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“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, Bram Henderson?” his mother Fia wore a worried expression as Bram carried a sleeping Sorcha into the house. “Who is the lass and why are her hands bound?”
“Tis the Beast’s sister.”
“Are ye daft?” his mother said, wide-eyed and fearful. “You will bring the fire of the MacGregors upon us all!” She made the sign of the cross.
“Dinnae worry, Ma, I have a plan. I need to lay her down then I’ll get Niall.”
Fia was walking behind him. “Where will she sleep?”
“With me,” Bram said in a voice that brooked no opposition.
His mother glared at him. “I raised ye better than that Bram Henderson. You’ll not dally with the lass even if she is the enemy.”
“Wheesht Ma, I dinnae plan to bed her just keep an eye on her. Niall is injured.”
“What happened to Niall?”
“A wee bairn, a wee little lass shot him with an arrow. I tell you Ma the MacGregors breed them vicious. But he is alright, the Beast’s sister saved his life.”
Fia just shook her head. “I dinnae ken what the world is coming to.”
“All is well as long as we keep her hidden lest Cruim finds out she’s here before he needs to.”
“What? You mean you haven’t told the laird?” Fia screeched. “By the saints, I raised imbeciles! Lord help us all when Cruim discovers what you have done.”
Bram placed Sorcha on his bed while his mother fussed about the room muttering to herself.
“Trust me Ma, I ken what I am doing,” Bram said before he went out to help Niall and Tyra.
***
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Sorcha woke to the sound of whispering children. For a moment she thought she was back home in Glenorchy, surrounded by her nieces and nephews. But one look at the rafters, and she knew she was somewhere else entirely.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up quickly, only to be met with a wall of little faces peering up at her.
“Are you a faerie?” a little girl asked. She had curly black hair and thoughtful, light brown eyes.
“No, I am not a faerie. And who are you?” Sorcha asked.
“I am Mysie Henderson, and I am five summers old.”
“Hello Mysie, child of light,” Sorcha said, for that was indeed the meaning of her name.
“Are you Uncle Bram’s woman?” a young lad asked. He was about eight and he stood scowling at her.
“No, I am not anyone’s woman, and you are?”
“I am Domhnall Henderson,” he replied with a puffed-up chest.
“So, you rule the world then, Domhnall?” Sorcha asked, referencing his name.
“Aye!”
“If you are not Uncle Bram’s woman, why are you in his bed?” an older boy asked. He had a small sword at his waist and his arms were folded across his chest.
Sorcha was still trying to think about how to respond when Mysie tugged at her dress.
“Aye, what is it Mysie?”
“Do you ken where aunt, Willa is? I miss her.” The girl frowned.
Sorcha felt a strange pang in her chest. She was not about to tell her that Willa was dead. Instead, she said, “I am sorry but I dinnae ken where Willa is.”
They were silent for a while, and then the door was thrown open, with Bram filling the doorway.
“Michael, what have I told ye about being in my room?” Bram said to the older boy.
Mysie ran to Bram with her arms open. He picked her up, kissed her cheek, and scolded the others as they tried to explain why they were there.
“Who is she, Uncle Bram?” the boys asked.
“She is none of your concern. Now out with all of you.”
He placed Mysie outside the door and shooed the boys out.
When he closed the door he said to Sorcha, “Dinnae think to get the bairns to help you escape.”
“I was not thinking anything. They came to me.” Sorcha huffed.
“We will guard you every minute of the day so you cannot harm any of my family in my absence.”
Sorcha was outraged. “I would never hurt a bairn. You on the other hand are a different matter entirely.” She glared, and Bram just frowned.
“I brought you a change of clothes. There is a privy outside and a stream nearby where you can wash. Iain, my cousin, will be here shortly to guard you, and Tyra will show you around. We dinnae live rich like your clan. I’ll expect you to pull your weight with chores,” Bram grumbled.
“You could always send me home if I am such a burden to you?” Sorcha said defensively as she got off the bed.
Bram was silent as he observed her. He could not help but notice how bonnie she looked in the mornings when she was piqued. He wondered what it would be like to wake up with her every morning. Bram mentally shook his head at the unwelcome thoughts and said, “You will remain here until the time is right.” He moved towards the door.
“Until the time is right for what? Where are you going?” Sorcha asked.
“Tis, none of your concern, but trust me you will be safer in here than out there.”
With that, he was gone, and Sorcha was left to navigate her way through this strange place. At least she knew one thing. They were Hendersons. She just needed to work out exactly where she was before she escaped.
Sorcha stepped out of her room and noticed it was a longhouse with flagstone floors and walls made of packed earth with dry stone. A fire burned in the center, and the high wooden rafters supported a thatched roof.
Down the other end of the building was a partitioned section where animals could sleep during the frosty nights. She surveyed the room it was currently empty. It was rustic, but they kept it clean.
She took a few steps towards the fireplace when the main door opened, and a warrior greeted her. He bore the same family resemblance.
“So, you’re the Beast’s sister?” he asked.
“Aye,” Sorcha replied.
He snorted after giving her a once over. “You’re not as bonnie as Bram says you are. He must be half-blind. Come on then, dinnae stand aboot like deadwood. I have better things to do with my time.”
He walked towards the door, and Sorcha grabbed her clothes and shuffled after him. She thought him a rude boar, but she was desperate to be outdoors.
“Are you Iain?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said, and ushered her ahead of him.
“Well, Iain, you are nowhere near as handsome as your cousin!” Sorcha snapped.
Iain paused for a moment in shock, but Sorcha stepped outside, leaving him behind.
It was then the most spectacular view of the Highlands greeted her. It took her breath away as she took it all in. They were in a glen and a river ran through it.
There was a long row of white houses side by side with the mountains beyond. The fields were lush with greenery. Cattle grazed in the pasture below and the fragrant scent of wildflowers permeated the air. The sun broke through the clouds to reveal the bluest skies.
Iain passed her, so she ran to keep up.
Sorcha decided she was going to get as much information out of him as possible.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“In the Highlands,” Iain said.
“I ken that, but precisely where, in particular?”
“On Henderson land.”
“And what is the closest town to here?”
“The one beyond the hills,” he replied.
“Who lives in those cottages?” she asked.
“People,” he muttered.
“Do you live in one of them?”
“I might,” he said.
“Where does Tyra live?”
“The same place she has always lived,” he replied.
Sorcha gritted her teeth and huffed under her breath. Getting any information out of Iain was like squeezing blood from a stone. She was too busy muttering at the ground to notice Iain smirking at her. When she looked up, his face was stoic and serious again.
They came to a wooded area where there was an outhouse and further down was a steady stream of clean water, which flowed from the mountains down into the river. Iain told her to freshen up, and he would remain on guard. He also warned her that if she tried to run, she would most likely get killed by his clan.
Sorcha hurried to take care of her needs. Then she quickly bathed in the river, scrubbing herself clean from head to toe with coarse lavender soap.
When she emerged, she felt invigorated and ready to take on the day.
Iain walked her back to the longhouse, where they ate a light meal, and waited for Tyra to instruct Sorcha on her daily chores.
When Tyra arrived, Sorcha was ready. She decided it was time to find out everything she could about this clan if she was ever going to escape.
Her first step was to make peace with the woman who had betrayed her.
***
TYRA WAS AWKWARD AROUND Sorcha. Gone was the easy rapport they once shared. Replaced by guilt and open suspicion. Sorcha was doubly mistrustful, seeing as they had drugged her twice. But what hurt her the most was the mere fact Tyra used her. She pretended to be her friend and that meant she pretended to like her, which stung.
Sorcha had grown up feeling the loneliness of being a child who could not speak. She rarely made friends and when she did, they often found her behavior weird. She was not like other girls. Women her age gave her a wide birth and men her age were too scared of her brothers to even become friendly towards her. But Tyra was different. She was the first person who took an interest in Sorcha and to find out it was all a lie hurt her to her soul.
They walked a little while as Tyra showed Sorcha how to do various chores about the place. Sorcha merely inclined her head.
It was then Tyra broke the stalemate. “I’m sorry, Sorcha, but I had no choice.”
“We always have a choice, Tyra,” Sorcha said.
“Maybe when you are a MacGregor, ye have choices, but us lesser mortals live by different rules,” Tyra snapped.
“If I am to remain here for some time, tis best you dinnae pretend to be my friend,” Sorcha bit out.
“I did not pretend; Sorcha I genuinely like you as a friend.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“Try to understand my side Sorcha, your clan killed my cousin Willa with no remorse. She was like a sister to me. Bram had to take action to make them stop.”
“If you had only told me what was happening, I could have talked to Beiste. We might have seen a peaceful end to this.”
“The world does not work that way, Sorcha. You have been sheltered too long.”
“I guess we’ll never ken now.” Sorcha sighed.
Tyra turned her attention to her stitching, and they worked in silence.
***
“FUNNY, YOU DINNAE LOOK like a MacGregor,” Fia said as she walked in through the door.
It surprised Sorcha to see an older woman entering. She had very striking features and high cheekbones. She held in her hand a basket of wool yarn.
“Is that good or bad?” Sorcha asked.
“Tis good, because the ones I have encountered around these parts are not verra pleasing to the eye.”
Sorcha was not sure whether the woman was joking. She maintained a wry smile.
“I am Fia, Bram and Niall’s ma and Mysie, Domhnall and Michael are my oghaichean.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Sorcha said, feeling nervous at the reception.”
All she could say was, “Tis sorry I am for your loss, but you must believe me I had nothing to do with it.”
Fia just sighed and said, “Dinnae worry, lass, I ken it. Men wage war and women suffer for it. I am angry with your clan, but I doubt a young lass has much say in what her menfolk do.”
“I dinnae think my clan had anything to do with Willa’s death.”
Fia stiffened and shook her head. “We always try to see the best in our kin. But sometimes they are not who we think they are.”
Sorcha wanted to argue, but she would not take on a grieving mother looking to lay blame.
“Come then, you best learn to weave plaid. I am the clan seamstress and I require deft fingers and good eyes for the task.”
Sorcha agreed to help, hoping to garner more information from Fia.
It took a couple of hours to learn how to use the loom, but soon Sorcha was a dab hand at it, and with everything else in life she absorbed the inner workings of most things, like a sponge. For several hours she worked, losing herself in the repetitive patterns of her work. This way it kept the homesickness at bay, and she could converse and gather more information.
What Sorcha could not extract from Iain, she discovered from Fia.
Mysie, Domhnall, and Michael were the children of Fia’s late son. He was the laird until he fell ill and passed away. The lairdship shifted to a man named Cruim Henderson. Their family used to live in the Keep but after the lairdship changed hands, they moved to the cottages.
Iain, Niall, Tyra, and Willa each had their own cottages, which were the ones next door to the longhouse.
But the most important information of all was her location. Sorcha discovered she was in Glencoe, in Lochaber. They were Hendersons and their closest neighbors were the MacDonalds.
Sorcha finally had more information to work with. All she needed now was a way to explore further afield, past the longhouse, and she also needed weapons. But she would work on that too.
And so it was that Sorcha fell into an easy routine. They filled her days with chores, and most mornings she would wake to find Mysie curled up in bed beside her. The children often followed her about chatting about so many things. They reminded her of her nieces and nephews, who she missed even more. Sorcha had always been easy with children, so she did not mind their curiosity. In the meantime, she gathered more information from them about the woods, the river, and different pathways leading in and out of Glencoe.
A guardsman watched Sorcha through the day while she went about doing chores. She helped Fia with the weaving in the afternoons, and she also helped Tyra prepare healing packs. It turns out the laird did not allow common folk access to the clan healer, so Tyra became their makeshift healer. Sorcha noted she was talented, but she knew Amelia could teach Tyra a lot more.
No one else came out to visit, and the family kept Sorcha hidden from the rest of their clan. They would venture into the village, but she remained a secret. She asked Niall and Iain when Bram would be back, and when she would meet the laird. Their response was always the same, “When the time is right.
***
THREE DAYS HAD PASSED, and Sorcha collapsed into bed, exhausted. She had thrown herself into her chores because it kept her mind occupied and it also gave her more opportunities to gather information. She missed her clan so much. She swore if she ever got out of this predicament, she would never complain about being guarded ever again. She still had not ventured far from the glen because her guards were highly vigilant. But she had gleaned enough information to map a pathway to the next town following the River Coe.
Her best chance was to get to Loch Leven and make her way East from there. She could rummage for food, Amelia had taught her how, and Tyra had also returned to Sorcha her bag and possessions. So, she at least had sturdy travel clothes and footwear to change into when she made her escape. She also had access to enough woolen plaids to keep her warm on the journey home. Sorcha crafted a crude bow and arrows out of wood, kindling, and bits of flax she found on her walks to the river. Zala had shown her how to make simple arrows by sharpening the ends of the twigs. The only thing Sorcha needed now was a sword or something more than a sgian-dubh. She dared not escape without one.
During the night, Sorcha felt the bed shift. She came alert and threw a punch at the large dark shadow.
“Ompf, stop it, tis me!” Bram said. Pinning her arms to the bed.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Trying to sleep!” he growled.
“Then let me up so I can sleep elsewhere.” She tried to push him off her, but Bram would not budge.
“I cannot do that, love, or you might escape.”
Before Sorcha could argue, Bram had her wrists tied, and he was curled around her, so she faced him and slept in his arms.
Sorcha struggled to free herself, but he would not move. He was too heavy to push away. She beat his chest with her fists and then gave up.
Bram chuckled and she kicked his shin.
“Ouch!” she cried because it stubbed her toe. “I hate you Bram Henderson!” she hissed.
“Aye, you’ve told me that before. Now go to sleep,” he replied.
After much indignation and huffing and puffing, Sorcha fell asleep with her head tucked into Bram’s neck, and it was the most restful night she had slept since her capture.
Bram pulled Sorcha tighter against him, kissed her forehead, and breathed in her lavender scent. He had to admit he had missed her. The whole time he was away, his thoughts often wandered to her.
It had taken longer than expected, but Bram had successfully negotiated a deal with the MacDonalds. Bram had fostered with the current laird Ruadh MacDonald, and they trusted one another implicitly. Bram told him about Sorcha and the raids and that it was in their best interest as the closest neighbors to forge an alliance that did not include the Campbells. The MacDonalds agreed. With added numbers, Bram had the means to take on the MacGregors and right other wrongs. Finally, the time was right to make his move.
The woman in his arms was how he would kill two birds with one stone.
***
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Bram awoke to an empty bed. Lying beside him was the rope he had used to tie Sorcha, but the woman in question was gone.
He shot straight up and out of bed and two things came to him. The first was Sorcha’s bag, which he tripped over when he came in last night was missing, and the second, his broadsword, was gone.
“Damn it to hell!” he growled as he ran out into the main room.
His panic eased when he saw Iain watching over Sorcha and the bairns.
They were breaking their fast. Sorcha wore a plain brown tunic and the Henderson airisaidh. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid. She was seated at the table with his mother Fia, serving the children oatcakes with honey.
Mysie sat on her lap as Sorcha cooled her oatcake for her. Michael and Domhnall talked with their mouths full, telling her about their adventures, and even his brother and cousins grinned when Sorcha said something in return, and they all laughed.
Bram noticed it then. In his absence, his family was becoming attached to her. Even the children gravitated towards her. It was something his family did when Willa was alive. He gritted his teeth at the thought of Willa and struggled to reconcile his anger at the MacGregors, his grief for his sister, and his growing fondness for Sorcha.
But for the first time in months, the struggles they endured seemed a distant memory because of the enemy sitting at his table.
“Bram Henderson, will you put some clothes on!” his mother scolded, and they all turned to gawk at him.
Bram realized he was bare-chested, and his trews hung low over his hips.
He could not move because he caught something in Sorcha’s eyes. She stared at his body and licked her lips. When her eyes locked with his, she blushed bright red that he had caught her.
Bram’s mouth turned upwards into a grin. He felt exhilarated that his attraction to her was not one-sided.
“Aye, I was just looking for my sword,” he said.
“Tis above the mantle. I did not want the bairns to step on it,” Sorcha said.
He nodded, then retreated into his room, relieved that Sorcha was safe and under his roof.
***