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Chapter Thirty
Back at Kinnaird Castle, Fiona paced anxiously in front of the fire, Prince Charles matching her speed back and forth across the stone floor. She gripped a document in her hands behind her back, and her long brown braid bounced energetically on her shoulder. She had left as soon as the morning sun arose, and she’d had no time to dress and prepare adequately for the day. She had left the castle through a backdoor to avoid any interaction with Donald. Last night, she had been unable to sleep and so she sat in the parlor drinking tea. She heard Donald enter late in the night, and she had hidden briefly as she saw him stumbling towards the entrance, his hand on his face. William and Jamie had returned later, and she had everything from them, her heart bursting nearly to full at the good news.
The three of them had set their plans in motion for the following day. Fiona hoped Jamie would return before Donald would arise and ask her what the document was. She knew he would take the next chance he could to throw her out of the castle, and him seeing the document she got from the old minister, would only assure her of her homelessness and remove the last chance of ever restoring the true laird to his post. Every few moments, she would pause, thinking she heard a creak at the door, and she and Prince Charles would crane their necks hopefully, but the door did not yet open.
“Oh, goodness. Lord, please help them on their journey. Preserve justice for Jamie!” She whispered to the ceiling. She moved her eyes to the paintings of former lairds which hung on the castle walls, preserving the reign of each laird going back only a few generations. They were stately men yet rough with strong and stern expressions. She paused at the painting of her late husband, painted with sword and kilt and Kinnaird colors, his gray beard and green eyes looking down at her with what she liked to think was love and admiration. “My dear James,” She whispered to his painted face. “Our Jamie has had to fight for his birthright. If only you could be here to see how he has grown. He has found someone, you know. Another Englishwoman.” She smiled. “He loves her dearly, and she loves him. Take comfort in their happiness. But imbue him with your strength, so that he can get here in time to get this document!”
Suddenly, a door creaked from inside the castle, and slow footsteps could be heard approaching closer and closer. Fiona’s heart sank. She quickly glanced at the door, willing it to open with Jamie and everyone on the other side. She sat down and jammed the document under the cushion of the armchair, hopeful that would gain her at least some time, if he did not begin to get suspicious. She smoothed her hair and dress and took a few calming breaths to reduce the panic she felt fluttering in her heart.
Donald arrived in the main room, looking surly and rumpled from the evening before. His hair was askew, and his shirt was stained. He had fled from the church angrily on his horse and had made it to the castle as morning light began to appear in the sky, flopping into his bed to consider all the delicious methods of revenge he could enact on both Jamie, William, and those two young lasses, Amelia especially.
He continued to rub his jaw roughly, and Fiona could now see that both swelling, and a bruise had formed. She attempted to appear casual. “My dear nephew, what has happened?” She stood and moved towards him. He held out a hand.
“Donnae come near me, aunt. Or should I even call ye that? Yer blasted son has hit me in the face with his fists of steel. He’s always been cocky about his strength ever since we were bairns, and I’ve been victim tae his violence for many a year.”
Fiona inwardly rolled her eyes, knowing that whatever Donald had done, he was sure to have deserved it. “I am so very sorry. How can I help you with your injury? I can call for the doctor.” She turned to make the motion of sending for the doctor when Donald stopped her.
“Nay. I will not show the clan a weakness while they still struggle tae view me as their new laird.” He moved his hand from his jaw, straightened his shirt, and lifted his chin and shoulders with pride. “Mayhaps with these new scars and bruises, I will be seen as a brave warrior.”
Inside, Fiona fumed. Donald had chosen not to take part in the battle against the British. His father had been so ashamed when he’d found out his son had hidden deep in the woods to avoid recruitment for many a year. He may have even taken up with English forces without his father’s knowledge. He was no warrior, and he did not deserve the title. Fiona held her tongue, knowing that it would only worsen her already precarious situation. Where was Jamie?
Donald moved toward her, with a slinking to his gait, and a new confidence emerging after his realization of the power of his wounds. He got close enough to her face that Fiona could smell his stinking breath, and he grinned. “Dear aunt, I believe I have exhausted my kindness with ye. I would have let ye stay for a longer time, but yer son has shown me that he is ungrateful for the kindness I have extended tae in letting ye stay in MY home. So, I will ask ye tae leave everything here, and go as ye are.” His dark eyes glinted with his new plan, savoring the moment when his aunt would crumple to his feet and beg for mercy. He would have to think about mercy of course. He couldn’t be too ruthless at the beginning of his reign. First, make people believe in your mercy, and then once you have them in your grasp, bring out your true colors and sacrifice all for your own good. He smiled, waiting for her answer, watching her widened eyes, shocked at his horrible nature.
But she did not crumple as he had hoped. She simply stood tall and looked at him straight in the eyes, cold dark against warm brown. She said with clearness and confidence in her voice, masking the fear, rejection, and helplessness she felt inside. “Your parents would be most ashamed of you, my boy. They were such kind people. I do not know how you have turned into such a...a monster.”
Donald could have clapped his hands with glee. “A monster, ye say? I could not have given meself a better description if I had tried. Me da and ma were like ye lot, full of golden hearts and kindness and cheerfulness. But, it only led tae their deaths didnae it? And, me da never loved me. He was always speaking tae Jamie, spending time with Jamie. He hadnae a moment for the likes of his monster son.” Donald grumbled.
Fiona almost felt her heart soften at the truth of his words. Donald’s father, her brother-in-law, had not known what to do with a son who was small, uninterested in fighting, and had no skill with a blade or a plough. Despite his love, he had neglected him; it was true.
Fiona replied, “I am sorry, nephew, for what your parents may have done to you. But are we not your family? Have you painted us all with the same brush?”
Donald went over to the armchair and sat, turning it, so that he could look at Fiona for a while. It was the very armchair under which Fiona had placed the signed document from the minister. “Aye. Now leave. Intae the wilds with ye.” He pointed angrily at the door to the castle, and with a tightening of her mouth, Fiona walked herself proudly to the door, her mind swirling with ideas of how to lengthen the time until Jamie’s approach. Prince Charlie padded after her, whimpering slightly. As she reached the door and put her hand on it, Jamie burst through, nearly running over his mother.
Fiona could have cried. She hugged Jamie tightly and whispered in his ear, “The document is under the armchair, the very one upon which your cousin sits.”
Then, she turned to look at a horrified Donald, who quickly organized his features into a return of that confident calm he had used upon her.
He stayed sitting and adjusted his pose into one of relaxed composure. He wanted to appear as lairdly as possible. He put on a bored expression. “And what are ye doing here, lad? Have ye not heard?” His eyebrows lifted. “Despite what violence ye can do against me, I am still the laird of Kinnaird clan as evidenced by the birth records.” He smiled, content with the power of the evidence he had constructed.
Jamie walked towards Donald, slightly breathless with his rushed arrival, and suggested, “My cousin, ye know ye faked those documents, for I have the proof. But first, for yer own dignity, I will challenge ye tae a battle of swords. Ye always claim a love for yer “silver blades”. Let’s see what ye can do with a sword.”
Donald stood with excitement, feeling confident in his skill of cutting. He would slice through his cousin like a hung pig, and then the lairdship would be completely secure.
Jamie moved away from the fire to the open space between the long dining tables and the outside wall. His boots sounded on the cold stone floor as he backed away, drawing a sword from the wall. Silence ensued as Donald’s grin grew, taking another sword which hung by the fire. He had been admiring it ever since his arrival, and he knew it would slice with speed through the air at his behest.
They both stood with their swords erect, facing one another, not speaking, only breathing in a steady rhythm, both certain of their own fates. Amelia, William, and Henrietta, came in the door soon after, William having helped the women down from the wagon. They gasped, and William attempted to get in the middle of the swords, but Fiona stopped him. She whispered, “‘Tis part of his plan. Henrietta, welcome! Please sit my dear, and she brought Henrietta to the other armchair as she secured the document from under the other, waiting for Jamie’s signal to reveal it to Donald. William stood by Fiona, watching the two men stare at each other, and whispered to her. “Let me ride and alert the other clansmen to come and witness the duel and the document reveal.” Fiona nodded and left hurriedly. Marianne and Amelia simply stood at the doorway, Amelia’s heart quickening, worrying about her future husband. Jamie’s eyes found hers, and he winked at her, an unusual gesture for such a time.
Donald, seeing Jamie’s attention taken for a moment, chose this time to pounce forward and stab with his sword with a growl. Jamie jumped back, eyes slightly widened at the surprise, but he soon found his way again, blocked Donald’s inexperienced blade, and putting in a few expert swings of his own. Donald grunted under the weight of Jamie’s hits, and sweat began to appear on his brow. Jamie smiled inwardly, knowing it was only a matter of time before Donald’s weakness would overpower his pride at being the victor. They moved around the hall, the women huddled by the fire, watching them, hoping for an end with no blood. Donald spun around to get more speed on his swing, and the tip of his sword scratched Jamie’s neck. A prick of red appeared at the spot, and Donald paused to gloat over his small victory. “I will draw enough blood from ye, cousin, tae fill the castle floor!” He attempted to lift his sword to swing again but pausing had been a mistake. Jamie took his elbow and knocked Donald in the face, pushing him to the floor. Then, Jamie knelt over him, the point of his sword in Donald’s face.
Donald turned shades of red to white to gray, all the different emotions showing on his face in turn. He growled in anger, and tried to push Jamie off him, but Jamie would not be moved.
“‘Tis time tae surrender, cousin,” smiled Jamie in Donald’s sweating face.
“Never!” Donald replied.
“Well, ye may change yer mind when I show ye the evidence of yer greed.”
Donald’s face looked confused, but there was a hint of fear at the idea of potentially being found out. He thought of Amelia, who may have told them of his plans.
Jamie removed the blade from Donald’s hand, and left him on the floor, free to get up if he so wished. He walked over to his mother. “Donald, ye may want tae take a look at the document me ma has from the minister.”
Donald smirked, “Ye mean the minister who was willing tae marry Amelia and me?”
“Nay.” Donald’s smile vanished. Jamie continued. “Me ma was smart enough tae know that the minister, the old minister, who dies alone in the cottage in the woods, is the minister who registered the births of our fathers.”
Donald’s face went pale with fear. He hadn’t considered the old man to be alive after so long a time.
Jamie nodded at Donald’s face, and held the document up for Donald to see. It was the church record page that Donald had torn from the book and changed. But, now it had been changed again, and signed by the minister. Jamie smirked and turned to his mother to see her reaction.
Donald felt a darkness begin to take over him. It was a rage he could never control, and now, its strength tripled with his fury. His hand found his silver blade inside his coat. And as Jamie looked away, Donald took the opportunity and summoned all his anger into this moment, propelling his body towards Jamie and the document with his sharp blade at the ready, hungry for blood and death. He quickened his steps and felt a pang of joy as he watched Jamie’s surprised face as he got closer and closer. But, a bark sounded in the distance, and Donald felt himself being pulled down by something, down, and down, until he hit his head on the stone floor, and all went dark. The silver blade clattered against the hard ground, sliding until it hit the tips of Jamie’s boots.
