Page 2 of Sighs of the Highland Wind
“My name is Frankie, an’ my friend here is Jack,” he told her. “This is Robbie, my horse, and I have had him for a long time. He is big, but he is very gentle. Ye can give him some oats when we get tae the castle.”
Kenna said nothing, but the two men kept up a flow of chatter about the horses, the castle, the servants, the laird, and anything else they could think of to keep her mind occupied.
Finally, they arrived and clattered over the drawbridge and into the stables, but when Kenna was given a handful of oats to feed the horses, she burst into tears.
“Dinnae cry, wee one,” Jack said tenderly. “Ye will be fine wi’ us.”
He picked her up and settled her in his arms, then strode away to the kitchen.
Flora Bowie was utterly exhausted. She had been baking scones and bread for the better part of the day, and her face was running with sweat as she stirred the pot of stew she had started to prepare for the servants’ supper. On days like this her spirits always sank low because she was too tired to keep her bad memories at bay, especially today.
Today was the anniversary of the day her beautiful little girl had died, and even though it had been six years, it was as clear as if it had been yesterday. It was said that time heals, but that had not been her experience. She tried to soldier on, and some days were better than others, but today was a bad one.
She looked up suddenly as a noise at the doorway announced the arrival of Jack, one of the castle guards, who was holding a little, weeping child in his arms. As they advanced toward her, Flora could see that the child was a girl of perhaps four years old, close to the age her daughter Bettina would have been. Her hair was the same color, too, and as curly as Bettina’s.
Flora looked up at Jack with a question in her eyes. “Who is this?” she asked, frowning.
“A wee lass that needs a mother,” he replied. “An’ I thought ye might need a daughter.”
He passed the child to Flora, and when Kenna looked up, her heart skipped a beat. The face staring back at her was almostexactly like that of her dead daughter except for the color of her eyes, which were green instead of blue.
Flora gazed at the child in wonder for a moment, then asked softly, “What is yer name, darlin’?”
“Kenna,” the little one replied shyly.
“Pleased tae meet ye, Kenna. I am Flora.” She was smiling widely. “Would ye like some scones an’ milk?”
“Aye, missus. I am very hungry,” the little girl replied. “I have only had an apple taeday.”
Flora’s heart went out to Kenna.
“Ye shall have all the food ye need, darlin’, an’ everythin’ else.”
She kissed the little girl’s forehead and hugged her tightly. She would forever remember this day, not only as the one on which her precious first daughter had died but as the day her second daughter had been born.
1
Maxwell Forbes’s feet were burning. He could barely put one foot in front of the other because his boots were so worn that they constantly chafed his feet, aggravating even further the blisters that he had acquired during his long weeks of traveling. He had walked from his home in the estate of Kirklieth all the way to Edinburgh and back again, and although he had no idea of how far he had traveled, he guessed it must be in the hundreds of miles.
Hundreds of miles. It was an immense distance. He knew, however, that he could run a thousand—a million—miles, and it would still not be far enough to put sufficient distance between him and his so-called crime. The more he thought about that word, the angrier he became because he had done nothing wrong, and yet he was a fugitive. He knew for certain that if he was caught, he might well be hanged or sentenced to transportation and hard labor for the rest of his life—if he survived.
The night before, he had been obliged to sleep in the hollow of an oak tree with an empty stomach and nothing but his cloakto keep him warm. Now, however, he had decided that he had endured enough of life on the road and was making his way home. He was unsure of the reception he would receive, but he had to try to at least make his peace with his family and Lachlan McDonald’s. He could not go on this way forever.
It had been a year since he and his best friend had had their fateful and fatal argument, and during that time he had been wandering, begging for food, and eating scraps left in middens. Occasionally he had been able to find a bit of laboring work, but the pay had barely been enough to keep his stomach full, and now it was empty again.
As he trudged along the muddy path, he took out the few coins he had left in his pocket, hoping that he had enough left for a pint of ale. He counted out his money, tallying it up to five pence. It would be enough for a pint of ale and perhaps a meal, but he would have nothing left to tide him over for the next few days until he found his way home.
Maybe I can live off nuts and berries for a few days,he thought.
He dismissed the notion at once. He was a big man and needed a lot more than a few pieces of fruit and chestnuts to sustain him. If he was very lucky, he could catch a few fish, but such a meager diet could hardly keep him going all the way to Kirklieth.
He sighed irritably, but as the village of Invercree came into sight, a little hope began to wake in his heart. Perhaps he would be able to buy or borrow a pair of shoes, but he had big feet, and likely anyone he could beg or borrow from had much smaller ones.
Before, he had always found that being the biggest man for miles around gave him a distinct advantage since he was bothrespected and feared, but now it had become a huge handicap. As well as that, Invercree was part of the estate of the same name, and that was where Lachlan and Douglas McDonald had lived.
He had no idea whether or not Douglas still lived there or if he had married and moved away, but he needed to find out. He needed to somehow find peace, but not looking the way he did at the moment and feeling the way he did.
He trudged on; then, as he came to Invercree’s only inn, the Spotted Dog, he counted his money again, not quite knowing why. It was the same amount as before, thank God. He paused outside for a moment, looking around. He remembered the last time he had entered a tavern.
