A Runaway Bride For The Highlander

‘My father Hamish Lochmore is dead and I am here to claim my title. I am the new Earl of Glenarris.’

The secretary scribbled this information, too, without raising his eyes.

‘And your servants?’

Ewan named them, managing to avoid Angus’s eye as he was described as such, and their names, too, were added to the document.

‘Stable your horse and stow your cart in the yard to the rear of the Great Hall,’ said the black-robed man. ‘You will be escorted to your accommodation. The castle is extremely full. Many of the Parliament arrived yesterday and have been meeting continuously.’

‘I have matters I wish to put before the Parliament,’ Ewan said. ‘Many men from my clan fought at Flodden alongside my father. There are tenants who lost their husbands and fathers fighting. I seek alms for them as King James promised.’

The man’s expression softened slightly. ‘That matter will be dealt and compensation will be given. The council has not yet decided the amount it can afford to spare, but rest assured, your people will be provided for.’

Ewan tried not to bristle at talk of ‘sparing’ money to support the families of those who now had no other means to support themselves. He followed the directions he had been given, promising himself he would not leave without an assurance, if not the money itself.

The rear courtyard was bustling and finding a convenient space for the cart took some time. Most of their property would have to remain on the cart. The small chest containing Ewan’s books of law, papers and other valuables was padlocked and chained to rings set into to the floor of the cart and Ewan had no fear it would be stolen or broken into. There were grander and more tempting vehicles surrounding their modest cart. He ran his hand over the top of the studded chest and another pang of misery welled up inside him. His days of studying law at the University of Glasgow were finished. When Angus had arrived bearing the news, he had left his rooms the same day, knowing he would not return.

Ewan’s eye settled on his father’s targe that was propped up at the back. The great shield had been no protection against a pike through his back. A feeling of grief overpowered Ewan. Regretting the loss of his future career seemed petty compared to the loss of his father and brother.

The three men rearranged a few rolls of cloth, boxes of dry goods and two barrels of wine, then pulled heavy sackcloth over the most vulnerable pieces of Hamish’s armour and sword. The whole cart was covered with a large piece of heavy sackcloth secured at the edges with rope. Satisfied with their work, the three men returned to the entrance and were escorted to a chamber on the second floor of the King’s House. The room was small and cramped, with two truckle beds squeezed side by side at the end of the larger bed meant for Ewan. There was barely room for the roll of clothes that Jamie carried.

‘It’s an insult to you, to be placed so high and distant from the Great Hall,’ Angus muttered, prodding his pallet with a foot while Jamie set to laying out their fresh linens.

Ewan grinned at his companion’s outrage. When they had been younger men Angus and Hamish would spend days away from Lochmore Castle sleeping in bracken under the skies. Ewan and his older brother had gone with them on many occasion, learning to hunt and snare. He sighed, remembering the good times. Not wanting Angus to see the emotion he was sure his face gave away he straightened the coverlet on his bed and realised how tired he felt deep in his bones. The mattresses were filled with sweet-smelling barley straw and looked comfier than anything he had slept on while travelling and the sheets were clean and tempting. He could gladly tumble back and pull the curtains around himself, blotting out the world.

‘I don’t mind this room,’ he said. ‘If we were the only guests I might see it as a slight, but you saw for yourself how many others are here.’

‘You should mind, laddie. It’s an earl you are now and you should remember you’re accorded respect. You should demand it!’

Ewan hid the unexpected grin that he felt forming. He was truly fond of the older man, even if Angus lived in a past where ready fists and a forehead could settle a score easier than negotiations. Fortunately Hamish had been more longsighted in his vision for his second son and, when he saw Ewan’s inclination was not for patrolling the borders between Lochmore and McCrieff lands, he had encouraged Ewan to take a place at the University in Glasgow.

‘The first Lochmore to be educated beyond reading and numbers!’ he would roar proudly, daring anyone to pour scorn on Ewan’s accomplishments.

‘Do you not think that respect is gained quicker if you don’t bluster and demand and shout?’ Ewan asked.

Angus looked at him as though the concept of not shouting was beyond him. ‘Aye, possibly here. But you’ll need to command the clan and the men will be wanting more than fancy words and polite bowing.’ He cracked his knuckles. ‘You’ll need to be able to fight. Can you do that?’

This was the fear that had kept Ewan awake as much as his grief. Hamish might have valued his learning, but that mattered little to men who prized swords over quills. ‘I might spend most of my life surrounded by documents, but I can hold my own in a skirmish if I’m needed to.’

Angus nodded slowly. ‘Then make sure you show it to the court. Now, we’re wasting time while there is wine paid for by the Crown. I’m heading down to find a drink. Are you coming?’

Ewan’s mouth began to water, craving the sting of hot liquor down his throat. It would go some way to obliterating his grief if only for the night. As soon as he had stowed his belongings, he planned to make his way down and join them.

‘I will shortly,’ he said.

Angus left. Jamie stood by the window, uncertainly.

‘What would you like me to do?’ he asked.

Jamie seemed content to act as manservant. Ewan wondered if his brother, John, had intended to use Jamie as his advisor and confidant in the same manner their fathers had lived and worked together. He would never know, because John had fought and died at Flodden like their father.

‘No, you can go find something to eat. Enjoy yourself before we have to return home.’

‘I’ll do that. I saw a bonny lass with a fine arse on her and a pair of titties as big as twin babbies’ heads.’ Jamie grinned and headed out eagerly.

Ewan sat on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. If his cares could be worn away between a pair of plump thighs as easily as Jamie’s could, he’d have an easier mind. Now he was alone he could indulge himself in a moment of weakness as doubt crept into his mind. He was no leader. No great chief like Hamish had been, or John had been raised to be. Ewan could pray for the strength to be a leader, but his prayers that reports of his father’s death were false had gone unanswered. He had no faith this one would be heard. He felt more alone than ever before. He and he alone would have to find the strength to be a worthy leader.

Ewan lifted his head and took a deep breath. No more time to linger here while Angus appeared alone and tongues wagged. There would be a feast that night and the drinking had already started. Had been underway for some time, from the slurring of the old ballads and the volume and variety of the curses that had flitted to Ewan’s ears as they passed by the Great Hall. He thought briefly of his father, who had commanded the eyes and attention of everyone in the room with his loud laughter and booming tones, missing him more than he thought possible. John had been the same, vibrant and charismatic, while Ewan had been content to let him. They would have been the first to table, the first to empty a cup and call for more. There was something in what Angus had said. A chief must command and be seen. Ewan would not bring shame on their memories by appearing cowed or withdrawn.

He ran a comb through his jaw-length light-brown hair and shook it out free. He shaped his plaid over his shoulder and beneath his right arm until the long, woven russet-coloured cloth hung neatly. The brat was an outdoor garment but the colour proclaimed a man’s clan allegiance and at this time the usual rules of clothing would be relaxed. He added a swagger to his step as he left the room, holding his shoulders back and head high. He would make his first appearance as Earl of Glenarris one to remember.

He descended to the ground floor and made his way outside to the Inner Close of the castle. The sun had sunk beneath the height of the curtain wall and the limewashed stone of the Forework was a warm orange. The impression was much more benign than the image of the skull that he had first thought of. The air was warm and sweet with the scent of grass mingling with tempting smells coming from the kitchens beside the Great Hall. Ewan inhaled deeply, his appetite surging back for the first time in days. Since his father’s and brother’s deaths all food had tasted like ash, but the scent of rich juices from the roasting meat were more than any man could resist. He would eat well tonight and fill his belly, knowing that he had three days’ journey to take him home to Lochmore Castle.

A few other late guests were making their way across the courtyard, taking a direct route. The cool breeze on his face and neck made his stiff velvet doublet a little more bearable and Ewan decided to take a longer route. He made his way round the path, past the Chapel Royal, and came face to face with a ghost.

Chapter Two (#uc9a6212d-6e83-5f53-a487-3d65130d1f22)

The apparition appeared before him no more than half-a-dozen paces away. It was small, slight and female, and appeared to have passed through the solid stone of the inner curtain wall itself. The figure was facing away from Ewan. She was clothed from head to foot in grey, with a veil of long, white silk that covered her head and fell to her waist. Late evening sunlight seemed to stream through the wall itself, lighting upon her veil and causing it to glow and shimmer like a sunrise over the loch where the water took the colours of early lavender and slate.

Ewan stepped back in surprise, mouth falling open. His mind refused to believe what his eyes were seeing, but no living woman at court would be dressed in such a strange manner or such a colour.

He must have gasped out loud because the spectre spun on the spot to face him in a flurry of skirts. The veil she wore framed a face that was pale and angular. With the light shining behind her, Ewan could only vaguely make out the woman’s features. Black eyes and red lips that became a startled circle.

Ewan got an impression of fragile beauty and of apprehensiveness. The spectre looked more fearful of him than the reverse. His heart began to pound in his throat and his palms grew moist. Was this creature here to herald his death, or seduce him into giving up his soul? If he was going to be faced with proof that the unearthly creatures he had scorned as old wives’ tales truly existed, he could not imagine a more alluring example.

The creature raised an arm swathed in a wide, billowing sleeve and swiftly drew the edge of the veil around to cover her face, leaving only the tantalisingly dark eyes visible. Ewan raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight and try to catch a better glimpse of her. He could not have moved from the spot if his life depended on it. He had no idea how long he might have stood there, not daring to move in case the creature vanished, but waiting for her to melt away, because at that moment he heard himself being hailed loudly from across the courtyard.

The bewitchment that had transfixed him was broken. The ghost shuddered and stood motionless, then stepped quickly back through the wall, disappearing instantly. Ewan stepped towards her, hand outstretched. A sense of yearning filled him that such delicate loveliness was beyond his reach. He might as well try to catch mist.

‘Ewan Lochmore! It is you I see!’ came the voice that had intruded.

He tore his eyes away from the now-empty spot and gave his attention to the speaker. A familiar figure was striding across from the King’s House towards him, his reddish-gold hair streaming behind him.

‘Struan MacNeill!’

Ewan opened his arms wide, roaring his greeting and genuinely pleased to see someone he had not seen for over a year. MacNeill’s sept was a branch of Clan Campbell, neighbours of Clan Lochmore, and the men were on friendly terms. The two men embraced, clapping each other on the back amid loud exclamations.

‘My commiserations, Ewan,’ Struan said, once they had released each other. ‘Hamish was a great man. They both were.’

Ewan passed a hand over his eyes.

‘Are you ill?’ Struan asked. ‘You look as though you’re half-asleep.’

‘I was looking for a woman,’ Ewan murmured.

‘Aren’t we all?’ Struan laughed, grabbing his crotch in an exaggerated manner. ‘Don’t fear, there are plenty of bonny lasses in the castle who are more than happy to oblige. I cannae think of a better way to heal a wounded heart.’

Ewan forced a crude laugh. Dallying with serving girls didn’t appeal, especially when his thoughts were consumed with the unearthly encounter. He looked back over his shoulder. She was, of course, nowhere to be seen. He wondered if the whole incident had been the product of his mind and she had never been there at all.