Dangerous Pride

By Eve Cameron

©2013 Eve Cameron

Aberdeenshire, Scotland

1702

If she missed seeing him, she would have nothing but her skirts to blame.

Catriona cursed the heavy silken material that, despite her best efforts, was pooling around her feet and slowing her to what seemed a snail’s pace.  Cursing under her breath, she envied the lads their trews and plaids, and their freedom to climb the lush hillsides unencumbered by the dictates of the latest fashions.

Most days, her light house dresses did little to deter her as she climbed the hills near her father’s castle in search of herbs and flowers to be used in her medicines.  But today was different.  Today she was dressed in her very best gown, with its heavily embroidered overcoat and skirt in the deepest emerald green.  The corset dug into her side as she struggled to keep her footing on the dewy grass.  The hem of the dress was covered with mud from her climb, and she knew her mother would be furious with the grass stains from when she had lost her balance and slipped to her knees.  Her only hope was that they wouldn’t notice the extent of the damage.

“No doubt they’ll be fashed with me,” Catriona mumbled to herself as she neared the end of her climb.  Her deep auburn hair was hanging in limp, damp clumps at the nape of her neck, a casualty of the warm spring day.  By leaving the grounds unescorted, Catriona had risked the wrath of both her parents.  At least Elizabeth would be pleased with her behavior, Catriona thought ruefully, lamenting for the thousandth time her sister’s cruel, critical nature.  Today, thanks to Catriona’s stubborn, reckless nature, there would be much for Elizabeth to criticize.

Catriona paused to catch her breath as she neared the crest of the hill.  Exhausted, she slumped to her knees and gradually edged her way through the tall grass that graced the knoll.  There was little point in dwelling on the further damage to her gown – in for a penny, in for a pound, her grandmother had always said.

The hill was an ideal vantage point from which to watch the comings and goings at Boyne Castle.  The well-traveled road that led to her father’s keep snaked through the hills and valleys of his holdings.  The north side of the keep was surrounded by the banks of the Burn of Boyne, which effectively protected the holding from unwelcome visitors.

She had to admit that she was more than a little proud that she’d made the journey to the hill successfully, undetected by  family or servants.  Boyne Castle was rarely a quiet holding.  A small village existed within the keep’s outer walls, filled with the craftsmen, merchants and servants who lived and earned their livelihood there.  The bustle and activity of the townspeople was near to overwhelming most days, but today the keep was even more boisterous than usual.  Most everyone in the Ogilvy clan had been kept busy for a fortnight preparing the castle for Elizabeth’s betrothal ceremony.  Their father had been successful in securing a highly advantageous alliance through the marriage, and the Earl of Seafield had been determined to use the ceremony to demonstrate the richness of his holdings.

The second son of a poor clan in the heart of the Scottish Highlands, James Ogilvy had no chance of inheriting any land from his own father.  As a youngster, he had been sent by his parents to foster with his uncle, in the hopes that he would develop the skills to earn his own living.

James had spent much of his youth traveling to distant lands with his uncle, the Earl of Findlater, learning the skills to be a successful businessman.  It was during these expeditions that James earned a reputation for his fierce loyalty to his uncle.  When the Earl died years later, he repaid his nephew by leaving him Boyne Castle, a holding that had been allowed to fall into ruin through decades of neglect and raiding.  Many years of hard work had seen the keep flourish and prosper, and James Ogilvy became a wealthy, respected man in his own right.  In his later years, after proving himself a loyal subject to William the III and his wife, Queen Mary, James was given the title Earl of Seafield, an honor that allowed him to join the ranks of Scotland’s elite.

Today, with the Earl’s features softened by time, it was hard for Catriona to imagine her father as the ambitious youth he had once been.  His ruthlessness in business had been reflected in a keen desire to succeed at building Boyne Castle into one of the most successful holdings in Scotland.

Kinsmen from their own clan, as well as allies from throughout Aberdeenshire, had been descending upon the keep for days.  Though many of the visitors had the good manners to bring their own provisions, the job of housing and feeding the guests was monumental.  The rooms of the castle had been scrubbed from top to bottom, the linens had been aired, all the silver had been polished to the brightest sheen, and the furniture had been waxed until it was possible to see one’s reflection. Fresh rushes had been laid throughout the castle, and dried heather and meadowsweet had been liberally scattered to mask the dank, musty smell of the old fortress.  The kitchen staff had spent days preparing the huge array of foods that would be required to keep the guests content, and to demonstrate Seafield’s generosity.

By securing a marriage with the only son of another powerful clan, the Earl had been successful in striking an alliance between the two families that would help secure the safety of their families in times of strife.  With Jacobite sentiments running high in northern Scotland, the Earl knew the value of a strong ally, and had done everything he could to engage one.  Laird Alexander Forbes of Tolquhon Castle had taken some time to see the mutual benefits of such an alliance, but time – and a healthy dowry – had helped him acknowledge the wisdom of betrothing their offspring.

Though the Forbes family was among the most prosperous in Aberdeenshire, the family had fallen on hard times in recent years.  Heavily invested in the Scottish Trading Company, the clan had lost much of its fortune when the Darien Scheme – a trading venture in Africa and the Indies – failed miserably.  Circumstances were such that they could not afford to ignore the lure of the dowry Seafield offered.

Catriona’s father had begun laying the foundation for the marriage years before, but it was only now that Elizabeth had reached the age of ten and eight that the betrothal ceremony had been allowed to proceed.

The Earl was uncommonly proud of his firstborn daughter, and was loathe to see her leave his keep, regardless of the benefits he and his clan would reap.  As much as Catriona held little liking for her sister, she could understand her father’s affection for Elizabeth.  With her golden hair and stunning blue eyes, she had a reputation as one of the area’s most beautiful lasses
. 

Two years her junior, Catriona had often seen the cunning, dangerous side of Elizabeth’s personality – a side she had managed to keep hidden from most everyone else.  That was one of the advantages of being the least visible member of the family – no one paid Catriona much heed, and she overheard far more than anyone might have guessed.  In truth, their parents had lost interest in Catriona almost from the moment she was born.  When it was clear that Lady Ogilvy had given birth to another daughter, and not a male child, the disappointment had been palpable.

It seemed that Catriona was the opposite to her sister in almost every way.  Elizabeth was inordinately proud of her voluptuous figure and petite stature, and the men of the keep shared her admiration.  Catriona’s own pale skin, slight, girlish figure and plain manner of dress were no match for her sister’s elegance.

Though her lack of position within her own family would have caused many young girls to be bitter and resentful, Catriona’s lot in life had made her stronger and more independent. Instead of finding acceptance and love with her blood kin, the servants and staff at Boyne Castle had become a family of sorts.  They shared her tears and her joys, and provided what little happiness there had been in her young life.

As she struggled to find a comfortable position on the hillside, Catriona had to admit that she had almost given up all hope of seeing his party arrive.  If they didn’t come soon, she would be forced to return to the keep before her absence was noted.  As she drew in a deep breath, savoring the fresh, crisp air, the sound of grass being crushed underfoot alerted her to the fact that it might already be too late to hide her plan.

“There was no’ much doubt I’d find ye here,” Annella chuckled as she settled down in the grass beside her startled friend.  The plain dark dress the girl wore was of homespun cloth, and did little to soften Annella’s prim, restrained appearance.  Her straight, deep brown hair was pulled from her face in a tight knot, and only served to accentuate the angular planes of her face.  In reality, Annella had a warm, welcoming nature, but few were willing to look beyond her harsh exterior.

Catriona’s surprise was quickly replaced by happiness as her heart warmed at the site of her friend.  Years ago, after being widowed at a young age, Annella’s mother had come to Boyne to serve as the cook.  The two young girls, close in age, had formed a bond that had only grown stronger over time.

Catriona reached for her friend’s hand, trying to show a gratitude she lacked the words to express.  “Aye,” she replied, “but I had to see this for myself.  It wouldn’t be right if I did no’ give him a proper goodbye.”

Annella winced at Catriona’s choice of words.  She had always accepted her friend’s dreamy, gentle nature, attributing it to her position as the sheltered daughter of a laird.  Despite her generous nature, Catriona had been protected from the harsh realities  common folk dealt with every day.  “Ye do ken he has no idea how ye feel,” Annella said gently.  “An’ if yer smart, he ne’er will.”

In truth, Annella was the only other person who did know how Catriona felt.  Since she had been a young child, she had felt a connection with Lachlan Forbes that she could neither explain nor control.  Despite the fact that he was several years older, he had always been patient with her, giving her the attention she lacked from her own family.  Over the years, they had frequently been thrown together at the spring festivals, Beltane, weddings and other celebrations and gatherings.  Handsome, gentle Lachlan had always been charming and solicitous, but even in her innocence she knew she did not capture his heart.

Catriona pulled her eyes from the horizon and shot her friend a look of resignation.  And frustration.  “I ken that well enough.  But it does no’ change the way I feel now, does it?  If I’d had a little more time for him to see I am no longer a bairn, mayhap things would be different.  But my father and his will no’ delay this betrothal any longer.  It will be my sister who is his bride, and none but you will ever ken how that makes me feel.”

Catriona tried to hide the depth of her emotions by absently fingering the long blades of grass that grew around her, but her pretenses did little to discourage Annella’s concern.  Catriona’s pain was too close to the surface for her to be able to disguise it, particularly from the person who knew her better than anyone else in the world.  With a sigh, Annella pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of her apron, carefully unwrapping the oatcakes she’d managed to sneak from the kitchen.  Catriona shook her head when offered the food, but Annella ate enthusiastically, crumbs spraying the front of her arisaid as she spoke.  Whatever reserve Annella felt about life in general did not extend to her feelings about food.  “Any man would be lucky to have ye, particularly compared to a viper like yer sister,” she snorted.  “It’s naught but bad timin’.  Ye’ll forget about Lachlan soon enough, ye ken.”

A smile now played at the corners of Catriona’s thin lips.  “It does no’ matter, really,” she replied with resignation.  “Today Lachlan and Elizabeth will have their betrothal witnessed in the kirk, and the future will be set.  There’s naught I can do about it, even if I was of a mind to.”

As Annella shifted to shake the crumbs from her skirts, her eyes settled on movement in the distance.  She nodded her head in the direction of the party proceeding slowly down the winding path.  “Mayhap ye’ll get yer chance for good-byes after all.”

Catriona twisted around just in time to see the head of the Forbes procession making its way around the final bend in the road.  Without warning she threw herself flat on the grass, and motioned for Annella to do the same, anxious to ensure that no one could catch them spying.  Catriona’s mouth grew dry and she felt her heart racing as the party drew closer.

There was little doubt that Lord Alexander Forbes was going to join the Earl of Seafield in using this occasion to full advantage.  The procession was led by loyal members of his clan, all dressed in their finest clothing and on their finest mounts. Lachlan and his family were at the center of the group, and the joyful laughter of the wedding party carried through the hills to Catriona’s ears.  From a distance, it was difficult to see the details of their clothing, but the glint of the weapons the men carried flashed brightly in the morning sun.

“They make a fine picture now, do they no’?” Annella mused, her breakfast forgotten as she scrambled to take in every detail.