Chapter Fourteen

Sabine didn’t stop riding. She pushed Puissant to her limits, allowing her to run at her fastest. Of course, such a speed could not be sustained, but all Sabine wanted was to be away from Connor at that moment.

How could he have hid so much from her? They were to be married and she knew absolutely nothing about him. She thought that perhaps he might’ve broken the law once perhaps, but nothing like this. He was an heir himself. His whole background, everything he was … he lied to her! Not only had he lied, but he was never going to tell her the truth. If he had said to Merida ‘I’m going to tell Sabine tomorrow’ then she would have turned around and pretended that she’d never overheard anything, but he was planning on hiding his whole life from her. She didn’t want to be married to a liar. Not ever.

Sabine was riding north. She’d learned to tell direction from the sky as a child. She’d been riding north for several days. She knew the general direction of Gretna Green and she knew she was heading away from it.

She’d used some of the money in her pouch to buy food from Puissant and herself in the tiny little villages that she came across. She didn’t know what she was doing or where she was going. She knew she should turn around and go home but she couldn’t. To go home would just mean that her father could say ‘I told you so’. She just felt lost.

Every so often she would look over her shoulder to see if a blond Scot was galloping after her but she never saw him. She was sure he would be looking for her, but the elements would have cleared her tracks.

On the third day of riding, she could really feel Puissant’s exhaustion. She allowed her to sleep whenever they came to a secluded place on her travels, but Sabine knew it wasn’t safe for her to be in one place alone for too long. She hated the fact, but being a woman alone made one vulnerable to all sorts of bandits. So long as she kept moving she was safe.

It was after sunset when she came to the next village. The dirt streets were lit with torches and in the distance she could see a large, dark object. She thought it could be a mountain. Slowing Puissant to a walk, Sabine rode her up the street, searching the names of each of the little shops looking for a blacksmith to take Puissant for the night. Puissant really needed a blanket and some fresh hay.

Many candles were lit in the windows so she was glad that she was not going to wake anyone up. Coming to the largest building on the end of the street, she saw a sign of an anvil. Realising it was a blacksmith, she eagerly dismounted and led Puissant into the blacksmith’s courtyard. Tying her to the hitching post, she quickly went to knock on the door of the residence.

She heard movement in the house before the wooden door opened. Before her stood a man whose clothes were dirty with soot from a day’s work. He looked Sabine up and down and smiled at her slightly, his green eyes looking very pleased with the sight. It made Sabine uncomfortable but she persevered.

“Hello, sir, I was wondering if you had a stall for my horse for the night,” she said calmly, gesturing to her chestnut mare tied a few feet from them.

“Aye, I’ve a stall,” he nodded, exiting out of his house and walking over to Puissant. Running his hands over her front legs he let out an impressed whistle. “What a fine lady,” he remarked. “Never have I seen such legs.”

Sabine knew Puissant was unlike any other horse. She was perfect.

“How much would ye be willing to sell her for?” he asked, turning back to her.

“She’s not for sale,” Sabine retorted immediately. Pulling more than enough money from her pouch, she handed it over to the blacksmith. His eyes widened at the sum he held. “I’ll collect her in the morning, take good care of her.”

The blacksmith looked at her regretfully. “I’m afraid I won’ be around tomorrow, lass, no – one will. We’re all headed up to the castle to watch the games.”

Sabine furrowed her eyes. “Games?”

“Aye, the Highland Games,” he nodded. “Ye are English so ye probably don’ know. When a man marries, he must compete for her hand to show that he is man enough for her. Master Fergus is competing for Lady Greta’s hand tomorrow. It’s good fun, ye should come and watch,” he encouraged.

It certainly was nothing like England. When one married, that was that. Family and friends gathered at the church … nobody ever doubt a man’s strength or ability.  

“I might,” she nodded.

One Puissant was safely in her stall, she went in the direction of the inn.

Sabine awoke with a fright the next morning. Sitting upright in the narrow bed she looked around the room and saw she was still safe and secure. A loud, blaring noise sounded from outside her window.

Flying out of bed and over to the small, circular window, Sabine saw the source of the noise – bagpipes.

About twelve men were marching up the street playing a song on the bagpipes. They wore white shirts and red plaid kilts. People gathered outside their shops and homes and clapped and cheered the musicians.

A smile spread across her face as she saw the festivities. She definitely was not home anymore. This town and these events were Scotland. Dressing quickly, she fixed her hair in a simple braid. Her hair felt clean and soft after the bath she had had the night before. Securing her money pouch in the bust of her corset, she hurried down the narrow staircase of the inn. It was a very quaint inn, with only a handful of rooms. The ceilings were low and there were more stag heads on the wall than actual employees. There was no – one about, which meant they were all outside.

Going out onto the street, she saw that the little village was alive with excitement. Men, women and children were all cheering alone the men playing the bagpipes. She saw the married couple that owned and operated the inn – Mr and Mrs McCrea – standing on the street with everyone else.

Sabine joined in, watching them with awe. She’d never seen men wear such clothes before. They white skin of their legs were on full show as they wore their kilts. She knew that their kilts were a traditional Scottish emblem, but she still found it amusing that men were wearing skirts.

Sabine turned to her left to see the mountain that she had noticed in the dark the precious night, however, it was no mountain. It was a large, medieval castle. Made of grey stone and flying the colours of the land, the castle appeared to be the focal point of the little village. There were several towers with balconies that looked like the images in fables she used to read as a child.

“Incredible,” she breathed. Even the King’s palace in England was not so grand. Did England not rule over Scotland? Was this the King of Scotland’s home? Where was she?

As the bagpipers began their procession toward the castle, the villagers began to follow them. Going with the crowd, she walked with the townsfolk. The Highland Games, she recalled from her conversation with the blacksmith. What exactly was a man supposed to do?

In and amongst the strangers in such a festival, Sabine began to regret her decision to leave Connor and Merida. She had no idea where she was. She knew if she headed south that she would eventually come to the north of England, however she didn’t know if she would have enough money to buy food, and board Puissant when she needed to. She was foolish, and she should have just returned home … or at least to her grandmamma’s farm. Catherine would not have written to her parents before Sabine was ready.

As the shadow of the grand castle towered over them, Sabine was intimidated. The villagers proceeded around the castle, following the bagpipers as they came to a large clearing that had been filled with wooden benches, flags and what looked like several obstacles in the centre. Piles of wooden stakes and stones littered the ground, those were what she assumed the tasks would be for the fiancé of the woman.

As the villagers filled the wooden seats, Sabine looked around. Was she even permitted to be there if she was not a resident?

“Ye look lost, lass,” said a female voice from behind her.

Spinning around in a fright, Sabine noticed a finely dressed young woman. Her dark brown hair hung in perfect spirals down her back and her chocolate eyes were kind and inviting. Her gown appeared to be made of green velvet and complimented her beautiful figure. The woman was possibly the most beautiful girl she’d ever seen.

“Ye don’ look familiar,” she continued. “Are ye from around here?”

“No,” Sabine replied. “I arrived last night.”

“English?” she raised her eyebrows, sounding surprised. “Ye have come a long way … especially for a woman. Are ye here alone?”

She knew it was dangerous to travel alone, especially when female. “Yes, I’ve travelled from England,” she confirmed. “Alone.”

“Brave,” she commented. Holding out her hand, she beckoned for Sabine to join her. “Come,” she smiled. “I’ve the good seats reserved.”

Sabine took the woman’s hand and let her expertly through the crowd. On the opposite side to the villager’s seats was a more fancy setting. Individual chairs underneath a yards of fine red fabric as well as the red plaid were hung from pillars. Several finely dressed people were sitting along the front row, ready to watch the games.

“I’m Heather, by the way, Heather Murray,” the woman introduced herself as she sat down next to an older, beautifully presented woman. Her hair was the colour of fire and it was smoothed into a fine knot. Her gown was an off white colour and she wore a sash of the same plaid. She appeared to be the matriarch, the Queen possibly.

“I’m Sabine,” Sabine replied, feeling very nervous to be sitting in such prestigious seats.

“Heather, have ye seen Greta?” the fine lady asked, her eyes scanning over Sabine with confusion. Her irises were pure green, and they seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place them.

“She said she was goin’ to be right along … I’d wager she’s giving Fergus a good luck charm,” Heather giggled, winking at her. “Oh, by the way, Deirdre, this is Sabine, she’s visiting from England.”

“Hello,” Sabine said timidly.

Deirdre’s eyes widened. “England? Ye better no’ tell my husband where ye are from,” she giggled. “He hates ye all.”

Her comments did not calm Sabine’s nerves. She was sure she shouldn’t be there. She was sure she was breaking some sort of rule.

“I won’t, I promise,” she stammered nervously.

Several other finely dressed women sat down around them, each looking at Sabine curiously and noting her rather informal, simple blue dress that appeared as though it had seen better days.

“Have ye ever seen the Highland Games before, Sabine?” Heather asked her, almost bouncing in her seat with excitement.

Sabine only shook her head.

“Sir Fergus is marrying Lady Greta,” she told her. “Which means he must compete to show he is man enough. Four of his brothers as well as several other men also compete. If Sir Fergus loses, then he won’ get to marry Lady Greta – the winner will.”

Sabine watched as a procession of men wearing kilts walked out onto the field. The villagers all started cheering. The women in the stand that Sabine was sitting in all applauded. The man first in the procession had a mop of curly, red hair. A wide grin spread across his face as he took in the atmosphere. His confidence seemed to stem from the crowd’s cheers.        

As they did so, the rustle of skirts quickly moved past her as a woman with long, black hair hurried past her and sat in the seat beside Deirdre.

“Sorry I’m late,” she heard the woman say.

“I know what ye were doing, Greta,” Deirdre said knowingly. “God has eyes everywhere, ye know, especially on unmarried women.”

Sabine resisted smiling, it sounded like something that her own mother would say. Greta’s cheeks reddened as she sat back in her chair.

“That’s Fergus,” Heather whispered, gesturing to the confident man in front. “He’s Laird McKenzie’s heir.”

Sabine froze. Her heart started to beat faster and faster as she took in her surroundings. Deirdre looked at her again, with the irises that were so familiar, so familiar that they matched those of the woman she had met only a handful of days ago. In fact, the first four men of the procession mirrored Merida in their hair colour. She couldn’t have … the first village she spent the night in could not have been Connor’s home.

“Fergus is not my eldest son, but he is the heir now,” Deirdre informed Sabine sadly.

“He’s not?” Sabine said, barely audibly.

“My fiancé is … well, he was to be my fiancé,” Heather continued. “Sir Connor left about three and a half years ago.”

Sabine gripped the handles on her fine chair as her heart nearly crashed out of her chest. She swallowed, but her throat was dry. Closing her eyes, she tried to take it all in. She’d wandered onto McKenzie lands. Connor was once an heir to a castle, and all the surrounding lands. And the woman sitting next to her, the woman who was indeed the definition of perfect, was once his ‘almost’ fiancée.

What had Connor walked away from?

What had she walked into?

As soon as the thoughts crossed her mind, she was frightened by a loud, booming voice. The cheering stopped and all eyes went to the man who was standing in the middle of the field, in front of the competitors.

His hair was gold in the sunshine, and curled at the ends, and even from where she was sitting, she could see the dark depths of his oval shaped eyes. He was Connor, except twenty years older.

“Mungo loves the Games,” Deirdre commented. “He won me.”

“And Connor would have won me,” Heather breathed. “Say what ye like, Deirdre, but Connor was the strongest of all your sons. The fastest too, an’ the bravest.”

Sabine remained frozen in her seat as Mungo began to yell. “Let the Games begin!”

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What has Sabine walked into??

Anyways, I'm so so so so sorry about the wait. I've been having to get up at 5:30am for my university lectures so I've been EXHAUSTED! I've literally fell asleep on the train yesterday and nearly missed my stop lol.

Anyways, hope you liked it :) Vote and comment!