Beloved Ruins, Book 1 Read online

  “How very kind of you,” she sarcastically said. “Am I not allowed to greet him?”

  “Not unless you wish your father to know where you are.”

  She swung her bare legs over the side of the bed, held the blanket against her chest, and let her bare shoulders show. “But Michael, I shall be so very lonely all alone in this dreary bedchamber. Can you not...” by then he was gone and she was left staring at a closed door.

  Formally dressed in Ferguson colors, the Laird and his wife continued to slowly walk their horses toward the castle. Word that they were Fergusons spread quickly throughout the MacGreagors, most of whom had rarely seen members of the clan they neither liked nor trusted. As they passed, Mistress Ferguson smiled at several MacGreagor women, but few smiled back. Just inside the outer courtyard, her husband put up his hand, the Fergusons halted and waited.

  They did not have to wait long before Michael walked out the castle’s front door to greet them. “You are welcome here,” he said with a smile and he walked down the steps.

  “Are we?” asked the woman. “Your people rudely stare at us.”

  Michael glanced at Laird Ferguson and then looked at the women. “My wife, Meghan,” Ferguson explained as he dismounted.

  Michael walked to the side of her horse, offered his arms and when she put her hands on his shoulders, he carefully pulled her down. “‘Tis your beauty they stare at, and so do I.” He was serious, for she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was red, yet a deeper red than was usual, her features were delicate and her laughing eyes were the color of a misty blue sky.

  Mistress Ferguson grinned. “Charmin’ as well as handsome? ‘Tis not the normal combination in a laird.”

  “My appearance is a gift from my mother,” said Michael, “but the charm I was forced to gather on my own.”

  She laughed and then went to stand beside her husband. When Ferguson motioned to his man, the guard dismounted and brought the colt to him. “We give to the MacGreagors our finest, in gratitude for the kindness shown three of our brave lads after the war.”

  Michael walked to the colt, patted its nose, and then rubbed its neck. “It has a gentle nature, I see, and I know a laddie who will soon be in need of his own horse. Thank you.” He nodded for a nearby MacGreagor to take the colt and returned to his guests. The gift seemed to soften some of the MacGreagors a bit, and this time when Mistress Ferguson smiled, one of the MacGreagor women smiled back. It was a start, at least.

  “Will you not come in?” Michael asked. “I can offer good wine and a fine meal if you are hungry.” He threw out his hand toward the open door, told Carney to see to their guard, motioned for Rory to come, and then followed his guests into the inner courtyard.

  “I confess,” said Laird Ferguson as they walked across the inner courtyard, “we have seen your castle from afar and often hoped we might someday be invited in.”

  “I have been remiss,” Michael started. “I should have...”

  “Indeed you should have,” Meghan teased as she admired the ironwork on the three-lantern chandelier in the foyer. “Of course, my husband has neglected to extend an invitation to you as well.”

  “Meghan is right,” Ferguson answered, “but then she usually is.”

  She turned her attention to an aging, yet well-made colorful tapestry on the wall. “I understand you have Master Balric livin’ among you.”

  “Indeed? How have you managed to hear that?” Michael asked as he opened the door to the Great Hall.

  “My dear Laird MacGreagor,” she said leading the way into the large room, “while much has changed in Scotland, the spread of gossip has not. When last my friend was at the market, she saw Master Balric leave with that sweet lass who sells pottery. What is her name?”

  Michael quickly glanced at Rory’s solemn expression before he quietly answered, “Lindsey. Sadly, Lindsey passed.” Rory, he noticed, took a deep but quiet breath, and pulled the door closed.

  “Oh, I am deeply saddened to hear it. I so admired her work and proudly own several of her plates and bowls,” Meghan confessed.

  Just then, a grinning Balric burst through the door. To Michael’s surprise, he took Mistress Ferguson in his arms and kissed her cheek. “You have come at last.” He released her, turned, and exchanged playful bows with Ferguson.

  Mistress Ferguson looped her arm around Balric’s and asked, “Is it true? Did Elena come with you?”

  “She did,” answered Balric, “allow me a moment to fetch her.” He hurried out the door just as quickly as he came in.

  “I am astounded you are acquainted,” said Michael. “How long have you known them?”

  “Forever, it seems. Elena married a Ferguson, you know.” She glanced around the room until a silver bowl caught her eye. “He was my brother,” she continued as she picked up the bowl and examined it. “His foot caught in a rope and his spooked horse dragged him to death right before her eyes. I confess it was sometime before either of us fully recovered the untimely shock of it.”

  Again, Michael was taken aback. “I had not heard that.”

  “She did not tell you?” Meghan asked.

  “Of a truth, I dinna ask. I suppose she wished not to speak of it in front of the children.” He pulled a chair away from the table and offered it to her. At length, she set the bowl down and accepted a place to sit.

  Just as curious as his wife, Laird Ferguson walked to the collection of weapons that hung on the far wall. He clasped his hands behind his back, nodded, and then moved farther down the line. When he reached the sword in the middle, he stopped. “The one made of gold, I assume.”

  “You know of it,” a surprised Michael asked.

  “We have our ancient stories too, and the MacGreagor’s golden sword is one of them, although until now I thought it untrue.” He turned finally to face Michael. “Tell me, Laird MacGreagor, are the Fergusons ever to be forgiven for what our forefathers did hundreds of years ago?”

  Michael paused to consider his answer. “Are the English ever to be forgiven for killin’ William Wallace?”

  Ferguson’s smile was slow in coming. “A point well taken.”

  “Yet, as you say ‘twas hundreds of years ago,” said Michael. “’Tis time to put the past behind us, and I should be pleased to be called Michael.”

  Uallas Ferguson turned away from the wall, went to the table, and curled both his hands around the top of a chair back. “Michael, in an hour or two, Ferguson warriors shall come to fight with the MacGreagors.”

  Michael deeply wrinkled his brow. “Has the King gone to war?”

  “Not the king, but it seems you have. Yesterday, I overheard Kennedy and Mackintosh plottin’ to take Dalldon’s daughter – by force if need be.”

  Michael puffed his cheeks and slipped into his seat at the head of the table. “So it begins.”

  “Is it true? Do you give sanctuary to Dalldon’s daughter?” Ferguson asked.

  Seona Dalldon was not one to wait for an invitation. With her usual arrogance, and before Rory could stop her, she breezed through the door to the middle of the room. “Laird Ferguson, how nice it is to see you again.”

  “You know her?” Meghan asked her husband.

  “We are acquainted,” he answered.

  “Come now, Uallas, we are more than acquainted.” Seona enjoyed the astonishment on Mistress Ferguson’s face a little longer than she should have. “‘Twas winter last when your husband came to our castle. He claimed the snow prevented him from travelin’ further, but truly ‘twas not that deep.”

  “I stayed but one night,” Laird Ferguson said.

  “Three, as I recall. Father so enjoyed ...”

  “Contain yourself, Seona!” Ferguson nearly shouted. “I’ll not have you lyin’ to my wife!”

  Seona shrugged as though being called a liar bothered her naught, turned her back to them, and pretended to be watching the embers in the hearth. “As you wish.”

  Michael returned to Ferguson’s questi
on and explained, “When she came to us, she called herself Grizel Allardice.”

  “Allardice?” Ferguson asked. “Tell me, did Osgar bring her?”

  “Aye. He...” Michael started. A knock at the door interrupted him and he nodded for Rory to open it. His heart soared when he saw Elena and he started to rise, but she disregarded him and went to hug Mistress Ferguson.

  “How thrilled I was when I heard you were here,” Elena said, quickly taking a seat beside her sister-in-law. Behind her, Balric was somewhat surprised to see Seona, but then realized he should not have been.

  “I meant to come sooner,” Meghan told Elena, “but one of the clan’s children and then another needed this and that. You know how it goes. Are my niece and nephew well?”

  Elena nodded. “Samuel grows bigger each day. Brenna got stung by a bee this mornin’, but...”

  Alarmed, Ferguson asked, “Is it serious?”

  “‘Tis not. She has no rash and only a little swellin’ at the sting. ‘Tis painful, of course, but she is not ill,” Elena answered. “How long can you stay? I have so much to...”

  “Aye,” Seona interrupted, abruptly turning away from the hearth. “How long can your husband stay, Mistress Ferguson?”

  Elena was not about to pass up such a glorious opportunity. “I hardly think you much competition for the wife Laird Ferguson already has. Her beauty makes you appear rather plain and unappealin’.”

  “I agree,” said Laird Ferguson. His glare was on Seona, but Seona’s narrowed eyes were fixed on Elena.

  “How many Fergusons are we to expect?” Michael asked, changing the subject.

  “Twenty,” Ferguson answered, “and more at the ready should you need them.”

  “Need them for what?” Seona asked.

  Michael was not in the mood to answer her question. Instead, he directed his words to Rory, “Tell the lads to expect twenty Fergusons. They come in friendship. And tell the clan to prepare a proper feast to welcome them.”

  “Aye,” said Rory. He left the room and softly closed the door behind him.

  Disgusted, Ferguson looked at Michael and at the same time pointed to Seona. “For this you would go to war?”

  “Not if I can think of a way out of it.” Michael answered.

  “I assume you have a plan to protect the glen?” Ferguson asked. He finally pulled the chair away and intentionally sat down, not caring if it was an insult to the still standing Seona or not. While the two lairds discussed how the Fergusons could help, in whispers Meghan Ferguson explained what was happening to Elena.

  He didn’t think any of them noticed as Balric quietly crossed the room to stand next to Seona at the hearth. “What a colorful cloth you weave,” Balric whispered. “I do hope I shall be here long enough to see it to execution.”

  “Execution?” She whispered back. “What a fascinatin’ word.”

  Elena, on the other hand, was well aware her brother appeared to be conspiring with the enemy. “How is everyone?” she loudly asked her sister-in-law, just to get her brother’s attention. She shot Balric a look of repulsion, to which he simply shrugged.

  Suddenly, Rory rushed back into the room, walked to Michael, whispered in his ear, and then waited for an answer.

  “Leave them be for now,” said Michael. Rory nodded and once more left the Great Hall.

  With all eyes on him, Michael explained. “We are being watched.”

  “By whom?” Ferguson asked.

  “Swintons.”

  Ferguson stared at Michael and then turned to look at Seona. “Have you ever known a lass to cause such an uproar?”

  “Never,” Michael answered, but he was not interested in looking at her.

  “We would happily be shed of her if she would go, but she claims to carry a MacGreagor child,” Elena announced.

  Meghan’s jaw dropped. “Can it be so?”

  Elena answered, “Oh, ‘tis not only possible, ‘tis most likely.”

  “Oh dear, she causes an uproar indeed,” said Meghan. When she stood up, her husband and Michael also rose. “Come, my darlin’ Elena. I demand to see my niece.”

  Elena’ s grin was for Laird Ferguson, and then she hurried to catch up with Meghan. “You must meet Kester. She is a clan elder whom I adore. Kester...” Elena was still talking after she closed the door behind them.

  Before he sat down, Michael finally looked at Seona. “Leave us,” he commanded.

  “‘Tis not what you said last night,” she purred. Just the same, when Balric offered his arm, she took it and left with him.

  Michael slowly sat back down and covered his face with his hands.

  “You did not...”

  “Of course not,” Michael answered, “but two of our lads have confessed to it.”

  Ferguson dismissed that discussion, scooted his chair forward, and folded his arms on the table. “So, when word comes, you think the Fergusons should stay hidden in the forest. I disagree. ‘Twould be better if...”

  THE OUTER DOOR TO THE castle had only just closed when one of the Swinton spies raced deeper into the forest, mounted his horse and rode off to tell what he had seen. He was nearly out of breath when he burst into the darkened Swinton Great Hall. He quickly halted to let his eyes adjust to the dark and a moment later, he spotted his laird sitting at his table holding a cloth to his nose.

  “What is it?” Laird Swinton asked.

  “Ferguson is in the MacGreagor glen.”

  “Ferguson?” Laird Swinton set his cloth aside and stood up. “He means to take her from Michael.”

  “He had his wife with him and only six guards.”

  “Six guards are more than enough if he means to...” Swinton did not finish his sentence. Instead he headed for his bedchamber, paused at the door, and turned around. “Fetch my horse and ten of my guards. I shall see for myself what Ferguson is up to.”

  SOME PEOPLE THOUGHT a headache was caused by evil spirits that demanded to be released from the brain. However, Swinton believed it hogwash, and was not about to let anyone bore a hole in his head, no matter how much his headache hurt. And it did hurt – particularly after he stepped out of the darkness of his home into the bright sunlight. Just as others had to pause to adjust to his darkness, he instantly covered his eyes and then gradually moved his fingers away to let in the brightness. Determined not to let Ferguson take Dalldon’s daughter away, he mounted his horse, gave the signal, and let his guards escort him to the MacGreagor glen.

  ONCE MORE, THE WHISTLES began and were repeated until they reached the ears of the guards in the MacGreagor tower. It was Brandon who recognized who was coming and rushed down the stairs to alert his laird.

  He respectfully knocked, and then opened the door to the Great Hall just enough to put his head in. “Laird Swinton and ten guards.”

  “Thank you,” Michael said as he watched the door close.

  “Swinton?” asked Ferguson. “What do you suppose he wants?”

  Michael slowly got up. “‘Tis his second visit in as many days. ‘Twas Swinton who told me Dalldon’s daughter was missin’.”

  By the time Michael and Ferguson arrived outside to greet Laird Swinton, Seona had climbed the stairs and was standing atop the outer courtyard wall, making her whereabouts clearly known to Swinton and anyone else who cared to know where she was. Below her, both Murran and Owen turned their backs to her, and in the window of Elena’s bedchamber, Elena pointed out Seona’s ludicrous self-display to Meghan.

  However, Laird Swinton could not take his eyes off her. As soon as he was close enough she smiled that enticing smile of hers just for him. He was still staring at her when he noticed Michael and Ferguson had come out to greet him. Annoyed, he turned his ire on Ferguson. “What are you doin’ here?” He dismounted and then motioned toward Seona with his hand. “You mean to take her and collect the reward?”

  Michael followed Swinton’s gaze, spotted her finally, and rolled his eyes. “If only he could take her, but I canna allow it until we are relieve
d of her request for sanctuary.”

  Puzzled, Swinton asked, “You truly wish to be rid of her?”

  “I pray for it constantly. Will you not come in?”

  “I suspect I better,” said Swinton.

  The Ferguson guards, Michael noticed, were stationed half way down the glen, and were carefully watching in case their laird needed them. He waited until Swinton dismissed his guards, and this time, Michael led the way into his Great Hall. He poured each a goblet of good wine, and then bid them to sit. Before they could, Seona opened the door and came in.

  Laird Swinton was shocked. “Are you not required to knock?” he asked Seona.

  She shrugged. “What shall Michael do – banish me? Besides, if ‘tis about me you speak, then I shall hear it for myself.”

  Swinton thought it not possible, but Seona had just made his head hurt worse. He was about to yell at her when there came a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” said Michael. He was not surprised to learn it was Balric, who was determined not to miss a thing. Elena and Meghan came in right behind him.

  “You remember my wife?” Laird Ferguson said when he finally got Laird Swinton’s attention.

  Mistress Ferguson began to curtsey, but Swinton dismissed the attempt with his hand. She smiled and then looked into his eyes “You are in pain?”

  “Aye.” He downed the wine and set the goblet on the table. “‘Tis a headache I cannae seem to shed.”

  Mistress Ferguson walked to a chair and motioned for him to sit. “Perhaps I might help?”

  “You have a remedy?” Swinton asked.

  “It does not always work, but ‘tis worth a try,” she answered. “May I touch you?”

  “You may.”

  She looked to her husband for permission and when he nodded, she waited for Swinton to sit and remained standing behind his chair. First, she put her left hand under his chin, then her right hand over his forehead. When she jerked, the loud pop in his neck could be heard in the entire room. “Give it a moment,” she said as she went to sit beside Elena. “If your headache stops, I shall teach you how to do it yourself. Meanwhile, I suggest you have the lads build you a better mattress. One that sags can cause many a headache.”