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~Medieval Scottish Highlands
Evan finally made eye contact with the lass, surprised by the mixture of fear and fierce determination in their violet-blue depths.
She was a woman of striking beauty. Not at all like any Maggie he’d ever known before.
But up close, he also had an unobstructed view of the horrifying scar running from the hairline above her right ear down beside her mouth all the way to her neck where a thinner line marred her flesh.
Used to seeing his battle-scarred clansmen, it was easy to recognize the clean slice of a dagger, but also the evidence of an inexperienced healer. How could such an injury have happened and what pain had she endured during the recovery?
Curiosity warred with the reminder of the two girls hiding in the bench beneath him. He pulled his gaze from her injury back to her eyes. While obviously uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she yet waited for his agreement.
His nod sealed his fate.
She bobbed her head once in response, then turned to fetch a pitcher of more ale. After refilling their cups, she spoke with a few of the villagers as if this were a typical noon meal. The only sign of her distress was a slight crack in her voice.
Less than a minute later, Evan heard the sound of galloping horses outside. Moments passed before the door burst open and two dark-haired men with red shirts beneath their Gunn plaids shoved inside, filling the door with their broad shoulders.
The tables of saffron-shirted village men fell silent and stared. Based on a few nervous glances and his memories of the earlier conversations, the distinctively-clad newcomers must be the wicked Isla’s henchmen. Obviously they’d been hired for their brawn. And the weapons strapped to their backs made it clear resistance was futile.
Maggie stepped forward to greet them but kept her head bowed like expected of a humble serving girl in the presence of her betters. “If’n ye’re looking for a meal, we’ve got fresh meat pasties and a hearty stew. Ye—”
“Nay.” One of the men scanned the room, pointing his slightly crooked nose into everyone’s business. Then ignoring the room full of men, he turned his attention to the lass before him. “We’re here about two lassies last seen running this direction.”
His friend grinned, exposing a missing tooth. “We’re to escort them to the castle so they can prepare for the marriage selection.”
While Evan sensed the undercurrent of tension in the room, Maggie merely shrugged. “Could they have run home to gather their belongings?”
Evan bit back a smile at her words. It wasn’t technically a lie.
She stepped closer and lifted her head to face them. “Should I pack a bag too? Maybe a Sinclair would pick me as a bride.”
Her words and appearance shocked both soldiers into a moment of surprised silence. And seemed to distract them from their search.
‘Twas a brave act, but he spotted the trembling in the hands clasped at her waist.
The two invaders quickly recovered as another red-shirted man entered behind them.
Crooked Nose waved a hand at Maggie’s face. “Don’t bother with this one. She’s useless.”
The toothless one nudged his friend in the ribs. “I can think of a use fer the hag...if’n I close my eyes.”
Evan’s stomach churned at their cruel words and his hands began to curl into fists beneath the tabletop. He should step forward to do something, just like before when the man had pulled her onto his lap.
And yet, here he sat. Useless.
“What are ye’ two blatherin’ about?” The third soldier pushed around his friends, then visibly blanched at the sight of Maggie’s face.
The lass appeared equally shocked to see the newcomer, then lifted her chin further and glared back at all three men. “I thought all the maidens were being invited. Or is it only the pretty ones who get the honor?”
The third man looked at his friends, his frown accentuating the small scar above his left eyebrow. “Ye’re right. This one’s not wanted at the castle.”
###
~LATE JANUARY, EIGHT years later
Not wanted.
Grace winced as the cruel words of the story came to life too vividly. Probably because she’d heard something similar in a classroom just two days ago. It shouldn’t have affected her...and yet it always did.
She knew firsthand about hideous scars, but how could the book’s heroine be so strong? Was it because she was protecting others? Was that the secret to bravery while simultaneously being judged unfairly?
Maybe she should read a different book for awhile and then come back to this one when the wounds weren’t as fresh.
She closed the reading app and set her phone aside before scooping another bite of her homemade honey-sweetened granola.
A minute later, her once-upon-a-time guardian “Uncle” John Howard entered the kitchen with his daughter on his heels. One headed straight for the coffee pot while the other detoured to the pantry for a toaster pastry. Just like every other weekday.
Grace chuckled when Cherry ripped open the package then moaned around a huge bite of artificially-flavored preservative-packed pseudo-breakfast food. “What will your future nursing instructors have to say about your horrid eating habits?”
Cherry swallowed, then rolled her eyes. “Don’t know. Don’t care. At least not yet.” She flipped her blonde curls over her shoulder. “For now, I’m just a stereotypical high school cheerleader.”
“As if.” Grace shook her head. Add in student council plus top grades in her honors classes and while she might be somewhat spoiled at home, the eighteen-year-old senior was anything but typical.
Especially after the tragedies they’d had to overcome.
Grace hadn’t fared as well in school, but then again, frequent hospitalizations had made attendance difficult and pain management had been a higher priority than homework. At least until she’d reached college.
“If you’re the stereotypical cheerleader, what does that make me? The absent workaholic father?” Uncle John struck a pose with one hand over the silk tie lying in the middle of his starched dress shirt. Between the coffee cup in his other hand and the open briefcase on the countertop, the description fit. Almost.
“Nope.” Cherry giggled. “You’re more like a helicopter mom, always there.”
“Can you blame me?” His voice cracked.
Grace dipped into her cereal bowl again at the reminder that Cherry’s mom was dead. Along with so many others.
“I love you, Daddy.” Cherry placed a noisy kiss on his cheek, then pulled her bedazzled phone case from the rear pocket of her designer jeans and checked the time. “Oh. Gotta run. The prom committee is meeting before school.” She shoved the phone back in its place, grabbed an energy drink from the fridge—as if she didn’t already have energy to spare—then with a quick wave, disappeared out the door in a swirl of color.
“That girl.” Uncle John chuckled. “Life won’t be the same once she graduates.” The smile slipped from his face as he leaned against the granite counter and drank his coffee.
The aftermath of the cabin fire had affected them all in different ways. Her instant guardian wrestled with guilt over his absence and accidental negligence while pampering the youngest survivor who had in turn embraced life to the fullest.
And Grace?
She felt stuck in a healing pattern. Stuck in the fact she alone had survived from her family. Stuck in the memories of happier times. Retreating into stories like those that had distracted her during all her hospital procedures. Dreaming of a future that should already be in her grasp.
As she chased the remnants of granola with her spoon, she felt the prickling awareness of a gaze and glanced over to catch Uncle John staring at her neck. At the only section of her scars she couldn’t hide beneath her clothes. Even knowing he’d already seen the worst of her injuries at the hospital, she still tugged at the neckline of her pajama top.
He cleared his throat and turned away, reaching to fill his travel mug with the remnants from the coffee pot. “So, Grace, do you have anything productive planned for today?”
“Another job application.” She almost groaned. “But expanding my search to include more districts puts me in south Denver and I’m not sure I want to live near there.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, so if that’s where you have to go to get hired, do it.” He moved to fill his travel mug. “In the meantime, keep on substituting as often as possible. Principals are sure to remember your name and it will get you out of the house.”
In more ways than one.
Staying busy prevented boredom, but if she was ever going to shake the smothering sense of obligation that came from living under his roof, she needed a steady paycheck.
Grace forced a polite smile to her face. “I’ll see what I can do.” To both find a new living arrangement and avoid any future humiliations.
Humiliations like Tuesday when she ended up with a room full of obnoxious sophomore boys who resurrected taunts from her own high school years. Then again, could she dare hope that a permanent assignment would be any better?
If only she’d hadn’t bowed to his pressure to pursue a teaching degree. But he’d held the purse strings from the insurance money and argued there was more stability and opportunity for teachers than historians or librarians. At the time it had been easiest to just go along as she continued to heal. But now, just a few weeks after her mid-term graduation ceremony...?
Uncle John snapped his briefcase shut. “Here’s to a productive day for both of us.” And after a quick salute with his to-go coffee, he disappeared into the garage.
Moments later, a car door slammed. By the time Grace rinsed and placed her bowl in the dishwasher, the roar of his sport’s car engine had faded down the block, leaving her alone in the big house with only scars and regrets to keep her company.
She shook off the thought, snatched up her phone, and escaped to the Howards’ former guest room that she’d transformed into her personal refuge.
After launching her workout playlist, she began the daily routine of stretches and exercises designed to keep her scar tissue limber and the damaged shoulder joint stable despite the reconstructive surgery. Breathing through the necessary pain, she concentrated on the rhythmic beats of the music as the seconds crept by.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, Grace stepped under the hot water of the shower, letting the moist heat relax her muscles.
Once dried off, she spread a generous layer of thick moisturizing cream over the silvery ridges stretching from her jawline down the side of her neck across the top of her right shoulder and continuing nearly to her elbow. Turning slightly, she used her reflection in the steamy mirror to reach the similar scars radiating from her shoulder across half her back.
Her surgeons were happy with the results...but she still felt like a freak.
Especially when callous comments sparked her insecurities.
Grace slammed the bottle of lotion onto the bathroom counter and reached for the hair dryer. Time to move on.
Except when she later opened the top drawer for a pair of fuzzy socks to go with her sweater and jeans, she glimpsed the framed picture on her dresser and paused to run a finger over the faces of her parents and brothers captured in a happier time.
Before she’d been orphaned.
What was with her melancholy today?
She turned away from the memories and caught the view of Castle Rock through the window. Their town’s landmark butte resembled a tower she’d imagined came straight from Rapunzel’s tale.
Like that fairy tale princess, Grace’s basic needs had been met. She should be grateful for a comfortable bedroom in a large home in their well-to-do neighborhood. Grateful that while his official guardianship ended years ago, Uncle John still considered her part of his family. Grateful that her parents’ life insurance had paid for her medical bills and college.
She had lacked for nothing, but like Rapunzel, an ivory tower could still feel like a prison.
Leaving Grace trapped by the compulsion to see the motherless Charity grow into womanhood. Trapped by the weight of Uncle John’s gratitude for her part in saving his daughter compounded by his guilt over robbing Grace of her family when a blocked flue ignited the built-up creosote deposits.
Trapped as surely as that beam...
Grace rubbed her shoulder to erase the phantom pain.
But Andy was not there to help. And some days she doubted God was either.
She sighed. Perhaps all she needed was a new goal.
For years her focus had been on healing and surgeries...then school and college even if her class load had been a bit lighter to the point it delayed her graduation until after the fall semester at age 23.
Searching for a job would be an admirable goal, except what could she do instead of teaching without feeling like a failure who had wasted years of time and all that tuition money? A failure who would have to endure even more of Uncle John’s severe frowns and lectures on the subject.
Grace turned from the window and the imagined taunting of the long-haired princess. Her current predicament couldn’t be solved by letting down her hair. Not to mention, there weren’t any real castles in Colorado.
Wait. There was that Scottish replica just up the road. What was it called?
She crossed the room to her desk and powered up her computer. Within minutes she was gazing at pictures of Cherokee Ranch alongside mentions of several other castles, including one in nearby Colorado Springs.
Clicking through to the website, she discovered that Glen Eyrie had been built by the same General Palmer responsible for the founding of that city and that it was now the headquarters for the Navigators, a Christian ministry with a focus on studying the Bible.
And there in the menu was a call for volunteers including castle hosts and tour guides.
A real castle? History? Ministry? Time away from her guardian’s home?
Yes, please.
A change of scenery sounded like a heavenly gift, especially if it gave her time to reflect and pray about her future.
And if Uncle John questioned her motives in applying for a volunteer position instead of a paid one, she could always spin it as free room and board while she searched for teaching jobs in that area.
A flicker of joy ignited in her chest and she clicked the link to apply.
###
MONDAY, MID-MARCH, seven weeks later
He had missed the funeral.
Andrew “Drew” Miller’s grip crinkled his mother’s letter as he stared at her neat handwriting in shock.
As a SERE Specialist, he had been away from his normal quarters on a temporary duty assignment to consult with SEAL instructors on the West Coast regarding their training protocols. After all, every soldier—especially those in special operations—needed to know how to survive, evade, resist, and escape in a multitude of environments and situations.
He had returned to the Air Force base in Colorado Springs yesterday to find a large stack of mail had accumulated in his absence. And like a nostalgic fool, had waited for this Monday morning’s cup of coffee to savor the news from home.
Then again, a few hours delay in reading couldn’t erase the fact his best friend from high school had died two weeks ago.
Needlessly. Especially since it seemed alcohol had played a significant role in the car accident.
It was a foolish combination that Drew had left behind in Pine Ridge when he’d enlisted. A decision he had never regretted.
Too bad Brian hadn’t done the same.
His poor family.
Drew set the letter aside, drained the dregs of his coffee, then reached for a notebook and pen to write his condolences to the grieving family. Better late than never...even if it meant hurrying through the rest of his morning routine so he wasn’t late to the Academy.
After dropping his note in the mail, he used his drive time to call ahead and make an appointment with the Chaplain for later in the day. Military discipline might carry him through the next duties, but eventually he’d have to face the loss and process the cascade of emotion.
And its implications for his future.
Drew straightened his shoulders and strode into the office to pick up the paperwork for the classes he’d been assigned. Once the cadets returned—after next week’s welcome vacation—it would be his responsibility to fill their minds with survival techniques. Hopefully the young men and women would never need to use any of the information he taught, but he prayed if they were ever lost in the woods that at least they’d remember how to build a temporary shelter and even start a fire.
Skills he and Brian had considered common sense after growing up in a mountain community.
Brian.
He grit his teeth and ignored the memories to focus on planning the curriculum. But by the time he turned in a requisition list for supplies, he was more than ready for a break of his own. Keeping his emotions in check was exhausting, especially after his recent travels.
After a quick stop at the mess hall, he strode across the Academy grounds toward the chapel.
Was it the loss of a friend or something more that left him feeling so unfulfilled in the middle of his dream job? After almost eight years in the military, should he re-enlist at the end of May as he’d originally planned or take the discharge at age 26? But then what?
No. Until this morning’s letter, he’d been confident in his path. Right?
After entering the Chaplain’s office, he removed his hat and gave his name to the secretary.
The kindly woman smiled. “He’s expecting you, Specialist Miller. Just head on in.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He nodded, then pushed through the door.
The base chaplain stood and came around his desk to greet Drew with a firm handshake before waving him toward a pair of chairs near the window. “How can I help you?”
Drew took a seat, resting his hat on his knee as he tried to relax. But years of discipline were hard to ignore. Not to mention his emotions were packed tighter than a parachute during jump school and this man was about to be the recipient of a messy unfurling.
The chaplain chuckled to fill the silence. “Maybe start with what brings you here today?”
Drew sighed, then reached into his uniform pocket and held up his mother’s letter. “I just got back from a month of TDY and got a letter from home. Found out...” He swallowed hard.
“Take your time, son.”
He took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “My best friend growing up died two weeks ago and I missed the funeral.” He looked down at his clenched fists. “My job is literally to save people and I couldn’t even save my best friend. Why am I doing this?”
“There is only One who can truly save.”
Drew brushed aside the chaplain’s statement. “I know. But still, I joined the Air Force to make a difference. To rescue our soldiers. To make the world a better place. To be a hero.”
“And you have.”
“Just not for the ones who matter most.” He choked back a sob as his eyes stung.
Thankfully, the chaplain gave him time to collect himself before asking the next probing questions. “What bothers you the most about your friend’s death? The sense of loss and bittersweet memories? Guilt that you weren’t there for the family in their time of grief? Or something else?”
“That I couldn’t stop him from going down that path.” The words escaped before Drew could stop them. And yet, the knot in his chest loosened as he acknowledged the truth.
“What path is that?” The chaplain raised an eyebrow as he settled back in his chair giving Drew permission to do the same.
Once his back hit the cushions, the words flowed. “The path we were on together. Stupid dares. Weekend parties with the rest of the football team. Kegs around campfires. But we hated doing homework and so barely passed our classes. Definitely a fast-track to nowhere.” He looked the chaplain in the eye and smirked. “Our grand plan was to graduate from high school and then get any job we could find. Didn’t care what, just so long as it paid enough to finance our backwoods trips and stock of beer.” A similar path to that his own father had taken before dying in a hunting accident and leaving behind his five-year-old son and a wife who had to work multiple jobs to hang onto their home and put food on the table.
A slow nod. “What changed?”
Everything.
“A few months before graduation, I ran across a real hero. Someone who made me want to be a better person. Someone who wasn’t afraid to pray and ask for help.” He rubbed the old scar on his hand. One of several acquired over the years. “I walked away that night strutting like I was something special. But the next morning when I looked in the mirror, I was ashamed of the man looking back. Ashamed of how he had squandered his potential for so many wasted years when others were denied the same opportunities.”
He swallowed hard and looked into the chaplain’s kind eyes. “For the first time—despite my mother’s previous prayers and pleadings for her fatherless son—I was honest about where my life was headed. I wanted to be a hero, too. So I recommitted to my childhood faith, quit drinking, finally started studying, and right after graduation, enlisted. Even hoped that I might end up with the SERE program and put my backwoods knowledge to practical use.”
A slight smile curved the man’s lips. “And your friend?
“For awhile, he changed too. But when I shipped off to boot camp, we lost contact and he fell back in with our former crowd. Got a job changing oil and tires at a service station. Never aimed any higher. Hit the bottle plus there were rumors of pills as well...” Drew’s vision blurred. “If I’d stayed behind or at least called more often, could I have changed things? And while I’m good at my job here, am I truly making a difference?”
Heavy silence filled the room.
Then a whisper escaped his lips. “And now I’m wondering if I should re-enlist in a few months like I had planned. Or look for a civilian job back home in the mountains.”
“That’s a big decision and it’s never good to make course-altering ones when grieving. Best to sort out the emotions first. Get some fresh perspective before you make such a drastic move.” The chaplain tapped his chin in thought. “Did anything else change...or was it just this letter from home about your friend?”
Drew fidgeted with the hat on his knee. “It’s mostly the letter. But I’ve got this vague sense that there’s something different around the corner. Like there’s unfinished business somehow. Like I’m missing something important. Or traveling in blind circles. In survivalist terms, it’s almost like I lost the map or that I’ve got a map but a broken compass.”
The chaplain pursed his lips. “A compass. That makes me think of the Navigators ministry. You know, they started out helping military guys like us learn to navigate through life.”
Drew raised an eyebrow. Interesting, but how did that apply to him?
“Their headquarters aren’t too far from here at the Glen Eyrie castle.” The chaplain leaned forward as his eyes sparked to life. “After your TDY, you’re probably due some leave. What if you took advantage of the cadets’ Spring Break for a personal retreat? Not only could you spend time in prayer and reflection, but since the castle grounds are near the Garden of the Gods, you could also do some hiking. Spend time in nature.”
Hmm. He’d driven past the giant red rock formations and their visible reminder that God was bigger still. That His ways were far higher than even planes could fly or rockets launch.
A wisp of hope broke through the knot in his chest.
It might be good to get away and let God’s creation fill the empty holes before making any decisions about his future.
To let God’s Truth realign his personal compass toward true North once again.