Highlander’s Evil Side by Shona Thompson
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.
Looking around, he noticed his room was just as he left it, with a trunk lying across from his bed and a desk by the window, overlooking the meadows. He could see the edge of the wood where he had just come from. Puddles were already forming on the path towards the castle. With a heavy heart, he realized in the next coming days his things would be moved to his father’s quarters and study.
Fraser shook his head. Those matters can wait, he told himself while stripping off his drenched leine and hose. The fabric stuck to his chilled flesh, and he was happy to be rid of them and in freshly cleaned clothes. He had spent most of his journey wearing the same attire and knew he must smell terrible.
The leine was tight around his shoulders and his waist, yet he was thankfully able to move. The wool hose was even tighter around his muscled thighs, but the boots were a perfect fit. As soon as he was dressed, he returned to the foyer of the keep, hearing humming coming from inside the great hall. He padded inside, his attention caught by the family banners decorating the large walls with the MacClery coat of arms. It was strange for him to be here after so long. It was oddly welcoming, yet the darkness shadowing the room and his mother’s humming left an eerie feeling shuddering through him.
He turned to his mother, his eyes widening as he found her staring up at a large portrait of his father. Her hands were clenched into tight, white-knuckled fists while her entire body trembled. Fraser walked towards her, sidling up close and gazing up at his father’s painted dark eyes shrouded in dark hair. His father appeared strong and powerful in the painting, and his mother looked happy standing by his side with her hand on his shoulder. Looking between the two, Fraser could see he was a blend of both, with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s blue eyes.
“Ye-yer the laird now,” she said, her voice soft and shaking.
Fraser lifted his arm, going to wrap it around her shoulders, but stopped himself when she flinched in response. Perhaps it was the shock of her husband’s death that had her behaving in such a manner. It had been a shock to him, as well. His father had seemed well. Often they exchanged letters, and never had the man mentioned any ailment. Guilt had seized Fraser’s heart when he received the last letter informing him of his father’s passing. It had been so sudden; he didn’t know if he could believe the words written on the paper. He had cursed himself for foolishly not returning sooner. He didn’t know why he insisted on staying, only that, by living abroad, he believed he was furthering the MacClery Clan name. His father had urged him to return home sooner, yet Fraser always assumed he had time.
He assumed wrong.
“Ye have no time to waste,” his mother said harshly while turning away from him.
Fraser stared at her back, confused by her words and her cold manner. “What do ye—”
“Ye must marry to procure an alliance.”
His frown deepened, and he fought the need to argue with his mother. It had been less than an hour since he returned to Castle Dunnegan, less than a week since he returned to the highlands, and already his mother was discussing his future bride. Assuredly, he had plenty of time to look for a wife, he thought while watching his mother’s trembling shoulders.
He took a deep breath. His mother was only looking out for him, he told himself. Father’s death probably took its toll on her. He had been a strict man but a loving husband. Of course, his mother would take his death hard and worry about things that need not be worried about.
“As soon as I am fed and rested, I will arrange a celebration of my return.” Fraser smiled brightly, hoping his willingness would make her feel more relaxed. “I’m sure there will be plenty of bonnie lasses keen to bless me with their hand.”
“Nae,” his mother whispered hoarsely.
His brow furrowed, and he closed the distance between them. With one gentle touch on her shoulder, she whirled around. Her bloodshot red eyes fastened on him while she rushed out, “I have already spoken with Laird Gordon. He has promised his only daughter to ye.”
Fraser blinked, not quite understanding her words as they washed over him. “What?” he breathed.
“She and her father will be here within the next two weeks.”
Fraser’s mouth opened and closed. His fists clenched as both confusion and rage blurred within him, leaving him wobbling on his feet and his head dizzy. “Two weeks?” he repeated, his voice slightly louder than intended, making him wince at the harshness of it.
His mother’s curt nod only worsened the churning in his stomach. “Most probably less, depending on good weather and nae brigand to trifle with.”
He was to wed a woman he had never met. How could his mother do this? How did she even know they would get along well? He hardly knew of the Gordons. The name was familiar, but his father had never hosted them within his halls. They had never broken bread together or drank from the same cup.
Had his father’s death made his mother desperate? Was she so terrified of currying favor she made an alliance with a clan she hardly knew?
Fraser needed to sit. The thought of marrying a girl at this very moment made him feel ill. Instead, he pressed his fingers to his temples, massaging the dull ache.
“Fraser,” said his mother, her voice filled with worry.
He sighed and turned towards her, straightening his back. His mother looked so small and tired standing before him. She had lost her husband two months ago. Clearly, she was still in mourning. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, making his heart twist with guilt for wanting to deny the alliance. Maybe if he just met the girl, came to know the Gordon Clan, then perhaps a marriage between them would be in the future.
Fraser forced a smile and nodded his head. “Alright then,” he said. His mother’s eyes widened in surprise. “We’d best prepare rooms for our guests and scrub the halls for their arrival. I shan’t suppose they’d enjoy a dismal-looking castle. We’ll have a celebration in their honor.”
