2 March, 1759
Cìosamul Castle, Isle of Barra, Scotland
EAIDSIDH RUADH POV
Late on the night of the second of March, Eairdsidh Ruadh was scanning over yet another document, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve the pain of a massive headache he had. Beside him was a cup of cold peppermint tea, made for him by Thora Fowlis in an attempt to relieve the pain, but it didn't do much for him. In the last few months, the headaches that Eairdsidh Ruadh got kept getting worse and worse, lasting for longer periods of time - this current one had been going on for three days, at least, and worsened with each passing moment. He let out a heavy sigh and set down his quill, glancing across the room at a portrait on the opposite wall.
The portrait had been painted by his mother, Ealasaid Fowlis, second wife of Hamish Fowlis, the sixth Laird of Cìosamul. It was a portrait of Eairdsidh Ruadh and his wife, Mairead, painted a few weeks after their wedding in 1704. Mairead was young and beautiful at nineteen years old, her brown hair curled at the top with a small piece hanging down. Eairdsidh Ruadh, at sixteen, was wearing his Fowlis of Barra plaid, the first Laird of Cìosamul to do so, as they had been adopted in the seventeenth century as the official dress of Scotland. He closed his eyes, the sound of the music played at the ball that was held in his honour the day he ascended to his Lairdship back in 1703, when he was fifteen years old, suddenly playing in the background…
20 December, 1703
It was a cold December day, a week after Eairsdsidh Ruadh had turned fifteen. He was congratulated on his ascension by all who came through, which included nobles of Clans MacDonald and MacNeil, nobles of highland clans, and even English redcoat captains, who had likely come to scope out the young Laird. Fools, they were - they likely thought of him as naive and easily susceptible to suggestion. "Chin up, my lad," said his mother, having noticed that he was slacking a little in his posture. "Ye are a Laird now, Eairdsidh. A Laird must always hold his head high, so as te be seen by all those around him."
"I think I do that fine on my own, a Mhàthair . Everraone's had somethin' te say aboot my hair colour," Eairdsidh Ruadh replied, thinking back to how, ever since he had been born, he had basically been called 'Red Archie' due to his hair colour.
"Here comes the Chief of Clan Fraser," said Ealasaid. "Do you recall his name?"
"Simon Fraser, Master of Lovat," said Eairdsidh Ruadh, narrowing his eyes at the snake of a man as Lord Lovat made his approach.
"My Laird, how wonderful it is fer ye to finally take on yer duties as the Laird of this grand estate," said Lord Lovat, a mischievous grin on his face as he bowed stupidly and then righted himself. "I expect you will continue to honour the agreement I had with yer father, as your… delightful… mother has?" Eairdsidh Ruadh scoffed at this oafish man.
"I'll do no such thing," Eairdsidh Ruadh replied. "My father was a fool te make such an arrangement wi' ye. Pay ye in gold so yer men dinnae kidnap my sisters and cousins and force them te wed ye? I think not." Lord Lovat's mischievous toothy grin faded, and his eyes narrowed.
"The terms of our agreement do not explicitly state such-" Lord Lovat began, but Eairdsidh cut him off.
"I dinnae care what the terms of yer agreement state. I am Laird, and I declare that our agreement has ended," Eairdsidh said to him firmly.
"You listen here, laddie. I'll not be disrespected by a bairn who still wets himself-"
"I beg yer pardon, sir, but I dinnae wet myself, I only shit my breeks everra now and then," Eairdsidh interrupted him, giving the man a cocky grin. "Come anywhere near this estate again, or set foot on an isle that ye'd share with my sister, or any female relative of mine, and I'll have yer bollocks cut off and fed te the storm kelpies. Once they've had a taste of ye, they'll not stop until they've had their fill of ye." At this, Lord Lovat's eyes widened and he gulped visibly, stepping slowly backwards away from Eairdsidh, who was amused by striking fear into the heart of the vile man.
"Ye… Ye'll come te regret threatening me like this, ye wee brat," said Lord Lovat, turning to leave and hurrying away as quickly as he could without it being noticeable. Eairdsidh chuckled to himself, then turned to meet his mother's eye. He'd expected her to be upset, but she seemed pleased.
"Good on ye, my lad. I have hated having that vile creature threatening my daughter," she said to him. The remainder of the night was uneventful, until the second son of the chief of Clan MacNeil came to greet the new Laird of Cìosamul with his betrothed by his side. Mairead Fionnuala MacLeod was a woman whose beauty was known by all of the lads in the isles, and every single one of them wanted to be the lucky man to wed her. Rumour had it that she was a selkie who had had her seal skin stolen by the man she lived with, which was often explained by the fact that she had the dark hair and brilliant gaze of a selkie. In reality, the man she lived with was her uncle, as her mother had died in childbirth and her father had killed himself in his grief, and she was said to be as spoiled as an only child of a highborn man could be. Her uncle, Angus MacLeod, was one of the wealthiest merchants in the isles, living in South Uist but owning ships that held their home ports in Stornoway, on Skye, in Oban, and more - this made marriage to his niece very desirable. But Angus MacLeod was said to be very protective of his niece and had chased away many suitors. How Neil MacNeil, son of Roderick MacNeil, managed to appease the man enough to be allowed to wed his niece escaped Eairdsidh, as he was known to be trouble.
"My Laird," said Neil MacNeil, bowing down to Eairdsidh. He was close to thirty, but looked much older, while Mairead was young and beautiful beside that auld froggish man. "It is a great pleasure te have ye finally ascend te yer title."
"Aye, it's good te be Laird," Eairdsidh agreed, meeting the eyes of Mairead, who curtsied to him. "Mistress, I… was pleased te hear of yer engagement. I wish ye nothin' but happiness."
"Thank ye, My Laird," said Mairead, glancing away from him.
"Come, my darling," said MacNeil, leading Mairead away, but she glanced back at Eairdsidh over her shoulder before looking away.
"Best ye be careful, my lad," Ealasaid said suddenly to Eairdsidh. "We'll find ye a wife that isnae engaged te another."
"I dinnae ken what ye speak of, a Mhàthair ," Eairdsidh replied. After hours of socialising, dancing with women he didn't really want to dance with, and listening to his mother try and arrange the marriages of her children, Eairdsidh stepped outside for a bit of fresh air. He rather liked going up to the battlements, where the air was clear and where he had an excellent view of his new domain. It was big and intimidating - could he handle being the Laird of all of this?
"Oh! Forgive me, My Laird, I didnae ken ye were here," said a voice behind him, and Eairdsidh turned to find Mairead MacLeod standing behind him, her cheeks flushing pink beneath the moonlight.
"No, please! Stay," Eairdsidh called after her, stopping her, and she remained where she stood. "Er… Join me?"
"My… my betrothed willnae be pleased," Mairead told him, but it was very clear that she wanted to stay.
"Frankly, I dinnae care what Neil MacNeil has te think," Eairdsidh replied.
"Ye should as Laird. He is the second son of the chief of Clan MacNeil, and they've been lookin' fer any excuse te reclaim Barra," Mairead warned him, but Eairdsidh scoffed.
"Let them try," Eairdsidh replied, offering a hand to her. "Come, I want te show ye somethin'." Hesitantly, Mairead took his hand, then stepped up to the side of the battlements looking out over the sea. "Look up. Do ye see the stars?"
"Aye," Mairead replied as Eairdsidh pointed to a specific set of stars.
"That is the constellation of Auriga," Eairdsidh explained. "He's also kent as Myrtilus, son of Hermes and a charioteer. He raced te win the heart of Hippodamia, but his chariot crashed and he died, so his father put him in the sky, never te be forgotten. They say tha' Hippodamia spoke te him everra night of the love she held fer him."
"Tha's verra sweet," said Mairead. "I dinnae remember hearin' of Myrtilus."
"One of the Greek lovers," Eairdsidh replied, exaggerating a little to impress this beautiful woman. She turned her head to look at him, but he directed her attention back to the sky.
"No, no, keep lookin'," Eairdsidh replied, expecting the show to begin at any moment. As if on cue, magical lights of green, yellow, and purple began to dance in the sky, and Mairead gasped, covering her mouth as she watched the streams of light dance in the sky.
"It's like magic! How did ye…" Mairead began.
"Oh, not me!" Eairdsidh replied. "It is one of the many gifts God has given us. Ye can often see them verra late at night this time of year."
"It's so verra beautiful," Mairead said, subconsciously leaning in closer to Eairdsidh.
"Aye, like someone else I ken," Eairdsidh replied, and Mairead turned her head to look at him.
"Ye… Ye dinnae ken me… Ye've only just met me," she said to him.
"Aye, but Romeo did fall fer Juliet when he first laid eyes on her, did he no'?" Eairdsidh asked her, and Mairead fell silent.
"Aye… He did… As Juliet fell fer him," she replied quietly, her bonny green eyes meeting Eairdsidh's silvery ones…
Present Day
Eairdsidh opened his eyes again, now aged many years from the night he met Mairead MacLeod. He spent many a day writing to her, trying to convince her not to marry Neil MacNeil, and had also visited many times. A few months later, Mairead finally agreed to call off her engagement to MacNeil, and Eairdsidh and Mairead eloped on Benbecula before returning to Barra. Eairdsidh chuckled to himself when he remembered how angry his mother had been at him, how she had to come up with an arrangement with Angus MacLeod to prevent him from killing Eairdsidh that included having an official wedding and them not consummating their marriage until Eairdsidh turned eighteen. Of course, no one could keep Eairdsidh away from Mairead, and the first of his children, Maisie, had been born the following spring.
"I miss ye, mo ghràidh ," Eairdsidh said to himself as he admired the portrait of himself and Mairead.
"Ye'll see me soon, mo chridhe …"
Alarmed, Eairdsidh turned rapidly, having thought he heard Mairead's voice behind him, but there was no one there. "Christ… I need te sleep…" Eairdsidh said to himself, rubbing his temples. Setting aside his work for the night, Eairdsidh returned to his bedchamber, cold and empty since Mairead had died only nine years before. Every night, he laid out her shift on the bed beside him, running his fingers along its length as if to conjure up his lost wife, but the shift always remained flat and cold. Eairdsidh let out a soft sigh, then took a swig of the laudanum at his bedside table for his headache before turning in.
3 March, 1759
CAILEAN POV
"Caoimhe, what have I told ye aboot settin' pranks on Captain Reynolds?" Cailean snapped at his daughter after hearing she had somehow unleashed a seagull into the Captain's quarters. "More importantly, how did ye get a bloody bird in there?"
"I believe what is more important is a fitting punishment," said Captain Reynolds, his powdered wig askew on his head after being harassed by the seagull for an hour until he had finally coaxed it out of the window.
"I'll see fit how te punish my daughter, thanks," Cailean replied, glancing briefly at his grandsire, who sat at his desk with his head in his hands. "Grandsire, are ye well?"
"This incessant screechin' is worsenin' my pain," Grandsire told them. "If ye dinnae mind, take yer quarrel out of my study."
"Will you not encourage your grandson to punish his brat accordingly?" Captain Reynolds demanded from Eairdsidh Ruadh.
"Ye heard him, take yer quarrel outside," Cailean spat at Reynolds. "We'll talk more later. As fer you , Caoimhe, yer te go te the nursery and wait fer me. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Da," said Caoimhe awkwardly. She was only eleven years old, but her pranks were somehow more sophisticated than Cailean could imagine even at his ripe old age of thirty-six. Caoimhe politely left the study, sticking her tongue out at Captain Reynolds as she passed him
"Why, you little brat!" Captain Reynolds hissed at her.
" Enough , Captain. I beg of ye!" Eairdsidh Ruadh snapped, standing up from his desk, but nearly collapsing as soon as he stood. "If neither of ye mind… I think… I think I'll go and… have a lie down…"
"Grandsire?" Cailean said to him, approaching him and grasping the older man's arm to support him. "Grandsire, are ye sure yer well? Should I send fer Thora?"
"I am fine , lad. I dinnae need ye… flushin'… onto… merp…" Eairdsidh Ruadh suddenly said, seeming to lose his ability to speak comprehensively.
"Grandsire!" Cailean cried as he caught his grandfather before he collapsed, lowering him onto the floor. "Reynolds, fetch Thora! Quickly!" Reynolds, standing there with his eyes wide as he watched Eairdsidh Ruadh, the powerful Laird of Cìosamul suddenly struggle with something as simple as everyday speech, took a moment before he did as he was told - rather slowly, actually. "Damned bastard!" Cailean called after him. "Ye'll be all right, Grandsire. Ye'll be all right!" Eairdsidh Ruadh was no longer speaking, but instead lay with his head in Cailean's lap, one side of his face seemingly drooping while the other was scrunched up in agony.
It took Cailean, Ronald and Alasdair to carry Eairdsidh Ruadh back to his bedchamber, laying him down on the bed right as Thora arrived, along with young Caitlin. Repeating something she had once seen Catrìona do, she held up a candle to Eairdsidh Ruadh's silvery eyes, finding one pupil completely enlarged and not reactive. "One pupil is blown… I believe it's an apoplexy," Thora explained to them.
"Christ," Cailean uttered quietly, standing back and leaning against the wall for support. A stroke, or an aneurysm. "Is… Is there anythin' ye can do fer him?"
"The best I can do is a burr hole, Cailean, but… I dinnae ken if that would be wise," Thora told him.
"Why not?" Alasdair demanded from her. "Are ye not the healer? Heal my uncle, damn it!"
"There's nothin' ye can do fer an apoplexy, lad," Ronald chimed in, a sad tone to his voice. "My own father died of it when I was a lad. He was confined te his bed fer years, forced te thrive in his own filth before sweet death claimed him. The Laird doesnae deserve such an end te his grand life."
"No… No, he doesnae," Cailean muttered quietly, bending down beside Eairdsidh and pressing his forehead against the aging man's. Eairdsidh Ruadh was no longer responsive, his eyes closed as he lay in bed seemingly lifeless despite the occasional rise and fall of his chest. "Rest now, a Sheanair. Ye dinnae have te hold on… I'll take care of the clan, I swear I will…"
"Is he dead?" came the voice of Captain Reynolds, and Cailean turned on him with a harsh glare.
" No , he isnae. Not yet, and I'll thank ye te leave us te say our goodbyes te my grandsire," Cailean hissed at him.
"Have ye no decency, man?" Alasdair demanded from Reynolds, who seemed to scoff and smirk.
"England has been waiting for this old geezer to die ever since the '15," Reynolds replied smugly.
"Well, ye'll have te wait a wee bit longer," Cailean told him calmly, standing up. "And then it'll be me ye have te deal with. From this day forward, I am the Laird of this estate."
"Oh, I do not think so, Mr. Fowlis," said Reynolds. " You are still a prisoner of the Crown, not yet pardoned."
"Then we'll get him pardoned," Alasdair spat at him. "Then ye'll be free te leave, never te bother us again."
"We'll see about that," said Reynolds. "Tell the old man to hurry it up." With that said, he disappeared from the room, leaving Cailean's fists clenched and aching to break that malicious bastard's nose.
"Dinnae waste yer time, lad," Alasdair said to him. "He'll get his dues. Fer now, yer Grandsire needs ye."
"Aye," Cailean replied, sitting back down on the bed beside his grandfather's limp form and grasping his hand. It was still faintly warm, but weak, and growing colder by the minute.
"What's goin' on?" came Brèagha's voice from the doorframe, poking her head in. "Grandsire?"
"Come in, a leannan ," Cailean said to her, beckoning her to enter the room. As she approached, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, tears starting to threaten her eyes.
"Grandsire… Is he…" Brèagha said, but Cailean shook his head.
"No, not yet," Cailean replied. "Come and sit by him, he can still hear ye." Brèagha did as she was told, going to Eairdsidh Ruadh's other side by crawling over the shift that lay in the bed beside him and taking his other hand.
"I'm here, Grandsire. It's Brèagha. I'm here fer me and fer Archie," she said tearfully.
"Archie will be devastated," Ronald said suddenly.
"Aye… That isnae a letter I look forward te writin'," said Cailean with a soft sigh. For several hours, the three men, Brèagha and Thora all stood or sat around Eairdsidh Ruadh, talking to him and telling stories about him and his youth. Ronald related the story of how, when he was a lad, Eairdsidh Ruadh stole the bride of Neil MacNeil, and Alasdair chuckled along, having heard of that story from his own father.
"He's the last of his siblings," Alasdair said suddenly. "His sister, Sorcha died in '43, and my father died when I was a lad."
"Have ye not seen Archie? I swear, the lad is the spit of him," Ronald chimed in. "He'll live on forever through that lad."
"Aye, ye will, willnae ye, Grandsire?" Cailean said to Eairdsidh Ruadh, squeezing his hand, but finding it to be limper than it had been before; his smile faded. "Grandsire?" Thora went to his side and felt for a pulse in his neck, then looked up at the Fowlises and shook her head.
"He's gone," she said quietly, and Brèagha's lip began to tremble.
"He… He's gone?" Brèagha asked, looking down at her great grandfather's body.
"Oh, lass," Cailean said, embracing his niece over the body as she cried into his shoulder. "No tears now, lass… He wouldnae want that. He's with yer grandmother now."
"Aye, his soulmate if I've ever seen one," said Ronald, giving Alasdair's shoulder a comforting squeeze.
"He's not been the same since Auntie Mairead died… He'll be at peace now, with her by his side," said Alasdair quietly.
A week had passed since the death of the seventh Laird of Cìosamul, and when news reached the other isles, mourners came from all over to say their final goodbyes to Eairdsidh Ruadh Fowlis. The eulogy was given by Alasdair, who recounted the many stories of his youth that Eairdsidh Ruadh had told him over the years, and when he was finished, his body was carried to the cemetery and buried beside that of Mairead. 'Together for all of eternity' said their conjoined headstone. Cailean bent his head as he read the newly carved headstone:
Here layeth the earthly forms of MAIREAD MACLEOD FOWLIS, 1685 - 1750, and EAIRDSIDH RUADH FOWLIS, 7TH LAIRD OF CÌOSAMUL, 1688 - 1759. Together for all of eternity.
Cailean had to wipe a tear from his eye, then wrapped one arm around his son, who was standing beside him. "It's up te us, now, laddie. The fate of the clan lies in our hands. Are ye up fer the challenge?" Cailean asked his son, who looked up at him with his mother's bonny green eyes. Cillian nodded meekly before looking back at the grave of his great grandsire.
"Aye, Da," he said. "I am."
"Tha's a good lad," said Cailean. "Come, we'll return te the castle now, before we freeze te death." Once they had returned to the castle, Cailean made his way to the Laird's study, the place where Eairdsidh Ruadh spent his final conscious moments. It dawned on Cailean suddenly that he was the Laird now, and this was no longer his grandsire's study, it was his . It was strange to him to suddenly have this responsibility. When he first met his grandsire some twelve years before, it seemed like an eternity before Cailean would take over as Laird, but those twelve years had gone by in the blink of an eye. His grandsire was gone - Saoirse was gone - and Cailean was left all on his own as the new Laird of Cìosamul. Could he even handle all of that responsibility? Would he ever get used to suddenly being addressed as 'My Laird', as he had already heard several times since the passing of his grandsire?
"Ahem," came a voice, and Cailean turned to find Captain Reynolds standing in the doorframe, a smug look on his face. "Men, you shall move my things into here."
"What do ye think yer doin', Reynolds?" Cailean asked him.
"A prisoner cannot be the Lord of this estate. Seeing as how your grandsire named you his heir, your ascension is inevitable, but not until you are pardoned," Reynolds told him. "Until that day, I will be taking over as the Lord of this estate."
"Like hell ye are. I'll give the oath right this moment," Cailean said to him.
"I am afraid that is not possible," said Reynolds. "You see, in order to be pardoned, you must sign an official documented pardon sent from the court of King George II himself, and it has not come yet. Your grandsire seems to have sent for it, but there has been a… roadblock, if you will."
"I'll bet there has," Cailean said, narrowing his eyes at the man.
"When the pardon arrives, you can give your oath, sign it, and take on your duties as the Lord of this estate, but until that happens, you are at my mercy, Mr. Fowlis," Reynolds told him, stepping aside and gesturing at the door. "You are dismissed ."
"Ye'll regret this," Cailean told him in a threatening tone.
"I have the power to send you back to prison, Mr. Fowlis. Best you watch your tongue," Reynolds warned him, gesturing for Cailean to leave the study again. Glaring at him, Cailean made his way out of the study. Watch his tongue, aye? Oh, Reynolds would pay for this slight on his family. Now, how did Caoimhe manage to get that seagull into his quarters?
The terror on Captain Reynolds began almost immediately. The first of many pranks was performed by Caoimhe at the guidance of her father, glad to team up with him. She had gone down to the laundry and asked about Captain Reynolds's clothes, then instructed to carefully rub wild parsley throughout his shirt, breeks and coat. At breakfast the following morning, Captain Reynolds's face, neck and hands had broken out in a red blistering rash, and he glared at Cailean from across the room. Cailean caught his gaze and raised his goblet of wine. " Slàinte mhath, Captain. Yer lookin' a wee bit… blistery. Should I send fer Mrs. Fowlis?" Cailean asked him.
"I have my own physician, thank you," Captain Reynolds spat at him, seemingly trying to ignore what had been done to him. Next, Cailean had arranged for a bucket of water to fall on his head as he entered the study, followed by a bucket of dried sand. To do so, Cailean had scaled the walls of the castle and entered the study through the window, setting up the apparatus for the water bucket to fall when the door was opened, and the sand bucket to fall when the door was moved any further. When Cailean was summoned to the study, he had to refrain from laughing as he saw Captain Reynolds's sandy appearance. "Punish your daughter appropriately," Reynolds warned him.
"This seems a wee bit too advanced fer my daughter's expertise," Cailean said to him. "Though whoever is responsible is verra clever."
"Indeed. Too clever," Reynolds told him in a warning tone. Cailean waited a week before initiating the next prank, and it involved catching seagulls and storing them in a disused room. They were in cages, waiting to be released by Caoimhe, Cailean and even Calum, who had agreed to join in on the pranking, and when the Captain was on the main isle conducting business, the seagulls were released into both the Captain's quarters and the study. The windows were left open to make it appear as if the seagulls had come in on their own. Captain Reynolds was, rightfully so, furious, and threatened to tear up Cailean's pardon as soon as it arrived if the incessant pranking didn't stop.
"Forgive me, Captain, but did ye no' leave yer windows open?" Cailean asked him, avoiding dried puddles of bird shit all over the floor and desk of the study. "There are many seagulls aboot. If ye leave yer window open wide enough, yer bound te get a few seagulls comin' in." The next prank, three weeks later to throw off Reynolds, was one Cailean was glad to teach his children. He had found a wooden box and arranged a spring-loaded bowl full of flour to launch out at the victim when opened. Late on the night the package was delivered to the Captain, Cailean answered the knock at his door, visibly snorting out loud at Captain Reynolds's very white and dusty appearance.
"A word, Mr. Fowlis?" Reynolds asked him through gritted teeth.
"What, did ye lose a fight wi' a bag of flour?" Cailean asked him with amusement, masking his knowledge of the box.
"I do not appreciate these childish antics, Mr. Fowlis," Reynolds said to him sharply.
"I dinnae ken what yer talkin' aboot, man," Cailean said to him.
"No? So you have no knowledge of the box that arrived at my desk? The box that fired a cloud of flour at me the moment I opened it?" Captain Reynolds demanded of him.
"A box fired flour at ye?" Cailean asked him, feigning ignorance. "I must say, Captain, tha's verra clever, but ye cannae blame me fer yer sergeants' pranks."
"My sergeants have respect for me. You do not ," Reynolds spat at him.
"Aye, that is verra true, but ye cannae demand respect if ye dinnae give it," Cailean replied cheekily. "I must say, this is a verra good look fer ye. Have the English army considered changin' from scarlet red te white?"
"There will not be another prank," Reynolds growled at him through gritted teeth, turning and stalking away.
"Tha's what you think," Cailean muttered under his breath, plotting a series of small pranks involving insects, snakes, more flour, and a grotesque mask hidden around the castle to frighten Captain Reynolds. The man had come to check every door and drawer carefully, to inspect his clothes and his mail daily, and have a sergeant peek around corners for him. The man had become incredibly paranoid, so when Cailean stopped physically pranking him for a few months, the long term prank of making him paranoid was just as amusing.
The final straw for Captain Reynolds occurred several months later. It was now nearly the end of summer, and Cailean still had not seen the pardon that was supposed to allow him to ascend to his title as the Laird of Cìosamul. Cailean and Caoimhe had carefully crafted a candle laced with gunpowder, so that when the candle was burned and reached a certain level, it would explode. The explosion wouldn't be very large, as Cailean wanted to ensure that the Captain wouldn't be harmed, but just scared shitless by the alarm. It was early evening when Cailean heard the sound of the explosion, which sounded like a small gunshot. It was followed by an alarmed screech, and Cailean forced himself to get all of his childish giggles out before Captain Reynolds stormed into the library, where Cailean was admiring a painting Brèagha had just finished.
"I have had enough of these incessant pranks!" Captain Reynolds shouted at him. "Want your pardon? Fine ! I have had it for months now and if giving you that damn pardon will stop this childish behaviour, then so be it!" Reynolds shouted at him, and Cailean raised an eyebrow inquisitively at him.
"…all right," Cailean replied. His official pardon was witnessed by Captain Reynolds and his corporal, and Cailean gave the oath swearing his allegiance to King George II.
"And there you are, Lord Fowlis," Reynolds spat at him. "I do hope these ridiculous pranks will cease!"
"Well, I certainly dinnae ken what pranks ye speak of, but I'm sure they will," Cailean replied cheekily. "Will you remain with us long here at Cìosamul, Captain Reynolds?"
"Not a chance," Reynolds spat back. "We will be departing as soon as we are able. I do not wish to spend another moment in your atrocious company."
"Tha's a shame, I've rather enjoyed yers," Cailean said to him, earning a glare from Reynolds. Reynolds left within the week, as did the rest of the English army that had been stationed on Barra since Culloden and the end of the uprising. Finally settling into his new seat in the Laird's study, Cailean flattened his palms on the desk, glancing up at the portrait of the young Eairdsidh Ruadh and his new bride, smiling at the serious face of his grandsire - the man was certainly not that serious. "I'll make ye proud, Grandsire. I swear I will…"
