Page 33 of The Bells of Triumph (Highlands’ Lost Valley #3)

CHAPTER ONE

T wenty Years Later.

Metal clashing against metal rang out through the garden, cutting through the silence. Elsie did her best to ignore it but after reading the same sentence five times without understanding the words, she sighed and closed her book.

The light scent of roses filtered through the air, and she could hear birds chirping from their birdhouses hung in the apple trees. This was one of her favorite spots in the keep. It was where she went to find peace outside of her own chambers. Only today that peace was interrupted by whatever was going on outside the guards’ station.

Grunts and shouts followed the sounds of swords colliding, piquing her interest. Rising from her spot on the bench, Elsie smoothed her dusty blue dress and tucked her novel under her arm before making her way back through the hedged maze. She had been exploring the green walls of the maze since she was a child and knew her way out without having to think about it. Her footsteps were light on the pebbled gravel as she moved closer and closer to the sound of the fight.

“Is that the best ye have got?”

The low baritone of the taunt was loud enough for her to make out, even from several feet away. From her vantage point, all she could see was a circle of guards formed around two men in the middle. Shoulders and heads blocked her from being able to see anything else so she stepped back and over to the stone wall that fenced in the courtyard. She climbed the steps before turning back around to the fight. She could no longer hear their banter, but she could see the two men just fine.

The men encircling the warriors were all laughing and smiling. Even though it was a friendly fight, she hated it all the same. It mattered little to her what kind of fighting it was—to her, it was all the same. Any type of battling, fighting, or warfare made her stomach tie up in knots.

She rubbed her clammy palms on her skirt as she tried to settle her breathing. Fighting reminded her of how needlessly her mother had died. No, not died. Slaughtered. Her death had been nothing more than payback for a war her father had participated in thirteen years ago. At only seven years old, Elsie’s life had been turned upside down. She had never been the same. To know that these men fought for sport was enough to send her to her bed for the week.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to make out who it was that had so carelessly interrupted her peace. It took her only a moment longer before she recognized the two men as Leith and Ciaran. She had seen them around the castle enough to know their faces but had never dared broaching a conversation with either of them. Not that that was unusual for her. She rarely braved conversation with anyone save for her maid and her father.

Despite her hatred of fighting, she could not bring herself to leave her perch. As the men swung their swords, blocking and defending to attacking and repeating it all over again, she found herself entranced with the grace and skill each man possessed. She was curious to see who would outmatch the other.

They both moved quickly. Ciaran had the benefit of having youth on his side. He was closer to her age and at least five years younger than his opponent. He was also broader, his muscles stretching the seams of his white shirt. But where he was strong and quick, Leith was experienced and calculating. The look on the older man’s face, as he timed his attacks, reminded her of the look her father often wore during a game of chess. Ciaran utilized his size, depending on his muscles to finish the fight for him.

It had only been a few minutes that she had been watching, but she could already see that Ciaran was dwindling in energy. Leith had cleverly moved in ways to make Ciaran chase him, expending his energy further still, without ever really making a strong attack. She had to admire the older man’s strategy even if she hated to see worry crease between Ciaran’s brows.

She tried to convince herself that she was still watching because she was interested in seeing who would win. But she was no longer watching the two men fight. Instead, she was studying Ciaran’s face. She had never before dared to look at a man so intently before. With everyone else’s attention on the duel, she let her gaze linger.

Ciaran was a tall man, standing several inches taller than Leith and he was a good bit broader too. He kept his dark hair cut close to his neck. It was a stark contrast to his bronzed skin that she was sure came from the countless hours he spent outside training. She couldn’t see from here what color his eyes were. She wished she had been bold enough to search them out before but it had been years since she last spoke to a stranger; thirteen years to be exact.

The thought had her shaking her head at herself. She sucked in a breath and blinked away the moisture that had gathered in her eyes before she refocused on the fight. Leith angled his sword up, disarming Ciaran entirely. She could see that the younger man was going to scramble to recover his weapon, but she could also see just how tired he was. Leith would soon be declared the victor of their duel and she had little interest in sticking around to watch it happen.

She spun on her heel and shuffled towards the castle, doing her very best to stay out of the way of anyone else who had been in the courtyard. It was only a moment or two later when she heard the men let out a riotous cheer. The fight was over and soon the guards would be returning to their posts. She didn’t bother glancing back.

Her trip inside the castle to her chambers was one as familiar to her as the path through the hedged maze. The cold stone walls and rugged hallways had been her home for her entire life. As an adventurous child, she made it her mission to explore all of the tunnels that hid behind carefully hung tapestries and artfully crafted doors. It had been her favorite thing to discover new ways of getting around the castle. There had been a time when she could navigate the dark corners and shadowed walkways without so much as a candle to light her path.

Now, she stuck to the traditional ways of getting around, even if it meant she ran into more people along the way. She kept her head down and quickened her steps, passing the archway that led into the Great Hall, the large wooden door that concealed her father’s study, and several other chambers that were reserved for guests. She climbed the stairs, ignoring the portrait of her parents that hung on the wall, and pushed into her room with a sigh of relief.

Warmth enveloped her the further she got inside. Her curtains had been pulled back, letting the sunlight stream in through the windows, giving the entire space a soft glow that she adored. This was her favorite time of day to be in her room, though she hardly left it if she was honest.

At some point, while she had been reading in the garden, the maids had come in and made her bed, pulling the pale pink blankets up and piling on the fluffy pink and purple pillows on top. The breakfast tray she had taken at her vanity table had been cleared, leaving the wooden top clear and gleaming. All that sat atop it was her mother’s porcelain bowl she had used to hold some of her jewelry. Elsie used it for the same purpose, though she had much fewer pieces than her mother did.

The plush rug cushioned her steps and she crossed to the other end of the room. There was the fireplace that the servants kept lit for her almost year-round. Even now, though it was nearly spring and much warmer than the winter had been, she could never seem to get warm enough. It was that fire that kept the chill from the room now. In front of the fireplace, a settee was placed at just the right angle so she could feel the heat from the flames while still being able to look out of the window.

Her mother had helped her arrange and decorate the space when she had been old enough to move out of the nursery. At seven years old, the four-postered bed felt enormous to her. She could have slept horizontally across the mattress and still would have had several inches before she found the edge of the bed. The pink and purple bedding with matching curtains and a dark blue sofa had been the bed chamber of her dreams as a child. Now, the bed no longer felt too big for her, though her frame was still petite. The pink and purple color palate had lost its appeal, but she didn’t dare change it. She didn’t want to lose the memories she had attached to picking out each piece of furniture in the room with her mother.

“Look at how bonny this is, Elsie,” her mother had whispered.

Her mother had taken her into the village that afternoon in search of the perfect painting to hang over the mantle in Elsie’s room. Her mother had known of a man who painted in his free time and offered him a handsome reward for letting them peruse his works of art. And art they were.

The image that had most caught their attention was a depiction of the sunrise coming over the mountains that was the backdrop to their clan. Somehow, the painter had managed to capture every crevice and dip in the rocky faces, highlighting them with the pastel sunrise. It truly had been the most stunning thing she had ever seen.

“Och, and look, a stag peeking through the forest down at the bottom,” her mother had pointed out. “How verra clever, sir, to hide the clan symbol in such small details.”

The man had flushed at her praise. Her mother had been right to give it. She could very well imagine herself running through the dense forest that surrounded her clan, she could almost taste the dew in the misty morning air. It was a sight she had experienced often, but never one she had thought to capture.

It was that very same image that hung over her fireplace now. If she looked long enough, she could almost bring to mind a vision of her mother traipsing through the woods right alongside the stag.

Elsie tore her eyes away from the painting and settled into her spot on the sofa. She felt more sentimental today than she had in a long time and was ready to lose herself in the story she had been attempting to read outside. It was one that should have held her interest—daring pirates with exhilarating sword fights, a maiden who gets caught up in the middle of it all, and eventually falls in love with one of the pirates. Despite never having read this book before, she knew that was how it ended. That was how they all ended. And she loved it just the same.

The next day was much the same. She spent her morning and afternoon hours tucked in her room, with a book in her lap. Though today, she couldn’t seem to make herself focus on the words on the page. They danced in front of her eyes, avoiding her comprehension.

Just as she was about to set her book down, frustrated and in need of something more, a knock on the door interrupted her. She jumped in her seat and her heart pounded hard against her ribs. With a palm against her chest, she willed her heartbeat to calm itself before she called out to whoever was on the other side of her door.

“Come in.”

“Good afternoon, miss.” Her maid, Sarah, said with a slight curtsey. “Yer father asked me to inform ye that ye are expected at dinner tonight. Ye are attending a feast in the neighboring clan lands, the Sinclairs.”

“Och, Sarah. Tell him I am nae feeling well tonight. I dinnae want to go.”

Elsie waved her maid off and buried her face back in the illusive book, but Sarah was having none of it.

“I was given strict orders to have ye dressed and ready for dinner in an hour's time. The Laird made it verra clear that ye were to be in attendance tonight, nay exceptions.”

Elsie huffed but let Sarah help her off the sofa.

“Ye must move with haste. We dinnae have much time to get ye ready before ye must set off in the carriage.”

Elsie’s chest tightened and her breath grew shallow. She hated having to attend these events more than anything. She avoided having to interact with strangers at all costs. That was a lesson she learned the hard way. Her father knew that and still, he insisted on her presence for things she had no desire to participate in.

“Fine,” she conceded, knowing there was little point in arguing with orders from her father. “But dinnae lace me up too tight. I will need to be able to breathe for the carriage ride over.”

Sarah immediately got to work. As it was already so late in the day, they did not bother with a bath. Instead, Elsie was herded over to her seat in front of the vanity, so Sarah could brush and pin up her blonde hair. The ticking of the clock made Elsie’s nerves rise until she was almost shaking from anticipation, and not the good kind.

As soon as Sarah had declared the hair finished, she rushed to the wardrobe to pull out a dinner gown. Elsie dutifully followed, though her palms remained clammy.

“Alright, stand there so we can get ye finished and out the door,” Sarah ordered.

Elsie simply moved to the spot she had been directed to and turned, letting Sarah untie the dusty blue dress she had been wearing. It was replaced with a darker navy wool that felt heavy and warm against her skin. It was her favorite dress to pair with the Stuart plaid as the navy pulled out the thin strip of blue in the otherwise red, green, and gold pattern. Sarah tightened her corset once more, though left it a bit looser as Elsie had requested. With her boots still on from her trip to the garden, there was nothing else to do but pleat her tartan around her waist and drape the remaining fabric over her shoulder.

“Tonight would be the perfect opportunity to wear yer mother’s rubies. They would pair verra nicely with yer plaid,” Sarah suggested.

Elsie swallowed hard as she contemplated how to answer the maid. On the one hand, Sarah was right—the small gold and ruby earrings would look beautiful with the rest of her ensemble. On the other hand, Elsie hated having to go out of her way to look presentable in front of other people, especially other clans, and the jewelry would only draw more attention to her. She loathed the idea of that.

But when Elsie noticed that Sarah was already moving to collect the baubles, she said nothing to stop her. It would please her father to see that she had put in some effort.

When Sarah held out the rubies, Elsie took them and slid them into her ears. With a final glance into the mirror, Sarah deemed Elsie ready for the night’s festivities.

“Ye are so verra bonny. Ye would make yer mother proud if she could see ye.”

“Thank ye,” Elsie murmured, doing her best to conceal her guilt and anxiousness.