Highland Echo (Highland Talents Heritage Book 5), page 1
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No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital, including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Willa Blair, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Linda Williams
Published by Oliver-Heber Books
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To Laird Peter, who has always believed in me.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Afterword
Also by Willa Blair
About the Author
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I am eternally grateful to my Beta reader, Laura G., for making me slow down the action and show what my characters feel. My books are better for her insights. And to my friend, Bev W., for her excitement when a new book is on the horizon. It’s more encouraging than she knows to see a reader’s anticipation in real life. To my editor, Kim, who catches what I and others missed, and whose insights are always welcome. And, finally, to my publisher, Tanya Anne Crosby, for taking many of the burdens off my and her other authors’ shoulders, freeing us to do what we most love to do—write.
1
Scotland, Early Autumn 1539
“Eilidh! I didna expect ye to be here.”
Eilidh Lathan frowned up at her eldest brother, Drummond, who seated himself across from her at her table in the Aerie’s great hall and signaled to a serving lass for his evening meal.
“Where else would I be at this hour of the day?”
“Sleeping until tomorrow morning? Ye need a few days to recover from the clan lairds’ Gathering, especially after what the attacks on Donal MacNabb put ye and Mother through.”
“She does look more tired than I ever recall,” Eilidh admitted, her concern reflected in the frown on her brother’s face as he gazed aside to where their parents sat.
“Ye, as well,” Drummond said, turning back to Eilidh. “I saw ye helping her both times he was hurt.”
“’Tis what I am meant to do,” Eilidh reminded him. “Ye once called me Mother’s Echo. I am going to take her place someday.” She hoped, like an echo, her talent was not a weaker version of her mother’s that would fade away over time. “And Tavish helped, too.”
“I shouldna have named ye so,” Drummond admitted. “Ye are as strong a healer as she. And she has taught ye things she spent years learning for herself, so with experience, ye will someday be even better than she.”
Someday.
Eilidh hoped he was right. Both their brother Jamie and sister Lianna, triplets with Drummond, had married away from the Aerie, taking their healing talents to their new homes. Eilidh had lived most of her life with the expectation of remaining at Lathan as its healer. While having her future so well laid out for her was comforting, the certainty of it also made her wish for far horizons.
Drummond seemed to lose interest in their conversation as soon as his food arrived. They ate in silence, the rumble of voices in the hall muting as more people turned to filling their bellies.
At first, Eilidh thought nothing of the cool breeze that wafted across the hall, then she realized someone must have entered from the bailey. Bhaltair and his men? She turned in time to see a lone stranger approach Uncle Jamie, her brother’s namesake. He wasn’t really their uncle, rather a cousin and their father’s lifelong best friend. But to Eilidh, he’d been Uncle Jamie her entire life.
Disappointed that the man she wanted to see had not entered, but still curious, she watched the stranger pull a missive from inside his léine and hand it over. Uncle Jamie read, his expression darkening as his gaze moved down the page. What could have happened at Fletcher that the laird would send a courier all the way to Lathan? Was this an urgent summons for Uncle Jamie to return home?
He set the missive aside, spoke briefly to her mother, who nodded to the courier, then summoned a serving lass to lead him to the kitchen to seek a meal. From there, Eilidh knew, he’d be given a place to sleep before carrying Uncle Jamie’s answer, if one was required, to Fletcher. The man bowed his acceptance of their hospitality and trailed the lass from the great hall.
By the time her gaze returned to her parents and Uncle Jamie, they were deep in conversation, and none of them looked happy.
“Ach, I wonder what news that man brought,” she said, catching Drummond’s attention with a tap on his hand. His gaze was also fixed on their parents.
“Naught good, I’d guess,” he muttered. After a moment, he added, “They keep looking this way. At me? Or ye?” He turned his head to look at her, his brow crinkled.
“Me, I think. I’ll go find out…”
“We’ll both go,” Drummond told her, stood and helped Eilidh up from the bench. “This looks like something to concern all of us.”
Uncle Jamie and their parents stood as they approached.
“My solar,” their father Toran said and lifted his chin in that direction.
Drummond frowned, worrying Eilidh. This could not be good news. But she held her questions until they were alone in the laird’s solar, seated around the long worktable in the middle of the chamber.
“Jamie, tell Drummond and Eilidh what news ye just received.”
“’Tis our granddaughter. Some ailment our healer has not been able to relieve. Wee Orla is getting worse, and Caitrin begs Aileana to return with me to help. But,” he said and held up a hand to forestall any comments, “she also warns of trouble near Fletcher. Lowlanders.”
He and Toran exchanged a frown, no doubt thinking back to the Lowlander invasion twenty-three years earlier that brought Eilidh’s mother to the Aerie. Aileana met her daughter’s gaze, her expression unreadable.
“’Twill not be an easy trip,” Jamie reminded him. “Toran, we’ll need a large contingent of warriors to act as guards.”
“Ye will have them.”
“Mother? Ye canna go.” Drummond leaned forward and pressed his lips together.
Only minutes ago, he’d expressed his concern for their mother. Eilidh knew such a journey would only compound her exhaustion.
“She willna,” Toran said before Drummond could explain why he advised against it, and before Aileana could answer his heir. “She’s worn down from saving Donal’s life—twice—not to mention all the other bloodshed she and Eilidh dealt with during the gathering.”
Earlier today, they’d bid goodbye to her father’s other close friend, Donal MacNabb, and his wife Ellie, the MacKyrie Seer. Their daughter Yvaine had just married Eilidh’s twin Tavish. The newlyweds were away, celebrating their honeymoon. They would return to the Aerie well before Samhain, but Yvaine’s parents couldn’t stay that long. They needed to return to MacKyrie before autumn snows closed the passes into their remote glen.
“Toran—” Aileana interrupted him, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m no’ so weak as that.”
“Wife, ye are at yer limits. Ye need rest. Anyone can see it. I forbid this.” At Uncle Jamie’s sudden intake of breath, he added, “But Fletcher needs help only Lathan can provide. Eilidh will go. Her skills near match yer own. And she is nay so depleted as ye are.”
Eilidh’s chest swelled with pride. He really felt her skills were nearly a match for her mother’s? But what of the Fletcher’s warning?
“Toran, I can…”
“Eilidh will be able to help, I’m certain,” Uncle Jamie broke in when it appeared Aileana would continue to argue with her husband and laird.
“I will do my best,” Eilidh said and nodded, anxious but excited all at once. The quiver in her belly threatened to force her to her feet. This was her chance to prove herself without her mother standing over her.
“Ye will travel with Bhaltair and enough of his men to keep ye safe on the journey,” Toran continued, pinning her with his gaze. Bhaltair had escorted Eilidh’s elder brother Jamie to care for an injured clansman. He’d taken her sister Lianna, now married to the MacDhai laird, to care for ill MacDhai horses. Soon after, he’d gone with Drummond on the journey where he met his wife, Morven.
Lately, Bhaltair seemed rarely to be in residence at the Aerie. Eilidh felt the lack of his presence each time. What good was a chief guard never within the Aerie’s walls? She knew her father sent him because he was the most formidable warrior in the clan—and Toran wanted only the best to keep his children safe.
Now, it was her turn.
At that, a thrill ran from Eilidh’s chest to her fingertips. A journey with Bhaltair, even if accompanied by a host of others, might give her time to make him notice her as a woman, and not just as the laird’s youngest daughter, a presence he had dismissed as long as she was safe with her family inside the Aerie’s walls. Outside, he would have to pay attention to her. She nodded. “I will go, Mother. Uncle Jamie,” she added solemnly. This was her rite of passage, from being seen as simply the youngest daughter and future healer to acceptance as a responsible adult in her own right. “And gladly. I look forward to being of benefit to Fletcher, just as ye have meant so much to Lathan over the years.”
Bhaltair Lathan preferred the silence that lay over the forge like a warm blanket after Edan, the clan’s blacksmith, left for the evening. That was when he could inspect the stacks of weapons Edan was making, to ensure that the clan’s armory remained well-stocked. Above them, hammers and tongs hung from pegs on the walls. Nearby, finished horseshoes, nails and iron strapping filled barrels. All manner of household items needing repair, such as Cook’s pots, knives, and skewers were piled in one corner to work on as time—and need—allowed. Weapons came first. Bhaltair was pleased that several weapon piles had grown. Edan had continued to work despite the disruptions during the lairds’ Gathering.
Bhaltair wasn’t the Lathan arms master—yet. But he hoped to be when old Duncan decided to give up the position. In the meantime, his men needed reliable, well-crafted weapons, and Bhaltair was an excellent judge of steel. This was a world he knew, a craft he understood. He’d learned it while fostered away, but had little call to use it now. He had become a warrior, not a blacksmith, as his foster father had predicted. He’d been better at fighting than folding steel.
Satisfied at Edan’s progress, Bhaltair sat on a barrel to sharpen his own blades. The uninterrupted, rhythmic slide of steel against a whetstone soothed him, letting his mind rest, absorbed in the simple, repetitive motion. The lairds who had signed Toran’s treaty over the years had recently come to renew ties with him and each other, but the spirit of the event had been sullied by violence resulting from a long-held grudge. Now that all of the Gathering visitors save Toran’s cousin and best friend, Jamie Lathan Fletcher, had gone, Bhaltair could indulge in his version of a peaceful pastime.
He’d been born to fight, it seemed. His mother birthed him soon after receiving the news that his father was one of the men killed at Flodden Field along with the old laird. He had no memory of his father save his mother’s tales and her wish that he avenge him. He’d grown up with Toran as Laird Lathan, and after his mother died suddenly, Toran sent him to foster with Donal MacNabb at MacKyrie, where Toran sent his most promising—or troublesome—lads. Donal’s training had made Bhaltair the man he was now. He owed him nearly as much as he owed the laird, and had been proud to put a stop to the plot against him during the Gathering.
He hoped autumn and winter weather would bring an end to conflict in the Highlands until spring. But he’d heard a courier arrive as he neared finishing one of his blades. This stage was critical for honing an edge that was sharp but strong. Whatever news the courier brought would wait. If he was needed, Toran would send someone to find him.
Before long, footsteps approached and he knew his respite had come to an end.
“Bhaltair? Are ye in there?”
Toran! The laird had come himself? That did not bode well.
“Here, Laird.” He wiped his blade with an oily rag and stood.
“There ye are.” Toran approached, outlined by the dim glow of the hearth. The banked fire still warmed the space, as did the slowly cooling anvil. “How ye can work in near darkness is beyond me.”
“It helps me to focus on the feel of the blade rather than the shine, Laird.”
“That seems a clever solution, but tell me, how often do ye cut yerself?”
Bhaltair chuckled at that. “More often than I like. What do ye need me to do, Laird?”
“Ye saw the courier arrive?”
“I heard him.”
“I must send Eilidh with Jamie to Fletcher. There is an ill grandchild—“
“I will ready my men.”
“And the messenger and yerself. I willna trust my youngest daughter to anyone save ye and Jamie.”
Bhaltair’s heart thumped against the inside of his ribs at the idea of traveling with Eilidh. He rubbed his chest to tamp down his sudden eagerness. She was not for him. He forced his attention back to his laird. “Jamie was yer best scout. I ken the tales.”
“I doubt ye’ve heard all of them, but Jamie can fill ye in on the way. Aileana is helping Eilidh prepare. There is some urgency.”
“We’ll leave at first light.”
“Ye ken me well, Bhaltair.” Toran turned to go, then turned back. “Get some sleep before then, too.”
“Aye.”
Toran nodded and headed back into the keep.
Bhaltair swung his newly sharpened blade a few times, testing its heft and balance, and nodded with satisfaction. He hoped not to need it, but it would serve him well if he did.
He had escorted each of the laird’s bairns on lengthy trips, all of which had ended in a hand fasting or a wedding. Now it was Eilidh’s turn. Whom would she be introduced to, he wondered. And how did he feel about delivering her to meet another man?
He pursed his lips and stepped out into the star-filled night. He’d always been more at ease with her brothers and older sister, Lianna. And he had no business lusting after the daughter of the laird. It had never been an issue with Lianna. She’d been in love with David MacDhai since he fostered with them, and even after he left her broken-hearted, it was clear she was not interested in Bhaltair.
He suspected Eilidh feared him. She spent most of her time training with her mother, but when they did cross paths, she avoided his gaze. And he’d always believed she would make an alliance outside Lathan, even if she brought a husband back here. She would follow in her mother’s footsteps and take over as Lathan healer when the time came. It didn’t matter what he thought about that. There was no alternative. Certainly none that paired him with the tall, beautiful, and shy healer.
The next morning, Eilidh yawned as she stepped out into the bailey. She’d slept but a few hours, her dreams filled with fleeting images of Bhaltair astride a horse or stalking through the keep as she’d often seen him. Even in her dreams, to her, he was not just a man. He was the warrior, the guardian the laird called upon again and again to keep safe not only his family, but the rest of his clan. Eilidh could not find a way to make him hers, even in her imagination.
And there he was, quitting the stable, leading his warhorse and another. Hers! Did he mean for her to ride beside him? The thought made her heart beat a fast trot in her chest. What would she say to him? Or would he demand her silence as he kept his sharp gaze on the area around them, looking for hazards, listening for sounds that didn’t belong, or the absence of normal forest sounds that signaled trouble.
He saw her and lifted his chin, beckoning her over. His hands were occupied with the reins of both horses. His danced about, eager to be away, forcing Bhaltair to keep tight control over the great beast. A dozen of his men waited for the signal to leave. They were already mounted near the wagon filled after a hurried flurry of packing with clothes, food and extra weapons, along with herbs, tinctures, and potions from Aileana’s herbal.
Behind Eilidh, the keep’s door opened and her parents walked out.
“Bhaltair is ready early, as usual,” Aileana remarked as she came down the steps and put an arm around her youngest child.
“Has anyone seen Jamie?” Toran followed her down the steps. Just then, Jamie left the stable leading his mount, the Fletcher messenger following behind him. “Ah, everyone is here. Are ye ready, Eilidh, lass?”
