened to lower or shed rain.
Following the River Dee northwards to its source, Ewan knew he would be able to spy the hermit’s shelter if he kept looking to the left.
The winter snows had melted enough to make the river swell over its banks in some parts. Spring flowers nodded in the breeze, and the smell of white heather permeated the air.
Abigail was to wear a sprig of white heather in her hair for good luck at our wedding. Will I have to wait for it to bloom on the mountain slopes once more before I can hold her in me arms and call her me wife?
Ewan did not allow these depressing thoughts to linger. The river bent sharply to the west; he saw a decrepit stone bothy erected halfway up the hillside. He kicked his horse into a canter and urged it up the mountain.
The sound of hoofbeats must have alerted the man inside the bothy because he was waiting for Ewan outside when the horse thudded to a stop below the north-facing gable.
Ewan swung his legs over the saddle and dismounted with a jump. He strode over to the man, very much aware that he had been the person to tell Laird Graham that Abigail could not marry him.
If Ewan had been expecting to meet a wise sage with eyes full of arcane knowledge and mystical tales, he was doomed to disappointment. The man stood in a relaxed manner, propping up the doorpost with a wry smile on his face, and seemed to have been expecting Ewan’s visit.
Thank you for reading the preview! Excited?
Click Here to read “Highlander’s Cursed Moon”