Laird MacKay stood at the bottom of the steps, pointing his finger at Kyle. “Blair, Rory, I will ask you lads again, who is this man?”

Blair spoke up first. “Our cousin, Caol, Father. Surely you recognize your brother’s son.”

The laird’s brow furrowed as his scrutiny intensified, but he remained silent.

Unable to stand the uncomfortable silence any longer, Kyle dismounted, stood beside Blair, then bowed. “I was but a lad when we last saw each other, Uncle. I’m not surprised you don’t know me. My cousins and I were just talking about how much we’ve all changed since we were lads. What has it been, twenty summers?” Kyle drew on facts he’d picked up during the conversation he’d had with Blair and Rory when they first met. He hoped the information he’d learned would be enough convince the laird he was who he claimed, but given the man’s scowl, he had his doubts.

“He favors his mam more than his da,” Rory said, then slapped Kyle on the back. “Comelier too.”

“We expected you to arrive days ago. What kept you?” the laird asked.

“I fell prey to a band of thieves,” Kyle said without thinking. “They took my horse, hit me over the head, and left me for dead, but you can see I survived. I laid low for a couple of days, then snuck into their encampment and took back my mount.” The words came so easily, he almost believed he was telling the truth.

“You were fortunate the blow wasna fatal,” the laird said.

“I may look like my mam, but my father has been telling me since I was a lad that I have the hard skull of a MacKay,” Kyle replied.

The laird hesitated for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. “A true MacKay. Come, ale and fine food await.” He motioned for Kyle to join him, then turned and entered the castle.

Blair pushed by him and raced up the steps with his brother on his heel. “You dinna have to tell me twice,” he declared, then flung open the castle door.

Before joining the laird and his sons, Kyle took a moment to check out his surroundings. Things happened so quickly with Beatha and when the MacKay brothers intercepted him on his way to the stronghold, that he hadn’t taken time to let what was happening to him sink in. He paused to take in the sights, smells and sounds of medieval Scotland. Believe it or not, he was in 1305. Now he had to find Gwen before it was too late.

“Are you coming, cousin? Dinna fash about your mount, one of the squires will see to him,” Rory shouted. “Make haste, we are anxious to hear how the battles are going against the English.”

Kyle hesitated. An avid history buff, he remembered reading that the MacKay Clan supported the efforts of Robert the Bruce after 1306 when he crowned himself king and tried to liberate Scotland from British tyranny during the war for independence. But he wasn’t sure he could hold his own in a conversation where he was supposed to have witnessed the battles firsthand.

“There’ll be plenty of time to catch up on the conflict once Caol has had something to eat and drink,” the laird said. “After that, you can show him to his chamber. He’s had a long journey, so I am sure he will welcome a good night’s sleep.”

“I am tired.” As Kyle brought a hand to his lips and stifled a yawn, his stomach rumbled. It had to be at least twenty-four hours since he’d eaten, so he couldn’t pass up a meal, but he hoped to keep the conversations about the war to a minimum. He wished Beatha had told him more about the MacKays and the reason Caol was visiting, but he’d have to bluff his way through. He’d managed to fool them so far, but wasn’t sure how long his luck would hold out.

“You must be starving,” Blair said. “Cook makes a great leg of mutton.”

“I would fancy something to eat and drink before I retire for the night.” Kyle followed them into the great hall, quickly noticing the dais was already set with pewter mugs, wooden trenchers, jugs of spirits and platters piled high with food—the succulent aroma of roasted meat filling his nostrils.

“Come sit beside me.” The laird took a seat located in the middle of the dais and pointed to the empty one next to him.

As soon as Kyle sat, a wooden trencher was thrust in front of him. “Eat up. I am assuming along with the thick skull you have the MacKay men’s hearty appetite.” He speared a slab of meat and put it on Kyle’s plate, followed by turnips, greens and a chunk of bannock.

“Tell us of the war,” Blair said with his mouth full. “Were you there when the bastards executed William Wallace?” He slammed his balled fist on the table with such force, he knocked over his tankard of ale.

Kyle almost chocked on the food in his mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed. He wasn’t sure how to answer, since he had no idea if Caol was there or not. He knew from his studies that from 1298 to 1305 Wallace championed the Scottish cause against the English, but was captured following a battle in 1305, then tortured and executed, his body parts sent to the four corners of Scotland and his head displayed on a pike.

“I’ve heard tell Robert the Bruce and some of the other so-called Scottish nobles could have done something to stop it, but instead they kissed Longshanks’ arse, hoping to be named the next king of Scotland,” Rory grumbled, then shoved a piece of bannock into his mouth.

“If you ask me, they should all be stripped of their land and titles, then drawn and quartered for betraying their own.” Blair retrieved his empty tankard and refilled it with ale. “Any Scot who sides with Longshanks doesna deserve to live.”

“It was a sad day when Wallace met his end, not only for him, but for Scotland as well,” Kyle finally said. “But we must have faith, believe that those who currently endorse King Edward will see the error of their ways and support the Scottish cause.”

He knew that in the spring of 1306, Robert the Bruce would be accused of killing, Red Comyn, a descendent of the former King John Balliol, and his strongest opponent for the crown. After declaring himself King, the Bruce would switch sides and eventually be viewed as a Scottish hero and not a traitor. But that wasn’t going to happen until almost a year from now, so Kyle kept the knowledge to himself.

“You have more faith in the nobles than I do, lad, but that is another way you are like your da. My brother has always tried to see the good in the buggers, where I have been able to look right through them and see their greed. They get richer, while the people of Scotland grow poorer. When Longshanks decided to assimilate our nation, it only took him nine weeks to accomplish the task. Something that would never have happened if our leaders had the courage to fight back from the start.”

“I envy you having been in the thick of battle against the English, cousin,” Blair said. “I told da I planned to join the cause the next time reinforcements are called upon.”

“War is never a good thing,” Kyle said. He could speak from experience, having served in Afghanistan for three years in the medical corps. “I wouldn’t be in a hurry to enlist if I were you.”

“Enlist?” Blair raised a brow.

“Join the cause,” Kyle clarified, upon realizing he’d used a modern term these men would not understand. “Good men die and so do innocent women and children. There is no glory in killing and plundering.” Suddenly losing his appetite, Kyle shoved the trencher across the table and rose. “I am exhausted and would appreciate it if someone could show me where to sleep.”

In truth, he wanted to go straight to MacQuin Castle and find Gwen, but he was no good to her or anyone else if he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Besides, Beatha said he’d need assistance, and he figured Rory and Blair could prove to be of help. He just hoped he could come up with a plausible excuse to go to MacQuin Castle and find Gwen before it was too late.  

~ * ~

Gwen shifted in the saddle. After countless hours atop the horse, her back was stiff, her legs and bottom numb, but she’d not admit it to her escorts. An avid horsewoman, she was accustomed to long rides, but this had turned out to be ten hours in the saddle with only one stop to tend to her needs. That was enough to push her to her limit. They even ate and drank—what little they’d consumed—while riding.

As the sun began to set, dread replaced the hunger tugging at her belly. She was in no rush to arrive at Gower Castle, but didn’t want to spend the night alone with these brutes either. Given the way they ogled her, watched her every move, she believed that regardless of Damen’s warning to see she arrived untouched, if they were to make camp, satiating their own carnal needs would take precedence if the opportunity arose.

“Do you need to stop and rest, m’lady?” The head guard rode up beside her. “We still have a ways to go and need to keep up the pace if we hope to reach the castle by nightfall. If na, we’ll have to make camp and finish the journey in the morn.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. She’d give anything to stop and stretch her legs, not to mention relieve herself, but feared what might happen if she did. One on one she might stand a chance, but against four burly warriors she knew the odds were heavily against her. “How much farther is it?”

“Two hours, mayhap three. The laird will have a meal waiting and a comfortable bed.”

“That’s what I fear,” she mumbled beneath her breath, a shiver skittering up her spine at the thought of the laird waiting for her to join him in bed. “I’m not acquainted with Laird Gower. Has he been married before?”

“You willna be his first bride. I believe you will be his fourth.” the guard said.

She swallowed hard. “Four wives?”

“Aye. There have been three marriages, and one betrothal that ended a few days afore the wedding.” The guard lowered his gaze. “I shouldna say this, but Laird Gower has na had the best of luck with his lady wives. All who made it before the priest, died not long after the nuptials. I’d tread lightly if I were you, Lady Gweneth. Do not anger him, if you know what is good for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Gwen squared her shoulders and nibbled on her bottom lip. If she thought she could spur her mount and get away, she’d try, but she had no doubt they’d be on her before she got far. Her only chance was to be sweet and complacent, and hope the laird would honor her wishes to wait until their wedding night, one she prayed never took place. Rather than continue the conversation with the guard about Laird Gower, she dug her heels into the horse’s sides and the beast lunged forward.

The guard raced after her, quickly caught up, and reached over and grabbed the reins of Gwen’s horse, slowing her mount to a trot. “Easy, lass. I dinna want to explain to the laird that his betrothed fell and broke her neck afore she arrived at the castle.”

Gwen yanked her reins free of his grasp. “I have been riding since I was five and know how to handle a horse. You said we needed to hurry if we wanted to arrive before nightfall, did you not?”

He bobbed his head. “Aye, but—”

She held up her hand. “Then we’d best not waste any more time.” She squeezed the horse’s sides, urging him forward—the guard keeping up with her mount stride for stride.

Exhausted and finding it hard to keep her eyes open, Gwen brought her hand to her mouth and stifled a yawn. The sun had set over an hour ago and the only thing lighting their way was the full moon. She draped her arisaidh over her head, then tucked the loose edges under her chin, hoping to block the chilly night air. “Think warm thoughts,” she mumbled aloud, but the wool garment provided little protection against the brisk autumn wind. She shivered and her teeth began to chatter. If they didn’t arrive soon, she wasn’t certain how much longer she could remain atop the horse, so when the castle came into view, perched on a rocky cliff in the distance, relief washed over her.

“Gower Castle,” the guard said, then pointed in the direction of the structure. “I can smell the cook fires from here and am sure there will be a warm meal waiting.”

His words were bittersweet to her ears. Part of her was thrilled to know she’d be somewhere warm and off the horse, but part of her dreaded meeting Laird Gower. Stealing herself against the inevitable, she nudged her mount forward, soon arriving at the curtain wall.

Iron groaned and chains rattled as the portcullis inched skyward, granting them entry to the bailey, where several heavily armed warriors greeted them.

“The laird has been awaiting your arrival,” one of the warriors said. “You’ll find him in the great hall with his brother.” He bowed before Gwen. “Welcome, m’lady.”

Gwen nodded politely and forced a smile, but didn’t answer him. It was hard enough to remain calm and collected while facing her fears head on, so making small-talk with this man was not something she could handle at the moment.

Upon arriving at the Castle steps, the head of the guards slid from the saddle and handed his horse over to a young lad, who Gwen guessed to be around ten-years-old. The boy led the mount away and was soon replaced by three other boys around the same age.

Wasting no time, the guard rounded her horse and plucked Gwen from the saddle—her knees buckling the minute her feet hit the ground. She clung to his tunic for support, waiting for the feeling to return to her limbs. “Forgive me, my legs are numb, but I should be better in a minute.”

“It is na surprising, given how long we have been riding. Take your time, m’lady, and dinna try to walk until you are ready. I dinna mind.” He curled his arm around her waist and tugged her against his side, but when he slid his hand lower and cupped her bottom, she immediately shoved him away.

While still unsteady on her feet, it was amazing how much stronger she felt once he made the inappropriate advance. “I’m much better and can walk on my own,” she said curtly, then took a wobbly step, followed by another. As her legs grew stronger, she moved more quickly, putting as much distance between herself and the guard as she could. She stumbled up the steps of the keep, and paused when she reached the large oak door, knowing her betrothed waited on the other side, and her life was about to take a drastic turn for the worse. It was too late to change her mind or to run, so she inhaled deeply, then slowly let the air escape from her lungs, raised her chin and shoved the door open.

Gwen was so busy dodging the guard’s flirtation, she didn’t notice the other men who had accompanied them from MacQuin castle had already gone inside ahead of them, so it took her by surprise when she was met by three maids, each tugging her in different directions.

“Och, you must clean yourself up and get to the great hall immediately. The laird is waiting for you,” the oldest of the three woman said as she grabbed Gwen’s arm and tugged.

“Nay, she doesna have time to wash up,” a young woman with red hair exclaimed, then yanked on her other arm.

The third woman, who Gwen guessed was in her early thirties, stood back with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her toe on the plank floor. “You’ll rip the lass in two if you’re na careful. Give her some space and let her breathe.”

“But the laird said—” the oldest maid started, but stopped, then quickly bowed her head.

“The laird is tired of waiting and wishes to meet his betrothed,” a voice bellowed down the hall, completing the old woman’s sentence.

Gwen swallowed against the lump in her throat, and slowly turned to face a man who had to be older than her father. A tall, imposing looking fellow, with harsh angular features, an aquiline nose, large ears, and a menacing expression. The veins in his neck bulged and his cheeks flushed red as he stomped down the hall toward them.

The three maids dropped to a low curtsy, their eyes trailing the floor as their master passed.

“Lady Gweneth, I take it?” he snarled, his lips curled in disgust as he looked her up and down without saying another word.

Unable to bear the uncomfortable scrutiny and longer, Gwen stiffened her spine and glared at the man. “I’m not accustomed to being examined like a prize mare, sir. If you’re displeased, I will gladly return to MacQuin Castle.”

“Silence!” He raised his fist as he prepared to strike, but the maid who’d asked the others to give Gwen space, stepped forward.

“Please, m’lord, she has been on a long journey, is tired and no doubt hungry. Dinna hold her outburst against her. I’m sure she meant no harm.”

Gwen wanted to speak up on her own behalf, and tell the maid she meant what she said and not to interfere, but changed her mind when the laird lowered his arm. Gwen reminded herself that this was not a courtroom or the twenty-first century, so she needed to learn to think first and then react accordingly.

“Clean her up and bring her to the great hall. She’s filthy and smells of horse.” He spun around and stormed down the hall.”