A Highlander Forged In Fire (Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance) Read online

  “Would ye … would ye care for somethin’ to eat, or to drink?” he said, turning to her and pointing towards the cottage, “Duncan will be back soon, but if ye wish to join me for some lunch. It is nae much, but ye are welcome to share it.”

  Isla paused for a moment, uncertain of what to say. She had come here out of curiosity, and still, her question wasn’t answered. Why was she forbidden from speaking with the handsome young blacksmith and making his acquaintance? She was so used to being told what to do and what not to do. The ride to follow her father had been part of her rebellion against all that, and now this invitation appeared a further opportunity to disobey her father.

  This time she was determined that he would not find out, and smiling, she nodded, as Fraser led the way towards the cottage. It was sparsely furnished, two beds built into an alcove in the wall, a few chairs and table next to the hearth, and a small roughly made dresser upon which was an assortment of crockery. It was quite different from her father’s hall, which though not as lavish as many, still had all the comforts which her mother had demanded before Isla had come to live with them.

  “‘Tis nae much, but it daes for Duncan and me well enough,” Fraser said, pointing towards one of the chairs nearest to the fire.

  “‘Tis lovely, may I ask how long ‘tis since yer parents passed away?” she said, watching him as he began to prepare a simple meal for them.

  “Nae long since. Long enough that we should have conquered our grief in the eyes of others, but nae long enough to have actually done so. ‘Tis hard, as ye will know,” Fraser replied, placing a loaf of bread on the table along with cheese and a bowl of salad.

  “How dae ye know of my grief?” Isla asked, puzzled by his words.

  “Well, ye are the daughter of the Laird, or rather of the Lairds. ‘Tis common knowledge that yer parents were killed by the Musgraves, and that Laird Elliott and his wife took ye in. I grew up listenin’ to the stories of what happened,” Fraser replied, beckoning her over to the table and pouring out two cups of water for them.

  “Dae we nae wait for yer brother?” she asked, seating herself opposite him.

  “We could wait all afternoon. He will be about his jobs in the Kirk with Father MacConkey, sometimes he doesnae come home for supper even. Where he gets it from I dinnae ken,” Fraser said, shaking his head and passing Isla the cheese.

  “So, he intends to enter the church?” she asked, “and leave his poor brother all on his own?”

  “Aye, Lanercost, the priory brothers have already accepted him. They told him to wait a few years until the time is right, but he is nae blacksmith, ye can see it in him. His heart is with God, and so be it. I will miss him, though,” Fraser replied, offering her a weak smile.

  “Aye, I can imagine ye will,” she said.

  They ate in silence for a while, Isla casting the occasional glance at her host. He was doing the same, and when their eyes met, each blushed a little and smiled.

  “So, why does my father nae want me to speak to ye, Fraser MacGinn. What secret are ye hidin’ from me,” she asked, as the two finished their meal.

  “Simple prejudice,” he replied, holding out his right hand.

  Isla looked down in astonishment at the birthmark on Fraser’s right hand. It ran across the top, almost like a semi-circle, and Fraser appeared embarrassed by Isla’s curiosity, as she reached over and took hold of his hand.

  “Ye think my father saw this and thought ye some kind of accursed creature?” she said, shaking her head. “He is nae superstitious like that; when did ye last see him at the kirk?” she asked.

  “Or ye?” he replied, withdrawing his hand and covering it with his other. “He wouldnae be the first to shy away from me because of it. I have been called all sorts because of this mark, folks dinnae trust a lad with such a mark. Some say it is of the devil,” and he shook his head sadly.

  “Nonsense, my father wouldnae think that, and besides, if he thought that he wouldnae allow ye to keep shodding the hooves of the horses. He hasnae forbidden that now, has he?” she replied, laughing at Fraser, who blushed an even deeper shade of red.

  “Well, I dinnae know. All I know is that ye will be in trouble if ‘tis discovered that ye and I have met like this,” Fraser replied.”

  “Aye, well I wanted to see ye, and it’s because my father so expressly forbids it that I have come,” she replied, as Fraser began to clear away their plates.

  “Ye are an interestin’ lass and make nae mistake,” he said, shaking his head.

  At that moment, the door opened, and Duncan appeared, breathless from running through the village, a look of urgency about him, though he appeared surprised to find Isla still in Fraser’s company.

  “Come quickly, brother, ‘tis Aileen Grant. She is sick, and she has asked for ye to lay yer hands on her,” Duncan said. “I came just as quickly as I could. Father MacConkey sent me. He says ‘tis urgent.”

  Fraser nodded and turned to Isla, who looked confused.

  “Some folks say I am of the devil, and others say I have healin’ hands. As a child, I was often called upon, and ever since… it’s just superstition,” he said, shaking his head, but Isla shook her head back at him.

  “‘Tis nae superstition when a person sincerely believes ye can dae them good,” she replied. “Ye must go at once, and perhaps I may come too?”

  Isla was fascinated by this fresh revelation about Fraser. Not only did he have a way with animals, but also with people. His shy demeanor concealed a more interesting person than she had ever imagined. He nodded to her, taking up his cloak and following Duncan out into the squally rain. It was foolish of her to walk through the village in Fraser’s company; she knew that, and if word got back to her father, then he would be cross. But she also knew that Fraser MacGinn fascinated her, and until her father gave his reason for why she should not be in his company, then she would make her own decision as to whether she kept it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isla followed Fraser and Duncan through the village, several of the peasants recognized her immediately, and there were whisperings as they passed. Isla Armstrong was beautiful, and she was also well known among the local people. Her fiery red hair and pretty looks were a source of envy and respect among many, and as she passed, several of the women curtsied to her.

  “Ye are well known,” Fraser said, turning back to her and smiling.

  Isla blushed and made no reply, and a few moments later, they arrived at the home of Aileen Grant. It was a hovel, set back from the track, ill-kept and half falling, and, as they approached the door, Father MacConkey emerged, nodding to Duncan and Fraser, a look of surprise crossing his face when he recognized Isla.

  “Well now, ‘tis nae often we see the daughter of the Laird in these parts, and I have nae seen the Laird himself in the kirk these many years past,” the priest said, ushering them inside.

  “I … I had a horse to bring for the blacksmith to shod,” she replied, not wishing for anything to be said that might get back to her father.

  But the kindly old priest was more interested in Aileen Grant, who was lying on a bed in the corner of the room, breathing heavily. Duncan and Isla stood to one side, while Fraser crossed to the bed without a word.

  “He has a healer’s touch,” Duncan whispered, and they watched as Fraser knelt by Aileen’s bed and placed his hands upon her.

  “There now, Fraser has come, Aileen,” Father MacConkey said, as the woman stirred and tried to roll over. “Be still now and let him lay hands on ye.”

  Isla was fascinated by the scene. Fraser was entirely focused upon his task, his hands on the poor woman’s shoulders, his eyes closed as if in prayer. He remained like that for ten minutes or so, and a sense of peace descended upon them, a peace such as Isla had never felt before.

  As he rose, he nodded to them, and Aileen Grant seemed to have relaxed visibly. Her face was no longer set in pain, but there was a peace surrounding her, and as Father MacConkey said another prayer over her, I
sla could not help but believe that whatever Fraser had done had worked. She seemed freed from her pain, at least in her mind, and Fraser nodded to his brother and Isla, and they left the little cottage.

  “I … I dinnae know what to say,” she said, shaking her head in amazement as they walked back towards the blacksmith’s workshop.

  “Fraser has always been known for his healing hands,” Duncan said, “‘tis the power of prayer working in him.”

  “’Tis nothin’ of the sort. ‘Tis folks who think that this is a sign of somethin’, even though ‘tis just a mark,” Fraser said, holding up his right hand to them and showing his birthmark. “’Tis better than being feared for it though; there are plenty of folks who dae that tae.”

  “But ye gave that woman hope,” Isla said, as they arrived back outside the workshop.

  “Aye, and that is why I am happy to dae it, and Aileen Grant was kind to our mother,” Fraser replied, taking up his tools, “but I had best continue my work, lass, and if ye are nae to be discovered missin’ by yer father, then ye had best be on yer way too.”

  Isla nodded, though she could happily have remained there all day. The more she saw of Fraser, the more fascinated she was by him, and the sight she had just witnessed only confirmed her sense that he was far more interesting than she had first realized. But the mystery of why her father so forbade her from having anything to do with him remained, and as she walked home, she puzzled over it.

  Was it something to do with his healing hands? Or the birthmark? Or something from the past? Some dealing which her father had had with Fraser and which neither was willing to reveal. As she crossed the marshes in the late afternoon sun, Isla Armstrong knew that she would see Fraser again. She hoped that soon the mysteries surrounding him would be revealed and she would come to know just why her father so forbid her keeping company with the blacksmith who had so enchanted her that day.

  “Tis a strange thing,” she said to herself, shaking her head, “a strange thing indeed.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isla had much to ponder on her walk home that afternoon. She had learned a lot about Fraser, and the more she discovered, the more she liked him. But the mystery as to why she was forbidden from seeing him remained. She wondered how she might discover the answer without arousing her father’s suspicions.

  There was one clansman who had known her father longer than any other. He had known her blood parents too and fought on that fateful day when the Armstrongs had been killed. He no longer served in her father’s guard and rarely rode out with the clan, living alone in an isolated croft some miles across the marshes.

  Isla knew that she needed a better excuse than a walk across the marshland to explain her day’s activities to her father. So, with the clouds rolling above and the smell of rain on the air, she made her way across the country towards the croft.

  It lay on an isolated stretch of land, though most everything in that part of the world was isolated, with rolling hills and skies as endless as the horizon stretching out before her. The croft was a simple building built of mud bricks and thatched with straw, a thin plume of smoke rising up from the chimney as she approached.

  Hector Elliott was a distant relative of her father, a cousin by marriage, and with that distinctive shock of black hair, so recognizable among the clan. As he emerged to greet her, it was this fact which most struck her, and for an instant, she had a vision of Fraser MacGinn, who also possessed of a fine head of black hair, his looks even appearing similar to Hector, though with a softness to them unlike any of the Elliotts.

  “What a strange thing,” she said to herself, as Hector came to greet her.

  “Hello there, lass, and tae what dae I owe this unexpected pleasure? Did yer father send ye to speak to me on some business?” he asked, ushering her inside.

  “Nae, ‘tis ye I wanted to see, she replied, settling herself down on the stool he offered with a puzzled look upon his face, “but ye must promise nae to say anythin’ to my father about my visit, or at least about this conversation.”

  “Well now, lass, that rather depends upon what ye are going to say,” Hector replied, smiling at her.

  “My father has forbidden me from seeing a certain person, and I wish to know why. It is quite simple,” she said. “There is nae treachery involved; I am nae plannin’ to involve myself in any of my father’s other conflicts, for now at least,” she said with a smile.

  “Forbidden ye from seeing someone? Why, that doesnae sound like yer father, quite the opposite in fact, unless it be a Musgrave,” Hector said, laughing loudly.

  “‘Tis nae Musgrave, but a lad from the village, the blacksmith, ye must surely know him, young Fraser MacGinn,” Isla said, looking intently at the old man, hoping that his face might betray him.

  “Fraser MacGinn? Fraser MacGinn?” Hector replied, shaking his head, “I dinnae know a Fraser MacGinn, the blacksmith. I have nae need for a blacksmith, lass. The surname perhaps rings a bell, but …”

  “He has a birthmark on his right hand and …” Isla said, but stopped short, as Hector glanced up, looking intently at her with interest.

  “A birthmark? On the right hand? I see, and yer father has forbidden ye from seein’ him anymore,” Fraser said, shaking his head.

  “Aye, and I want to know why. Do ye know?” she asked, expecting now to learn the secret of her father’s dislike for Fraser.

  But the old man just shook his head, as though closing ranks with her father and folded his arms.

  “I dinnae know, lass. Yer father has some odd habits, and at times he takes against people, though he is the loyalest warrior I have ever met. I wouldnae hear a bad word against him, and if this Fraser MacGinn has given him cause to dislike him, then ye should heed yer father’s words, lass,” Hector replied.

  Isla was not satisfied with such an answer, but it seemed that Hector had no intention of revealing anything further to her, even if he did know precisely what she was seeking, so Isla left him to his memories in the dilapidated croft out on the marshes.

  As she crossed over to where the track led up towards the castle, she could see her father approaching in the distance. He was rising slowly, his head down, as though in a somber mood, and as he came near, she hailed him, causing him to look up in surprise.

  “Isla? What are ye doing’ out? Did I nae tell ye to remain at home?” he said, shaking his head, as he reined in the horse.

  “Nae, ye told me nae to go to the village or speak to the blacksmith, Ye didnae tell me nae to take a walk upon the marshes in the sunshine,” she replied, as he climbed down from the horse and looked her up and down.

  “Aye, well, ye shall return to Kirklinton with me, lass. There is fresh worry among the crofters. The farm that was burned is in a sorry state, and I dinnae know if they will farm there again. The livestock was let loose, and the croft was burnt. These wicked English would see innocent folks caught up in this conflict and, mark my words, I shall see to it that we are avenged,” Alistair Elliott said, as he and Lena led the horse towards the castle.

  Sweeney came out to meet them, and he nodded to Isla, who smiled at him as he led the horse away.

  “Tis a sorry business, father,” Isla replied, following her father inside.

  “Aye, and if somethin’ is nae done about it soon, then it shall be the worse for us all, lass,” he replied as the dogs ran to meet them.

  But Isla’s mind was preoccupied with other thoughts. She could not stop thinking of Fraser MacGinn and the mystery of her forbidden acquaintance with him. The sight of him that day, kneeling by the sick woman, had quite captured her imagination. He fascinated her, and his gentle manner and handsome face made her long to return to the blacksmith’s workshop again. But how to do so without angering her father, or giving rise to conflict. She felt torn between her loyalty and her fascination, and, as the evening drew on, she determined to see Fraser again, whether her father liked it or not.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The English Borderlandr />
  Lena McGowan was busy about her chores. She had swept out the hearths upstairs and taken her master his breakfast. Now she was busy scrubbing the steps down into the castle kitchens, humming a little ditty to herself.

  It was one she had learned as a child, and it had stayed with her throughout her life. She began to sing, the words of the song speaking of far off heathers and highland hills, a world far removed from that which she now inhabited. She had been in the service of the Musgraves these twenty years past, ever since Alistair Elliott had thrown her out of the house for her indiscretions. Indiscretions for which he was more than responsible.