“He is right, milaird,” another chimed up. “Ye dinnae have neither wife nor children. Ye dinnae ken what it is to provide for a bairn! How can ye ken what it is we feel?”
“Ye cannae put in order yer responsibilities, and make a family of yer own, milaird. How ken ye attend tae our needs?”
Kendrick was at a loss for words. There was no doubt: many were the men who looked up to him as a strong, safeguarding laird. The others, the outliers, made their disdain for his freedom clear, saying he lacked bravery… but they did not know his truth.
Logan cleared his throat and turned to his nephew. “If ye permit me, milaird, I must address them.”
Kendrick nodded.
“I am aware of yer needs and concerns, but ye all need not worry,” Logan assured them. “The Laird shall meet a maiden of decent ancestry. Aye, of that I have no doubt—and when he does, they will marry, and ye shall all reap the fruits of their union.”
The farmers grew silent for a moment, as did Kendrick, who gaped as he struggled to accept his uncle's statement. He had hardly expected to hear such nonsense from Logan’s mouth, and now he felt even more helpless at finding the right words.
“In order for the young Laird to select his wife,” Logan went on, “We shall host a feast with all ye brave clan members, with all landholders having daughters, while we gather and search for a solution of yer worries.”
Everyone exhaled in relief, and hopeful chatter filled the air. Everyone, except for Kendrick. He refused to become his own father, to take a wife—to destroy her. Even so, he knew his fate could not be avoided. He would need to sire an heir, and he would need a wife to do so.
“Why did ye say that, Uncle?” Kendrick questioned in a low voice while the villagers were leaving the hall. “We have never discussed finding a maiden for me to marry, and a promise like that has to be of my own making.”
“Well, I do ken it is long overdue, son. Ye have witnessed the farmers’ doubt in yer duty as laird, and I could nae stand hearing it anymore,” Logan replied. “If ye don't want to lose their faith, ye need to find a wife sooner than ye think, and I ken that even if we had discussed it earlier, the ending would nae change for it. Ye have to marry, Kendrick. And ye have to marry fast.”
Although he would have preferred to take a different stand, he had to concede that his uncle was right. He took a long breath before speaking, “Where do ye recommend I start?”
“Only two landholders have daughters of marriageable age, that I ken,” he paused to face Kendrick. “I suppose one of Angus Gibson’s daughters will be a wonderful choice for ye. He has considerable authority and influence over the other landholders of the clan to boot.”
Kendrick grimaced. Angus Gibson had been an ally of his late father. His eldest daughter, Sophia, had been a dear friend of his when they were children… until talk had started of their marrying when they were older; until he had started caring for her, too. Kendrick knew that caring only led to slaughter. It had to.
“He has three daughters, the youngest of whom is just fifteen. The eldest, Sophia, is nineteen, I suppose ye ken her well as ye both formerly ran round the castle together as bairns. The second, Lorena, is a lass of eighteen,” Logan explained.
“I shall nae marry any of Angus Gibson’s daughters.” Kendrick scowled.
“But ye must, milaird. If not them, then others! It shall bring great benefit—to ye, to yer clan. Now, ye think of this and more, while I call for the elder council to convene as planned,” Logan concluded before abandoning him to his solitude.
It was true. Kendrick had been quite fond of Sophia. He grinned as he remembered the sound of her soothing voice. She would relentlessly tease him about even her smallest accomplishments when they were children. He recalled how she was the first between them to ride a horse, how she hadn’t given up despite failing numerous times.
The first time his heart misbehaved, she had just returned from horse riding. Her raven hair was flowing in the breeze, her riding gown hugging her delicate figure. That day, after she smiled at him, his heart had skipped a beat... and Kendrick knew he was lost.
“Milaird,” Reed called as he sat next to him. “Yer uncle tells me we are to plan a wedding. To Sophia, of all lasses!”
Kendrick swallowed a sigh. Despite being his senior by two years, Reed had been Kendrick's closest friend his entire life. “I will nae have any teasing from ye, Reed.”
“Is that right?” He grinned in challenge. “Surely, ye should now inform Sophia of yer affections for her? Unless ye are not so smitten with the lass as ye were."
“Nae, she will nae ken of my feelings for her.”
Reed looked at Kendrick sceptically. “Would ye then keep ignoring her, like ye have been since ye learned of yer feelings for her?”
Kendrick disregarded Reed’s question, and the two simply stood in wait without uttering any other word; they both knew the answer.
* * *
Sophia had always loved the view from her hiding place beneath the trees. It was her sacred spot—where the willows protected her from the sun's blinding rays; where its leaves laced together and danced in the breeze. She would settle beneath the great willow after she was done watering the plants, especially in dry periods like this, and picking strange herbs to study.
Her father, Angus, had agreed to let her go on expeditions as long as she never ventured far into the woods… but she was now standing in the middle of them, her hands gripping the weaved handle of her basket of lavender and chamomile.
Sophia was different from other maidens, and she knew it well. Instead of gossiping and knitting, she enjoyed reading and writing. She liked learning about the medicinal properties of various plants and riding horses. Since she was a little girl, she had always been told it was not something a lady should do, yet it never stopped her.
The loud cries of her sisters looking for her broke her attention from the view. Suddenly, they were upon her. “There ye are, sister,” Lorena whispered with her hands gripping her skirt.