Chapter 9

9

A sking around the village had proved fruitless. Gemma knew she could not be quite so obvious in her inquiries, as she did not want to raise suspicion, but that was even more maddening. Whenever she went to the castle for chores, or when her mother forced her to visit with Bryce, she listened closely to all whispered conversations and lingered longer than was proper at doorways. Drastic action would have to be taken, she decided. And perhaps…in certain instances, her status as being betrothed to Bryce would give her some protection.

It was midmorning when she decided this was the best time to do it. Everyone was occupied with their duties. Bryce and his father were out making their rounds with tenants, the guard was practicing their drills in the meadow, and the ladies were doing laundry not far from them. Gemma had been assigned to kitchen duty. As they waited for the bread to rise a first time, she gave a lame excuse that she’d left something in the room they’d taken her to after she fainted at the betrothal dinner. The few people she saw in the castle did not give her so much as a second glance, which was good. She could ill afford to be found out in this way. Still, Gemma's heart raced as she crept down the dimly lit hallway of the castle, careful not to make a sound. She knew the risk she was taking, sneaking into the laird's private study, but she had to find any clue she could as to where Colin had gone.

As she approached the door to the study, she paused for a moment to listen for any sounds. When she heard nothing, she carefully turned the handle and slipped inside. The room was dark, with only a few candles burning on the desk. She’d never been in this room before, but it was unremarkable. It looked like what she expected the study of a Scottish laird to look like — stone walls covered by centuries-old tapestries, a large fireplace across from the desk with two faded, upholstered chairs across from it, and bookcases lined with all manner of books and trinkets.

Gemma quickly began searching through the papers and books on the desk, hoping to find any mention of Colin's whereabouts. She felt a pang of guilt for invading the laird's privacy, but she pushed the feeling aside. This was for Colin, and she would do anything to find him. The laird himself had always been kind to her, and she’d never heard a bad word from his mouth. Bryce was…simply not like him.

Just as Gemma was about to step out of the study, she heard footsteps outside the door. Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized that she had been discovered.

She looked around frantically for a place to hide and spotted a small closet in the corner of the room. Without hesitation, she dashed inside and closed the door behind her, hoping that she wouldn't be found. She could hear the laird's footsteps growing louder as he approached the door to the study. Her heart raced as she tried to steady her breathing, praying that he wouldn’t find her.

The door creaked open and the laird stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. Gemma could hear him muttering to himself about the disarray of the desk, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Her hands anxiously scrunched the fabric of her skirts, hoping he would not come all the way over to the closet. Her mind raced with thoughts of what would happen if he did. Would he accuse her of stealing? If he did, perhaps she could tell a convincing tale that Bryce had sent her there to find something…

To her relief, the laird simply grunted and turned to leave the room. Gemma let out a sigh of relief as she heard the door close behind him. She waited a few moments to make sure that he was truly gone before stepping out of the closet. Her heart was still racing, but she knew that she had to stay focused on her mission to find Colin. There had been nothing on the desk, unfortunately, and there was nothing else she felt like looking at again. That had already been too close a call, and she could not risk it again for a while.

She returned back to the kitchen with a rueful smile on her face, reporting that perhaps she’d taken it home and forgotten. The rest of the afternoon passed as many others had — with baking and gossip, of which she’d be sure to take the morsels back to Muriel. When the day was over, she was more than happy to return to the familiarity of her own home.

As Gemma tightened her shawl around her shoulders, shielding herself from the cool autumn air of the Scottish highlands, she felt something…pulling at her, like there was an invisible string attached to her head and someone was pulling on it. That was when she noticed an old woman standing on the edge of the keep, staring at her intently. She was a bit ragged looking, and Gemma did not recognize her, but something about the old woman’s gaze was intriguing. When she stepped forward to approach her, the woman ran away with surprising speed.

“Hey!” Gemma called, running after her out of the keep.

Thankfully no one else seemed to notice or care. But Gemma had never seen this woman before, and she was looking at her so intently, she thought it had to mean something.

This merry chase led her further away from the castle, closer to the cliffs near the seaside. Gemma made sure to stay a respectable distance away, lest the woman try to push her over the edge for some ungodly reason. When the woman finally stopped, Gemma was thoroughly intrigued, and perhaps a little annoyed.

“Can I help you, ma’am? I thought ye were lookin at me, or for me, by the keep.”

The old woman smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth.

“Aye, lass,” she said. “I have information for ye.”

“Information?” Gemma repeated. “May I ask…who ye are?”

“All ye need tae ken is that I am old, an’ I see lots of things. So I have information. About a man,” the old woman said. “A handsome blacksmith who’s not like other men.”

Gemma raised an eyebrow, wondering what this could possibly mean.

“And why are ye telling me this?”

“Because ye seem like the kind of lass who would appreciate a good man,” the old woman replied. “And this one is more than good. He’s special, he is.”

Gemma felt a strange sense of excitement wash over her. Could she be…talking about Colin?

“Where can I find him?” she asked eagerly.

The old woman cackled, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ah, lass, that's the question, isn’t it? Ye’ll have to find him yourself. But Ill give ye a clue. He’s in the glen, down by the river. Look for the forge, and ye’ll find him there.”

“I…what river? What forge? An’...how did ye ken I’d be lookin’ for someone?” she asked.

“I was at yer betrothal feast. I saw that look in yer eye, right ‘afore ye fainted.”

Gemma was utterly confused. She thought she’d spoken to everyone at the feast, like she was required, but somehow she’d missed this interesting old woman.

“Who are ye?”

“Just an old woman who hears much,” she replied.

“Are we…are we speaking of the same man?”

“‘Tis for ye tae ken, not me. I only have the information. Ye best get back home, lassie. It gets darker earlier now.”

Gemma nodded, thanking the woman profusely before walking along the cliffs in the direction of her home. But as she looked back for another glimpse of the old woman, she was no longer there. That was incredibly startling to her. Who was she, and had she just appeared out of thin air? How had she gotten into the keep, and what did she mean with her nebulous manner of speaking?

Regardless, it was the first solid lead Gemma had in finding Colin, and as crazy as it sounded, she knew she had to pursue it. This was for love, and she’d do anything for that.

The flickering light of the forge below cast shadows on the wooden beams of the loft where Colin slept. His body was tense and his breaths came in ragged gasps, punctuated by the occasional whimper. He was dreaming again, but this time, it was a nightmare.

In his dream, Colin saw Gemma in a white gown, walking down the aisle of the village kirk towards Bryce. White flowers adorned the edges of the church pews, and everyone was dressed in their finery. It wasn’t the decorations of the kirk that captured his attention, though. It was the look in Gemma’s eyes. It was like a melancholy he had never seen before. Worse still, Colin could see the hesitation in her step, the uncertainty in her expression. He knew that she didn’t want to be there, that she didn’t love Bryce. But she was trapped, just as he was. As Bryce took Gemma’s hand and began to recite his vows, Colin tried to run forward and stop the wedding. But his feet were rooted to the ground, and he couldn’t move. Even his voice did not work. It was like he was a ghost, invisible to everyone around him. He was forced to watch as Bryce slipped the ring onto Gemma’s finger, sealing their fate.

Colin’s heart felt like it was being ripped from his chest. He loved Gemma more than anything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her being married to someone else. But there was nothing he could do to stop it, especially not here and now.

The scene changed, and now Colin was standing on a cliff overlooking the sea — the same place where he’d told Gemma he had to leave the clan. The wind was whipping his hair into his eyes, and the waves crashed against the rocks below. He could see Gemma and Bryce standing on the beach, holding hands and laughing.

And then, suddenly, Bryce let go of Gemma's hand and pushed her towards the edge of the water. Gemma stumbled and fell, and Colin screamed as she disappeared beneath the waves. Bryce only stood and watched. In a horrid twist, Gemma’s lifeless body dissipated into foam on the sea. Colin was still rooted to the ground and he could not speak, but Bryce saw him. He turned to fix his gaze toward Colin, a sinister grin stretching across his face. His eyes were blazing red.

He woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was. But then the memories flooded back, and he realized that he was still in the loft above the blacksmith forge, exiled from his own clan because of Bryce’s lies.

Colin sat up and rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. But it lingered, like a dark cloud over his head. He couldn’t get Gemma out of his mind, couldn’t stop thinking about what might have been if Bryce hadn’t intervened.

He got up and stretched, trying to ease the tension in his muscles. It was still early, and the sun had barely risen over the horizon. But Colin knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. Not after that nightmare.

He descended the ladder from the loft and made his way towards the door of the forge. The air was crisp and cool, and he could feel the dew on the grass beneath his feet. It was a beautiful morning, but Colin couldn't enjoy it. Not when his heart was breaking.

He dressed himself slowly, considering everything he’d seen in the dream. It was the most vivid he’d had in a while. The sight of Gemma being pushed into the water and Bryce’s blazing red eyes was most unsettling.

Above him, his father stirred, and within a few minutes, he climbed carefully down the ladder and joined his son at the doorway.

Neither of them spoke for a minute. This was a sacred time, they’d discovered — the time when the sun finally rose over the hills.

A hush fell over the land as the first sight of the sun crept over the hills. The air was cool and crisp, and the scent of heather and pine lingered on the breeze. The sky was awash in shades of pink and orange, as though the heavens themselves were ablaze.

Slowly but surely, the sun began to climb into the sky. At first, it was just a sliver of golden light, but as it climbed higher and higher, it illuminated the hills with a soft glow. The peaks were shrouded in mist, which began to dissipate as the warmth of the sun grew stronger.

Birds chirped and flitted about in the branches of the trees, their song a sweet accompaniment to the rising sun. The distant roar of the river near the glen only added to the melody.

As the sun rose higher, the hills were bathed in a golden light that seemed to make everything sparkle. The trees and shrubs were tinged with a hint of green, and the heather was a vibrant shade of purple. It was as though the world had come alive in the dawn light, and everything was fresh and new.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, as though the entire world was holding its breath in anticipation of the new day. And then, with a burst of energy and light, the sun climbed fully over the hills.

It was such a contrast to Colin’s nightmare. If he still had the energy and will to write poetry, he might have written something about it. But no; he had not written since they left. Even if he wanted to, it wasn’t like he had the time. Working in the forge kept him busy enough.

“‘Bonny, isn’t it?” Douglas Frazier said, looking at the orange sun above the green hills.

“Aye,” Colin said softly.

“Ye were up early.”

“I couldnae sleep.”

“Another nightmare?” His father asked.

Colin nodded. “I cannae shake them.”

His father patted his back reassuringly.

“Come now. We’ll have some ale by the river ‘afore we begin the day.”

Colin took one last look at the sunrise before following his father into the shop.

It could only go up from here, couldn’t it?

The beauty of the sunrise was forgotten as the day progressed. Despite the autumn chill, it was hot in the shop. The fires had been burning almost all day, and Colin had done nothing but work since that morning. Sweat even flew from his brow and landed on the anvil, sizzling as it hit the hot metal. With each strike of his hammer against the iron, flashes of memories between him and Bryce invaded his mind. The memory of their first hunt together as boys, the first time they ever got drunk and tried to hide it from their fathers; even their first successful scouting mission and the congratulations that had followed. It was as if his own mind were mocking him with those good memories. There was almost no feeling worse than betrayal — almost being the key word, since lost love topped his list.

When those memories of him and Bryce faded, they were replaced with the lovely ones of him and Gemma; all the times they’d flirted as young adults, sought out each other’s company as children, and made love as man and woman.

But now both of his closest relationships had changed. The news that his father had shared in the tavern a couple nights ago was jarring at first, but…even if Colin had stayed at the castle, it still might have happened. It was no use pondering, really. He could not change the past or other people’s actions; he could only look forward and be responsible for himself.

So lost in thought was Colin that he did not hear his father asking for him until he yelled, jerking Colin out of his endless sea of angst.

“Colin, my boy! I’ve been callin’ out tae ye for ages,” his father said, gripping his son’s arm for attention.

Colin set down his tools and wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

“Sorry, father. I was thinkin’ about…everything,” he admitted.

“I ken. Ye had that look on yer face. But in light of…recent events, I feel I must tell ye about…some things.”

Well, this did not bode well.

“What…things?”

“I think it’ll be easier over a drink, aye?”

Colin shrugged and took off his apron, laying it neatly on his workbench.

“Should we tell Uncle Angus we’re leavin’?”

“I did. An’ he’s got Robert for anyone who comes in needin’ help.”

What could his father possibly have to tell him at this hour that would require a drink in order to say it? Surely enough damage had been done already with the official news that Gemma and Bryce were betrothed to one another.

When they reached the tavern and settled in at a comfortable table by the window, his father flagged down the red-faced barmaid and ordered ales for the both of them. Then, with a dramatic sigh, his father looked at him fondly. It was like staring into his own face twenty years from now. Douglas Frazier had the same sharp jawline, green eyes, and red hair as his son. From far away, they might be mistaken for brothers, but up close, one could see crow’s feet framing his eyes, and his shoulders droop a little. So much handling of weaponry and time on the field of battle had aged him faster than was normal.

“Colin, why do ye think Bryce sent us away?” he asked, as if he were asking a small child a question to which they should already know the answer.

Colin was utterly confused by the question and the manner in which it was asked, as Bryce had made his anger known that night at the fire.

“He said he caught ye abed with his mother. Are ye about tae tell me ‘tis not true? Because that information would have been very handy several months ago,” he said, feeling his anger rise.

“Nay, ‘tis the truth. I was abed with Laird MacNeill’s wife.”

“Unless that changes our circumstances, I dinnae see why ye had tae bring me here an’ tell me this.”

“It was convenient for Bryce tae send ye away, too, so he could have that Gemma lass tae himself,” his father said.

“I dinnae want tae think of it that way. Bryce may be entitled and have a prideful attitude, but he is not the schemin’ type.”

Douglas Frazier sighed.

“I am an old man. There isnae much left that I havenae done. I have fought an’ been victorious in battle, I’ve loved a good woman, I’ve raised a good lad.”

“Father, dinnae speak as if this is the end,” Colin chided, wary of the rest of this conversation.

“I speak that way because I am willin’ tae go back an’ confess, tae clear the family name an’ face the consequences of my actions.”

Colin’s jaw might have dropped then, but the barmaid returned with their ales. His father thanked the girl and placed a few extra coins in her hand.

“Cheers, lassie,” he said with a smile. Douglas Frazier had always been a charming man.

“Father, no. The decision’s been made. I willnae allow ye tae lay down yer life.”

“An’ I cannae let my son, wi’ all his potential, waste his life in his family’s smithery.”

“Then what would ye have us do?”

Colin was growing angrier by the minute. This was a fruitless conversation, and he could not see a point to it.

“Very well. I’m no lyin’ man, but…I’ve concealed some truths from ye, an’ I think now is the time tae reveal them.”

“What truths?” Colin asked, his voice low and steady.

“I dinnae ken how tae say it delicately, so I’ll simply say it; I am Bryce’s father.”

Silence befell the two of them as Colin mulled over the words in his mind. Yes, he’d suspected this for a while now. How could he not, when his whole life he’d been told that he and Bryce looked so alike?

“Yer…yer certain?” Colin asked hesitantly.

“Aye, laddie. The Laird…he couldnae give his wife a bairn. After ye were born, an’ yer mother died, God rest her soul, Laird MacNeill approached me with a proposition. He needed an heir.”

Colin had a feeling he knew where this was going, but his tongue felt as heavy as the anvil in the forge.

“He asked me tae lay with his wife, since ye’d been born and ‘twas obvious ye were my son. Even as an infant, ye had a shock of bright red hair.” Douglas chuckled softly at the memory. “So, I laid with his wife. It took a few times, but after a few months, she was with child.”

“Bryce really is my brother,” Colin said, to himself, but loud enough that his father could hear his musings.

“Aye.”

“But why…he said he’d caught ye recently with her. What happened?”

Douglas sighed and took a large gulp of his ale before he spoke again.

“We developed a romantic attachment. I missed yer mother, I really did, but Lady MacNeill made me feel…like a man again. We couldnae stay away from each other. So, aye, I was havin’ an affair with her, one that we did not tell the Laird about. That part is secret, or if the laird does ken, he’s not said a thing against it.”

Colin had never really stopped to consider his father’s love life or any sort of romantic entanglements. But what son would? He had always seen his father in the light of a warrior. Hearing him speak of love like this was…strange — not in a bad way, but it gave added depth to his father that he had not considered before.

“I dinnae ken,” was all he could say.

“An’ how could ye? We kept the truth from everyone for years. If Bryce hadnae been hurt on that hunting trip, we would still be at the castle now. But that is not the reason for me tellin’ ye this.”

“What?” Colin asked. He had not so much as touched his ale, too engrossed in his father’s confession.

“Do ye not see, Colin? Bryce is not the son of the laird.”

And then it dawned on him. Colin had been too set in his grief and anger to think clearly, but now, he saw the reason for this conversation.

“So…Bryce has no real authority,” he said.

“Aye,” his father agreed. “Ye an’ Gemma have done nothin’ wrong. Ye are innocent in all of this. Now, what say ye?”

Colin stared into his tankard of ale, thoughts as murky as the amber liquid in the pewter cup. What could he say?