six months when ye were found. ‘Tis a pity is wasn‘t the winter, else ye would hae already been eaten by the wolves."
"That‘s a horrible thing for ye to say to me," Anice shrieked, outraged.
"Ye‘re no better than ye ought to be," the cook added scathingly. "Ye‘re just a nameless bastard, but ye shame the man who gae ye his name by yer wanton behavior. And yer disrespect to the mistress of this keep hae been duly noted, and will be remembered by all who serve here. Now get ye gone, ye worthless piece of baggage!"
"Don‘t ye dare speak to me that way! Any of ye! I‘ll hae the new laird turn ye all out, I will,"
Anice threatened them.
"He‘ll not turn me out," Ellen said softly. "Now, I have asked you to leave the hall once. I‘ll not ask again, and believe me, Balgair MacArthur wants nothing more than to please me right now.
If I should ask him to give you a good beating, Anice, he will."
The defiant girl actually blanched at Ellen‘s hard words. Turning on her heel, without another word she stalked out of the hall. The women turned back to the body of Donald MacNab,
finished bathing him, and dressed him in his wedding finery, adding his red-and-green MacNab plaid. Cleaned, his red hair still damp, he almost looked asleep. What kind of a man had he really been? Ellen wondered. Well, she‘d not know now. What she would remember was that he had been a kind boy when they were children. "Sew him into his shroud," Ellen told the women with a sigh. "I‘ll fetch the priest."
At afternoon‘s end on that late autumn day Ellen MacArthur, her plaid tied across her chest, followed the bodies of her grandfather and her betrothed husband from the hall of Lochearn Keep to a nearby hillside, where the two graves were opened and ready. Father Birk led the way, preceded by the family piper. Behind the girl a procession of servants, clansmen, and women followed to pay their last respects to Ewan MacArthur and the young MacNab.
At the grave site the bodies were carefully lowered into the ground. Father Birk said the words of burial. Each clansman and-woman filed past the graves in a gesture of respect as the graves were being filled in. Each spoke a word of comfort or kindness to Ellen. Balgair MacArthur was nowhere in sight; nor was Anice. Finally the two graves were filled in, and Ellen stood alone.
Everyone had gone, even the piper. She stood upon the hillside, the sky blazing red behind her with the early sunset. To the east a single bright star had risen in the darkening firmament above her.
Alone. She was alone. She had no one now. Grandsire was gone. Donald MacNab was gone.
Duncan Armstrong was gone. Now why, she wondered, had she thought of the laird of
Duffdour? Because he was kindness in a world gone suddenly cold for her, Ellen realized. And then she knew with a certainty such as she had never before known: There was nothing left for her here at Lochearn.
The life she had anticipated, looked forward to, had been stolen from her by the MacArthurs of Skye, even as they had stolen those last months with Grandsire from her. She loved Lochearn.
She had grown up here, but her months at court had shown her that as long as she was happy it didn‘t matter where she was. Her memories of her childhood would always be hers. Unless she allowed Balgair MacArthur to take those from her too.
"Fare thee well, Grandsire, and Godspeed to both ye and my Donald," Ellen said quietly in their Highland tongue. "I will nae pass this way again." Then, turning away from the fresh graves, Ellen made her way down the hill in the fast-falling night and entered the keep. She made her way to the hall, where Balgair sat before the fire, Anice in his lap, his hand in her gown fondling a breast. Ellen raised an amused eyebrow at Anice‘s smug little face as she cuddled with her lover.
Balgair gave her a slow smile, but his hand remained in Anice‘s bodice. "Ye‘ve buried them then," he said. It was not a query.
Ellen nodded. "I
"That‘s a horrible thing for ye to say to me," Anice shrieked, outraged.
"Ye‘re no better than ye ought to be," the cook added scathingly. "Ye‘re just a nameless bastard, but ye shame the man who gae ye his name by yer wanton behavior. And yer disrespect to the mistress of this keep hae been duly noted, and will be remembered by all who serve here. Now get ye gone, ye worthless piece of baggage!"
"Don‘t ye dare speak to me that way! Any of ye! I‘ll hae the new laird turn ye all out, I will,"
Anice threatened them.
"He‘ll not turn me out," Ellen said softly. "Now, I have asked you to leave the hall once. I‘ll not ask again, and believe me, Balgair MacArthur wants nothing more than to please me right now.
If I should ask him to give you a good beating, Anice, he will."
The defiant girl actually blanched at Ellen‘s hard words. Turning on her heel, without another word she stalked out of the hall. The women turned back to the body of Donald MacNab,
finished bathing him, and dressed him in his wedding finery, adding his red-and-green MacNab plaid. Cleaned, his red hair still damp, he almost looked asleep. What kind of a man had he really been? Ellen wondered. Well, she‘d not know now. What she would remember was that he had been a kind boy when they were children. "Sew him into his shroud," Ellen told the women with a sigh. "I‘ll fetch the priest."
At afternoon‘s end on that late autumn day Ellen MacArthur, her plaid tied across her chest, followed the bodies of her grandfather and her betrothed husband from the hall of Lochearn Keep to a nearby hillside, where the two graves were opened and ready. Father Birk led the way, preceded by the family piper. Behind the girl a procession of servants, clansmen, and women followed to pay their last respects to Ewan MacArthur and the young MacNab.
At the grave site the bodies were carefully lowered into the ground. Father Birk said the words of burial. Each clansman and-woman filed past the graves in a gesture of respect as the graves were being filled in. Each spoke a word of comfort or kindness to Ellen. Balgair MacArthur was nowhere in sight; nor was Anice. Finally the two graves were filled in, and Ellen stood alone.
Everyone had gone, even the piper. She stood upon the hillside, the sky blazing red behind her with the early sunset. To the east a single bright star had risen in the darkening firmament above her.
Alone. She was alone. She had no one now. Grandsire was gone. Donald MacNab was gone.
Duncan Armstrong was gone. Now why, she wondered, had she thought of the laird of
Duffdour? Because he was kindness in a world gone suddenly cold for her, Ellen realized. And then she knew with a certainty such as she had never before known: There was nothing left for her here at Lochearn.
The life she had anticipated, looked forward to, had been stolen from her by the MacArthurs of Skye, even as they had stolen those last months with Grandsire from her. She loved Lochearn.
She had grown up here, but her months at court had shown her that as long as she was happy it didn‘t matter where she was. Her memories of her childhood would always be hers. Unless she allowed Balgair MacArthur to take those from her too.
"Fare thee well, Grandsire, and Godspeed to both ye and my Donald," Ellen said quietly in their Highland tongue. "I will nae pass this way again." Then, turning away from the fresh graves, Ellen made her way down the hill in the fast-falling night and entered the keep. She made her way to the hall, where Balgair sat before the fire, Anice in his lap, his hand in her gown fondling a breast. Ellen raised an amused eyebrow at Anice‘s smug little face as she cuddled with her lover.
Balgair gave her a slow smile, but his hand remained in Anice‘s bodice. "Ye‘ve buried them then," he said. It was not a query.
Ellen nodded. "I
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