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“He will be very impressed with ye,” Ella said, paying no attention to Murdina’s words.
“But this is nae me. I daenae wear such things. I like to be outside with the sword or across the dunes with Cillian,” she replied, but her sisters rolled their eyes.
“And ye think father will allow ye to continue such nonsense once ye are betrothed? Cillian will be sent away. Father is always angry with him– he can dae nothin’ right, and Carrick is searchin’ for an excuse to have him removed,” Freya replied.
Murdina sighed. She knew their father disliked Cillian and that there would be little point in arguing once the decision to send him away was made. It would be a dark day–first the loss of Aoife and then the loss of her only true friend.
“I daenae want to think about it,” she said, and Freya and Ella now hurried her along.
“Then think about meetin’ Murdoch. He will be in the great hall even now. Hurry up,” Ella said, and having little choice in the matter, Murdina followed her sisters downstairs to the doors of the great hall, where the sounds of merriment and feasting already echoed through the castle.
* * *
The banners of the clan had been hung, and a great fire burned in the hearth. Trestle tables ran the length of the great hall, and a dais was raised at one end, on which stood the high table, at the center of which stood the laird’s chair, made from oak, and with the emblem of the clan carved into its head. A magnificent feast was laid out, with haunches of roasted venison, game pies, sides of salmon, dishes of vegetables and potatoes, and barrels of ale and whisky tapped at the side.
As Murdina and her sisters entered the great hall, the pipers began to play, and the clansmen rose in respect to them, their father beckoning them forward. Murdina kept her eyes to the floor, knowing she was being watched and judged. Murdoch and his retinue were sitting with her father, and when they had come before the high table, the three sisters paused and curtsied, waiting for their father–or their guest–to speak.
“So, now, here they are–my three daughters,” the laird said, and Murdina looked up, meeting Murdoch’s gaze for the first time.
He was not an unattractive man, handsome even, and perhaps only a few years older than she. He had a distinctive scar running along the edge of his jaw, visible, even though it was disguised by a black beard to match his hair, which was hung down at shoulder length. He wore a red waistcoat and a cloak, kept in place by a gold broach displaying the arms of his clan. He stared at her intensely, no doubt considering her in just the same way she considered him.
“Tis’ a pleasure to meet ye, lass,” he said, in the rough accent of the northern lands.
Murdina nodded, glancing at her father, who gave her a stern look.
“Sit down next to Murdoch, Murdina, then the feast can begin,” he said, pointing to an empty chair at Murdoch’s side.
Murdina saw little point in arguing, and she made her way around the table, as now her father called for the feast to begin. Ella and Freya were to sit at the other end and entertain Murdoch’s retinue, which meant the two of them would have nothing but one another’s company for the whole evening.
“Wine, bring me refreshment!” Murdoch called out as one of the servants hurried to fill his glass.
By his words and demeanor, Murdina could tell immediately what sort of man he was–a man certain of his own position, sure of himself, and not shy of expressing his opinion. There was an air of arrogance about him, as though he had already decided his prize was secure.
“Ye have traveled far in this terrible weather,” Murdina said, trying to make polite conversation as Murdoch took a swig of wine and tore into a piece of venison with his teeth.
“Aye, tis’ a fifty-mile journey south, and we have been beset by storms the whole way. Two days we have ridden, but tis’ worth it to meet such a… charmin’ thing as ye,” he said, turning to her with a smile, his beard wet with drops of wine.
Murdina blushed. She wished he had not bothered. The thought of marrying such a man as this repulsed her. She had spent barely an hour in his company, and the thought of a lifetime quite turned her stomach– handsome as he was. He lacked all decorum, and she could find nothing of common interest to them both.
“And yer estates, ye stand to inherit and become laird?” she asked.
He nodded, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and taking another bite of venison.
“Aye, I will inherit my father’s lands when the time comes, and the cause, too. We are of one mind on that,” he said, turning to Murdina’s father, who nodded.
“Aye, Murdoch, that we are. We must see to it the cause is kept alive and that the desire to rid this land of our Hanoverian impostors grows stronger,” he said, raising his glass in a toast.
“Tis’ a wicked thing. Even if our right to rule remains absolute, the Jacobite cause has waned these past years. There are too many who are willin’ to submit to the Hanoverians–they forget the glorious past when Scotland was her own master,” Murdoch said, banging his fist down on the table.
“There is somethin’ I wish to show ye, Murdoch,” the laird said, a smile coming over his face.
“Aye, and what is that? Ye have already shown me somethin’ beautiful tonight,” Murdoch said, turning to Murdina with a smile and wiping his mouth again with his sleeve.
“Aye, but this will interest ye, I am sure. I have a prisoner here in the castle–an English spy,” Murdina’s father replied, and he told the story of the mysterious man washed up on the beach in the shipwreck.
Murdina kept quiet. She knew her father would not approve of her going to the wreck with Cillian that day, but Murdoch seemed extremely interested and asked all manner of questions, curious, it seemed, to learn more.
“And dae ye believe he has lost his memory? And what of this key? Does it fit any lock ye know of?” Murdoch asked, but the laird shook his head.
