Page 3 of Heart of the Highlands: The Rose (Protectors of the Crown #6)

There is nothing more heartbreaking than losing a loved one, especially when that loved one is a man people so dearly admire, a hero.

But Thomas Rose was not everyone’s hero.

As the sun began to rise over the Highland hills, it brought with it a day of mourning. A somber melody played, draining the hearts and souls of each clan member. Dark clouds rolled across the Highland skies, but even they refused to cry. As the rain held out, folks gathered in the cemetery to say their final, everlasting goodbyes to their beloved laird as a final scoopful of dirt was tossed into the burial ground.

Aiden, the new Laird of Clan Rose, turned, unable to linger any longer. Deep inside, his emotions were reserved for his grandfather. He was not quite sure how he felt other than a void he could not explain.

He returned to the keep tired from the day’s ceremony after sending the auld laird to his final resting place. He rubbed his heavy eyes and returned to his solar. Tomorrow, he expected would hold another eventful day as his first full day as acting laird. As for today, there would be no rest or time to reflect. There was still much to be done.

As he stepped into the solar, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The room remained untouched, a time capsule from a decade past, each detail echoing his childhood. Sunlight filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting golden patterns on the richly woven tapestries that adorned the stone walls. The scent of aged wood and the faint trace of old parchment hung in the air.

He settled into the well-worn chair that had belonged to his late grandfather, its intricate carvings still telling stories of strength and wisdom. Surrounding him were his councilmen, their expressions of anticipation and concern as they awaited his thoughts. With a heavy heart, he unfolded the delicate pages of his grandfather’s will; the ink faded, but the words resonant as he pondered the legacy that now lay before him, a mantle of responsibility that felt both daunting and profound.

He was astounded to see his name listed as the heir to Kilvarock Castle in Croy off the southwestern shore of Moray Firth. Aiden was never Thomas’s favorite grandchild, and though Thomas had raised him for as long as he could remember, they were never close and could not have been any more different. His grandfather always seemed to favor his cousins over him, all of whom Aiden felt was more qualified to become laird of a clan.

There was never even a mention that Thomas was leaving anything to Aiden; in fact, for years, Aiden was convinced the old man hated him. He did not even share the same Rose name, as McKeirnan was his father. But Thomas Rose chose him specifically to take his place. It could be because he was the oldest grandchild or that he felt guilty losing his only daughter and was trying to do right by her by naming Aiden his heir, but it was certainly not because he had any admiration for Aiden.

Since the tender age of eleven, all Aiden wanted was his grandfather’s approval, but nothing he’d ever done seemed to be enough. It had mattered not that he had received the favor of the Queen nor the high-ranking position in the Royal Army. Instead of praise for his accomplishments, Thomas ridiculed and rejected him. Thus, Aiden decided to take his own path and not seek validation from anyone else.

Aiden did not aspire to be a laird. He had no formal training and very little of politics. The battlefield was all he knew, but here he was, sitting in his grandfather’s solar, packing the late laird’s belongings and replacing them with his own. No matter the cost to his pride, he had a duty to his people and would do his best to fulfill it just as his mother would have.

“My laird, I wish to discuss wit’ ye our needs to prepare for the winter months,” Jorah, the youngest service council member, explained. “I have asked William for an inventory report on our livestock, but we still need inventory on our food and drink supply.”

“I will see to it that the task is delegated. How many live in the village?” Aiden asked.

“We have five hundred fighting men, my laird.”

“Five hundred? While other clans have secured themselves nearly five thousand! This was once a clan of two thousand men. Did my grandfather’s ill judgment of leadership leave our forces defenseless?”

“’Tis the coffers, my laird. There is little work for the villagers and no coin to fill the treasury. The land is poor and does no’ yield many crops. Not to mention the auld Laird McKiernan spent most funds on frivolous expenditures.”

“While our people starve?”

Jorah lowered his gaze. No one could answer Aiden’s questions. It was frustrating. He could feel the man’s shame as if a thick, suffocating fog had just filled the room. In his old age, his grandfather had lost touch with reality. His weak mind had lost memories as well as his sense and logic. Aiden felt a similar shame. He had been gone for so long. Had he known his clan was at the brink of devastation, perhaps he could have done something to turn it around.

In his final days, Thomas had left much unfinished. Luckily, his council had done as much as they could to prepare for Aiden’s arrival. But looking at the stack of ledgers piled on the desk since his grandfather had fallen ill, it seemed they had done very little.

He was fortunate, however, that his younger cousin, Trey, had journeyed with him, eagerly offering to share some of the burdens and responsibilities as he would be next in line if Aiden did not produce a son in the coming years. Aiden was much more reserved, whilst his cousin was bold and foolish, but he loved him like a brother and trusted him more than anyone.

Aiden had counted nearly a hundred unsigned documents and treaties. Each one needed his immediate attention. The meeting continued well into the late hours of the night. There was so much to discuss. It was going to be a long night.

“The last thing on the agenda, my laird, is a request from Harred, the blacksmith. He wishes us to approve his marriage to Mary Parsons, a maid in the kitchen.”

“I have no objection to the union,” Aiden replied. “Well, if there is nothing more to discuss, I shall take my leave,” he announced as he rose from his chair. The councilmen exchanged glances. Aiden sensed there was more, but hesitation followed. He cleared his throat and asked, “Is there something else you need to tell me?”

The councilmen's silence confirmed his suspicions.

“My laird, it is wit’ the advisory of this council to see to it that certain rules and regulations are followed. It is how we have sustained our very way of life for countless generations. Well, forgive me, but it seems in the haste of yer grandfather’s funeral preparations, we have no’ discussed wit’ ye the details of yer grandfather’s conditions,” Elder Montrose, a middle-aged man with premature, white-colored hair and a long beard, began to explain.

“Conditions? What are ye referring to?”

“A clause in your grandfather’s will. Before ye can officially inherit the title of Lairdship, certain stipulations must be executed and followed through before ye are given full rights.”

“What sort of stipulations?” he asked, not at all surprised knowing his grandfather. The man would not make anything easy on him. Even in death, the man proved to be difficult.

“Well, there is the issue of yer marriage contract, my laird.”

“Marriage?”

“Yer grandfather had verra carefully chosen a list of suitable wives for ye to take if ye do no’ have one picked out already of yer own choosing.”

“An arranged marriage was no’ part of this agreement.”

“I am sorry, my laird, but rules are rules. To be Laird of Clan Rose, ye must wed and agree to bear a child within the first year. It is our tradition and our way of life.”

“And when is this marriage expected to occur.”

“Before the new year, my laird.”

“Three months? Are ye telling me that I am supposed to marry a complete stranger within three months? And if I refuse?”

“Then the lairdship will be passed down to yer cousin, hoping he, himself will have a bride.” Aiden turned to Trey, whose color had drained from his face. “But know this: if ye step away, I am afraid ye will be cut off entirely.”

“Why me? The old man hated me. Why did he choose me to be his heir in the first place?”

“Despite what ye think, young Aiden, the Laird only saw ye as his successor. Ye was the only one he could no’ break. Ye, out of all yer cousins, was the only adversary he saw worthy. He raised ye wit’ a sharp tongue and well-oiled belt to strengthen and prepare ye to take his place. He saw yer greatness and feared it. He was determined to mold it so that ye will become the mon ye are today. This clan needs leadership. He would no’ have chosen ye if he did no’ believe that ye dared to receive it.”

Speechless, Aiden fell back into his chair. He felt overwhelmed and unsure of how to respond. He felt the immense pressure to formulate a response quickly, but he knew he needed to take a moment to think before he could appropriately respond.

He could very well refuse. That decision was on him, but turning his back on his people would make him no different from his grandfather, a man he despised. He composed himself, took a few more moments to contemplate, and spoke confidently and clearly.

“How the hell am I to find a wife in three months?”

“Yer grandfather suggested ye wed the daughter of Baron André De LaCroix. They come from a strong line of French ambassadors.”

“If I am to marry, I will choose my own bride,” he shot back.

“Verra, well, my laird,” Elder Montrose replied. “I will give ye this, however. It is a list of other suitable choices.”

As the elders and the councilmembers excused themselves, Aiden and Trey stared at one another until the door was closed, and they were free to speak without judgment.

“That bloody cheeky bastard,” Trey cursed as he leaned back on his chair and kicked his boots onto the table. “You’d think wit’ the old mon gone his clansmen would be glad to be rid of him instead of still referring to him as their laird.”

“’Tis no’ the mon they are loyal. ‘Tis the crest. Despite their chieftain, Clan Rose is a proud people with a strong history and lineage. I am sure many disputed my line of succession as well.”

“So, what are ye gonna do?”

“What other choice do I have?” Aiden responded with defeat in his tone. “Unless ye wish to marry.”

Trey scooped up Elder Montrose's letter with the list of eligible women his grandfather wished him to marry. His eyes pursued the list of names.

“The women on this list come with large dowries and wealthy benefactors. If the Baroness De LaCroix is no’ worthy, all ye need to do is pick a name, and the title is yers,” Trey suggested.

“I’m no’ choosing a horse, Trey. This is the woman I am to share my bed, bear my children, and spend my life wit’.”

“Ye only need a woman wit’ a pretty face and child-bearing hips. I am sure she will have other things to do to allow ye yer freedom. And it’s no’ like she need be the only woman to share yer bed. Yer the great Laird of this clan. Ye can have yer choosing of any woman ye like.”

“I can see now why grandfather did no’ choose ye as laird.”

“I suggest ye send a summons to each one. Perhaps if ye meet them in person, it will be easier to decide.”

“Perhaps ye are right, but a summons may no’ be necessary. We have been invited to attend a gathering at Inverness later this week. I am sure every woman on that list will be in attendance once word gets out that I am seeking a bride.”

“That will shorten yer time. ‘Tis best ye start early. What can I do?” Trey asked him.

Aiden carefully considered his decision. Recalling his agenda, he categorized his list of priorities from what needed his personal attention to what tasks could be delegated to another.

“If we dinna figure out how to bring in more coin and sustain our clan, I may no’ have a clan left to lead and therefore have no reason to marry. Our grandfather has left some unfinished business that I must see to. In the meantime, there are several acres of land in the northern Highlands in West Mey that we need to sell. It should be deemed profitable. I want ye to head north and complete the sale while I tend to things here. Ye will find the deed on my desk.”

“Verra, well. And what of this?” he asked, referring to the list of potential brides he waved in his hand.

“This shall have to wait,” Aiden said, plucking the letter from Trey’s hand and taking his leave.

After walking a few doors down to the laird’s master chamber, Aiden pulled open the heavy wooden door. A warm breeze greeted him as the door swung open on its hinges. A roaring fire was set ablaze inside, and a cooled bath awaited him. He had nearly forgotten when the housekeeper, Eira, notified him that his bath was ready over an hour ago.

As he unlatched his belt, his plaid fell to the floor. He removed his burgundy tunic over his head, tossed it over the chair, and sank down inside the large circular tub. The cool water chilled his skin, but it was as refreshing as a dip in the loch on a hot summer day. He closed his eyes and let the water's gentle ripples calm his weary heart. He felt the worries of the day slowly ebb away.

After soaking in the tub, he stood before the hearth and allowed the heat from the fire to warm his skin. Water snaked down his back from the tips of his unkempt russet-colored hair and caused a slight shiver. The flames danced wildly along the log. He watched as the red, yellow, and orange flame tendrils illuminated the room's darkness, mesmerizing him with their vibrant show.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door interrupted his reverie. He wrapped a linen cloth around his waist and approached the door.

“Who is it?” he asked, trying to hide the irritation in his voice.

“It’s me, Eira,” came the timid reply from the other side.

He hesitated momentarily before opening the door, revealing the young woman standing outside with her head bowed.

“What do ye need, Eira?” he asked, trying to sound more polite than he felt. He was in no mood for company.

“I...I just wanted to bring ye some fresh linen for yer bed, my laird,” she stammered, holding out a bundle of white linens.

He took it from her without a word, then watched as she quickly scurried away, her long braid swishing behind her.

Setting the linens on his bed, he looked over at the folded piece of paper on his dresser. He picked up the letter of names and sat near the hearth. Other than the clan names, in which he was familiar, he hadn’t met any of them.

Perhaps his cousin was right for once. He’d be given less chance to meet them all while in Inverness and even less time to get to know them all. Perhaps if he had invited them individually, he would know for certain which one would make a suitable match. He knew any one of them could potentially make a good wife, but in his mind, there was only one he kept close in his heart.

His eyes were drawn to the portrait he’d painted on the easel in the corner of the room. Even though he wasn't a renowned artist, the image of the woman he envisioned captivated him. He was mesmerized by the way the light from the window illuminated the curves of her face and the way her gaze seemed to follow him across the room. He’d only seen her once and often wondered if he’d ever see her again. It was only a glance; perhaps he may have been mistaken, but he’d seen her before in countless dreams. It very well could have only been his eyes playing tricks, for when he searched for her, she seemed to have vanished as if she were merely a ghost.

He was not one to put his trust in fate, but with the new year a little less than three months away, time stopped for nothing, and he did not have time to chase dreams.