Page 1 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

Prologue

A week before her death, May Stevenson, Lyall and Fenella’s mother, was talking about it almost as though she was looking forward to it.

“Remember, you two,” she said, wagging a finger at them as they sat on either side of her bed, “I will be looking down on you from heaven—if I get there, of course!”

“Of course you will get there, Mama!” Fenella took her mother’s hands between her own and laid them against her cheek. “And you and Papa can look down on us and wish nightmares upon us if we misbehave.”

May laughed. “I would never do that,” she laughed. Her gray-green eyes crinkled as she looked fondly at her daughter. Her voice was hoarse and her breathing was heavy and labored, but she had not lost her sense of humor.

“However, if you do not follow my instructions exactly, I will come back and haunt you!”

Lyall took May’s other hand and kissed it, smiling at her. God, I love her so much, he thought. “So what are your instructions, Mama?”

May was suddenly seized by a bout of coughing that was so violent that she lost the power of speech for a moment. Fenella and Lyall looked at each other anxiously, then Lyall sat on the bed and put his arm around his mother. He waited until the paroxysm ceased, then gently kissed her hair.

“Perhaps you should stop talking now,” he suggested.

“No!” Her voice was firm and definite. “I am not dead yet, Son, and I will talk until death steals my last breath from me!”

Lyall knew his mother; it was best to stay silent at a time like this. She then said, “As I was saying, I expect you both to marry nice, kind people. They do not have to be beautiful or rich, but they must be kind and generous. You must have at least four children each, two of each sex, to ensure a new generation of Stevensons. You and your children will all go to Confession once a month and confess every little trifle!”

She loved them and could not get enough of looking at their faces, as she knew that she did not have much longer to live. The consumption that had affected her for the last five years, which had stripped her of her flesh and almost robbed her of her breath, was greedily eating her up as if she were a tasty morsel of meat. However, she did not fear death, for she knew that her beloved husband Roy was waiting for her in heaven, having gone there six months previously, and she was desperate to see him again, for her life was empty without him.

As he was now the Laird proper of the Stevenson Estate, Lyall knew he would feel May’s absence keenly, for the weight of running the entire estate had landed on his shoulders after his father’s unexpected demise. His mother had been a constant source of support and advice, and he knew that when she died, not only would he miss her on an emotional level, he would feel the absence of her valuable help and support since she knew almost as much as her father had about matters of animal husbandry, agriculture, and accounting. She also had a way with people that he did not have and never would. She was not just his mother—she was one of the most extraordinary people he had ever met.

Presently May’s maid came in to give her a bed bath, then Fenella and Lyall kissed her and left.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Fenella burst into tears. Lyall put his arms around her and held her for a while. “Shhh, my little sister,” he murmured. “We will miss her, but she will be with Paw and will no longer be suffering. She will be in paradise.”

Fenella nodded. “I know, Lyall, but the thought of never seeing her again…” She burst into fresh sobs. Lyall gathered her more tightly against him, feeling as if he could weep himself.

He was ready, he told himself, over and over again. He was ready, but when May breathed her last breath, he realized he was nowhere near ready, and never would be.

1

The Funeral

May Stevenson’s funeral was attended by the whole population of the village of Kinlochan, the estates surrounding it, and the tenant farmers for miles around, which was a measure of how much she was loved. She considered herself a very fortunate woman, and believed in sharing what she had with those who had much less.

The nobility looked down on her; indeed, there were those who thought her slightly soft in the head because of her charity work. They believed that God had given everyone his or her place in the world—some nobility, some peasants—and between those two a great gulf had been fixed, like that between heaven and hell.

May thought this was hypocritical in the extreme. As a student of the scriptures herself, she could quote chapter and verse from the Good Book and those brave enough to take her on soon found out that the little white-haired lady with the bright blue eyes was a force to be reckoned with.

Consequently, Lady May carried on feeding the poor, reading stories to the local children, and teaching the girls to sew. She was tireless in her efforts to improve the lives of everyday people. Her next project was a little school for the village children where they could learn how to write by the priest. They would need scrolls and ink, and desks. They could also help with chores that the priest had for them as a form of payment, learning more things in the meantime! She had everything planned, but the savagery of her illness, the scourge of consumption, had prevented her from making her dream a reality. And with her death, it would probably never become one.

Laird Lyall Stevenson was not good at being sociable, but a big funeral was expected by him. He cared nothing about the opinions of others, and would have much preferred a smaller, private affair, but he had to think of his sister. At fifteen, Fenella was of the age when young men were beginning to notice her, and although a funeral was a solemn occasion, it was also a chance for the eligible members of both sexes to meet and mingle. He had little time for this, especially while he was mourning his beloved mother, but he would do anything for Fenella, whose future stretched out before her, still full of promise.

At the graveside Lyall had maintained a stiff and solemn dignity, while Fenella had sobbed on his shoulder. He wanted to weep himself, but the family honor depended on him appearing invincible.

Now he could see that Fenella appeared to have recovered a little, and was chatting to a group of friends, laughing occasionally, albeit in a subdued manner. He hoped she would recover quickly, since she had so much to look forward to, but she had the resilience of youth and a naturally happy disposition.

He decided to have a moment to himself and bounded upstairs to the first tier of the battlements where he could stand and think uninterrupted for a while.

Unfortunately, someone had got there before him. A very beautiful young woman was standing by one of the low parts of the crenellated wall, looking out to the sea. Her hair was waist-length and wavy, and of a shade somewhere between blonde and red. At any other time he would have welcomed her company, but not now. He was about to retrace his steps but she turned and saw him.

“M'Laird," she said, curtseying. “I am so sorry for your loss. Lady Stevenson was a good woman with a big heart, and we will all miss her.”

“Thank you,” Lyall replied. He was feeling the beginning of a headache behind his eyes and was not in the mood for talking to strangers, no matter how beautiful they were.