Wings of Morning (9 page)

“Aye,” Regan softly replied, gazing down once again at the lovely flowers she held. “We all have difficulties to overcome. The Lord grant us all, though, the courage to find our way past them to His truths and love.”

Just then, the bell rang out for the midday meal. She looked up and gave him her brightest smile. “We’d best be going, m’lord. Cook doesn’t like her food to get cold, waiting on stragglers.”

He laughed then. “Aye, best we should. But one thing first, lass.”

She angled her head. “Aye, m’lord?”

“My name’s Iain. Would ye call me that from here on out?”

Regan’s gut clenched. “Aye, if ye wish, but it seems an impertinence, ye being the laird and all.”

“It’s no impertinence if I give ye leave, is it?” he asked, moving to her side and taking her by the elbow.

“Nay,” she slowly replied, “I suppose not.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” And with that Iain set out, guiding her through the summer-sweet garden toward the kitchen door.

Breathless with excitement, Walter paid the man and sent him on his way. After all this time, nearly five weeks since Regan had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth, he finally had information that she was alive. He had sent out several of his clansmen north into various parts of Campbell and other neighboring clan lands, with orders to inquire after a missing lass. And all but one man had finally returned with no word of Regan.

All but Fergus MacLaren, who had stumbled onto a Murray laird with news worth every penny of the bribe money Walter had given each of his men. Though his heart had nearly stopped in his chest when he had learned the name of the Campbell who had sent out letters inquiring about a lass who fit Regan’s description, one of which had come into the Murray laird’s possession, it was, in the total scheme of things, of little import. What mattered was Regan was alive!

Still, it was most strange that she now resided at Balloch Castle with Iain Campbell and his mother. And, Fergus had next informed him after taking the initiative to then ride to Balloch and spy out the situation a bit further, from all appearances, Regan seemed quite happy there. She wasn’t being held prisoner and could come and go quite freely. She even went out on rides with Iain Campbell himself, no less.

After some thought, and about four cups of wine later, Walter finally hit on the answer. Rumor had it that Iain Campbell had once been in love with Niall Campbell’s wife, who, for a time at least, had been suspected of witchcraft. Indeed, she had barely escaped burning at the stake after being tried and convicted as a witch. Perhaps Iain was in league with her, had become a warlock to her witch, and had cast a spell over Regan.

It seemed the only plausible explanation. Regan was as loyal as they came. She’d never willingly remain in the lair of her worst enemy, the man whom she imagined had killed her beloved husband.

The trick, though, would be in extricating her from Balloch Castle. Walter couldn’t, after all, just ride up and demand her release or lay siege to the place. Not only did he lack sufficient men and arms, but any attack would soon bring Niall Campbell and the rest of his clan down on them.

Nay, Walter realized, he needed to find some other way to rescue Regan. But how?

The day they set out for Kilchurn was clear, bright, and warm. Iain and Charlie took the lead, with Regan and Mathilda riding directly behind them. Jane had been chosen to accompany the two women as a serving maid to be shared between them. Two pack animals carried the necessary clothing, including extra cloaks in case of rain. Bringing up the rear were eight more armed clansmen as escort and protection.

Iain was heavily armed as well, with his huge claymore slung across his back, a shorter sword hanging from his belt on one hip, and a powder horn and bag of shot on the other. In addition, he had a pair of “daggs” or heavy, single-shot, wheel-lock pistols in large, leather holsters attached to the front of his saddle on each side.

He had shown the daggs to her earlier, after she had asked about the key on a long cord that he wore around his neck. The pistols’ wheel-lock mechanism would fire by spinning against a piece of flint, he explained, creating a spark that would then ignite the powder. The steel wheel was spring loaded, however, and required the key or “spanner” to wind the spring each time it was to be fired. “Lose the spanner,” he then added with a grin, “and ye’re out of luck, laddie.”

She could barely repress a shiver as she looked at the long, silver barrels with their fine wooden handles. Imported from Holland, they were, Iain said before shoving them back into their holsters, and worth a pretty penny to boot. Still, at close range, they had proven their value several times already, and likely would again.

Regan knew he spoke true. Even a journey that would take them primarily through Campbell lands was one fraught with danger. The powerful Campbells weren’t without enemies, and then there was the always very real threat from thieves and bands of broken, clanless men who roamed the Highlands. Somehow, though, she felt perfectly safe in Iain’s company. From all she had heard at Balloch, he was as fearsome a warrior as he was a prosperous laird. He hadn’t been chosen the Campbell chief’s tanist and chosen successor without good reason.

“Ye’re looking deep in thought this day, ye are,” Mathilda’s voice intruded just then. “Are ye already trying to discern if aught around us appears familiar?”

“Och, it all appears familiar just now.” Regan grinned and glanced over at the older woman. “We’ve only just left sight of Balloch, and Iain and I’ve ridden this direction several times already. But it didn’t appear familiar the first time I rode out with him, if ye’re wondering that. Not here, or for mayhap a good half day’s ride in this direction, which is as far as we’ve gone until today.”

“Well, that’d make sense. Considering ye were found nearly that far away when ye had yer accident.” Mathilda sighed. “Likely there’s no chance then of ye living closer than a half day’s journey from here in any direction.”

Regan opened her mouth to ask a question that had been plaguing her of late, then closed it, then decided to ask it anyway. “What if . . . what if I never fully regain my memory or discover who I truly am? Or is that even possible?”

Iain’s mother shrugged. “I don’t know the answer to that, child. I suppose it’s possible.” She smiled. “But dinna fash yerself. It’s only been a bit over five weeks since ye came to us. There’s still time.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want to remember,” Regan said by way of explanation. “But I can’t continue to live off yer generosity much longer. It’s not right or honorable.”

“And has anyone at Balloch led ye to believe ye’ve worn out yer welcome? Because if they have, I want to know and I’ll soon silence such inhospitable chatter.”

“Och, nay!” Regan flushed in embarrassment. “No one has said an unkind word. But
I
feel badly about this, I do.”

“And exactly what would ye be suggesting then?”

She suddenly didn’t know. “Well, mayhap if there’s some servant’s position at Balloch that I might fill. That young kitchen helper—Bessie’s her name, isn’t it?—is soon to be wed. Will she be staying on after that?”

Mathilda laughed. “So, ye’ve got designs on poor Bessie’s job, do ye? Well, though ye’re willing to do aught that’s asked of ye, I’m not thinking ye’re suited for kitchen drudgery. Not to mention, I doubt Iain would hear of treating ye in such a dishonorable way.”

“But I’ve my honor too!” Regan cried in frustration. “And I’m not some fine lady unsuited to hard work. Indeed, I’m not verra fine at all.”

Her companion arched a graying brow. “Aren’t ye? I saw yer hands when ye came to us. Soft and refined beneath that mud and grime ye were dragged through. And ye can read, lass, not to mention yer clothes, though not of the most costly fabric, weren’t those of a simple crofter’s either.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone come looking for me? Even a simple crofter’s wife or daughter deserves better than that!”

Mathilda shook her head. “I don’t know, child. It’s most puzzling.” She sighed. “Well, mayhap the answers lie just over the next horizon. Or mayhap someone will recognize ye at Kilchurn. Far more folk pass through there, seeking audience with the Campbell for all sorts of favors and resolution of grievances. If naught else, ye’ll be exposed to many more faces there than ye ever would if ye’d remained hidden away at Balloch.”

“Aye, I suppose so,” Regan muttered even as she thought that, as long as Iain was there, she wouldn’t mind staying hidden away the rest of her life.

“Och, don’t go on so, child.” Mathilda laughed. “Ye can’t imagine the fun ye’ll have at Kilchurn. Anne’s close to yer age, if mayhap a few years older, and Caitlin, Niall’s sister, is likely but a few years younger, so ye’ll have two young women with similar upbringing and interests to spend time with. Much as ye seem to enjoy my company, surely by now ye’re yearning for a few friends yer own age.”

“I’ve been verra happy at Balloch, m’lady.” Regan shot her a quick smile. “And I feel verra comfortable in yer company.”

“I’d like to think we’ve become friends.”

There was a note of pensive yearning in Iain’s mother’s voice. It surprised Regan. It almost sounded as if the older woman sincerely desired her friendship.

“Och, aye,” she said. “I cherish yer company, m’lady. That I do. I just didn’t want to presume . . .”

“Well, it’s settled then,” Mathilda stated firmly. “We’re friends, and friends don’t speak of imposing on each other. Agreed?”

She had been tricked and maneuvered into ending the issue of her overstaying her welcome at Balloch, Regan realized with no small amount of chagrin. Not that it didn’t please her to be considered Mathilda Campbell’s friend. It just wasn’t right to become a useless burden anywhere.

There was naught more she could do about the problem just now, though, so best she leave it be. But only for a time more.

Regan turned to Mathilda and nodded her acquiescence. “Agreed.”

7

It indeed took them three days to reach Kilchurn. Three days spent out in the warm sunshine and fresh air, enjoying the wildflowers blooming in the meadows, the heath washing the hills in lavender and pink, the sparkling burns flowing through the glens, and the eagles soaring overhead. Three days that she spent in Iain’s company, if not actually riding at his side, and cherishing every minute of it.

Not once, however, did Regan recognize any village or town they passed; nor did any terrain appear familiar. Perhaps it should’ve upset her more than it did, but she was becoming used to, if not comfortable with, the memory gaps of her past. It was almost as if she had resigned herself to building a new life in the here and now, a life that day by day was fashioning a past of its own.

Since inns in the Highlands were almost nonexistent, nights on the road were spent within the safe, snug confines of the homes of local if lesser Campbell lairds or tacksmen—she, Mathilda, and Jane in one bedchamber, the men all in another. She imagined she and the other women got the best of that bargain, knowing most of the men ended up sleeping on the floor wrapped in their plaids. Not that such arrangements were unusual for Highlanders. That was how most of them slept when away from home and out of doors.

At twilight of the third day, to the eerie plaint of the peesweep and harsh call of ravens, they finally approached Kilchurn Castle. That great stone fortress of Clan Campbell, perched on a spit of land jutting into freshwater Loch Awe, was dominated by the towering twin peaks of Ben Cruachan, which, Regan knew, was the inspiration for the Campbell battle cry of “Cruachan!” Her gaze lifted from the mountain’s wooded, lower slopes, until the trees thinned and disappeared, revealing a bare, lumpy peak split into two cones. Mighty Ben Cruachan, a fitting symbol of the majesty and might of what was now one of the most powerful of Highland clans.

One side of Kilchurn’s earthen-hued edifice was surrounded by grassy meadow and trees. The other sat close to the gently lapping waters of the loch. Regan thought she could easily spend hours visiting Loch Awe in the days to come, shaded by some of the trees that grew close to its edges a ways down from Kilchurn. She had always found great peace, she realized, sitting by a loch, gazing out onto deep waters.

The loch that came to mind, however, wasn’t Loch Awe or even Loch Tay, which Balloch Castle overlooked, but some other loch entirely. A much smaller loch, to be sure, but studded around its edges with scattered forests and presided over by its own towering mountain peak.

For a moment, as they rode toward Kilchurn’s huge wooden gates, Regan closed her eyes and gave herself over to the image in her mind, trying to put a name to the place. And, as always, even as she struggled to bring it into sharper focus, the image began to crumble at its edges and fade. Finally, with a sigh, she let it go.

As they rode through the gate and its high curtain wall defended by round towers at each of its corners, their party was greeted with a courtyard ablaze with light. Myriad torches encircled a large area that led to the steps of the keep. On those steps stood a tall, darkhaired man and an auburn-haired woman, their arms entwined about each other’s waists. Beside the woman stood a girl with long, ebony hair.

“That’s Niall and Anne,” Mathilda whispered, leaning toward Regan. “And the girl is Niall’s sister, Caitlin.”

Her stomach aflutter with sudden nervousness, Regan could manage only a nod in response. As they drew to a halt, servants ran over to hold their horses. Iain and Charlie quickly dismounted. Charlie came around and graciously helped Mathilda down. Iain walked up to Regan.

“May I be of assistance, lass?” he asked, looking up at her.

She flushed. “Thank ye, m’lor—Iain,” she said, not wishing to appear ungrateful for his gallant offer. She surrendered her reins to the boy who had come up to hold her horse. Then, leaning over, she extended her arms to Iain.

He took her to him without any apparent effort, swinging her gently down until her feet touched ground. His gaze was tender, and he didn’t release her right off but continued to grasp her arms as if he didn’t want to let her go. For a few precious seconds, with everyone bustling around them, Regan felt as if she were in a sweet, secret world that included only her and Iain.

Then he released her and stepped back.

“Come, lass,” he said, offering her his arm. “It’s past time ye were meeting my cousin and his family.”

Hungry for some continued contact with him, Regan eagerly took his arm. “I’d like that verra much.”

With Charlie escorting Mathilda alongside them, they proceeded to march up the steps, halting only when they were but two steps below their hosts. Niall Campbell grinned, then fisted his hands on his hips.

“Ye were wise to pay us a visit when ye did, cousin,” he growled. “I was about to send my men to drag ye here to fulfill yer proper duties.”

“Were ye, indeed?” Iain laughed. “Well, then as always, my timing’s perfect.”

Niall’s mouth quirked in amusement. “Aye, in the past ye always were verra good at showing up at the most inopportune times. Or, leastwise, at the times
I
didn’t want ye around. But nowadays, when I
do
want ye around, ye ride off to sequester yerself at Balloch for months at a time.”

“No one about anymore to take yer ill temper out on, is there?”

“Exactly!” And then Niall threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter.

“That’ll be enough of the manly blustering, husband.” Anne Campbell stepped forward. “Ye and Iain can arm wrestle or flay each other over a game of chess later. For now, our guests languish out here on the steps, and it’s time we were asking them to come inside.”

“Och, aye.” The Campbell shot Regan a look of curiosity. “First, though, it’s only proper Iain introduce us to the bonny lass he has on his arm. Eh, cousin?”

“This lady’s name is Regan. She’s been our honored guest for the past month and a half.” Iain graced her with a quick, reassuring glance. “Now, may we enter and mayhap have something to rinse the dust from our throats?”

“Och, ye’ll get more than that,” Niall said. “We’ve prepared a fine feast to welcome ye, we have.”

“But first,” Anne injected, “we’ll see ye settled in yer proper bedchambers, where ye can wash, change yer clothes,
and
have a wee drink before the supper meal’s served in an hour’s time.”

With that she turned her husband around. Together, they led the way into the keep.

Iain grinned down at Regan. “Not much for formality, are they?”

She chuckled. “It’s good to see that ye’re so close, ye and Niall.”

“Aye,” he muttered wryly as he began to lead her up the last few steps and through the keep’s open doorway, “and if we were verra much closer, we’d be celebrating our reunion rolling around on the ground, beating in each other’s heads.”

The next morn as she lay in bed, savoring the comfort of the feather mattress after the last two nights on straw-stuffed mattresses at the various inns, Regan glanced languidly around her bedchamber. Everything in Kilchurn was so beautiful and fascinating, from the magnificence of the building itself to her bedchamber with its big tester bed, stunning wall tapestry of a forest and lake, carved clothes chest, and cupboard for toilet articles, with its prettily painted pottery basin and ewer and pewter chamber pot. In anticipation of their arrival, the stone floors had been swept then strewn with fresh rushes mixed with lavender and rosemary clippings. Everything was clean and sweet smelling. Once again, as at Balloch, she couldn’t help but revel in what seemed like the height of luxury.

Kilchurn’s five-story keep was large, spacious, and even more sumptuously appointed than Balloch’s quite ample environs. Essentially a large tower house enclosed by a good-sized courtyard, with a private garden on the house’s backside situated between the keep and the outer walls, it was similarly structured with a belowground cellar, dungeon, and servants’ quarters.

The ground floor housed the kitchen and additional workrooms; the second floor, which the outside stairs led up to, was comprised of a large entry that opened on one side to the Great Hall and on the other to a library and two small reception rooms. A wide staircase at the back of the entry led to the next floor and two corridors of bedchambers, as well as the chapel. From that floor, in the rear of the building, a turnpike stair climbed to a combined garret with several large windows and the attic.

The contrast between the wealth in which she now lived and that which had apparently been lacking in her past life, however, was of little concern anymore. If the truth be told, Regan was beginning to care less and less if she ever regained her memory. Some instinct warned she might well be disappointed when she did. And, even more than losing the accommodations and the company of the refined people she now enjoyed, she dreaded the very real possibility of having to leave Iain in the bargain.

She soon tossed that daunting consideration aside and, throwing back the covers, sat up on the side of the bed. Her movement must have alerted Jane, who was busy stoking the hearth fire against the morning chill.

“Och, ye’re finally awake, ma’am,” the little maidservant said. She climbed to her feet, wiped her hands on her apron, and ambled over. “So, what’s it to be? A nice hot bath to wash off all the road grime, or breakfast?”

“A bath, of course.” Regan grinned. “If ye can rouse the kitchen staff to heat water at this early an hour.”

Jane chuckled. “It’s not as early as ye imagine, ma’am. It’s just the mists lie heavy this morn and make it seem grayer. Sunrise was well over four hours ago.”

“Truly?”

Regan felt her face go hot. She never slept so late. What would her hosts think of her? Yet she had stayed up until nearly midnight, listening in avid interest to Iain, Mathilda, Anne, and Niall’s animated conversation. And that after a day’s ride that had begun at first light, so as to reach Kilchurn before dark.

“Aye, truly, ma’am.”

“Then breakfast is long since past. I’ll have to wait until the midday meal now.”

“Nay, the lady Anne sent up some food a few hours ago.” Jane pointed to the covered tray sitting atop the clothes chest. “She said not to wake ye, though. That she knew ye must be verra weary after such a long journey and all.”

Gratitude for the other woman’s kindness filled Regan. “Then more the reason to get on with my bath. I need to seek out the Lady Anne and thank her.”

“I’ll be off to the kitchen to fetch yer bathwater then.” With that, Jane bustled across the room and out the door.

An hour later, her hair still damp from her bath, Regan headed downstairs. She halted the first servant she encountered. “Is yer mistress about?”

The old woman nodded. “Aye, ma’am. She’s in the kitchen, talking with Maudie, the head cook.”

“And which way would be the kitchen?”

“Down the stairs. Ye’ll find it easily enough by the smells.” The servant indicated a hallway just beneath the wide wooden staircase. “Ye’ll find the stairs at the end of the hall, ma’am.”

“Thank ye . . .” Regan paused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t yet know yer name.”

“It’s Agnes, ma’am.” She smiled. “I’m Lady Anne’s serving woman.”

“Well, it’s verra nice to make yer acquaintance, Agnes.” Regan returned the old woman’s smile. “Now, if ye don’t mind, I’d like to find yer mistress before she leaves the kitchen.”

“Aye, ma’am.” Agnes curtsied, then turned and continued on her way.

The back stairs were easy enough to find, as was the kitchen. And, true to Agnes’s prediction, Kilchurn’s hostess was indeed there. Regan waited just inside the doorway until Anne and Maudie were finished discussing the menu for the evening meal. Then, as Anne turned to go, Regan joined her.

“Well, ye look quite refreshed and rested,” Anne Campbell said, quickly surveying her. “I take it the bed was to yer liking?”

“It was heavenly, m’lady.” Regan smiled. “As was the wonderful bath I had this morn. And the breakfast.”

“I’m glad. And if there’s aught more ye need, don’t hesitate to ask. Ye’re our honored guest, and we want yer stay to be pleasant in every way.”

Are all of Iain’s relations so gracious and warm?
Regan wondered. If so, he was indeed blessed. She paused to study the other woman. In the brighter light of day, Regan realized Anne Campbell was even more beautiful than she had imagined last night.

Her long hair was a rich auburn and plaited into one thick, fat braid to hang down her back. Her skin was ivory and flawless, her nose straight, short, and charming, her lips full and pink, and her figure slender but womanly.

It was Anne’s arresting silver-gray eyes, however, that drew Regan time and again. Framed by thick, dark brown lashes, they gazed back at her with an open honesty. There was no guile or subterfuge in Anne Campbell, Regan realized. She felt she could trust her and, given time and familiarity, easily become friends.

She paused to glance around the big kitchen. A huge, arched hearth with an iron spit and two chimney cranes to swing pots into position over the fire stood at both ends of the long room, as well as an attached brick oven for baking. A large wooden table filled the center of the kitchen, at which four assistants now stood, two chopping vegetables and two kneading bread. A huge washbasin was inset on the outside wall, its drain emptying into the garden.