FLAME ACROSS THE HIGHLANDS (2 page)

PART ONE:   The Highland Twins

The Isle of Ulva –
Fourteenth-century Scotland

“
All who joy would win

Must share it, --happinesss was born a twin.”

Lord Byron
–
Don Juan, Canto I, Stanza 22

Chapter One

The first flowers of spring covered the Highland meadow, filling the cool morning air with their fragrance as the wind blew across the glen.  The harsh winter fog which always covered the land like a low-flying cloud had now faded, leaving the sky clear and blue. Overhead the early morning sun spread its warmth, shining down upon the two seventeen-year-old girls who lay upon their backs, squinting their eyes against its glare.  Such a perfect spring day was rare, and they both were of the mind to take advantage of it.  All too suddenly a storm could break sending down a scourge of rain.

"'Tis strange to think of how many MacQuaries have looked up at the sky from this same spot upon th
e heather, is it not, Glenna?"

"How many do ye suppose?" Glenna asked stretching
, then settling herself  more comfortably upon the thick, purplish pink carpet of flowers.

"I dinna ken exactly.  Hundreds
, I would say, and all at odds with the Campbells, I would imagine.  How bothersome.  Men and their constant, warfare.  When will it all stop?"  Rolling over on her stomach, Brianna, the more adventuresome of the twins, looked towards the wild sea lochs that gouged deeply into the land and breathed a sigh.  This land, Mull and the island of Staffa that she could see in the distance, had been inhabited by the MacQuarie Clan for hundreds of years, or so it seemed from the tales the
seanachaidh
revealed.  To the east were the lands of the MacLeods who marauded the countryside with their savage bands,  to the south  were the Campbells, seemingly encroaching closer and closer.  MacQuaries and Campbells had been at odds over land possession and other things for as long as the girls could  remember. 

They had been told often enough of the fiercesome battle the night they had been born.  That same night their mother
had lost touch with reality.  Now that poor tortured woman was dead and resting in peace in her grave, but the story and memory of her ravings haunted Brianna still.  Rantings of a child being stolen from her arms by the very devil.

Perhaps it was their father's determination to have a male heir that had been cause for her mother's insanity.  The poor woman had always insisted until her dying day that there had been another child born the night of Glenna's and Brianna's birth.  A male child, a
son
.   Lachlan had questioned the   women  about the birth and they had insisted two children and two alone had been birthed.  Thus, he had humored his wife's outbursts, certain that childbed fever had brought about her mumblings.  There had been a stillborn child, then two more daughters, Morgana  and Orianna, had been born to her father and mother,  but never a son.  At last Iona MacQuarie had dwindled into ill-health and died when the twins were seven years old, leaving Lachlan a lonely and heartbroken man.  Was it any wonder that Brianna had tried to sooth his pain, had tried to make him proud of her?  He needed no male child, he had her, and she was as bold, as spirited and as daring as any son Lachlan MacQuarie might have had.

"Aye, I'll agree that men can be troublesome, but they can be wonderful too!"  Glenna's voice had such a strange, whispery tone that Brianna looked at her twin with a start, staring into wide brown eyes so like her own.  The two young women were in fact identical to each other.  So much alike that even their father could not tell them apart, that is when he saw them alone.  When they stood side by side it was a far different matter, for Brianna's eyes were a bit larger, her nose a wee mite shorter, her fiery tresses  just a half a shade darker than Glenna's . Glenna was the gentle one, the shy one
who had always relied upon her sister for guidance.  Brianna, her feisty twin, was the brave sister who had always taken the lead in everything.

"Men can be wonderful, ye say?"  Brianna cocked a well arched brow.  "What is it, Glenn
a?  Ye sound so...so...."

"I'm
in love.  Ye dunna do everythin’ first."  Glenna smiled sheepishly.  It seemed she had been the first to fall in love.  "And it is a wondrous feeling!"

"Love?"  The very though disgusted Brianna.  Love was nonsense!  A woman's wishful
prattling.  Still she asked, "With who?"

"With Alastair.  B
ut ye must not breath a word."

"Alastair.  The bard?"  Though she thought men to be a quarrelsome lot, oversure of their cunning and prowess, she had to agree that Glenna had picked a handsome young man to moon about.  T
all, blonde and well-formed of feature, the bard was pleasing to the eyes, though a bit too poetic for Brianna's taste.  His long-fingered hands had not a trace of  a swordsman's callous and his baritone voice was soothing but did not stir any feelings in Brianna's heart.  She was glad of that now for in all ways she thought the union of her sister and the bard to be a perfect match.  Both were gentle, both held a love for music and laughter.  Both Alastair  and her sister flitted too often into their fantasy worlds.  Brianna was a realist.

"Aye, the bard."  Glenna blushed, the dark pink covering her cheeks and nose.  "And I hope he has set his eyes upon me too.  Oh, he is such a handsome laddie."  Hugging her arms about her knees, she sat up and looked at Brianna.  The faraway look in  her eyes told her sister that she had taken flight once again to the land of dreams.  Reaching down Glenna plucked a
white flower from the ground and tucked it behind her ear, then gathered more of like-kind as if for a wedding bouquet.  "Aye, Alastair.  Alastair, I will take thee unto my husband." 

Standing stark still as if in the midst of a trance
, she smiled as the wild  wind whipped the long tresses about her shoulders.  Only the sharp prick of her sister's well-aimed pebble brought her back down to earth.  With a shy smile she turned her head to look at Brianna, who flashed her a mischievous grin.

"I didna want ye soaring away lest ye became a prisoner of the sea-fairies.  They come upon wee lassies when they do not pay attention to their sisters and instead
look like love-sick goslings."

Glenna looked contrite.  "I'm sorry, Brianna, but
he is on my mind all the time. I canna even sleep without seeing his face.  I wish ye could find a man to love, then ye would know how grand it feels."

"Love? 
Gorach!
  I have no need for such foolishness.  Men.  Ha, they are all the same."  She snorted in derision.

"But someday Father will want ye to wed. We must carry on the
MacQuarie line.  Ye must find a man to take on our proud clan name.  Would ye not rather it be someone ye love?"  Glenna was shocked by her sister's attitude and greatly saddened.  She wanted Brianna to be happy too.  "Is there  no one special?"

Brianna tossed her head, sending her hair flying in a whirl of dark-tinted flame. "No. One man would be as good as another, providing he be pleasant to look upon and swears he willna beat me.  I could well be a match fo
r any of the men around here.

"But dinna ye long for moonlit kisses that set ye to tingling all over?"  Thinly arc
hed brows shot up in question.

"Nae!  Brianna was certain of the answer.  She'd ne'er make a fool of herself over an
y man.  Malcolm, Erskin, Jamie--they were interesting to talk with, to spar with, but she had learned to keep an arms length away from them.  When they were in their cups they too often set their hands to wandering.  "I dinna care for kisses.  The magic wears off soon enough, I would wager.  Marriage is but a settlement, to impoverish the lassie's father and make of the groom a wealthy mon."  Her grim-faced statement was met by giggles of laughter.  For a moment all thought of weddings and midnight trysts was forgotten as both young women gloried in the beauty of the day.

The early morning chirping of the birds filled the meadows with music.  Brianna contented herself with listening to the sound.  Truly it was more beautiful than Alastair's plucking and tooting, though she dared not reveal her opinion to Glenna.  Instead
, she allowed her thoughts to ponder if peace would ever come to the Highlands.  She thought not, for surely men seemed stubborn in their pride and driven to quarreling and fighting.

It had been thus since ancient days when the greater part of Scotland had been divided into large tribal districts, seven in number, corresponding to the territorial divisions of the country in ancient Pictish times.  Ambition had fueled quarrels that had not ended even wi
th the lands uniting under one Scottish king.  Indeed, it had only added to the confusion.  That the
Lowlanders
took control of the crown and bowed to English ways only added to the turmoil.

Brianna had heard the story from her father of how King Malcolm Ceanmore had changed Alba over two hundred years ago, moving his capital to Dunfermline.  The Celtic system of tani
stry was discarded in favor of Saxon feudalism, all because of the influence of his second wife, a granddaughter of the King of England.  The King had  even encouraged the coming into Alba of a large number of Saxon and Norman nobles from England to whom he made feudal grants.   At court the discontinuance of Gaelic as the Court language and the substitution of Roman Catholic practices in the church from that practiced by the Celtic church, only widened the gap.

Since that time her clan had sworn its allegiance to the
MacQuarie laird instead of the King, and to Angus MacDonald and the Lords of the Isles.  The only exception having been when her great-grandfather, Cormac Mor joined Alexander II in chasing the Norsemen from the isles.  Since then a series of rebellions had kept Alba from being united into the Kingdom of Scotland.

When the Lord of the Isles was defeated at Renfrew, bringing
Galloway under control of the Crown, it was a loss her father mourned.   Now Lachlan mocked  Robert the Bruce, saying he was not a man worthy of the honor of king.  Still, he and Eachuin, his brother, had fought in the army at Bannockburn on the side of the Bruce, just to insure Scotland would not become England's vassal again.   Her father had fought for pride in ancient independence of Alba and his king.

Now, however,
Lachlan resisted the Bruce's authority, yet again, clinging to the old ways.  His only hope was that someday a man would come along who was worthy and who would unite all of Scotland, leading them totally away from English influence. Certainly such had not been the case since the death of Alexander III.  John Balliol, who proceeded the Bruce, had turned out to be a puppet to England, a lamb among wolves.  Bruce, on the otherhand, had proved himself capable of being ruthless.  Her father wanted the Highlands to remain strong and free of the Bruce's influence and he wanted  eventual peace. That was her hope too. Until then there would be war, war and more war.  It made her head swim just to contemplate it.  And the feud with the Campbells only made life all the more miserable.

"Certainly those
Campbells are bothersome," she exclaimed.  They'd been a constant source of trouble for her father. It seemed they instigated on argument after another. As leader,
ceann-cinnidh
, of the MacQuaries he led the fighting, causing Brianna to worry lest something happen to him.  Under the ancient patriarchal system the land belonged to the clan. They worked together and fought together, giving allegiance to the laird in time of peace as well as war. Sometimes a sept or a branch of another clan, too small to protect itself against surrounding clans, entered into a treaty with a neighboring clan for protection, thus there always fighting. 

Indeed the clan was perhaps the most im
portant thing in their lives.  A man's very being, his identity, was permanently bound to the clan.   To be driven out, to face exile was to lose all sense of self-worth.  A man alone was as isolated as the island she looked upon again--
Staffa
.  Turning her eyes toward the sea, she watched as the foaming waves hit its rocky shore and basalt cliffs with noisy fury.  Only the din of bagpipes jarred her from her thinking.  The pipes, summoning everyone to gather.  The sound was unnerving.  Shattering.

"What is it?  What can hav
e happened?"  Glenna voiced her fear.  She could not help but wonder if another clash of shields and swords was about to ensue.  How many men would be killed or wounded this time?  It was a sobbering thought and one which filled her with apprehension for Alaistair.  During any battle he walked bedside the pipers and there was always the danger of a wayward dirk or sword harming him.  "Oh, Brianna!"  Glenna clutched at her sister's hand.

"It willna do us any good to be afraid."   Putting her arm protectively about her sister's shoulder, Brianna pretended to a bravery she did not really feel.  She was just as worried by the sound as Glenna only she would not allow herself to show it.  Instead
, she whispered sternly, "Come back with me to the hall!" Pulling Glenna by the hand, she led the way over the well-worn pathway.

Total pandemonium greeted the twins as they pushed through the heavy wooden door of the large stone hall.  Ominously
, the MacQuarie clan were preparing themselves for the imminent danger they thought was to come.  Brandishing their weapons, which reflected the flames ablaze in the hearth, they grumbled in anger as they waited for their chief, Lachlan MacQuarie, to enter the hall.

Brianna's eyes darted back and forth, searching for the familiar form of her father.  Where was he?  As if her anxiety conjured him up, he soon pushed through the door of the adjoining room he used as a council chamber.  His face was contorted in puzzlement but not outrage.  Pulling at his beard
, he strode back and forth before the fire, muttering beneath his breath.