Beloved Lies, Book 2

by Marti Talbott

  “Not all good men are handsome, you know,” Claymore reminded her.

  “I know, Mother has mentioned it often. Some of the best ones are not attractive at all. Still...” Robin started to argue.

  “Shall we make a bargain, the three of us?” asked Claymore.

  “What sort of bargain?” Blair asked.

  Claymore answered, “Tell me which you find handsome, and I shall tell you what they shall look like when they reach my age.”

  Blair grinned. “I shall be fortunate indeed to have a husband who looks half as handsome as you at your age.”

  Claymore frowned and let his glasses slip down his nose. “Flattery? I dare say I pity the man who falls in love with a woman as wise, as gracious, and as prone to flattery as you. I cannot see how such a man shall even sleep at night.” He shook his head, pushed his glasses up, and opened his newspaper to the next page.

  “Mr. Whitfield,” said Blair, “you need not shield me from the bad news.”

  Claymore furrowed his brow. “What bad news?”

  “You sit right beside me and I heard you groan. Out with it,” said Blair.

  “If you insist,” he said. “Italy used airships to drop bombs on Beirut.”

  “Zeppelins?” Robin asked.

  Claymore shook his head. “Dirigibles, these are called.”

  “Is Beirut near London?” Robin asked. She was interrupted when she saw Lucy come toward them carrying two lap covers. “He is indeed a Viscount,” Lucy whispered as she unfolded one and spread it over Robin’s legs.

  “Is he,” Blair asked. “From where?”

  “Ireland, they say, and he does not yet have a wife.” She quickly spread the second one over Blair’s lap, glanced around as if she might be in trouble for doing it, and then hurried back inside.

  “A true viscount,” Robin swooned.

  “It hardly means he has money,” said Blair. “My uncle Hannish had but a pittance left to him when he became a duke.”

  “I thought your father was the duke.”

  “‘Tis a long story.” Blair looked up just in time to see Lord Ashton Hartsford come out carrying not one, but two books.

  The viscount handed the first one to Robin and as he did, she could not help but notice the large diamond ring on his right hand middle finger. “And if that one does not suit, here is another.” He handed that one to her also, and then started to tip his hat.

  “Young man,” Claymore said. “Forgive my not standing, but have we been introduced?”

  “We have not, Mr. Whitfield. He came around to face the elder gentleman and slightly bowed. I am Lord Ashton Hartsford, at your service.”

  “How is it you know who I am,” Claymore asked.

  “I bribed a man by the name of David in the dining salon.”

  Claymore frowned. “Ah, yes, David. Would that we could do without him on this voyage.” He set his newspaper aside, stood up anyway, and introduced Lord Ashton Hartsford to Blair and Robin.

  Blair hardly looked up from her book, but Robin was all smiles and quickly stood up. She looked at Blair and then cleared her throat.

  “What?” Blair asked.

  “Are you not going to curtsy?”

  “Curtsy?” an amazed Blair asked.

  Robin took hold of her friend’s arm, and helped her up. “Did you not say you are to be presented to the king?”

  “Oh very well.” Lord Ashton Hartsford bowed to their curtsy, nodded, tipped his hat, and walked away.

  Happily finished with that chore, Claymore sat down and picked his newspaper back up. “Books is it? I wonder what they will try next,” he muttered to no one but himself.

  “Why did you not wish to curtsy,” Robin asked Blair.

  “I am an American. We gave up that formality ages ago.”

  “Frankly, I do not cherish it either, but Mother says it is a must. I suppose you shall be forgiven once they know you are an American.”

  “I am counting on it,” Blair muttered. It was then that Blair heard the jingling again and when she looked, the expression on the man’s face was stern. She watched his eyes as he looked first at Lord Ashton Hartsford, and then back at her and shook his head. It was a warning of some sort, to be sure, but why? Even though she did not fully understand, she nodded and when she did, he turned to face the water. Blair shrugged and was about to go back to her reading when Robin showed her the title of each of the books.

  “You are right, I have read them.”

  “After lunch, we must see what we can find in the library.” Robin nodded and at last, Blair was allowed to pick up the MacGreagor story where she left off the night before.

  CHAPTER 4

  MACGREAGOR GLEN

  Talking in the Great Hall while waiting for supper had become a sort of ritual for the brothers. “I hear there is fever in the Swinton village,” Donnan said when his brother entered. Though they looked very much alike, he was the taller of the two, kept his brown hair tied in the back, and was equally as fit as Cullen. To set an example, Donnan paid close attention to his warrior skills, just as all the lairds had before him.

  Windows on the bottom floor of the castle were too narrow for any but the best archer to shoot his arrows through, but it also limited the amount of sunlight coming in from outside. Several of the candles in the Great Hall needed replacing, so Donnan pulled the old ones out and put new ones in the holder. He put the old in a basket to be sent to the candle maker, melted down, and reused. Next, he took a long, narrow stick, let it catch fire in the hearth, and used it to light the candles.

  “How bad is it?” Cullen asked, taking his usual seat at the long table. Since the day their father died and Donnan took his place at the head, Cullen intentionally sat at the other end. It was as close as he ever wanted to be, he often said, to becoming laird himself.

  “Eleven are ill among the elders and wee ones so far. If only we knew how, but even the English have not yet discovered a way of preventin’ the fever.”

  “The English have not yet discovered it, because they are too busy fightin’ the French and each other.”

  “And the Scots,” Donnan reminded him. “Scotland’s king means to take back every castle captured by the English – if it kills us all. I am expectin’ another proclamation from him demandin’ more warriors any day now.”

  Cullen was more than a little concerned. “Shall you draw lots again this time?” He got up, walked to the small table, and picked up a square metal lot box. Inside, he counted seven stones, all of them dark gray save for the one that was blue. “Last time, six volunteered which saved some of the married lads.” Cullen closed the lid, set the box back in place, and returned to his chair.

  “I know of no other way. If I choose and a lad dies, I am forever hated by his family and I dinna blame them.”

  “Last time, the king required fifty from each clan and only thirty-one MacGreagors came back. Suppose he demands a hundred this time? We need all the lads we have.” Donnan did not answer and it was just as well. Both of them knew it meant death for a laird to refuse the king’s command. “This time, you must make me draw lots.”

  “I cannae. If somethin’ happens to me, you must lead the clan.”

  “I know. ‘Tis just that I feel the guilt of being passed over simply by reason of my birth.”

  “The lads understand. How goes the longbow trainin’?”

  “Some are improvin’.”

  “But not improvin’ well enough?”

  Cullen stared at the floor. “‘Tis futeball.”

  “I agree. They would much rather play than practice. Yet lettin’ them play might well cost them their lives.”

  “And so Berry has often told them. By the way, where is Berry?”

  Donnan chuckled, tossed the stick in the hearth fire, and then took his place at the head of the table. “Where else? He has gone to see if raspberries can still be had from the wild bushes.”

  “Which is why we call him Berry instead of, Coinneach, his given name.”<
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  Donnan returned his brother’s smile. “Aye.” After a time, Donnan’s smile faded. “If only we could think of a way to make archery a game.”

  “The clans used to have feasts, invite other clans, and then challenge them to horse races and archery. Why do we not do that?”

  “Because the clans are too quick to anger these days. They fight over the least little bit, and how shall it be if they lose at archery?”

  “The Kennedys are not quick to anger.”

  “True. ‘Tis a splendid idea. I shall see to invitin’ them, and when the Kennedys so easily beat us at archery, then perhaps our lads shall be shamed into practicin’.” Donnan took a sip of ale and set his empty goblet down. “Isabell is with child again.”

  “Truly? I am very pleased. Another boy this time?”

  “‘Tis my fondest wish.”

  Cullen chuckled. “Just now I am reminded. Your last ‘fondest wish’ struggles to train his pup.”

  “Does he? Jamie reminds me of you at that age, and as I recall you had the same struggle. What did Father tell you to do?”

  “He said dogs are smarter than laddies and that when the dog does right, it should be rewarded with a scrap of meat. Soon it shall remember why it is gettin’ fed, learn the words, and obey.”

  “Why is it you remember more of Father than do I?”

  “You, he made strong and wise – me he could coddle without puttin’ the future of the clan in doubt.”

  “Yet, I thought I was the fortunate one. I have long since seen the truth and confess I envy you,” Donnan said. “How I long to plant a tree instead of listenin’ to every possible complaint. Three of the lasses are forever quarrelsome, Elder Angus daily tells me of his achin’ foot, and two cows are oddly losin’ their milk – as though there is a thing I can do about it. Worse still are the lads who dinna wish to play futeball and complain that they do all the work. I tell you, ‘tis maddenin’.”

  Cullen stuck out his lower lip in a childish pout. “You are right and must be pitied, for you are forced to live in a warm castle, instead of a dark and damp cottage, in which you must build your own fire or shiver in the darkness.”

  Donnan picked up his goblet and threatened to throw it at his brother.

  “I have overstayed my welcome, I see. Very well,” Cullen said as he stood up and went to the door, “I leave you alone to enjoy your misery.”

  “Cullen, wait.”

  “What?”

  “Tell the lads I mean to invite the Kennedys and they are to challenge them on the longbow.”

  Cullen thoughtfully stared at the floor. “Shall you offer a reward?”

  Donnan considered it. “Have you a suggestion?”

  “To boast of beatin’ you would be reward enough for me.”

  “You cannae beat me, not at archery.”

  “Perhaps I practice while you are here keepin’ warm.”

  “Do you?”

  “Challenge me and find out.” Cullen laughed at the perplexed look on his brother’s face and left the room.

  WITH FOUR SMALL CHILDREN, Isabell had more than enough to do and it seemed supper was the only time she could sit in a chair for very long. For her to sit in the honored place at the right hand of her husband meant the two little ones, Hanna and Sarah, sat next to her while Kayleigh and Jamie sat on the other side of the table. Cullen normally sat with the older children. With two women to wait on them, all was ready when Donnan finally took his seat.

  At age nine, Kayleigh had a thousand questions and supper seemed the only time she could ask them. “Why does the moon not fall out of the sky?”

  Donnan was about to put a chunk of beef in his mouth, paused to consider the question, knew not the answer, and decided to eat the bite after all. He took his time chewing, thinking and then swallowing. Just as he thought of something to say and was about to answer, two-year-old Sarah lost hold of her cup of milk. It hit the corner of the table, flipped over, and dumped the milk down the front of her frock. She looked at her father with eyes as big as English coins. Her lip began to quiver, and before long, the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “‘Tis not the end of the world,” Donnan said to comfort her.

  Isabell grabbed the spill rag and started to dry the child’s frock, while one of the maids took another and cleaned the floor.

  “Father, I am waitin’,” Kayleigh demanded.

  Donnan was not impressed with her tone and glared at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  Cullen had heard it all before and rarely interfered. However, it was not unusual for him and Isabell, his sister-in-law, to exchange perceptive glances and this was one of those occasions. Kayleigh was always insistent and Donnan was forever too impatient with her.

  “You are forbidden to talk to me in that manner,” he said at length.

  “I all wet!” Sarah complained.

  “Me too,” said Hanna. The middle child, Hanna was normally the quiet one. She was looking down at the splashed milk on her skirt as well.

  Just then, the door swung open and Berry came in. He set a bowl in the middle of the table, stood back, and proudly folded his arms. “They are ripe still.”

  Cullen tried to stifle his laughter without much success. “And you have already eaten your share?” he asked.

  “I break no laws,” Berry shot back.

  “Nay, but you always forget how the juice turns your blond beard red.

  Amid the giggles of the others, Berry rolled his eyes. Embarrassed, he covered his short beard with his hand, and left.

  “Thank you,” Isabell called after him.

  “What manner?” Kayleigh asked, her eyes still locked on her father’s face.

  “You know what manner,” Donnan answered. “As to the moon, I have no notion as to why it dinna fall, but I am happy it dinna. I cannae count the times the light of the moon has helped a lad find what he needed.”

  “My knee hurts,” Hanna complained.

  “‘Tis growin’ pains,” said Isabell.

  Suddenly, Jamie’s puppy sat up and howled. Perplexed as to the reason, Jamie looked from Cullen to his father, and then to Cullen again.

  “Perhaps you should take him out,” Cullen suggested. The boy shot out of his chair, picked up the puppy and headed for the door.

  “Dinna forget to come back and finish your dinner,” Donnan shouted. On his way out, Jamie let the dining room door slam and then the foyer door, which made Donnan cringe.

  “Mother, I am still wet,” Hanna complained, even though the second maid was attempting to clean her skirt.

  “Eat and then we shall see to your clothin’,” said Isabell.

  “I’m thirsty,” Sarah cried.

  “‘Tis no wonder,” said Donnan, “you are wearin’ your milk.” He nodded for the server to pour more into her cup, and then watched as Isabell tried to help Sarah hold it.

  “I can do it,” Sarah protested.

  “Aye, just as you did before,” Donnan muttered.

  Outside, Flannagan yanked open the castle door, hurried through the foyer, and burst into the dining room. “Barrett broke his arm.”

  “Oh no,” said Cullen. He shoved another bite of stew into his mouth, and then both he and his brother followed Flannagan out.

  Isabell stared after them for a time, and then lowered her gaze. “I have not had one meal complete with my husband these three years.”

  Kayleigh put her elbow on the table and leaned her head against her open hand. “Mother, I just think all the time.”

  Isabell tried not to laugh. “‘Tis why we sleep – so we can stop thinkin’.”

  JUST WHEN HE WAS ABOUT to get his puppy to sit on command, Jamie’s drawstrings came loose and his pants started to fall down. He grabbed hold of the front, and glanced around. As usual, the only one in the family outside who could help him was his sister, Kayleigh. That meant swallowing his pride and asking in front of all the girls she liked to play dolls with.

  “Perhaps I might help.
”

  When Jamie looked up, Annella was smiling down at him. He gladly nodded while she knelt on one knee in front of him. “Are you not to be my aunt someday?”

  “Aye, someday,” she answered. She expertly adjusted his pants, tied the thin drawstrings, and then stood up. “There, that should do it.”

  Jamie wrinkled his forehead. “How did you do that?”

  She answered, “The trick is to move all the cloth to the back and then tie it.”

  “To the back?”

  “Aye.”

  Delighted, he hugged her around the legs and then off he went.

  That problem solved, Jamie was still having a terrible time claiming his laird status. Instead, everyone he tried to command laughed at him and even offering scraps of meat did not keep his puppy from sitting when he was told to fetch, and running off when Jamie commanded the dog to sit. It was a hopeless case. His Uncle Cullen’s dog always obeyed and he just couldn’t understand what the problem was.

  “Sit!” Jamie shouted. The animal looked up with big puppy dog eyes, cocked its head to one side, spotted a cat, and took off after it. Frustrated, Jamie closed his eyes and hung his head. Just then, he heard his mother calling.

  She had the disgusting habit of standing in an upstairs window when she yelled for him, and she could always see exactly where he was, which made pretending not to hear her impossible. His shoulders slumped; he folded his hands behind his back, kicked a rock, and then slowly started home.

  “MAKE HASTE!” she yelled.

  He picked up his pace, but just a little, knowing full well she would not be pleased. He was used to that, for she seldom was. As if that were not bad enough, when he walked through the outer door, his mother was standing in the middle of the inner courtyard with her hands on her hips and an angry expression on her face.

  He gathered his courage, put his hands on what little there was of his hips and returned her irritated glare. “Mother, I command you not to call me when I am training my dog.”

  Isabell stared at her son. “You command me?”

  “I do, and you are to obey.” He somehow forgot the part about her being quite some taller than he and far stronger. The next thing he knew, she had him by the arm and was marching him into the Great Hall.