If My Heart Could See You (2 page)

T
wo

D
ristan heard the heavy footsteps of tired men, clanking down the stairs in their cumbersome armor. The one he had summoned was at last approaching. He turned from the blazing hearth to watch the lad stride into the Great Hall flanked by several battle weary soldiers. ’Twas clear they stood afore him most reluctantly.

Silence filled the air, and Dristan took his time assessing the well-seasoned warriors. The only exception to the group was the young boy, who stood with a look that would have alone felled the most ferocious of enemies. Dristan was used to seeing such a glare of loathing. Only time would tell if the boy could learn to get past the hatred he was feeling.

The remains of the hall door slammed closed with a loud crash, and the sound of someone’s fast stride had all heads turning to see who approached.

“You insolent whelp! Who gives you the right to glare at your new lord in such an ill manner?” Hugh yelled as he came abreast of the group. Afore anyone could stop his act, Hugh raised his hand and struck the boy in the face, bringing him to his knees from the force of the blow. His gauntlet left blood, trickling down from the knight’s right cheek.

The distinctive sound of swords, coming free of their scabbards, echoed in the hall as the boy’s guardsmen advanced to protect their charge.

Hugh raised his fist in threat. “Get thee back and let me finish my work so he never again questions who is lord here!”

“Cease your madness!” Dristan roared. His angry voice shook the rafters.

The Devil’s Dragon of Blackmore buried his fist in Hugh’s face yet again and sent him to the floor. Dristan reached down and grabbed the man, bringing him face to face that he might see the rage in his lord’s eyes.

“You have erred again by presuming to act on my behalf,” he hissed, “but I’ll be damned if you shall continue to do so further today or any other day henceforth!”

Two of Dristan’s garrison knights stepped forward at his command and bowed. He flung a stumbling, humiliated Hugh towards them.

“Find the dungeon and take this worthless fool there ’til I decide his fate. Mayhap, I’ll let him rot there for a spell, ’til my temper cools!”

Dristan turned back towards his personal guard and each man knew, by the look on their lord’s face, he struggled not to finish Hugh off immediately. He motioned with his hand again to the Scotsmen guarding the young knight.

Although hesitant, one by one, they put their blades back into their sheaths and returned to stand behind their charge, who remained kneeling on the floor, slightly swaying.

Dristan moved to assist the young knight and the boy’s guardsmen raised their hands ’til they hovered over the hilts of their swords. Dristan dismissed them, more concerned with helping the youth stand and regain some dignity.

“What is your name, boy?” he demanded.

The knight stubbornly remained quiet, glaring at his new lord with all the hatred a body could muster. Young MacLaren wiped the blood from his swollen cheek.

“Your name boy,” he repeated. “I assume you have one.”

“Aye,” the youth muttered with defiance.

“And yet you cease to tell me.”

“His name is Aiden. Aiden of clan MacLaren, my liege,” said
the guard standing at the boy’s side.

Dristan judged the man with a single glance. “And who are you that you speak on his behalf?”

“He is Ian, captain of my garrison.”

“The boy speaks
,” Dristan stated. “And I assume these are your remaining knights?”

“They are the rest of my personal guardsmen, who yet live.”

Dristan scowled whilst allowing himself a moment to consider the young man afore him.
Mon dieu
but the lad could not be more than ten and six if that. His face was not truly determinable since ’twas covered with the dirt and grime of battle, but it looked as if ’twould not grow even a small bit of fuzz to cover his cheeks any time soon. A lock of fiery red hair escaped his chainmail helm, which did not surprise Dristan in the least, given the lad’s Scottish heritage. His eyes could be blue, but that, too, was hard to tell in the dim light of the hall. ’Twas also difficult to conclude the lad’s form as he was still wearing his armor. Somehow Dristan felt he would not have much meat on his bones given his small stature. ’Twas then he noticed a strange oddity with the young knight.

“You have not won your spurs, I see,” Dristan commented dryly. “Did not your sire squire you out?”

“He saw to my training himself.”

“’Tis most unusual.”

Aiden only shrugged as if no further answer was necessary.

Dristan saw the look of satisfaction on the boy’s face when his two men returned after finding new lodgings for Hugh. He could only imagine what was going through the lad’s head. Surely he felt a sense of vindication that a wrong had been righted.

A slight smile began to alight on Aiden’s face.

The smile did not go unnoticed by the Devil’s Dragon.

“I understand you have a twin sister. Is she above in the solar with the rest of your family?” he questioned sharply.

The boy’s grin quickly vanished with his start of surprise.

“My sis-sister?”

“Aye. Your twin, or so I have been told,” Dristan replied, trying to find some patience with the youth.

“Your k-king knows of us?” Aiden stammered in shock.

“’Tis King Henry’s business to know those he plans to conquer and lands he will claim as his own,” Dristan stated simply. “You have not answered my question
. . . is she above?”

The boy’s mouth opened, but afore any words could be spewed forth, his captain again spoke out.

“She was asked to travel with her Aunt to Edinburgh prior to the siege, my lord,” Ian provided as an explanation.

Dristan’s brow furrowed in irritation and saw how Aiden’s chin raised up a notch. Perchance there was yet hope for the youth.

“We shall deal with her when the time comes. But tell me now, will you pledge fealty to me as your new liege lord, young Aiden?”

“Do I have a choice?” the youth asked obstinately.

“We all make choices, boy. ’Tis a heavy burden we must bear. You are now the clan leader, and as such, ’tis your responsibility to think of the well-being of your family and clansmen afore yourself.”

“You would allow me to remain head of my clan
. . . to care for my family?” the youth’s look was filled with skepticism. He had not expected these words from the terror of England.

“This castle is but one of many I have claimed in the name of King Henry.” Dristan put his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, amazed he even had the strength to lift the heavy sword for the past several days. “Perchance one day I may leave it unto your keeping ’til such time as I return. Give me your oath of fealty, Aiden, and your men, as well.
’Til I know you have been trained properly and can hold up against the fiercest of enemies, I give you and yours my protection under my name.” He took a step back from the boy and looked down upon his startled features. “I cannot offer you more than that as yet, but perchance for now ’tis enough,” he declared. “Still . . . the choice must be yours.”

Dristan watched Aiden chew on his lower lip in indecision as the boy was likely wondering what choice he really had.
’Tis the only home the boy has ever known
, he thought to himself
. Where else on this earth could the lad in truth wander, when all he knew and loved was surely held within these walls and the lands he had roamed all his life
.

Aiden gave a brief nod to those loyal men who waited for a decision and heard a few grunts of annoyance on what the clan now faced. Turning to face the Devil’s Dragon, Aiden gave a soft sigh of resignation to their fate and stared up at Berwyck’s new liege lord.

Finally, Aiden knelt on one knee and took a deep breath with hands held out in complete submission. Dristan reached out and clasped them, awaiting the pledge of loyalty that would bind the MacLaren clan as his vassals.

“I, A−Aiden of Berwyck and of Clan MacLaren, do so swear on my faith in God the Almighty to serve thee as my liege lord, Dristan of Blackmore. I promise in the future to be faithful to my lord, never causing you harm, and will observe my homage to you completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit.”

“I accept thee as my vassal,” Dristan proclaimed, nodding in satisfaction then motioned for Aiden to stand next to Riorden, whilst each of the lad’s guardsmen in turn made their vows. The deed did not take long, since there were only seven of the boy’s guard left alive.

Dristan folded his arms against his massive chest and stared down the length of his nose at Aiden once more.

“I will see to your training myself to ensure ’tis done properly. Some may think I do you no favor as training with me is most brutal, but ’twill possibly keep your head attached to your shoulders someday,” he said sternly then watched as the boy’s eyes darted back and forth in further concern. “But now is not the time to fret about such matters. ’Tis more important we see to the burying of our dead than worry about your training.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“See you to your family, Aiden, so they know you yet live, and whilst you search the dead for your lord,” Dristan said as he turned to his guard, “my captain, Riorden de Deveraux, will see that a detail assists you in laying your clansmen to rest and also ensure your safety. Although I can vouch for my personal guardsmen, others under my command are mercenaries. There is naught I can do about their lack of knightly virtues and the hatred they feel towards the Scots.”

Dristan watched Aiden give a slight bow afore taking his leave. It appeared the boy left with a heavy heart, as the young knight put one foot in front of the other whilst slowly ascending the stairs to the upper floors to seek out his remaining family. Dristan could sympathize with the lad’s plight. For years in service to his king, he had seen for himself those who had lost their homes to his conquering army. Most had chosen to swear fealty to King Henry. He did not like to think on the alternative outcome for those who did not. Change was in the air, and only the whim of fate would tell which way the winds would blow to determine the life course Aiden MacLaren would soon follow.

Three

T
he youth called Aiden, closed the wooden portal of the solar door with a soft click, cutting off the frightened words from Patrick, the youngest member of the family. The child inside was aged only eight summers and had been petrified with fear ’til the calming voice from his eldest sibling had offered him comfort.

Turning into the passageway, the young knight noticed Ian leaning up against the stone wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “The bairn’s are alright?” he asked.

“Aye . . . at least for the moment.” With the affirmation that the family was safe, they walked silently, side by side, down the long dimly lit corridor ’til they reached the MacLaren heir’s chamber.

Ian opened the door, allowing his charge to enter. The sound of the portal shutting and the bolt sliding into place gave them a sense of privacy they had not had in some time. The youth stood still as Ian went about his business to assist with the removal of armor once they entered the chamber. ’Twas something that could not be accomplished alone without some difficulty.

Raising both arms at his command, ’twas with a sense of relief when the heavy metal was slowly removed. Ian could be quite demanding when he felt the need, but the young knight was too tired to reprimand the man. In truth, what would that really accomplish? Ian had been by the twins’ side since the first time their sire had put a sword willingly in their hands. His opinions and grumbles were something they had gotten used to over the years.

With a heavy sigh, the one dubbed Aiden turned and removed the chain mail coif from a head covered in deep red with coppery tones. With a firm but short tug, a long braid of the same hues came free from its confines. ’Twas a welcoming relief to feel the hair about one’s neck that had been stuffed and hidden within the armor and garments worn for more days than could be remembered.

Where but a moment afore stood a young, confident, and justifiably exhausted lad, there now revealed in one heartbeat a young woman, holding her own against life’s turmoil’s and the chaos her life had become. As if a heavy weight had been lifted from her weary shoulders, Amiria at last turned towards her captain.

“Ah
doona ken how weel continue this farce,” Ian commented with a scowl. “Never mind yer da weel haunt me fer the rest o’ me life!”

“Careful Ian
. . . you’re Scottish brogue is coming out. Just give me a moment, my friend,” was all she could manage to whisper. “’Tis the first bit of privacy and rest I’ve had in days it seems.”

“Ye’ll need more than a moment tae put this aright, lass,” Ian mumbled.

Looking down at her figure, Amiria could only shake her head as she stood afore her captain. No one in their right mind would mistake her for a lad for any length of time, so she was puzzled how their ruse would be to their benefit. For only being ten and nine, she was an exact replica of her brother but with her features more delicately refined and body slighter of frame. She could also wield a sword as no other woman she had ever come across, although she knew she needed more training.

Amiria had previously only fought for the pure joy of it and to prove her worth to her sire. Her lessons were never intended to produce such skill to slay her adversaries as she had done this past
two fortnights. If she were to continue this path, her training needed to reach a new level, for hesitation would be her undoing on the field.

“You should have just let me say my name instead of using my brothers,” she hissed. “I know you meant well, Ian, but now I have pledged my life to a man who thinks I am a boy and my brother at that! No good shall come from this deception. Mayhap he would have offered me his protection if he but knew I was a maid.”

“Harrumph . . . or taken ye right thar in front o’ all tae witness so yer maid no more. Ye know o’ his reputation, Amiria, and he shouldna be trusted.”

“’Tis too late for that now as we owe him our fealty
. I do not, howsoever, like the lie that has fallen from our lips,” she said, feeling aggravated.

Ian came to stand afore her and bowed. “My most humble apologies, Amiria, but ’twas out of my mouth afore common sense could stop my words.”

Amiria gawked at her captain in amazement as she realized how he readily changed his accent to suit his mood. There certainly was no hint of a brogue that she could detect now. ’Twas her mother’s doing, she thought, as her father had married an English noblewoman, hoping to bring peace between two countries. Lessons had always seemed to include Ian. He had been eager to learn since her sire had demanded the twins be always within his sight. It did not leave the man much of a life other than to guard them, but perchance he, too, had been resigned to his fate.

Gazing at him, Amiria could understand why all women from the highest born to the most menial serving wench would willingly fall into his bed if he but asked. He was tall with an unusual color of reddish brown hair graced with golden highlights kissed from the sun. Its length fell to his shoulders in soft waves many would envy. Eyes of hazel with brilliant green flecks had countless maids sighing with just one look from him. Years of training with their laird had his body muscular and almost as intimidating as their new liege. At a score and five he could easily have any lass of his choosing.

Amiria had frequently thought of him as most handsome but had kept the affection she felt for him to herself for many a year. She always knew what they had between them could never be more than mere friends, much to her deepest regret. Her lot in life was to marry a man of standing in order to procure more lands to add to the family wealth and to ensure an alliance in times of need. This was the way of the nobility, and she did not see that changing even with the new circumstances in which she now found herself.

Looking up into his eyes, the intensity she saw there made her more than aware that he had the same thoughts and longings running through his mind. With a heavy sigh, she held up her hand to stop any words that would be forthcoming from him. She was not sure her heart could stand it.

She crossed the room that resembled nothing of its former comfort, afore the enemy came to lay siege to the castle. All items having any semblance of femininity had been stripped away and, in truth, ’twas really nothing within the chamber giving evidence ’twas anything more than what would be used for a guest. The room itself was not overly large but was more than adequate for her needs, especially since she spent most of her time outdoors and hated the stuffiness of a closed chamber. She was lucky she did not have to share the place with her two younger sisters, Sabina and Lynet.

’Twas here in this very room that she had come up with the scheme with her twin brother Aiden that she would dress as a lad to help defend their home. Aiden protested and argued with her, but in the end, Amiria had won her way as she always did. If their father had known her thoughts and actions, he would have enclosed her in the dungeon. She would have been lucky to ever see the light of day again.

She went to the alcove, holding a most comfortable window seat, and opened the shutters with little difficulty. Her breath caught when the crisp ocean air assaulted her senses. She breathed in deeply, feeling a peacefulness run through her body to calm her frayed nerves. This had always been her favorite place to come and collect her thoughts and now was no different, although she knew she could not tarry long. Although she knew that others had been dispatched to search the dead and dying, Amiria felt ’twas her duty to find her father and brother herself. She knew they must lay somewhere beyond the outer bailey and there was some slight chance they yet lived.

She could sense Ian’s stare, boring into her. Inhaling deeply once more of the salty sea breeze, she closed the shutters and returned her attention to her captain. “You should find yourself a wife, Ian,” she said calmly.

“Ach, you know ’tis the farthest thing from my mind, Amiria.”

She smiled at him warmly. “All the same, ’tis sure I am there be a fine Scottish lassie who would be more than willing to share your life.”

“There is but one bonny lass who I would give that honor to, and you know of whom I speak.”

She came to stand afore him quickly, placing her finger tips on his lips. He took them just as swiftly and kissed them afore she could take her hand away. Seldom did they give in to the pleasure of each other’s touch, knowing the danger of where it might lead.

“Nay, please, I beg you . . . do not speak of it.”

“Amiria
. . . you know that I lo−”

“By the Blessed Virgin Mary Ian, I beseech you in the name of all we hold dear
. . . please do not say those words to me. You know we can never be.”

“We could run away,” he proposed, and she knew ’twas said with an earnest heart.

She placed her hand hesitantly upon his cheek and began caressing it with her thumb. She had never dared such afore. The wetness from a single tear rushed down her cheek, giving evidence to the turmoil of her emotions. She felt a small bit of comfort as he covered her hand with his own.

“You know as well as I,” she said with a touch of sorrow to her words, “we could never do something that foolish, without care for my family, our clan, or even our pride and honor. We would never truly be happy if we did so.”

“I would give everything I have just to ensure your happiness, lass,” Ian declared quietly. He took her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon its back.

Her smile was timid at best. “Aye, Ian, I know you would, but you know my father did not consent to your petition for us to wed. I would not dishonor his memory, if God forbid he has passed from this earth, by going against his wishes.”

“Given enough time I could have persuaded him to change his mind,” he mumbled in frustration.

“Aye, I suppose in time you may have done just that, but now we are not free to make our own choices in life. Somehow, I think the beast below would send out his minions and hunt us ’til the end of time itself, if we were reckless enough to make such an attempt of leaving. We are his vassals now and have no choice but to serve his every whim.”

“Ah lass . . . you know not how that tears at my heart,” Ian said solemnly as he brought her closer into his embrace.

“Please Ian,” she whispered, frantic at the intimacy, not only of their gazes but also his touch. “We canna do this, for I know ’twill break my heart.”

“I know ’tis not within my right to ask, but somehow I must,” he said as he caressed her hair. “Just once sweet lassie . . . just once let me taste your sweet kiss that I may say at least for one small moment you were mine. I would treasure that kiss all my days and for the rest of my life, Amiria.”

“Oh, Ian,” she moaned and began to tilt her head back as she closed her eyes to give in to this one small pleasure. She sensed, for a fleeting second, their breaths become as one, as he lowered his head but inches from receiving the gift of her very first kiss. She could not help the sigh of bliss that escaped her lips.

The sudden pounding on her chamber door broke the spell that had but briefly surrounded them. Ian whirled towards the door with sword in hand whilst Amiria once more disappeared into the guise of her brother. She rushed to the hearth and quickly rubbed cool ashes upon her face. With her mail coif firmly in place on her head, she tilted her head just so, allowing her features to remain somewhat indiscernible. It had taken hours practicing with Aiden afore he was satisfied she had perfected the movement for it to become a habit to her. She turned and saw Ian nod in approval that all appeared as it should. He slid the bolt and opened the door.

Killian and Finlay of her guard stood without, and Amiria placed her finger to her mouth to ensure they kept their silence from possible prying eyes and ears. With a brief nod, Killian stepped forward. “The devil below beckons we make haste tae see tae the dead an’ wounded; seems as though a storm might be a brewing, so we best hurry.”

“So be it Killian. Lead the way,” she ordered.

As the two knights left down the passageway, Ian continued to hold the portal open for her. When she came aside him, she lingered momentarily, placing her hand upon his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I am sorry, Ian, for what can never be,” she said so quietly, he surely must have strained to hear her words.

“As am I, Amiria
. . . as am I,” he returned, with a tense smile.

Looking up into the depths of his eyes, Amiria could have sworn a tear hovered on his lashes, for the look he gave her must surely have been mirrored in her own. With unspoken words, they both knew their one moment they could have shared was not to be. This was somehow much more upsetting to them both, knowing that such a moment would never be allowed to happen ever again.