“Aye,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”
“Hear that?” the woman said to the others, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Widow needs a moment. I know plenty of people who didnae get a moment when MacBrennan came for them in the night.”
Lilidh sighed softly to herself. In the last few weeks she’d heard stories like this more than once; it seemed that most people had a tale to tell of someone they knew, or a friend of a friend, who had found themselves at the terrible mercy of Mathe MacBrennan. She tried to ignore the woman and turned her attention back to the task at hand.
The second cauldron was similarly filled to the top, and Lilidh wondered if they were doing it on purpose. It was hot water boiled from the kitchens next door, and the arrangement was for the cooks to carry them halfway, to the open archway that separated the main kitchen from the washing basins, and then for Lilidh and her coworkers to haul them over to the sink. It was normally a two-person job, and difficult even at that.
Except for the days that Lilidh was assigned to the task.
On those days, for reasons that differed each week, the other women simply couldn’t help, and to make matters worse, she was sure that the kitchen staff filled the pots extra full. In only a few short weeks, Lilidh had already come to dread the cauldron days. She’d return home at night almost unable to walk, and would wake up the next morning as stiff as the wooden boards underneath her.
“Now, widow,” Cora said. She was older than the others and seemed to be some sort of matriarch of the washing basins. There were two others, little more than girls, who appeared happy for Cora to speak on their behalf. The woman was cruel and taunted Lilidh incessantly, often encouraging the others to join in.
“I have a name,” Lilidh said.
“Aye, ye do. Widow.”
Cora stared at her with a challenge in her eyes, and Lilidh breathed deeply and calmed herself. For Fynn. It was a ritual that she found herself repeating day after day, saying her son’s name like a mantra. She reminded herself that she wasn’t here to quarrel with the others. She was here to work hard and start building a new life, and after everything she’d been forced to endure, the attitude of one woman would never break her.
Lilidh dropped her eyes, and in her periphery saw Cora’s satisfied smirk. No matter. There were other things to think about, like the fact that the cauldrons wouldn’t move themselves. She sighed and crouched down to wrap her arms around the next one and was about to heave, when a voice called through the room.
“Lilidh MacBrennan, a word.”
She stood and turned to see the chamberlain walking towards her. The woman moved as she always did; briskly, and with a purpose. She paused in front of Lilidh and looked down with a frown.
“Who’s helping ye?” she asked.
Lilidh looked down. “It’s fine, really. I can manage on my own.”
Margaret’s lips drew into a thin line. “No' today, ye cannae. I need to speak to ye. Hang up yer apron and come to my study.” She turned to the others. “Ye lot can finish up here.”
The chamberlain swept out of the room, and Cora shook her head darkly. “Sounds like widow is in trouble, and I sure hope she is,” she said. “Imagine leaving us here to clean up her mess.”
Lilidh pushed away a surge of indignation at the statement; her mess, indeed. But as she hung her apron on the wall, she couldn’t suppress a small shiver of fear. It was highly unusual for the chamberlain to pull one of the girls out of work, and in most instances it was because they were in trouble. On more than one occasion Lilidh had seen grown women reduced to tears, fleeing the castle in shame after receiving a verbal lashing from Margaret. She’d kept her head down and worked hard, but perhaps she’d made a mistake without even realising it.
“It was nice knowing ye, widow,” Cora said almost happily, giving her a sarcastic wave. Lilidh looked back to the cauldrons, then back to the woman.
“Did ye no' see Margaret standing in the corner for the past ten minutes? She probably just wants to know who was rostered on to help me shift the cauldrons,” she said, before turning to walk away. As she did, she saw the brief flash of panic that crossed Cora’s face; they both knew the older woman was supposed to be helping today.
It was a small thing, a petty lie, but Lilidh still had her pride, and would take any victory she could get. After all, she hadn’t entirely forgotten the woman she used to be.
To Cora’s stricken stare, she swept out of the kitchens and hurried to catch up to the chamberlain, following her into the study. Lilidh sat and stared at Margaret across the polished table, and wondered if she would only ever feel trepidation in that room.
“How goes it?” Margaret asked.
Lilidh did her best to smile, but it felt plastered on her face. “Fine, I hope.”
The chamberlain nodded. “Aye, fine. It’s going fine from where I’m sitting, too. As a matter of fact, that’s why ye’re here. Do ye know what day it is?”
“Nay,” Lilidh said with a frown. Unless… “How long have I been here now?”
Margaret’s face creased into a smile. “One month today.”
Lilidh felt her heart beat faster. Today marked the end of her trial, and she hadn’t even realised it. The days had all seemed to blur together. “And?” she asked tremulously.
“And?” Margaret asked, her face a mask of confusion. “Why, ye come in tomorrow, like ye have every other day.”
Lilidh leaned back and smiled, and this time it was both real and genuine. “I’ve passed my trial?”
“Aye,” Margaret said. “Ye've passed yer trial. Ye're a hard worker and ye dinnae complain; two things I value highly.”
“Thank ye,” Lilidh said, and then laughed. “I thought I was in trouble.”
“No' yet. Now, tell me. How goes it in the kitchen with the others?”
Lilidh looked down with a small frown. For a moment she considered telling Margaret the truth; she was certain honesty would be another thing the chamberlain valued highly. Except that the truth wasn’t quite so simple, and getting any of the others into trouble would only make things more difficult. She knew that as hard as things already were, the last thing she needed was to give herself more problems to deal with.
“It’s fine,” Lilidh said.
“Is that so?”
“Aye. We haven’t warmed to each other yet, but I’m sure that will come in time.”
Margaret’s face left no doubt as to what she thought. “And they treat ye fairly?”
“I’m the new girl,” Lilidh said with a shrug. “They all know each other. Things will get better, I’m sure, but even if they dinnae, I’m here to work.”
Margaret leaned over the table, her face suddenly intense. “So ye have naught to tell me?”
Lilidh held her eyes for a moment, but then looked down. “Nay.”
There was silence for a moment and Margaret shifted back in her seat. “Fine,” she said. “If anything changes, ye know ye can speak to me.”
“Aye, I know, and thank ye,” Lilidh replied.
“Now,” Margaret said. “I know putting ye into this trial wasnae fair to ye, what with the uncertainty that it entailed. So I have a small gift to make up for it.”
“A gift?” Lilidh asked, her eyes widening. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given a gift.
Margaret stood and twisted behind her, then turned back with a silver tray. It was laden with cheese, small cuts of meats, and various fruits and nuts; a veritable feast of exotic food, some of which Lilidh had never seen before in her life. Margaret pushed it across the table and she pulled it before her. The smell was heavenly, and she breathed deeply.
“My thanks,” she said. “This is wonderful. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Ye're welcome. Now go on,” the chamberlain said, gesturing down to the food.
Lilidh hesitated. It was indeed wonderful, but seemed to be too much food for one person. She thought of the dinner she was going to prepare when s
he arrived home and compared it to the feast spread out before her. Fynn eating potatoes again, while she dined like a laird. She tried to reach her hand out but couldn’t; it was almost like she was physically unable to take it.
Margaret frowned. “Are ye going to eat it?”
Lilidh shook her head. “I’m sorry, chamberlain, but I cannae.”
“Ye cannae? But it’s yer gift.”
“And I’m so verra grateful. But I just cannae eat it while my son goes without.”
“I see.”
“If it’s mine, would it be possible to please have it wrapped so I can take it home for Fynn?” Lilidh asked in a small voice, wondering if she was displaying poor etiquette. She didn’t have much recent experience in the receiving of gifts.
Margaret looked at Lilidh for a good long while, and she did her best to meet the woman’s gaze. Finally, the chamberlain nodded. “Aye, of course. And because it’s a gift, and just this once, I’ll make up enough for the both of ye to share.”
Lilidh felt herself relax and thought of Fynn seeing the food, and what he would say. If it was a surprise to Lilidh, then to the boy it would be as if he had stepped into a dream. “Thank ye,” she said. “Fynn will be the happiest lad in all of Dun Lagaidh tonight.”
Margaret waved her hand. “He’ll certainly be one of the most well fed. Why dinnae ye wait for me at the front gate? I’ll get a sack made up, and ye can get home early to yer boy and fill yer stomachs.”
Lilidh nodded. “Aye, and thank ye again, chamberlain.”
“Enough of that, Lilidh MacBrennan. Ye've worked hard and earned it. And if ye continue to work hard, then ye’ll always have a place in this castle.”
Lilidh beamed at her words and felt a sudden rush of hope. She would work hard. She would carry cauldrons every day and look Cora in the eye and smile as she did so. For Fynn’s future, and for the chance at a better life, Lilidh would do it all.
Nothing would take this chance away from her.
2
Mathe MacBrennan
The sun set over the mountains to the west, shrouding the valley in shadow, and Mathe stood before the ruined farmhouse.
The surrounding sky turned dark as he stared at the remains. It was little more than rubble; a stone foundation with a few small walls remaining. There was nothing else standing.
The ground was strewn with the remains of their home; lumpen mounds of stone that had sunk into the very earth, all hard angles and covered with moss from the damp of the valley. It was clear the house had been like this for a very long time. He stepped up onto remains of the floor and scuffed the dark stains with his boots and noted similar marks on the walls. Old soot wiped away at his touch.
There had been a fire.
Mathe shivered in the cool air. It was likely that Lilidh had simply moved into Dun Lagaidh after he left, but a dark shadow of doubt gnawed at him. Had he lived in his cell and dreamt of his wife while she lay in the cold ground? He grimaced and pushed the thought away. She would surely be in town.
As he walked, Mathe became lost in the past. The original layout could be traced by the marks of the fire, showing where the walls used to stand, and he slowly moved from room to room. Each one held dear memories of time shared with Lilidh in the early days of their marriage, when they were both young and almost desperately in love.
He moved into the kitchen; where they cooked the food that they grew in the back garden. Lilidh used to have rows of carrots and potatoes, and would spend hours on her knees in the dirt, tending to them with patience. Mathe lost count of the times he would stand by the door and watch her in the afternoon light and the way it caught her hair. Even now, he could close his eyes and smell the loam of the earth and the way it clung to her when he pulled her close, kissing her cheeks and wiping the dirt from her nose.
He stepped into the main room, where they’d retired after a long day, to sit in front of the fireplace and let the heat soothe them. It was Mathe’s favourite room, and the site of his favourite pastime; slipping his wife out of her clothes, her naked body tantalisingly inviting in the light of the flames. Each night he would lay her down gently on the rug, and together they would discover new things and new passions, their love growing stronger.
But there were other memories here too, of a darker sort, and Mathe knew they were equally as important.
After he had begun to work for the old Laird McCaskill, the home had become his sanctuary. It was the place where he would come back to his wife and push away the shame and the guilt of the things he’d been forced to do. To forget the man he was turning into, and the terrible toll it was taking.
Over time, the house became too much. Every room had been the site of a battle, or of stony silence, or of the slow way they found themselves strangers once again. Mathe found more and more opportunity to sleep in the castle so he wouldn’t have to return to Lilidh’s accusations or to her silent stares. The house, once so dear to him, had become a place where he didn’t belong anymore.
It had angered Mathe at the time, but six years in a prison cell had allowed him to understand that it was a deep sense of guilt that had made him feel that way; he knew he was failing his wife, and had taken the easy way out by avoiding the problem. He had wrapped himself in his duty to the old laird, strapped his sword to his waist, and became the man he thought he needed to be.
Thinking of his sword, Mèirleach na Beatha, the Thief of Life, made Mathe uncomfortable. It had become a part of MacBrennan; the myth that he had built up around himself. He stepped down onto the rocky ground next to the house and looked at the flat earth underfoot. It was covered with short grass that showed no signs of tampering.
The sword was still there, buried six feet underground. A reminder and a lesson.
The night had grown cold, and Mathe gathered peat and moss and piled them up in the main room, lighting a meagre fire that did little to warm the cold in his bones. He wrapped himself up in his blanket and lay back on the stone floor, staring at the black sky above, and wondered what the morrow would bring.
A boot on the shoulder woke Mathe. He opened his eyes to see a man standing over him, looking down with a frown.
“Ye alright?” the man asked.
Mathe sat up, looking around. It was morning, and the sun had just crested the peaks to cast light and warmth down into the valley. The man who had nudged him stepped back and looked down warily.
“I’m fine,” Mathe said.
“Can I help ye with something?”
“Naught that concerns ye,” he replied.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I live next door, and ye’re a stranger, so ye sleeping here concerns me.”
Mathe stood, stretching his tall frame. He didn’t recognise the man. “Why is me being here any of yer business?”
“Squatting is outlawed,” he said, looking up at Mathe. “The laird willnae take kindly to knowing ye’re sleeping in houses that dinnae belong to ye.”
Mathe gestured around him. “No' much of a house, is it?”
“Dinnae matter, does it? It’s no' yers, so ye need to move along.”
“Dinnae trouble yerself,” Mathe said. “I’m no' staying.”
“So why are ye here?”
Mathe looked around, and once again felt the surge of fear at the sight of the burned and blackened ruin. He needed to know, but his mind shied away from the question. She couldn’t be dead. Could life be so cruel? Or was that exactly what Mathe MacBrennan deserved?
“I arrived last night,” he said, “and I was actually looking for the person who used to live here. Lilidh MacBrennan?”
“And who are ye?”
“Just an auld friend,” Mathe said. “I havenae seen her in close to six years now. She lived here, didnae she?”
“Aye, she did,” the man replied grudgingly.
“Any idea where she is now?” Mathe asked, feeling his hands grow clammy, almost afraid to hear the answer.
The man jerked his head back towards Dun Lagaidh. “She mo
ved into town about four or five years ago.”
Mathe almost gasped in relief at the man’s words, but kept his face neutral. “I see. Any idea where she moved to?”
He shook his head. “Nay, ye’ll need to ask around.”
Mathe nodded. “What happened here?”
“Fire. It wasnae long after I moved here, so I dinnae know the details. Ye’ll need to ask her.”
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “I suppose that means I better be on my way.”
The man nodded. “I suppose it does.”
Mathe gathered his things into his sack and hoisted it over his shoulder as the man watched him in silence. He took one more look at the ruins, scattered the cold remains of the fire with his boot, and began on his way.
The valley sloped down and to the left as it reached towards Dun Lagaidh, and Mathe followed it in the sunshine. He had to admit that it felt strange to be making this journey, so long after he had resigned himself to never seeing his home again. The path was familiar, and with anticipation he crested a small rise to look down upon the town.
It had grown, even in the last six years. The path he was on entered from the west, and there was now a stone wall marking the edge of town where no such thing existed before. The western gate was always a rather loose term, but it now looked much more formal, with an arched entrance and guards standing on either side. Beyond the wall the town itself looked much bigger, stretching towards the Dundonnell river in the south, and buildings were creeping up the hillside towards the castle itself.
It was an impressive sight, Mathe was forced to admit. The castle looked high and strong, and everything shone brightly in the morning sun.
He approached the guards at the gate and felt a note of anxiousness, wondering if they would recognise him. On the way back from London, Mathe had indulged himself on a particularly dreich night, and paid to stay at a roadside inn. His room had a silver tray that was polished to a mirror finish, and he’d spent a long time looking back at the stranger on the other side. His bulk was gone and replaced with a scrawny frame. His beard reached down to his chest; a wild tangle that covered most of his face. He was a different man altogether, with only his height remaining, but there were plenty of tall men.
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 3
