“But, ye’re nae,” Jonet smiled. “Ye’re me friend.”
“Oh, heavens, what will I do with ye?” Freya sighed heavily.
That made Jonet laugh. And just like that, the weight on her shoulders lifted. Freya always knew how to put her in a better mood and Jonet was suddenly happy she had offered to join her.
Together, they delved further into the stables, listening to the neighs and snorts of the horses her father owned. Jonet preferred one of them, her lovely Highland Pony that stood in her own stall on the farthest end of the stables. Her name was Fenella because of those broad white shoulders she boasted, which had drawn Jonet to her in the first place.
As she mounted Fenella’s back, Freya chose the gentle pony ahead of Fenella, the only one Freya was willing to ride.
The loch was within walking distance of the Castle—according to Jonet, anyway. Freya was not a fan of walking such a long distance, but Jonet always enjoyed how her mind had free reign to wander while she walked, letting the wind blow through her loose hair with the cool grass beneath her feet. Even though Freya would complain that it was too far a walk for anyone to undergo comfortably, Jonet always thought the time would pass much too quickly for her liking.
Today, however, she did not want her mind to wander. In fact, she was going to the loch because she wished to wash all her thoughts away. Dipping into the cold water, with its bottomless end and its looming lore, was bound to make her relax, and having Freya with her was even better.
The weight on her shoulders returned and it wasn’t until they had arrived at the loch that she realized it wasn’t only because she was remembering Murdock’s death, but because she had an odd feeling. As she stripped her clothes, she began to wonder if something was amiss.
Faither dinnae seem off when I spoke with him. Maybe I’m overthinkin’ things.
Telling herself that did little, but diving underneath the water did. She swam around with Freya lingering near the bank since she was not as strong a swimmer. Jonet tried her best to free her mind of the unusual feeling that was steadily growing stronger.
She spent so much time swimming that she hadn’t realized night was falling. When Freya called to her saying it was best that they return to the Castle before it grew dark, she finally climbed out. A chill brought goosebumps to her skin and Jonet quickly got dressed, unable to shake the bizarre sensation.
As they returned to the castle, she realized that the feeling had not been for nothing. The moment she walked in a servant told her that her father was looking for her in his den. Jonet glanced at Freya, who shared her fearful look, before she made her way there alone.
“Pa?” she called, entering.
Laird MacLagain was pacing the broad space in the center of the den, the pelt rug on the floor flattening under the weight of his stress. When he turned to her, Jonet saw a look in his eyes that she had only seen once before: when Murdock had died.
“Nay,” she breathed. She staggered forward, feeling as if her heart were about to jump out of her chest. As if to stop it, she clutched her clothes.
“We cannae find him, Jonet,” her father said, his voice soft and gentle. “But we will. We’ll find him and bring him back.”
They willnae find him. He’s a master hunter. If he’s missing then…
Laird MacLagain, as if sensing the direction of her thoughts, patted his large hand on her head in a rather awkward fashion, as was his way of doing. He had never been good at expressing emotions, though he had always tried to in place of her mother.
“We will find him,” he repeated firmly.
Jonet stared up at him, his image blurring through the haze of tears. Unable to speak, she only nodded.
Yet, coming as no surprise to her, her father was unable to keep that promise.
Chapter 3
Three years later
The MacLagain Castle was something Matthew had always seen from afar. In his line of work, he knew better than to get too close to such a place, but he would often stare at the imposing building of stone jutting into the sky. He would let his mind wander to what his life might have been like had he been born the son of a Laird, destined to inherit the Lairdship when the time was right.
From what Matthew had heard, the Laird of MacLagain was a wealthy man surrounded by a healthy swarm of servants to take care of such a massive home. There were other things he knew about the Laird, other reasons he had to be envious of him, but for now, there was only one piece of information that mattered to him. The fact that he had an unmarriageable daughter.
Rumors had begun to swirl throughout the clan for some time, but Matthew had never heard them, not caring to be privy to internal gossip that did nothing for his line of work. Much like staying away from the Laird’s castle, he did not bother to listen to any information regarding him either. What good would it do a man like him?
Except when he had learned that the Laird’s daughter was unmarriageable, due to a curse she supposedly possessed, Matthew realized that this was his chance.
Once he was finally within sights of the men standing guard at the entrance of the castle, he came to a stop. They were watching him, but they did not bother to approach. Matthew took that as his chance to drink in the sheer size of the building before him, nearly salivating at the thought of it all being his.
“State yer business,” one of the men standing guard said when Matthew finally bridged the gap.
“I request an audience with the Laird,” he stated.