Echo in the Veil: Dalhousie

By Kelley Usery Smith

Brigid is grieving the loss of her husband and best friend.  Feeling lost, she takes a trip alone to her family's ancestral castle in Scotland.  At Dalhousie she travels through time during her dreams and meets a sixteenth century ancestor named Anastasia Ramsey.  Ana is also grieving.  Together these woman comfort each o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ora et Labora Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9780692087701

Kelley Usery Smith

Christian. Wife. Mother of two grown sons. Owner of Ora et Labora Publishing, LLC. Accomplished amateur soprano and alto vocalist. Hobbies include cooking, photography, genealogy, travel, decorating, collecting Christmas ornaments, and entertaining. Dysautonomia warrior.

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Echo

in the

Veil

Dalhousie - Book 1

Ora et Labora Publishing

For Angie

I’ll miss you forever

Save me a seat

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Ora et Labora Publishing 2018

Copyright © 2018 by Kelley Usery Smith

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher.

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [e-mail]

Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication Data

Smith, Kelley Usery

Echo in the Veil/Kelley Usery Smith

Editor-Sara Anderson

ISBN 978-0-692-08765-7 (paperback)

ISBN 978-0-692-08770-1 (ebook)

Publishing Logo © 2018 by Tyler McClung

Book design by J.O. Smith

Cover Image © 2018 by Sarah Williamson

Printed in the United States of America

The author gratefully acknowledges the following people for their support  regarding this novel.

To my biggest encourager, John- You are the reason this book has finally come to print.  Without you pushing me to finish, I’d have given up. You are my favorite person, my most beloved travel partner, and the love of my life.

Thank you to my boys, John David and Adam.  You two are the best part of my life’s work.  There is a part of you in every word I ever write.  I love you more than I love to breathe.

To my parents, David and Wanda- Thanks for never giving up on your little girl.  You made me believe I was special and could do anything.  I love you both so much.

To my daughter-in-love, Bekah- I waited a long time for a girl. Thank you for bringing some much needed estrogen and giggles to our home.

To my girl cousins Debbie, Barbie, Jane and Connie- You are my best buds and dance partners.  There is a little bit of each of you sprinkled throughout these fictional Ramsay women. As Debbie says, I love your stinkin’ guts.  Always remember that we are kind of a big deal.

It is said that a person without a soul friend is like a body without a head.  Anam cara is Gaelic for soul friend.  To Lori- Thank you for being my anam cara and daily prayer partner.  I love you. Your strength makes me stronger.

Thank you, Sara.  As my editor you helped me be a better writer.  As my friend, you help make me a better person.  I love you, my Iona sister.

To Sarah- Meeting you was part of God’s providence with this work.  Thank you for bringing my cover to life. Your gift of artistry blesses me with each look at your lovely work.

Thank you, Darian.  Who would have imagined my high school friend would lovingly became my first ever editor.  Your watchful eye in the beginning of this project was just what I needed to keep moving forward.  I love you, sweet friend.

Thank you, Wendy.  Your friendship has survived the test of time.  You are as much a part of my family as anyone could ever be.  Your strength on those first few days of grief will always be in my heart.  I love you.

Lastly I thank Andrea and Anna Beth.  You two knew of this story long before anyone else.  Your generous words and kind review helped fuel my forward motion.

CHAPTER ONE

April, 1563, Dalhousie Castle, Bonnyrigg, Scotland

Elizabeth stood in her window, admiring the men as they trained.  Swords clanged with the high pitched ping and scrape of metal meeting metal.  Watching the men move in the dance of war she marveled, mesmerized by the flex of strong thigh muscles, as well as the extension of long arms and broad hands. Elizabeth sought George amongst the younger men.  He was shouting and giving orders in his deep baritone voice.  Her tall husband and Laird was still lean with broad shoulders and muscle roped limbs. He could still fight with the youngest, most fit men.  She smiled to herself as she caught the glisten of silver in George’s loosed, black hair. Time had not lessened his beauty.  Instead, the years only magnified his handsomeness. The weathered lines surrounding his blue crescent-shaped Ramsay eyes had grown deeper with age, but the youthful glint remained.  Even though there were strands of silver in his hair and a heavy frosting of white in his beard, George had aged into a magnificent and rugged leader that still made her heart dance.

A life long warrior, the scars on his body told his painful story.  Elizabeth alone saw the struggle he experienced on the cold Scottish mornings when muscles and joints had stiffened in sleep.  War was hard on a body and Scotland had been at war forever it seemed.  The Kingdom of Alba often called upon her men to defend land, crown, faith, and families.  As George prepared the men for the battles ahead, Elizabeth looked on with a sigh.  With the young Queen Mary back home from France and her regent mother dead, the country was easing closer to civil war between the Protestant Lords and the Catholic Queen.  In her prayers each night, Elizabeth begged God for peace and protection for her family.

Looking across the dozens of swordsmen, she picked out her youngest son, Alexander.  He was youthful version of his father.  He glanced toward his mother with his round, green eyes, a gift from her side of the family, the Hepburns.  Alex flexed and turned with the easy grace of a fearless young fighter.  He was a quiet, contemplative spirit with a deep spiritual life.  Had he not been such a valuable warrior, he might have sought the church as his vocation.

Standing at rapt attention, observing the training was their son David, a Hepburn through and through.  With a long stern face and blade sharp nose,  her middle son’s bright green eyes dominated his handsome face. His wavy hair was a mass of various shades of auburn and blonde. His striking, but severe face matched his forbidding personality.  David had never married, instead he was wholeheartedly faithful to his country.  Scotland was the love of his soul and the inspiration of his life.  His only gentleness was exposed by the love of his sisters and mother.

Sitting on a bench resting between sparing matches was her eldest son, James. He had recently married his own Elizabeth. Not as tall as his father or brothers, his unusually attractive face was a combination of all the best from the Hepburns and the Ramsays.  His perfectly formed jaw line, raven hair, cleft chin, and heavy brow over sea-blue crescent shaped eyes, hooded with long, black lashes made his Beth the envy of the unmarried females in the Ramsay lands.  His perfectly dazzling smile matched his welcoming personality.

There has always been competition between their two oldest sons.  Just as there was Cain vs. Abel, Jacob vs. Esau, there was James vs. David. The oldest and middle sons of the Ramsay clan fought as children until it became a concern between Elizabeth and George.  The youngest, Alex was so mild mannered no one dared fight with him.  One late summer afternoon James walked through the courtyard of the castle as if nothing had happened.  Young shoulders back, head cocked a bit too high, like a dog sniffing out his supper, he looked a little too sure of himself.  David followed about twenty paces behind with shoulders down, tear-stained cheeks, and a big black eye.  They weren’t so lucky on this particular day.  Their mother saw them before their father.  James had stopped in his tracks when he heard his mother’s command, from an upper window, Come to my chambers immediately.

There was a jealousy between the two, right from the beginning.  David was a hulk of a man, ready for battle, even when he was a child.  But he was born behind James.  For the first four years of life, James pushed David around and made him do his bidding rarely showing any affection.  But around the time David was five years old, he became bigger than his older brother.  Much bigger and thus the dynamic between them shifted.  David stood his ground and would no longer be pushed around by his older brother.  In fact James had to accept that he could now be pushed around instead.

From her window, Elizabeth spotted her daughters Anastasia and Catherine standing side by side attempting not to crane their necks as they watched from a window lining the courtyard wall.  The Laird and Lady had been blessed with lovely daughters in addition to their fine sons. At the tender age of four and ten, their eldest daughter, Aloyasia had given herself to the Catholic Church. She lived and served on the inner Hebridean island of Iona at St. Mary’s Augustine Nunnery.  Lizzie, her next daughter had married just a few years ago and moved to live with her husband, Patrick Broun. Oh, how she missed her two eldest daughters.

Watching her middle daughter, Anastasia, Elizabeth smiled, recalling a similar scene watching the men when she was just a girl. The marriage between George and Elizabeth had been arranged years in advance.  For her,  love was slow to bloom.  George had thought Elizabeth exquisite from the moment his father told him that she would be his wife.  Her long red hair and unusually large green eyes hypnotized him from an early age.  Elizabeth stood tall, regal, and carried herself with unmatched grace as if she should be queen instead of just a Laird’s wife.  The beautiful girl had blossomed into a spectacular woman who made him proud to call her his own.

Watching her husband, Elizabeth recalled a drizzling afternoon years ago when a young George had been in broadsword training.  Battle with the massive blades was difficult to master. George moved with determination, sweat rolling down his face with his long, black hair flying about wildly.  He was a magnificent sight.  When the training ended, George had glanced up to see Elizabeth watching.  Proud to see her there, he looked directly in her eyes and seeing that it embarrassed her, gave his most dazzling smile and a quick wink. Elizabeth had felt her stomach turn over.  She was so overcome she could not quite catch her breath.  That was the day Elizabeth had fallen in love.  She had rewarded her future husband with a shy smile. George directed a courtly bow in her direction, grinning all the while.  And so with a wink and a bow, the Ramsay clan had continued.

The hit was hard.  Aidan shook his head as flashing lights covered his peripheral vision.  A bit dazed he stood back for a bit, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He occasionally wiped blood from his mouth on his sleeve and watched the others continue training.  The neighboring clans from Borthwick and Rosslyn had gathered at Dalhousie to train with Laird Ramsay, who was known throughout the lowlands as an expert swordsman.  Aidan, son of Lord Borthwick, who’s lands bordered the Ramsay’s to the east, had come to learn from his future father-in-law, the legendary George Ramsay. Tensions in Scotland were on the rise.  Their young, Catholic queen rubbed the Protestant Lords the wrong way.   The clouds of war hung in the air, like the mists of the highlands. Scotland’s warriors had to be prepared.  As the men returned to their work, Aidan eased his way outside the courtyard, unnoticed by most. But not Ana.

Anastasia, having witnessed all of it, hurried to the kitchen for a mug of water.  With supplies in hand, she sought Aidan and found him outside the gate, leaning against the red stone walls of Dalhousie’s tower with his head and shoulders sagging.  He gingerly wiped his shirt sleeve across his mouth and then spat out blood on the pebbled ground.  A flash of white linen darted in front of his eyes. Here, use this.  Ana quietly offered him her handkerchief.  That was quite the nasty blow.  Aidan raised his head and rewarded her with a half-smile and a nod, he softly groaned as his lip cracked open a bit more and oozed fresh blood.  Gracious be, Aidan. She handed him the mug of water. Rinse. It is salted water. She waited patiently while he followed her instructions. Wrinkling her forehead, forcing her dark brows together, she cooed, I’m sorry, Aidan. Does it hurt very badly? Aidan swished the cool water in his mouth and spit several times, until eventually the water ran almost clear as the bleeding slowed.  He shook his head no. The glistening, pale-pink, inner lining of his bottom lip was beginning to protrude as his mouth swelled, marring his handsomeness. He wiped his mouth with her handkerchief.  Thank you, Aidan mumbled, standing up straight and casting his eyes down toward her.   Aidan was a big man, almost six foot four and Ana was just over five foot tall when she stood up completely straight with her slippers on.  Looking up toward him Ana noticed his neck beginning to flush. David got me right in mouth. I am most embarrassed.  For a moment, they stood in an awkward silence.  He cleared his throat as he strummed his fingers against his leg.  I suppose ye saw the reason for the hit?  Cutting his blue eyes toward her, the blush rose to his face, causing the shadow of blonde whiskers to contrast sharply against his skin. Unlike most of the men, Aidan didn’t have a beard.  He shaved revealing his striking face, but this late in the day he had the shadow of a freshly sprouting beard. She grinned before looking down at her shuffling feet.  Yes. I’m afraid I did. She glanced up at him through her dark lashes before smiling flirtatiously and asking. Perhaps we lasses shouldn’t watch you men train anymore?

He shifted his shoulders and stepped closer to her, forcing her look up further up toward his face.  Nay, dinna fash yerself, lass.  I like to see ye there.  Perhaps next time, I willna be so foolish as to look for ye in the middle of a fight, no?  He shook his head in embarrassment. I admit, when I saw ye standing there, I began showing off a bit.  His blush became complete.  Then I checked to see if ye were still watching. That dinna work out so well for me, he said pointing at his lip and rolling his eyes with a self-deprecating chuckle. Ana giggled and reached out to touch him lightly on the arm.  He radiated heat from the exertion of training. Well…if ye aren’t currently dying, I should go back inside before someone comes looking for me.  With a regretful sigh and a quick kiss to her forehead he said, Aye, I suppose ye should.  She had almost reached the gate when she heard him call out, Ana?  She turned quickly and looked back at Aidan.  I thank ye, lass…for the water and cloth.  She nodded with a smile.  He continued, flirting with her. I like seeing ye watch us.  Perhaps next time you might wear something a bit more… plain?  Anything but the blue velvet.  Ye look so bonnie in it is all.  Then with a smile so warm it would melt candle wax, he added with a hand over his heart, It is fair distracting to a weak laddie such as myself.  She giggled with a sideways glance and saw him wink at her, just as she stepped back inside the gate.

____

The great hall of the castle was always a place of movement and noise.  The hall’s red stone walls were quarried from the South River Esk and stood as a quiet witness to the laughter, conversations and sobs of the Ramsay clan for the past three hundred years.  If the red stones could talk, they could surely weave a extraordinary tale.  The current Laird, his wife, children, assorted aunts, uncles, grandparents, nieces, nephews, and castle servants made for a lively crowd.   The evening meal was Ana’s favorite time of the day.  Everyone was busy at all other times, but at the evening meal, individual bustling activity stopped long enough to gather around a common table. Da always said a loud blessing over the food.

Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty.

Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

After a chorus of Amen from everyone, the conversation usually grew loud and loving.  Ana peered around the table.  Everyone chattered, each trying to be heard above the other.  In Ana’s opinion, noisy chatter was the language of love.  She sat beside Catherine on a long wooden bench they had been using their entire lives.  The bench dated back to when the castle was new.  The wood was rubbed smooth by the many Ramsays and guests who spent time in Dalhousie’s Hall.  Catherine’s raw, red nose and swollen eyes made it quite clear she had been crying. Her long pale hair was working loose from its binding, and a few strands fell and hid her face. Ana looked down, saw that Catherine was wringing her hands and had been biting her nails again. Trying to comfort her, Ana reached out to clasp her youngest sister’s  hand.  Catherine let her, but did not look up.  Let’s talk in our room after we finish, aye, Ana whispered to her baby sister.  Catherine nodded.

The chatter continued as a castle guard delivered a note.  He handed it to the Laird and quickly exited the noisy room.  Ana watched as her father cracked open the very official red wax seal.  Upon reading the note, her father’s full dark eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he glanced over at Elizabeth.

Later Ana closed the door to their room.  Catherine was already curled up on her side of the bed, but had yet to draw the heavy bed curtains.  Cat? Are you asleep? she whispered. Yes, came the sarcastic response from Catherine.  Slowly uncurling herself from the bed linens with a deep annoyed sigh, Catherine waited while Ana got undressed.  Isn’t it exciting?  Can you imagine?  The Queen at Dalhousie, Ana exclaimed.  She is not coming to see us, Ana.  She is coming to see Da.  She won’t pay attention to any of us, Catherine huffed in depressing aggravation and rolled over.

Catherine was the youngest of the Ramsay lasses and the baby of their large family.  Cat believed she fell short of everyone’s expectations and tended to sulk and wallow in the self-pity of a perpetual victim.  As the youngest, she felt overlooked and had convinced herself that her life was unhappy in comparison to everyone else. Even with her fair hair, perfectly pale skin, heart-shaped pink lips, and exotic Hepburn green eyes set high on her broad Ramsay cheekbones, she pushed people away with her attitude. Few wanted to be around someone who continually whined and complained, even if she was beautiful.  Still, Anastasia patiently loved her moody sister. Although Ana was several years older than Catherine, Ana had always been close to Catherine and felt protective of her.  In the confines of their shared room, the blooming young women would laugh, trading secrets and dreams.  It seemed that only with Anastasia did Catherine feel safe enough to be herself and leave the whining and complaining behind.

Finally in her night clothes, Ana climbed up into the bed, began unbraiding her long black plait, and handed the brush to Catherine.  With practiced hands, Catherine began the blissful nightly ritual of brushing the knots and tangles from her sister’s hair.  With a swish the brush glided through Ana’s thick, dark mane. Ana could feel her scalp, neck, and shoulders tingle and relax.  That feels amazing, she breathed with a sigh.  They sat quietly as Catherine continued her task.  Then Ana smiled with a relaxed grin.  Your turn.

Catherine crawled around her older sister, sat with legs folded, and waited. Cat’s wavy hair was magnificent: pale, almost white, with strands of gold throughout.  Ana ran her fingers through her sister’s hair before she started brushing.  Um, you used the rosemary mint soap in your hair.  It smells lovely.  Ana raised a handful of hair closer to her nose and breathed deeply.  After she had brushed Catherine’s hair for a long while, Ana began to question her. Why had you been crying earlier?  The brush continued making the swishing journey as it easily moved through Catherine’s hair.  Ana continued the questions.  I didn’t see ye eat much tonight. Are you not well, sister? Catherine sat still, her relaxed body swaying a bit with each glide of the brush.  I ate.  You just did not notice with all the commotion of Da’s letter.