Highland Soldiers: The Enemy (25 page)

“H, there, strangers!” From the dark shelter of trees rode three well-armed men.

The one in the lead said, “For a man with the face of a six-month-old old tattie, ‘tis a gey bonnie lassie he travels with.”

The others offered grunts of approval until they were interrupted.

“Aye, my wife is gey bonnie, and my fist is gey strong, so we’ll not be discussing it further,” Callum said with a stern look, but a glint in his eye. The three men laughed as they sheathed their swords and came closer.

“We were fishing, but this is a far finer catch than we’d hoped for.”

Callum smiled and introduced Mari to Ranald, and then to his companions, Ivar and Sandy. Although the men focused their attention at Callum, they were keenly aware of the woman with him, and made no secret of staring with admiration when conversation allowed. If their attention before had been unsettling, Mari found their current scrutiny almost unbearable.

“Go to, lads. Cease with your stares at my wife, and let us be on our way. We’re in need of a meal and some rest.”

With final admiring glances at Mari, the men turned and led the way to Invergarry Castle.

As they caught first sight of the castle, Mari looked at Callum, amazed. “This is your home?”

“I grew up here, but it isnae my home anymore.”

“You will always be welcome here,” Ranald said, with a direct look at Callum.

Callum smiled in return, but Mari saw it was forced. He leaned toward her and explained, “Someday these lands will be Ranald’s. He’s the Glengarry’s cousin and heir.”

“Aye.” Ranald nodded toward Mari with a roguish smile that made her mistrust him. “But you’ll not be far away, will you, Callum?”

Callum smiled almost sincerely as Ranald rode on to catch up with his men.

Callum turned to Mari and said, “The chief granted me land on Loch Garry. I’d begun building a home before we left for the lowlands.”

“He granted you lands?”

“Aye. I am his son.”

“You are? But if you are his son…”

“Aye, well, I am not his heir.” He watched her, patiently waiting for her to catch hold of his meaning. “My mother was not his wife.”

She raised her brows and said, “Oh.”

“Does it bother you, Mari—that you’ve married a bastard?”

She looked at him frankly. “Do you not recall how you met me? Have I reason to judge?”

He half-smiled, but remained serious. “He acknowledges me as his son. Even if he did not, everyone knows it. But I will not inherit. I’ve little to offer to you except what he has given to me.” He studied her, giving her time to absorb it. “I’m sorry, Mari.”

Mari glanced over to him as he rode alongside her. “You’re sorry? You rescued me from a shame of my own doing. You gave me love, a home, and a family, and you’re sorry?” She smiled warmly. “I am not.”

Callum drew close beside her and gave her hand a squeeze, and then they rode on to the castle.

*

No one arrived by surprise at Invergarry Castle. Scouts had seen them approaching for miles. Callum had expected an escort to greet them. What he had not expected was for it to be led by the chief, whom most called Glengarry.

“Lord MacDonell and Aros,” said Callum.

“Callum, lad,” said the chief, with a warm smile. Callum was his only son, a son whom he seemed more than willing to treat as his own. Mari saw deep warmth in his eyes as he greeted Callum. Lady MacDonell soon joined her husband with welcoming words, but hers were decidedly cool.

The chief said, “Come, lad, dismount. Let us talk.”

With a nod, Callum dismounted. The chief turned to assist his lady wife down from her horse with care. As she set her feet on the ground, Mari saw what the folds of fabric had until now concealed. She was with child, a fact which, she saw with a glance, had not escaped Callum’s notice.

Callum took a step toward the woods, but stopped as Glengarry took both of Mari’s hands in his and smiled at her warmly. “Welcome to Glengarry.” He turned to Callum. “She’s a beauty, lad.”

“Aye,” Callum said, pausing and turning to Mari with glowing regard.

But Mari could not help but wonder what sort of welcome this was, on the road leading up to the castle. The chief had to understand they were weary from riding, and would be in need of rest and refreshment, and yet none were offered.

While Glengarry exchanged conversation with Callum, Ranald and his men lingered within sight, but just out of earshot. Lady MacDonell watched her husband with his son. Mari could not help but wonder at how she viewed Callum. A woman in Lady MacDonell’s position was expected to provide her Lord and husband with a son and heir, but she had not. Callum must be, for her, a reminder of this personal failing, not to mention her husband’s infidelity. The weight of this seemed to have taken its toll in her countenance over the years. Although clearly a beauty at one time, her eyes held little light and her lips were drawn slightly down at the corners, all of which left her looking quite grim. Mari wondered how much of the decision not to name Callum as heir was the result of Lady MacDonell’s influence. A man’s guilt could be a powerful lever when artfully manipulated. In this case it would be at Callum’s expense.

As it was bound to, given the circumstances of their unusual meeting outside of the castle, the conversation faded. Awkward silence stretched out until, at last, the chief pointedly said, “You’re a wanted man, Callum.”

Callum’s eyes widened, but he otherwise hid his surprise. “Aye, I am.”

With a wry smile, Glengarry said, “There’s little that does not reach me sooner or later.”

“Aye, that does not surprise me.”

“But I dinnae ken your side of it, lad.”

Callum told him the full story of how he had taken the place of an escaped prisoner, leaving out the fact that it was Mari’s brother. Glengarry showed little reaction, for most of the story had been reported to him. When Callum was finished, Glengarry said, “What you did was a noble thing, taking the place of young Hugh. I admire you for it. But still, in the eyes of the King, you are a fugitive.”

“Aye, I am that.”

The chief looked him in the eye. He was well-practiced at concealing emotion, so his warm look spoke more than his words. “And I cannot harbor a known fugitive in my home.”

Callum nodded.

Although others would miss it from this far, Mari saw a change in Callum’s demeanor.

With a firm hand on Callum’s shoulder, the chief led him away from the others, while Mari lingered behind with Lady MacDonell. They spoke of the beauty of the area, the loch in particular, anything but what was foremost in their minds. Mari imagined herself in Lady MacDonell’s position, and decided that she was more gracious than Mari might have been. She found herself warming to Lady MacDonell, if only out of compassion.

*

“Lad, if I welcome you home I defy the King, and that is something I cannot do.”

 Callum nodded. As much as he might understand, it hurt to know he was no longer welcome at home.

The chief went on, “If questioned by the crown, I’ll deny having seen you. And I’ll deny giving you leave to remain on my land, ken?”

Callum nodded. “I’ve been on my own for a long time.” He looked away, lest his face accuse even more than his words.

This was not lost on the chief, but he ignored it. “If you keep going west, there’s a croft by the sea where you can bide.” Anyone looking on would have seen Glengarry reached out and grasp Callum’s hand. They did would not have seen the pouch of coins that he pressed into Callum’s hand.

“No, my Lord. I cannot take that.”

“You can and you will. You fought hard for the clan, and we owe you your due. It’s your pay. Take it, lad.”

Callum did, with his thanks. But the mention of fighting was only a painful reminder that he would no longer fight for his clan. Fighting was the one thing he had done well. It had brought honor to him and the memory of his mother, as well as the clan. Now he was wanted by the very men who had fought by his side. He had come down in the world, and brought Mari down with him.

Callum returned to Mari’s side and said farewell to the Lady MacDonell, and once more thanked Glengarry.

As they rode away, Mari said, “I suppose he was as kind as one could expect, given the circumstances.”

“Aye,” Callum answered, but his brooding silence said otherwise.

“And the Lady MacDonell?”

“What of her?”

“Was it not kind of her to come with him to greet us?”

“Kind? I think not.”

“Oh?”

“She tolerates my existence, but only because she has little choice. No, she was here to make sure that I saw she was pregnant.”

Before Mari could say more, Callum said, “That’s Nellie’s cottage there.”

The chief gave them leave to linger long enough to tell Nellie the sad news of Hugh’s death, and then they were forced to move on, leaving her to her grief and the comfort of friends. She was not alone, but it saddened them to leave her, broken and weeping, behind them.

*

They rode carefully over hills and rugged terrain. Callum’s only words were warnings about difficult spots here and there. Mari followed and tried not to think of what troubled her most. The day before had brought unexpected revelations about Callum’s background, made worse by the reception they had received at the castle. The fact that he was illegitimate concerned her least of all. That he had withheld this troubled her more. She had always been honest with him, and expected the same in return. And yet, had she born a child, what would her own child have endured? And how would it have shaped him? She could not judge Callum too harshly for hiding what had always led to heartache.

By the time the ground leveled out, deep fatigue had set in. Hours of rough riding and troubling thoughts had taken their toll. Mari swatted a bothersome tree branch away and cried out in frustration, “Might I ever ken where we are going? Or at least might we ride on a path, for a change?” All that she had held back rushed out with a harshness she had not intended. When Callum turned to answer, she saw how weary and preoccupied he was. She now regretted her tone.

“Aye. We’re to go to a croft by the sea. It’s far enough that no one will find us without someone coming ahead to warn us to move on.”

Callum said little else, but dark thoughts shaded his expression. The sun sank to the horizon, and the horses needed rest. They stopped to make camp for the night.

Callum sat alone on a fallen tree trunk by a burn. The water rushed along, finding its way over the small rocks and around the large boulders.

Mari left him alone for as long as she could. Unable to bear it any longer, she sat down beside him.

The words choked in his throat. “I’m sorry, lass.” He would not turn to face her.

“And why are you sorry?”

“I’ve let you down.”

Mari took his face in her hands and forced him to look in her eyes. “Callum MacDonell, you will not talk so. What you did for Hugh was the right thing. And let us not forget that it was my brother whose actions forced you to it. You promised to take care of Hugh, and you did.”

Callum turned with a guttural scoff. “A fine job I did of that.”

Mari recalled Nellie’s cry upon hearing of Hughie’s death, and the pain in Callum’s eyes at having brought such news to her. “But Callum, what could you have done? You are but one man.”

Callum stared at the water that rushed over the rocks of the burn.

Mari took his hand in both of hers. “Callum, my love, everything that you’ve done since I’ve known you has been the right thing.” When he did not reply, she said, “You married me.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “And I married you, everything that you are, because you are part of my soul. So I’ll hear no more talk of your letting me down.”

He did not move, except to tighten his hand about hers.

Mari said sternly, “You’d best kiss me now, or I will make you sorry.”

With that, Callum smiled and swept Mari into his arms.

*

The next day they rode through long stretches of quiet. Mari watched Callum. Although he thought he concealed it, his disposition had improved little from the day before.

Mari’s thoughts went to the source. “The chief seemed to think highly of you.”

Callum merely offered a brief sideways glance.

Mari went on. “But Lady MacDonell is rather aloof, is she not?”

“She is that,” he said, seeming annoyed. Whether with Mari or the mere thought of Lady MacDonell, Mari could not quite determine. One thing she was sure of was that Callum was in a dark mood, one that he was not eager to share with her.

“We’ll stop over there by the water,” he said, changing the subject.

With that, the discussion abruptly ended. Mari set her mind on preparing food. The horses drank from the cool water of the burn and then grazed while Mari and Callum shared some bannocks and ale that the chief had sent with them. Callum withdrew further. When she could take no more, Mari got up to go walking alone. Callum clasped hold of her hand. “Wait. I’ll come with you.”

Without a glance, Mari nodded. She would not stop him, but she found his heavy mood hard to bear and wished to be free of it. They walked for a bit, until Callum paused by a thick oak and pulled Mari beside him to lean against it. He stared at the sky, which showed hints of gray through the clouds.

“I’d intended to tell you as we approached the castle, but the chief met us before I had the chance.” He shook his head. “I should have told you long before that.”

Mari studied his face as he struggled to tell her what burdened him so. He looked so remote as to be out of reach. The next moment, he looked at her and softened to melancholy that made her heart ache.

Callum said, “My mother and father were childhood playmates. They grew up together. My mother once told me she did not recall falling in love because it always was there. When they grew old enough, they were lovers.”

Mari had not realized how heavy Callum’s burden felt on her shoulders until now. She was relieved just to lean back and listen.

“Life in the highlands is different. Peace is fragile. Our life depends upon the strength of the clan and our loyalty to it. I know that, for you, we must seem very coarse. But what you dinnae see is the cord that ties all of us to one another. We live and die for each other. It is in our blood. A man’s honor means everything here, and my father understood his. He had a duty to his people from which he could not—he would not—shrink.”