Christmas in the Glen of Travercraig by MacEwen Fiona

Author:MacEwen, Fiona [MacEwen, Fiona]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2019-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

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Andrew Douglas had heard Nairne’s screams as he was out collecting firewood in the forest. He had been about to return to the castle, the meager bundle of sticks enough to see him through the next few days as he contemplated the sorrow of the Christmas season ahead. He denied himself any comforts, preferring the simplicity of life without the trappings of his rank. What was the point, he reasoned, of living the life of a Laird when there was no one with whom to share it? The forest was growing dark in the late afternoon and the skies above foretold worse weather to come. He had shouldered the bundle of sticks when the cries of a woman in terror came through the trees. Andrew had rushed in the direction of the cries, casting aside the wood and drawing his sword lest an enemy be at hand.

He was shocked to emerge onto the path which led back towards the village to find three men setting upon a lass whom they were dragging along the ground as she kicked and screamed.

“Unhand her at once,” Andrew had cried, charging forward and laying the flat end squarely into the side of one of the men who cried out in pain as he released the lass from his grasp. “Vile devils, what is the meaning of this?”

“Go about your business and leave us to ours,” one of the men said, drawing a dagger from his belt and lunging at Andrew.

But the Laird had not lost his skills as a fighter and despite there being three opponents, they were no match for him or his swordsmanship. He reigned down blow upon blow at them, driving them off into the forest and challenging them ever to return and face him again. As the cowards ran, he turned to the lass, lying dazed and confused upon the ground. Andrew was startled to discover that he recognized her. It was the same lass whom he had met in the forest the other day and whose companion he had chastised, the same lass who had come to thank him and whom he had seen from the window of the keep.

“Ye have had some bad luck to ye, lass,” he said, and reassuring her further he picked her up, carrying her over his shoulder back to the castle.

His actions had been instinctual, and it was only as they crossed the threshold and he closed the gates behind him that he realized that, apart from himself, no other person had set foot in the castle of his ancestors since that fateful Christmas Eve ten years ago. But Nairne was clearly ill, her body shaking involuntarily, and this was no time for Andrew Douglas to feel sorrowful for the past. He carried her upstairs, laying her in the bed which had once been his wife Lorna’s and stoking up the fire. Such flames had not been seen in that hearth these many years and Andrew soon had a merry blaze burning in the grate.

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