On a Highland Shore Read Free

blue sky. On the shingle below, the water slid onto the rocks, then retreated with a soft hiss. And at her side her best friend Fiona leaned forward, arms wrapped around her knees, looking out to sea.
    The peace would not last. Soon her sister Nell would arrive, bringing their four younger brothers—and chaos—with her. There was no escaping it; their mother, who had already borne ten children and was now heavy with the eleventh, expected Margaret, the eldest of the seven who had survived, to bear a sizable portion of the child-watching duties. Most of Margaret’s days were filled with caring for her younger siblings. Nell, at twelve, was a help, but the boys, aged four to ten, were always into something, and it took most of Margaret and Nell’s attention just to keep them safe. She’d hurried on ahead of them to have these few quiet moments with Fiona, leaving Nell to watch the boys linger over every interesting rock, which they would then climb or examine. Or throw.
    This might, she realized, be the only calm moment she would have before her wedding, certainly one of the only times she and Fiona would have a chance to talk alone before she left. Next month she would marry Lachlan Ross, and her life would change forever. She’d leave Somerstrath, and her old self behind as well. No longer would she be one more of Somerstrath’s children; she’d be the wife of a cousin of the king, the wife of a wealthy and handsome man.
    She’d been a babe in arms and Lachlan just a few years older when their fathers made the marriage contract allying the Rosses and MacDonalds yet again. The betrothal was as much a part of her as the color of her hair, and as unchangeable: the contract could not be undone except by the king. Which was as well, for she was eager to marry, anxious to leave childhood and this small stronghold on the western shore. And eager to discover what life as a married woman might mean. Lachlan had always been pleasant to her, but recently she’d seen the gleam in his eyes when he looked at her. She knew he found her pleasing, which pleased her as well. She slanted a look at Fiona.
    “I canna believe I’ll be gone soon,” she said. “Three weeks is all that’s left.”
    Fiona tossed her light brown hair over her shoulder. “Lucky ye, marrying and leaving all of us behind. Ye’ll have yer own household full of servants, never lift a finger again. And ye’ll go to court and make new friends and replace me in a fortnight. D’ye ken how fortunate ye are?”
    Margaret looked at her in surprise. There was a note of envy in Fiona’s voice she’d never heard before. She felt a twinge of guilt. Life must seem very unfair to Fiona, whose father was a weaver, respected, but far from wealthy. Margaret’s father was the laird of the clan, a landowner, a rich and prominent man in western Scotland, her mother the sister of William, the Earl of Ross. Fiona had never been farther from her home than the next clan and, if her father had any say in it, would soon marry one of the Somerstrath villagers and spend the rest of her life within a stone’s throw of her birthplace. Margaret had already been to King Alexander III’s court twice, and would soon live there, at the center of everything. She’d been taught sums and could read and write in Latin, French, and Gaelic. Fiona could count on her fingers, but never learned to read or write. For most of their lives these differences had never mattered, but now her life and Fiona’s would diverge sharply, never again to merge.
    “I do ken how fortunate I am,” she said quietly. “And I’ll miss ye. Ye could never be replaced.”
    Fiona said with a wry smile. “Thank ye for that.”
    “I wish ye could come with me.” Margaret leaned forward, wondering why she’d not thought of it before. “Perhaps ye could, Fi! I’ll have no one with me from here.”
    “What would I be, yer lady’s maid, help ye dress?” Fiona’s tone was brittle.
    “Ye could be my