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Authors: The Captive
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Edinburgh Times : "My opponent was an expression of stupidity and cowardice."
Appointed the year before as Lord Lieutenant of the Western Highlands, Murdock had been brutally thorough in his efforts to subdue rebel Hig hlanders. His effective, however merciless, measures had elicited acclaim from the king himself.
Reluctantly, she had given in to Malcolm ’s insistence that she grant Murdock’s request, by an envoy-delivered letter, for Enya’s hand in marriage. After all, she herself had found a measure of contentment as a warrior’s wife, decidedly not a role she would have chosen.
On the surface, the marriage between Murdock and Enya appeared a good match. Certainly, Kathryn could understand Malcolm ’s preference for a man with army experience and empathize with his desire to see his daughter’s future settled before his death.
She couldn ’t resist the urge to prick Murdock’s pride, when, in truth, she was all for the defeat of the Highland rebels, and for good reason. Some clansmen had given monetary and manpower support for feudal reasons; others, Episcopalians and Roman Catholics, for religious reasons. A few took up arms because they believed in rebellion for political reasons. Mostly, it was for economical ones. The Highlanders saw the prince’s campaign as a chance to revive on a grand scale the traditional rape of the Lowlands. “’Tis been five years, and the Highlanders are still rebelling, Lord Murdock."
“ I leave tomorrow for Fort William. It may have been five years since I last served in the Highlands, but once there, I shall smoke out all clan chieftains harboring secret sympathies for Jacobites. Neighborhood locals can be all too free with the secrets of these people when encouraged with reward or drink. I assure you, it will not take long to find the particular rebel I seek."
With foreboding, she watched him depart. If Enya was still alive, he would get her back; of that there was no doubt. Murdock never failed. Yet, instinct told Kathryn that he would not suffer a tainted wife. Pride would demand that, if he so chose, he be the one to rid himself of his wife, not this Highland rebel.
Kathryn who had espoused peace and enlightenment during her rule in Malcolm ’s stead, had no soldiers to call upon in her time of need.
Sh e turned to the only one who might be able to help her.
Brother Archibald saw Kathryn coming long before she spotted him. He set down on the rocky outcrop the quill he sharpened, along with his knife, and waited for her.
He had been waiting fo r her, it seemed, forever. Since the day she arrived, at age thirteen, at the baronial castle of Malcolm Afton. He himself had been not much older, a mere laddie at fifteen. The rest of his life was ever after changed. From being the son of a fisherman, he had hoped to become a fisherman of men.
But that was much later. After the dark night of his soul.
He rose, standing tall above her. The wind, warmed by the Gulf Stream, whipped the hem of her concealing cloak around his trousered legs.
The color on her c heeks was high. Because of the warm afternoon or this meeting?
In his mind ’s eye, she was still a lass of sixteen, her hair spread across the stable straw like a jeweler’s black velvet backdrop.
Her dark blue eyes reflected the sunlight sparkling off the w ater. Yet, deep in them he saw a storm. "Aye, Kathryn?”
"You got my message then." It was a statement of relief rather than a question.
"A tinker brought it."
She sighed. “ I never know where to find you or when you’ll come."
He took her hand, slender and slightly veined. “ Something is amiss. What is it?"
‘ "Tis Enya.”
His heart seemed to lurch in his chest. "Let ’s walk." He collected his quill and knife—and collected his wits. Taking Kathryn’s elbow, he turned their steps toward the burn below that emptied into the sea. He asked gently, "What has happened?”
Her eyes shimmered, her normally serene voice trembled. "She
Appointed the year before as Lord Lieutenant of the Western Highlands, Murdock had been brutally thorough in his efforts to subdue rebel Hig hlanders. His effective, however merciless, measures had elicited acclaim from the king himself.
Reluctantly, she had given in to Malcolm ’s insistence that she grant Murdock’s request, by an envoy-delivered letter, for Enya’s hand in marriage. After all, she herself had found a measure of contentment as a warrior’s wife, decidedly not a role she would have chosen.
On the surface, the marriage between Murdock and Enya appeared a good match. Certainly, Kathryn could understand Malcolm ’s preference for a man with army experience and empathize with his desire to see his daughter’s future settled before his death.
She couldn ’t resist the urge to prick Murdock’s pride, when, in truth, she was all for the defeat of the Highland rebels, and for good reason. Some clansmen had given monetary and manpower support for feudal reasons; others, Episcopalians and Roman Catholics, for religious reasons. A few took up arms because they believed in rebellion for political reasons. Mostly, it was for economical ones. The Highlanders saw the prince’s campaign as a chance to revive on a grand scale the traditional rape of the Lowlands. “’Tis been five years, and the Highlanders are still rebelling, Lord Murdock."
“ I leave tomorrow for Fort William. It may have been five years since I last served in the Highlands, but once there, I shall smoke out all clan chieftains harboring secret sympathies for Jacobites. Neighborhood locals can be all too free with the secrets of these people when encouraged with reward or drink. I assure you, it will not take long to find the particular rebel I seek."
With foreboding, she watched him depart. If Enya was still alive, he would get her back; of that there was no doubt. Murdock never failed. Yet, instinct told Kathryn that he would not suffer a tainted wife. Pride would demand that, if he so chose, he be the one to rid himself of his wife, not this Highland rebel.
Kathryn who had espoused peace and enlightenment during her rule in Malcolm ’s stead, had no soldiers to call upon in her time of need.
Sh e turned to the only one who might be able to help her.
Brother Archibald saw Kathryn coming long before she spotted him. He set down on the rocky outcrop the quill he sharpened, along with his knife, and waited for her.
He had been waiting fo r her, it seemed, forever. Since the day she arrived, at age thirteen, at the baronial castle of Malcolm Afton. He himself had been not much older, a mere laddie at fifteen. The rest of his life was ever after changed. From being the son of a fisherman, he had hoped to become a fisherman of men.
But that was much later. After the dark night of his soul.
He rose, standing tall above her. The wind, warmed by the Gulf Stream, whipped the hem of her concealing cloak around his trousered legs.
The color on her c heeks was high. Because of the warm afternoon or this meeting?
In his mind ’s eye, she was still a lass of sixteen, her hair spread across the stable straw like a jeweler’s black velvet backdrop.
Her dark blue eyes reflected the sunlight sparkling off the w ater. Yet, deep in them he saw a storm. "Aye, Kathryn?”
"You got my message then." It was a statement of relief rather than a question.
"A tinker brought it."
She sighed. “ I never know where to find you or when you’ll come."
He took her hand, slender and slightly veined. “ Something is amiss. What is it?"
‘ "Tis Enya.”
His heart seemed to lurch in his chest. "Let ’s walk." He collected his quill and knife—and collected his wits. Taking Kathryn’s elbow, he turned their steps toward the burn below that emptied into the sea. He asked gently, "What has happened?”
Her eyes shimmered, her normally serene voice trembled. "She
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