Page 4 of Following Her Highland Journey (The White Witch’s Apprentices #2)

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T hough Adair was preoccupied by what Duncan had told her, she did her best to keep doing what she had been doing all these years—to push it out of her mind as much as she could and to just keep smiling. This was her life now, and as horrific as the news was that McNair was spreading his monstrous weight around might be, it was no longer her problem. At least, that was what she tried to make herself believe.

That facade only lasted less than twenty-four hours. Adair was sweeping the entrance hall to the monastery the following day when the door burst open and a woman stumbled in, her clothes bloody and torn, and her face covered in streaks of dirt and tears. Adair cried out in shock, but before she had more than a moment to react, the young woman stumbled and fell to the hard stone floor.

Adair didn't have time to think. She rushed over to examine the unconscious woman, finding her covered in bruises and wounds that on a surface level did not seem too serious. Perhaps the girl had been caught up in the fighting, then, and simply collapsed from hunger or thirst after her journey here? It made sense, but something about the girl's waxy skin made Adair believe there was something much more serious going on.

"Help!" she called, and two of her sisters came running. Together, they eased the young woman off the floor and carried her into one of the sick rooms. Once they had her settled, Maeve hurried off to fetch Mor—this was clearly too serious to require anything but the best help.

"She's in a bad way," Fia whispered, peering at the girl with a worried expression. "Lord above. What have they done tae her? We'll need tae get her cleaned up."

While Fia hurried off to fetch some water and rags, Adair began to undress the patient to try to get a better look at her wounds. She'd obviously missed something on her initial inspection, and whatever it had been could be the difference between life and death.

As she removed the used and ruined clothing, though, the girl's eyes snapped open and she grabbed Adair's arm, her blue eyes bloodshot and wild, half-crazed. "Dinnae!"

Adair didn't flinch. She spoke in a soothing tone as she said, "It's all right. I willnae hurt ye. I just need tae see where ye're hurt."

"Dinnae touch me. Please. Please ." The girl started to sob, and Adair backed away, fetching a thin blanket to cover the girl enough to allow her to calm down.

"I want tae help ye, dear," Adair continued in that same gentle tone. As she examined the young woman, it became clear that she was perhaps nineteen or twenty, and that her state of mind was in an even worse shape than her body.

"Only the witch can help me now. Take me tae the White Witch. Make it stop!"

Maeve returned then, but as she entered through the door, Adair held up a hand to tell her not to come any closer. Maeve froze in place and made a quick gesture that Adair understood right away—Mor was not present. She was probably in the woods with one of the other girls, training, which meant Adair, Fia, and Vanora were on their own.

"I'm her apprentice. The White Witch, her name is Mor, and she's trained me tae help people like ye. Me name is Adair, and me sisters, Fia and Maeve, are here tae help as well. Will ye allow us tae do so?" Adair asked gently.

The frightened girl's eyes seemed to come a little more into focus. "Ye…ye are?" she asked. "I made it?"

"Ye did. What's yer name?"

"Lily…" the girl replied. "Me mammy…she loved lilies." Then she burst into tears again. Adair waited, and Fia soon returned with the supplies. At a nod from Adair, Fia and Maeve both approached closer, but not next to the girl, not until Adair was sure it wouldn't make things worse.

"Lily is a bonny name. Will ye let us help ye, Lily? Will ye tell us what happened and let me examine ye?" Adair asked her softly.

The young woman nodded, and all three of them set to work. As they did, she told her sad tale, corroborated by the state of her mind and body—how soldiers under Laird McNair had attacked her village and Lily's parents had been slaughtered before her, how she'd tried to run. How a small group of soldiers had caught her, used her, and left her for dead.

Adair grimaced and Maeve, usually so joyful, let out a small sob, though her hands didn't falter in her work. And no wonder—Maeve's mother had met the same fate as poor Lily.

"I'm ruined. I heard a rumor that…the witch would protect me…" Lily tried to tell them, but suddenly, her breathing faltered and her skin grew paler.

"Enough talking for now. We'll help ye. I promise," Adair whispered, soothing her, stroking her hair until Lily relaxed. "Rest now. And let us do our job."

But though she meant every word of her promise, and though they did their job to the best of their ability, a healer cannot save everyone. Lily's body was weakened to the edge, and what the soldiers had done to her had destroyed her mind and her will in a way that they could not overcome. Though they managed to get her well enough and stable enough to survive the night, Lily died early the next morning, passing in her sleep without ever opening her eyes again.

Adair sat by her body for the rest of the day, numb to the world around her. McNair had done this, he and his men, stolen this poor girl's life away. How many more girls would suffer this fate before McNair's war was over? How many more bruised, battered, lifeless bodies, how many orphaned children, how many widows and families torn asunder would he leave in his path?

Mor permitted them to bury Lily on the monastery grounds, an honorary place for a girl who, had she lived, may have one day been another sister to them. All of the monastery's residents were present for the funeral, though Fia, Maeve, and Adair insisted on doing most of the work themselves, ensuring Lily's last rites were given the full honor she deserved.

"Ye did all ye could, lass. Even I couldnae have saved her," Mor told Adair quietly, her hand on her shoulder as the last of the dirt fell onto the grave. "And nae matter what sins were done tae her, her soul was pure, and she's gone where she deserved."

"Thank ye, Mor," Adair mumbled. But she wasn't sure she believed it, not really. Yes, she knew she couldn't have saved Lily—but no matter what, Lily was dead because of Laird McNair. Her fate was a fate that could just as easily have been Adair's.

Was it enough to know all this was happening and wait until the damaged and broken turned up at the monastery? Was it all Adair could do to know about these horrors and simply allow them to continue?

Will it ever end if we stay hidden away, Adair? Henry's voice whispered in her ear.

She didn't have an answer.

"Enough of this!" Fia declared. "I ken we're all in sorrow here after what happened, but ye're simply not yerself. What more is botherin' ye?

Adair, who had just climbed into her own bed, stilled with her hand on her blanket. A week had passed since Duncan's visit and Lily's death, and she had believed that she had managed to contain her racing mind and aching heart, keeping the sunshine facade for all to see. "I don't ken what ye mean," she lied.

Fia's eyes narrowed from the bed beside hers, and the girl folded her arms. "Ye may be able tae fool the others with yer upbeat attitude, but not me, Miss Adair," she accused primly. "I ken ye better than anyone, and I can see yer mood is off, even considerin' what we just witnessed. Ever since Duncan visited and that poor girl died, maybe even before that, things have been off with ye. I ken what happened was tragic, but she wasnae the first loss we've borne, and it's not like ye tae not be able tae keep goin' even through sadness. What is goin' on?"

Sighing, Adair dropped the blanket and faced her friend fully. "Fia, I don't…"

But Fia shook her head and stood. She moved so that she was sitting next to Adair on Adair's own mattress, and she gently touched Adair's cheek, softly but firmly making her friend look her in the eyes. "I willnae hear it. I'll have the truth now, ye hear?"

Adair considered arguing. She considered denying there was a problem, or even simply telling her story by rote, as she'd done many times before. The other girls knew that her father had been killed, knew that she'd been captured as a potential bride for a horrible Laird. But she'd only told them the surface tale, making sure to keep her heart in check as she did, never allowing herself to burden them with the pain that she kept so hidden within her.

"Listen tae yer heart, Adair. "

And this time, she did.

She felt the hot prickle of tears in her eyes, but she did not try to stop them from falling or wipe them away. "Fia. May I burden ye?"

Fia tutted, sounding almost irritated but in an affectionate way. "Ye silly lass. Yer burdens are me own, and mine are yers. We are sisters, are we not?"

Adair let out a shaky breath. Fia was right. If any of them had come to Adair with a story, she would have listened and shared their pain. Perhaps it was time to let Fia do the same for her. "I need tae tell ye me story. All of it."

Nodding, Fia took her hand. "I'm listenin', me love." She paused, then asked tentatively. "Is it…is it tae do with what happened with Lily?

"In a way," Adair admitted. "But maybe not the way ye think."

There was no going back now. And so Adair at last began to speak. At long last, she allowed herself to feel.

"I was thirteen the first time he came for me. A lass on the cusp of womanhood, but not there yet. His faither, the previous Laird—och, Fia, how dae I describe the man? He was an oafish type, perhaps a little brutish, but harmless tae anyone he didnae think an enemy. Ye kent me mammy died at sea when I was a bairn, and me and me father, we were just our own little clan. Laird McNair took our required tithe and otherwise left us alone, and we were all fine with that. I thought life would be like that forever.

There was a lass I befriended, the daughter of one of the sailors off the coast. Peggy was her name. She'd lost her mammy in the same storm as I'd lost mine. We became friends, but I didnae see her too often, as she traveled with her Da. Perhaps she shouldn't have, but it made her happy. Peggy, me father, the merchant and sailor lads who'd bring me gifts, me farm animals—life was good.

But then Laird McNair died, and his son, Brendan, took his seat. There were whispers that the old Laird had been hurried tae his grave. I don't know if there's any credence tae those tales, but I wouldnae be surprised. Brendan—McNair—was just twenty, and determined tae prove himself twice the Laird his father had ever been. And for him, that started with a strong family; he wanted a bonny bride tae produce him as many heirs as he could get.

He came tae the farm four days after he took over and asked me father how much he would take for me. Said he would hold off on heirs until I was a few years older, but me eyes and hair and smile made it clear I'd look well with him in our official portraits or some nonsense of the sort. He'd heard I was hardworkin' and clever, and he wanted a bride who could do the work of the castle, so long as she could keep her mouth shut unless told otherwise. A young wife, he said, would be easy tae mold intae the perfect Lady McNair."

Fia already looked horrified. "At ten and three! Good God! I ken some lassies are married at such an age, but it's rare, and more for the English nobles than for the likes of us. Yer father refused him, I suppose."

Adair nodded, chewing on her lip.

Fia squeezed her hand. "But the story doesnae end there?"

"No," Adair agreed. "In fact, it's just begun."

"Me father didn't even present the offer tae me the first time. He refused tae even let McNair see me. He was a protective man, and I was all he had. He agreed tae raise our tithe as a sort of penance, but other than that, there was tae be no more said about it. McNair was angry, but he agreed, and for a time, he left us alone.

The next time he tried was a year later. He wrote me a letter on the day of me fourteenth birthday. Well, truthfully, I suppose he had someone else write the letter, but it was fair bonny, filled with words of ardor and love. He told me me eyes were brighter than any emerald, me hair more golden than the sun, and that his heart ached with longin' for me. I was just a bairn, and I admit I was flattered that an older man—and a Laird no less!—admired me so. I was a naive child, and I didnae quite understand what he wanted from me, not really.

I showed the letter tae me father, and he went very quiet. He explained tae me that the Laird wanted tae take me away and make me a wife. The thought made my stomach clench. Aye, I enjoyed the flattery—but what of love? I wanted a story like I'd heard the travelin' minstrels sing, not this. So, when the Laird sent his Serpent—Lyle McDonaghue, his right-hand man—tae collect me, he was met with another refusal.

It continued like that, every few months or so bringin' another attempt at wooin' me. Sometimes he would send a messenger, sometimes McDonaghue, and sometimes McNair himself would come. But as I grew, I became more and more certain that I would never marry him, and at last, when I was seventeen, I told him in no uncertain terms that he would never have me love.

"Adair," he warned me, "Think of what ye're sayin'. Women all over the country would kill tae have what ye have. Ken that I am not a man tae be crossed. For four years, ye've played with me heart. I have run out of patience. I will ask ye only one more time; will ye be me wife?"

I glanced back at the closed door of me cottage. Me father was waiting behind it, unaware of exactly what was going on, as I had asked him to. It must have pained him not to intervene, but I'd begged him to allow me to confront McNair myself, and because he loved me, he'd allowed it.

"Brendan," I said. He'd asked me to use his first name, and though I didn't like it, I thought it would soften the blow. "I will never care for ye in the way ye wish. Ye are not a man with a heart of love; ye wish me tae be yer bride as a symbol, not a person. I cannot do that. I will not do that. So please, take yer gifts and yer declarations, and leave me and me little farm in peace. I do not want to marry ye. I will never marry ye. And that's the end of it."

Suddenly, he grabbed me, his hand yanking at my hair as he pulled me forward, smashing his horrible lips against mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He held me there while I fought against him, beating his chest with my hands, my scalp aching where he held me, until he finally had his fill and threw me to the ground.

I was sobbing, kneeling in the muck as it stained my dress, and he looked down at me coldly.

"I assume that was not yer first kiss, whore. Whoever was better than me tae make ye so high-and-mighty will regret it," he told me. It wasn't true, I hadn't so much as embraced a man outside of my family, but I kent there was no sense in protesting. "And so will ye. Ye'll pay. Count yer days."

And then he left, and I knelt there in the dirt, sobbing. Me father came running out and knelt by me, holding me close, comforting me, promising me that it was over now, that we were safe. But he was wrong. And I think that, even then, we both kent it."

Adair broke off, her tears coming in earnest now. Fia was crying too, and neither said a word for a few moments. The women embraced, and Adair allowed herself to remember all of it—the shame, the confusion, the hurt she'd known in that moment. And the relief as well, thinking that maybe it was finally over. Maybe she was finally free.

"Ye don't need tae keep goin'," Fia told her eventually in a low whisper. "It's all right. I understand if ye're not able tae tell me the rest."

But Adair shook her head. She leaned back from the hug and wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "It must be told. If ye are ready tae listen, I am ready tae tell it."

Fia nodded, and Adair prepared herself to tell the worst of it all.

"Me father and I were playin' a game of cards. It was one we'd learned from a sailor from France. Da was awful at it, and I remember he was jokingly rantin' about how unfair it all was…when it happened.

They burst in the door without any warnin'—the Laird and the Serpent and several of his men—and we both jumped tae our feet. One of the men pushed me father tae the ground as the Serpent grabbed me and dragged me out of the cottage, ignoring me screams and overpowerin' me fightin', nobody sayin' a word. I noticed one of the guards hangin' back, lookin' uncertain, but he didn't help me as I screamed.

"Burn this place tae the ground," Laird McNair said from somewhere behind me, nae emotion in his voice at all except for a very faint disgust.

The soldiers obliged.

I screamed to save the animals, my voice hoarse from the screaming.

The young guard who looked uncertain caught me gaze then, and he nodded. He was a tall, muscular man, perhaps not yet twenty, but he cut an intimidating figure. His imposing frame would be enough tae terrify anyone, I think, except that his face was surprisingly soft and gentle, but his deep green eyes were wide in panic, his blond hair mussed. I didn't understand what the nod meant, my terror so high as it was, but he ran off with the others tae start destroyin' me home.

And then me father came rushin' out with nothin' but a pitchfork in his hand, and he lunged at the Serpent, tryin' tae free me. I—I?—

It happened in slow motion. Me father lunged. The Serpent tossed me tae the side, and though I was technically free of his grip, I was frozen in place tae see it happenin'.

"Kill him," Laird McNair said dispassionately.

The Serpent's blade flashed so quickly and smoothly through the air it might have been a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. My father…blood was gushing from his throat…his gentle eyes were now wide and desperate.

As the Serpent cleaned off his blade, I fell tae me knees, crawlin' tae me father's side. I didnae ken anythin' of healin' then, and even if I had, it would have been far too late tae help him. The cut was deep but clean, the slice of a practiced killer.

I pressed me hands tae his neck, tryin' in vain tae keep his blood inside, tae bring him back from the brink of death. I begged him to hold on, to stay with me. I pleaded, I screamed and cried as I knelt there at his side. I prayed to God to not take him from me . I said I’d do whatever they wanted, I'd marry the laird, I'd have his bairns, just, please, please…"

I saw the moment the life left his eyes, and his body stared, no life within it, at the endless sky. The smoke curled in the air around us, and I could feel the heat of the fire as my home burst into flames not far from me, but I could not look, could not see. There was only my father's body, staring without sight, the soul within it gone forever.

I don't ken how long I sat there clinging to him before McNair himself dragged me away and my screams started again, a mix of curses and threats and pleading to the sky itself for help. He didn't speak to me, just pulled me away from my father, my life.

Before he threw me on his horse, I caught one more sight—the guard from earlier, covered in soot and muck, his hair still mussed. The young man approached my father's body and crouched over him. I saw him reach out and touch his face, and realized he was closing my father's eyes. For the last time.

"Henry!" Laird McNair snarled. "Leave that. Time tae go."

And then I was on the horse, and we were ridin' away toward McNair keep. It was over."

Adair stopped again, swallowing. She needed a few moments to collect herself. Fia slipped off the bed and vanished out of the room. Adair sat there for about ten minutes, appreciating the chance to breathe, to cry, to allow herself to process her father's death fully in a way she never had before. She wept, glad Fia had given her a little space to do so.

After the ten minutes, Fia returned with a little pot of boiled water and two cups with herbs within, with a generous helping of honey. She poured the tea without a word, and only when both girls sat with their cups in their hands did either of them speak again.

"I'm so sorry for yer loss, Adair," Fia whispered. "Tae see him struck down before ye…I'm sorry."

"I am as well," Adair told her. Her hands were shaking, and she took a sip of the tea to try to calm herself. The heat on her tongue was almost scalding, but that was a good thing. It centred her, bringing her to the present moment more fully. "He was a brave man. A good man. He deserved better than he got. And all for tryin' tae save me."

Fia hesitated then said, "I didnae ken yer father, Adair, but…well…from what I ken of him, I think he would be proud tae have gone that way. Not that he wanted tae die, of course, but that if he must, then at least he died tryin' tae protect ye. Ye were his world."

Adair sniffed, taking another sip so that she didn't break down again. "Aye. Maybe ye're right." She saw Fia fidgeting and added, "But go on. I ken ye've somethin' else ye want tae ask."

"Well…ye mentioned Henry." Fia stared at her, wide-eyed. "The Laird, he called that guard Henry. Is that the same Henry ye spoke of who helped ye escape? The one who?—?"

Smiling slightly despite her feelings, Adair said, "Ye remembered his name? Well, ye're gettin' a little ahead of the story there. But aye. It's the same Henry."

Fia nodded. She didn't press further, and for a while the two of them sat there in silence, drinking their tea, each lost in their own thoughts.

What would her father have said, Adair wondered, had he been able to speak his final words? What wisdom would he have imparted to her, what love would he have sent on her way?

He would have told her to survive. She knew it. He would have told her to hang on to her sunshine, to her heart, and to never forget who she was.

Her heart, though, was shattered. It had been since five years before, even though she hid it well under her layers of joy and kindness. Would she ever be able to repair it again?

She glanced at Fia, sweet, loving Fia, who was here to support her. "Do ye want tae hear the rest?" Adair asked quietly.

"Do ye want tae tell it?" Fia responded.

Adair considered and then shook her head. "No," she admitted, then smiled sadly. "But it's time I did anyway."