Mairi's Magic

By Selena Simonetti

Mairi is the object of hate and scorn for Lady Agnes who has never been able to bear a child to term.  Mairi discovers her stepmother is having an affair with a member of a rival clan, and Agnes in her rage, commits an unforgivable act of violence upon Mairi.  While being tended to by her clan's healer, Mairi becomes delirious, and begs the powers that be for deliverance.  The fates have delivered their promise in the form of Finbar MacGowan. Finbar MacGowan is chieftain to Clan MacGowan.  The pleas of an impoverished rival chieftain to marry his daughter intrigue him, and he decides to take him up on his offer.  However, he is plagued by visions and dreams of a scarred maid with a gentle heart–a carrier of two dark secrets.  She is calling to him, but is the maid he is sworn to marry one and the same woman?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781590884898

Book preview

Prologue

Scottish Highlands, 1370 A.D.

Her throat raw from wailing in agony, her cries were reduced to a terrible rasp. Mairi lay on her pallet, listening to the voice of Morag, who questioned the man who had brought her here.

By the blood of God, what happened, Connor, for the last time! her old voice shook the very rafters of her croft. A muffled, shuffling noise and horse’s whinny were heard beyond the croft’s door.

"Lady Agnes... the child walked in to tell us her fath—the Lachlan had returned. Oh Christ, Morag!"

Mairi heard the young man’s voice break as he wept now, and listened to Morag’s angry tirade.

She’ll nae die. You men astound me! Why must men be led by their loins? Why did you take up with the likes of Lady Agnes?

I never meant for this to happen, I swear it! Connor’s terrified breath came in short bursts as if he feared he would be sick. She walked in on us—together. Agnes cuffed her hard, and she fell. Mairi swore she’d tell Laird Lachlan. She called Agnes a whore.

Get on wi’ it! Morag persisted.

As I stand here before you, I swear Agnes pushed the brazier over and the embers flew all around and... Morag, what am I going to do? The Lachlan will kill me, and I have betrayed my father.

Morag’s voice was not filled with pity, but with a final ring like that of a requiem bell. The Lachlan willna know of your dealin’s wi’ Agnes yet?

No, or I would not be alive to tell you. No one knows who I have been seein’, Connor swore vehemently.

"Go home. Get some o’ your belongings and leave the Highlands. For you are a marked man, Connor MacGowan. Leave us now before The Lachlan arrives and puts your head on a pikestaff! I canna tell him this. I am ashamed, for I fear Agnes’s vengeance upon me, nae, I fear the vengeance she will take upon this child more. She knows the child will never tell him now, or Agnes will exact a greater penalty. Go!"

Mairi shut her eyes, feeling guilty she had listened. She heard old Morag’s voice now, gentle and soft, as she feigned a fitful sleep.

Oh, lass. What hae she done to ye? I will make you this vow by all things holy. Agnes Lachlan will pay for this! Morag’s voice changed. It was frighteningly—and deadly—solemn.

Mairi could no longer bear to be awake or to hear Morag’s sorrowful and vengeful voice ring in her ears. Merciful blackness enveloped her, and she welcomed it with an open heart.

MAIRI AWOKE WITH A start in the midst of a raging storm. Hail battered the croft and pummelled the earth outside. Through a crack in the window shutters, Mairi saw that the world had turned white with a blizzard of snow and ice. The wind screamed through the trees and hailstones hit the thatch roof with much rustling and snapping. There was no hope of sleeping through this when she had wakened in the midst of it. She willed herself to sit upright, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Remarkably, Morag still slept on her pallet, mumbling in her dreams. The small hearth fire was covered with peat and had but to be stoked to be raging again.

The cold bit cruelly at her skin. Mairi shuffled toward the hearth. With her unblemished arm, she stoked the fire until it blazed and crackled. Still, Morag did not awaken, but continued her mumblings. Her father’s gloves, left behind on a roughly hewn table, had proved he had come and left when she had lapsed into unconsciousness, but Mairi could not hold the thought in her head.

Perhaps I should not have stoked the fire. ‘Tis so hot... Mairi wiped her brow. Beads of sweat ran down her face and her vision blurred. All she could think of were the stories Morag told of her family when she was distressed. Morag so loved to tell stories, and Mairi always begged for the same one over and over.

Tell me the Bride story, tell me! Mairi begged, sitting on the stool by the hearth.

You indulge me entirely too often, you wee devil! Morag laughed, spinning her wool on a distaff. All right then. My two sisters, both shrewish little imps, sought to make a fool of me. I always dreamed of having a bonny husband to come on his horse and carry me away with him. I was not pretty like them, and it can be hard on a lass if she be not as comely as her sisters. But I will say they were most envious of my hair. It shone as black as a raven’s wing back then. They said I would dream of the man I would marry if I cut off my braid and burned it at midnight. Being still a young and gullible girl, like you—

Mairi giggled and waited for the ending.

I did as I was bidden. When my hair began to burn, they came out from the shadows to laugh at me. I wept until I fell asleep on my pallet. Oh! Morag laughed gleefully. I was to have the last word, dearie. I dreamed of a man tall and broad shouldered, handsome as the Devil himself and with hair the color of the sun! Morag cackled again. Imagine their surprise when the same gentleman came riding to talk wi’ my da a fortnight later. He had seen me, too, but at the Gathering and at the fair, and had watched me from afar ever since. He came to ask my da for permission to marry me. My sweet Ulleam, Morag sighed wistfully.

Mairi’s head swam, she could have sworn she heard Morag’s voice tell the tale. What had she left now that she was disfigured? No man would take her to wife now. She would be alone all her life with no bairns of her own. Mairi could not bear the thought of never knowing happiness like Morag had known with Ulleam. Why should she not be as happy as Morag was? What right had Agnes? Mairi saw a knife on the table and took it in her scarred hand. She bit her lip to keep from crying out with the pain. Even when she tasted the sharp, warm tang of her own blood upon her lip, she did not so much as whimper. Scooping up some of the glowing red embers in a spade, Mairi stumbled out into the snow and hail.

She walked until her feet were numb and the hail stopped falling. Only soft snow, like lace, fell over the hills. When she placed the coals on a rock, they burned hot and red. She took a fat auburn braid in one hand and, weeping with the effort, she raised the knife to the nape of her neck. Her arm was so stiff, it hurt so badly, but she persisted, and sawed her braid off at the nape of her neck. The braid lay in the palm of her hand, limp and moving slightly in the breeze. Mairi coiled it with one hand and placed it upon the embers. To her shock, the embers engulfed it in a flash, but something was different. There was no acrid odor of singed hair, only the scent of heather and roses. It was overpowering. Mairi’s knees buckled and she fell hard to the snow at her feet, weeping bitterly.

It did not work, the hair burned too fast. Morag’s hair smouldered, she said so, Mairi lamented. Soft crunching footsteps and a man’s voice startled her out of her sorrow. She pulled away from the man who now knelt at her side. His voice was gravelly, but comforting, so she ceased her struggle to escape.

Why are you out here? What has happened? He extended a hand to cup her scarred cheek.

He had been roused from his chambers by some strange overpowering scent of roses, perhaps heather, roused him from his chambers. It was the middle of winter, and the scent had intrigued him. Before he knew what was happening, he was wandering the woods, hopelessly lost. He heard the murmur of an old woman in the back of his mind. It had started the minute he dressed himself, then stepped past the doorframe. She murmured insistently at first, until he heard the weeping. He rushed to investigate and the murmuring stopped.

The lass needs you. Here, here is where you are supposed to be, the voice whispered before vanishing.

When he saw the painfully thin lass crumpled at his fee, concern for his own circumstance and sanity vanished. She was burned on the bottom quarter and temple of her face, but judging by the painful gasps she made when forced to move her arm, there was more to this tale. He knelt and, filled with heartfelt concern, spoke to her.

You will never come for me now, not like this, the girl said fiercely. She looked down, refusing to meet his eyes, or to speak further. He could not help her back to the croft, for neither of them could see it in the heavy snowfall.

The cold air was excruciating upon her burned flesh, judging from the whimper she let out as each breeze touched her flesh. Each bluster of the breeze brought stronger pain. The lass shut her eyes, stifling a cry of pain. Finn spoke again, loosening his lambskin cloaks from his brooch.

Lie down, lass, I will not have you freeze to death. He took his cloak and wrapped the both of them in its voluminous length. Her head lay upon his heart, and he gently enfolded his arms around her in a protective gesture. He felt the pulsing of her heart against his chest and made a vow with all the solemnity and fierceness his heart could offer. He would not fail her. He would come for her.

One

Scottish Highlands, 1374

"O h Jesus ! Oh beggin’ your pardon, Father William! Mairi jumped up from her stool by the fire. It’s after dusk, and I must be home to help serve in the hall. Maggie and the others could not manage by themselves!"

Lass, take your time. I will forgive you, but watch that tongue of yours! he scolded, handing Mairi her cloak and walking with her to the hitching post in front of the rectory. "This old man thanks you for your visits. I enjoy telling Brother Mark of your ability to learn languages. He was amazed that you had written him in Latin—couldna stop talking about it. ‘Tis the sin of pride I feel." Father William beamed, making a cup with his hands and hoisting Mairi into the saddle of her sturdy mount.

Lady Agnes does not approve of me learning. She says no man will have me to wife, so why bother? Mairi said lightly, taking the reins in her hands and adjusting the pack across her back. She delighted in flouting Agnes’s rules and learning behind her back. Father William had gladly taken to continuing the tutoring, the both of them concocting a story that would enable her to visit him three days a week. It was poor Father William who was chosen to have a cough and aching joints that required Mairi’s abilities as a healer. Mairi smiled broadly.

Lord, forgive me, but I take great delight in deceiving that woman. Father William undid the tether that held her mare and threw the rope over the horse’s withers. Brother Mark assures me he will have a French text to me next month. Mayhap you will have a go at that. Fare ye well.

Mairi thanked him and kicked Epona, her white mare, into a canter. Father William was quite possibly the best friend she had. He had taught her to read and write her first language, Gaelic, then English, Latin, and mayhap she was even to be taught French. Learning was one of the many things Mairi did to anger Agnes. Now her thoughts returned to the late hour. Poor Maggie and the others could barely manage on their own and needed every extra hand, for they did not have enough in their coffers to hire more servants. Mairi approached a fallen tree over her path, jumping over it easily. She would need to hurry home to Lachlan Keep or risk another beating by Agnes’s hand.

Well if it is not one thing, ‘tis another, she reasoned aloud. Epona, we must away! Mairi dug her heels into the young mare’s sides, and they were off at a gallop over the grass-covered fields.

She pulled Epona to a trot, then a walk, finally halting in the middle of the courtyard. The usual sounds of activity were not present and only a skeleton guard roamed the battlements.

What was amiss now? Mairi wondered apprehensively.

There were no stable lads running about the courtyard, no horses being groomed out of doors, no guards posted in the yard or gathered by the fire trading bawdy jests. It set her on alert, for surely something was afoot. When she saw Maisie hurry toward her with a stable boy at her heels, Mairi brightened.

She handed the reins to the boy, who led the tired mare into the warmth of the stalls. Why do you look so odd? Where are Gilbert and Frang and the others?

Inside. Oh, Mairi, something is wrong. Maisie stopped before they entered the great hall. There is talk of a battle, Frang’s Da’s bull was stolen and another’s sheep were taken. The anger is great, Mairi. Maisie’s voice trembled.

The hall was filled with an irate, rumbling crowd.

Where the devil were you? roared her father, who sat at the head of the high table.

Out tending Father William’s joints, and I saw to Gilbert’s Da as well. His cough is healed. Mairi glanced to Gilbert, who acknowledged her with a grateful nod of his head. Lady Agnes sat beside her father in her best gown, her deceptively friendly smile showing her sharp white teeth. Something must be afoot if Agnes was smiling at her. Mairi took a deep breath and stood before her father.

What are we to do about the MacGowan raiders? They have stolen my sheep!

...and killed my bull! Frang’s Da shouted.

They razed the crofts near the border and lifted my cattle. We canna let this go on! another cried out.

Mairi had prayed there would not be another feud. It was nearing the end of September and they could not afford to have a battle when harvest time was so near. They should be worrying about stocking their larders and salting their meat before war with Clan MacGowan! She sighed as her father began to lull the crowd. She had no hate for the MacGowans. Hate worked like a poison in her heart. Old Morag had told her so before she had died a year after Mairi’s burning. It was not easy for her to forgive Clan MacGowan for the strife they had caused her people, or the betrayal of her father, but that did not mean she could not be angry for it as well. Her anger was great indeed, though her shame at not controlling it, greater than that. Anger, like the hate, was not as hot with the passage of time. But what kind of solution to this problem was brewing? Mairi watched as her father brought forth a stretch of parchment with a seal.

The MacGowan himself has written me of my decision and plan for peace, Laird Lachlan boomed, instantly quieting the crowd.

What plan for peace is that? The same plan that caused my croft to burn to the ground? a clansman from the crowd roared to the approval of the hall.

Quiet! I have proposed that a marriage be arranged between my daughter and heir, Lady Mairi Lachlan, and the MacGowan to seal the bond of peace between our clans.

Marriage? Mairi wondered aloud. Her mouth suddenly went dry as dust.

Aye. Bastard born you may be, but you are the recognized heir and still of some use to us, Lady Agnes said, her green eyes flashing like a cat’s. Though this marriage to our greatest enemy does not bode well with me.

Your opinion does not matter in any case! Laird Lachlan snapped at Agnes before addressing his people once more. I have made the final arrangements. The MacGowan will arrive in a week’s time. They will be married before the people the day after he arrives at the hall. There will be a banquet...

Her father’s words trailed off into a garbled mess her ears could not make sense of it. Marriage? To The MacGowan? How could this be? Surely he knew of her scars, for even the meanest crofter had heard the story, even the townsfolk had. How would his people receive her with her marred face and body? Mairi could not think of dinner as she served it that night, nor could she enjoy eating with the servants in the kitchen as she always did. The food and wine was tasteless, and sat in her stomach like lead even as she sat in her small chamber. What was she to do? She would marry a man she had never seen in her life, and bear his bairns.

I’ll have to let him touch me. He will know I am no maid. I will have to tell him. The thoughts raced through her mind.

Lady Agnes had forced her to wear a veil in public that covered the scarred portion of her face. Agnes had claimed the sight of the scars would sicken anyone who saw them. Even though the people of her clan professed otherwise, she found it was easier to wear the skillfully made veil. What her people thought of her and how his folk would treat her were two different matters. Mairi had heard of his brutality in battle; he was not called the Highland’s Dragon for naught! Would he be so cruel to her? She could take Lady Agnes’s brutality since there was hope for her future, but a future forever locked in marriage to a man that would brutalize her was terrifying, and she was not ashamed to admit it. More ashamed was she of the terrible secret she kept from everyone, even Father William.

No one could know of it, for if they did, it meant her ruination. If the MacGowan did not repudiate her for her scars, he would, without question, repudiate her for this! Mairi could only think of one voice of reason in all of this madness. She only hoped Father William would still be awake at this hour.

FINN, WHAT THINK YOU of this marriage between you and the Lachlan heiress? You look as if something is amiss. Duncan, Finbar’s most trusted aide and friend, bit into an apple and chewed as he spoke.

I am not adverse to it. I know the maid is scarred if that is your meaning, Finbar replied evenly, as he rubbed down his horse and fixed a saddle and bridle to it.

She brings wi’ her the largest portion of land in the Highlands next to your own, not to mention access to the sea. Surely you admire this in a bride, Duncan teased, his green eyes flashing playfully.

True, that is a definite boon. Finbar smiled. I have heard of her disfigurements; it vexes me not. I have seen them, but is it the same lass? Of course it is! He scolded himself. Who else could it be? When he had awoke that morn after the dream, Duncan had come to fetch him and go hunting. He had a devil of a time explaining the tremendous pile of snow in his bed and the fact that he was fully dressed. He