“Good night, my prince,” she murmured, then stood with a soft groan, pulling the dining chair across the room to the fireplace and sitting down. The flames were low, and she considered letting it burn down to save wood, but the heat would be good after another day of heavy lifting.
With a sigh, she picked up a log and placed it in the fireplace, noting how scant her supply was looking, and wondering if life could ever be more than a constant state of mild panic at the idea of spending money on food, heat and the things needed to simply survive. Her back ached, and she shifted and squirmed in her chair to find a comfortable position. It was useless; she hurt all over. Her stomach groaned loudly in hunger, but she did her best to ignore it. Half a meal wouldn’t kill her, and she'd feasted like a Queen the night before, so she wasn’t liable to waste away any time soon. She glanced across to Fynn’s sleeping form, his breath rising and falling steadily, a peaceful look on his small face. No, half a meal certainly wouldn’t kill her, and would benefit him far more.
Lilidh turned back to the fire and reached her hands out. Her fingers were red raw and curled, and she looked down at them with a frown. They were an older woman’s hands, not hers; lined and creased, with rough skin and chipped nails. She straightened them and they resisted at first, almost stuck in their unnatural position, before they slowly uncurled. Sharp pain stabbed through the top of her hands as she opened and closed them against the heat of the fire. One month of scrubbing pots and it felt like her body had aged ten years. Maybe in another month she would have skin as stretched and taut as old leather.
For a long time, Lilidh simply stared into the flames and let the heat of the fire soothe her aching body. Her thoughts drifted to Fynn’s words, and to the man who spoke to him.
Duine; the mysterious stranger.
Lilidh didn’t know who it could be, or what they would want with her. After all, to the men of the town, she would always be the widow of MacBrennan. For half of them, her late husband was a hero of sorts, the hardest man amongst hard men. To the others, Mathe was a monster of a kind best forgotten. But to both groups, each for their own reasons, Lilidh was not a woman to be dallying with. And why would they? There were plenty of eligible young women in the town that didn’t come with the history or the risk of the widow MacBrennan.
She supposed she would find out in the morning, if the man’s claims about returning were true. Lilidh ignored the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of seeing him for herself. At the table, when Fynn had first told her, the most ridiculous thought had entered her mind. Her husband used to be tall, and in fact that was his defining feature, together with his green eyes. But he was also broad, beardless, and far from bony.
And, of course, he was six years dead.
So that ruled him out, but the mystery remained. Who was this man who claimed to have known her?
Lilidh rarely allowed herself to think such thoughts, but for one moment, she wondered what life could be like if things were different; if a mysterious stranger knocked on her door to sweep her away to a place where she never needed to scrub pots or swallow the insults of small-minded women. To live in a real house, and have real friends, and a future that wasn’t held back by the ghosts of the past.
Lilidh knew such thoughts were at best useless, and at worst harmful, and yet she felt them all the same.
She often told Fynn that she didn’t need any man in her life apart from her son, and sometimes she even believed it. But tonight, thinking on the mysterious stranger, Lilidh felt suddenly, desperately lonely. She longed to have someone wrap their arms around her and pull her close. To see her and hear her, to lend her a shoulder to cry on, and to look at Lilidh as a woman in her own right and not just the widow of Mathe MacBrennan.
Lilidh felt the tears slip down her cheeks and felt too exhausted to even blink them away. At that point, she would have been happy just to have a friend, let alone a man. She was doing her best, trying so hard, but unable to find either.
Once again she looked over at Fynn and knew that despite her circumstances, she would keep going. She would bury her feelings and get on with things, and walk up to the castle every day until her body finally gave out. After all, what choice did she have? Fynn needed her, and she needed him just as much, and dreaming of tall strangers would not bring her anything but pain.
But why, oh why, did life have to be so hard?
4
Mathe MacBrennan
The morning was crisp and cold, and the air felt like it would shatter at any moment.
Mathe breathed out and stuffed his hands further down into his pockets as he stood at the edge of the cruck shacks. The mud had frozen overnight into strange shapes; shards of ice bent into angles and points. A fine layer of snow dusted the world. Next to Lilidh’s house, the old neighbour sat once again on his porch, staring out into nothing.
A thin plume of smoke rose from the chimney above Lilidh’s house, telling a tale of warmth and light and the starting of a new day. Mathe once again rehearsed the words in his head; all the things he’d wanted to say while locked in a cell and facing a certain death in the darkness. His dreams always had happy endings, as they needed to; they were more than just idle thoughts. They were the hope that kept him alive, day after day.
But happy endings seldom took place in the real world.
He was putting it off, he knew, and Mathe was never one for putting things off. He took one last breath, long and deep, to calm the restless thud of his heart, and stepped onto the wooden planks that were stuck firm in the frozen mud. It was certainly easier going than it had been the day before, although Fynn wouldn’t be plucking any stones out this morning. Mathe didn’t allow himself time to pause and think, but simply stepped up onto the porch and knocked firmly on the thin wooden door. It rattled under his knuckles.
Silence, then footsteps approaching from inside. A clink of iron and a sharp click. Mathe looked down as the handle twisted slowly, and he found his heart was hammering again.
The door opened partway, and Lilidh peered around it. At the first sight of her, Mathe’s knees nearly buckled, and he put his hand on the doorframe for support. He could only see half her face, but the part he saw was so exquisitely perfect, so familiar, so right.
It was his wife, and Mathe was home.
Lilidh stared back at him, looking hard into his face, and Mathe could read the emotions that passed across it. At first her eyes were curious, but without recognition. And then they slowly widened, and the door opened further, and Lilidh staggered backwards like she'd been dealt a blow, a low cry building from her lips.
“Lilidh,” Mathe said, stepping forward.
And then she drew her arm back and slapped him.
It was a mighty blow that caught him off guard, and Mathe stumbled back out of the door and onto the porch. His wife seemed to hold deceptive strength in her arms, and he reached out desperately to grasp a wooden post before he found himself in the mud. The side of his face stung in the cold and there was a ringing in his ears that slowly subsided. He shook his head and found his balance, rubbing his face with one hand.
It was funny how in his dreams, where he imagined how things would play out, Lilidh had never slapped him like that. She stepped into the open doorway and stabbed a finger at him like it was a knife.
“Ye,” she hissed. “Ye're alive.”
Mathe continued to rub his cheek gingerly. “Aye, I’m alive, Lilidh MacBrennan.”
Even as he spoke, he couldn’t help but stare at his wife. She was furious; her eyes sparkled with anger and her teeth were bared. Yet he was drawn to her all the same, lost in the manifestation of six years of longing. She was more frail than he remembered. Her cheeks were more prominent and her skin was white when it used to be darker from the sun. Lines creased the corners of her eyes. The hand that pointed at him was red and wiry, with blue veins visible through the skin, and spoke to him of hard labour.
Rather than take away from her beauty, Mathe thought that the
changes in her only pronounced it. She was always beautiful in her youth, but it had come with a robustness that had been stripped away in the intervening years. Now, her beauty was strangely vulnerable, almost fragile, and filled him with a protective need.
“I cannae believe it,” she said.
“Believe it. I’m here, and I’m back.”
“Oh, nay ye’re no',” Lilidh said, shaking her head. “Ye cannae be. Ye're dead.”
“No' yet,” Mathe said. “I’ve returned to make amends.”
“Ye've what” She asked incredulously. “Amends?”
“Aye,” Mathe said. “I haven’t done right by ye, and I know that. I’m here to tell ye how sorry I am.”
Lilidh laughed, but there was no humour in it. In fact, Mathe thought he detected a note of hysteria. “Oh, great!” she said, clapping her hands. “Mathe has returned to say he’s sorry.” She gestured around her. “That will make everything better, I’m sure.”
Mathe frowned. “Well nay, it -”
“Nay, Mathe, it willnae,” Lilidh agreed, interrupting him. “It willnae give me my house back. It willnae give me my life back. And it willnae erase the last six years of hell that I’ve gone through.”
“What do ye mean?”
Lilidh’s eyes narrowed. “What I mean, Mathe, is that ye ruined my life. Look around ye. Do ye think I enjoy living in this house? Only I wouldnae be here at all if someone hadnae burned down the farmhouse to get some sort of revenge on ye. My family’s house. My house. Do ye think I enjoy being shunned by the town? I wouldnae be, if I wasnae the widow MacBrennan. That’s my name, by the way.”
“I couldnae help being away for so long,” Mathe said, raking his fingers through his hair. “I didnae mean to.”
“Are ye listening to a word I’m saying, Mathe? It was bad enough that ye disappeared, but by then the damage was already done. The problem wasnae that ye left me, although that was bad enough. The real problem was that ye are ye.”
“I’ve changed,” Mathe said, knowing how hollow the words sounded in his ear. How ineffectual in the face of Lilidh’s suffering.
“I dinnae care,” she said. “Ye could have returned as a laird, and I still wouldnae care.”
“Lilidh, I know I’ve done wrong by ye. Believe me, I’ve had lots of time to think on how I let ye down. And ye’re right; I was a bad person. I know that, and I want to make amends.”
Lilidh shook her head. “Nay, Mathe. Ye need to leave. I’ve finally turned a corner, and things are looking better for the first time since ye left. I have a job in the castle, and I have a chance to build something for myself. I willnae allow ye to risk that.”
“I can help ye build whatever ye need.”
“What I need, is for ye to turn around, walk out of Dun Lagaidh, and never return.”
Mathe shook his head. “I cannae do that. Ye deserve better.”
“I most certainly do. Better than ye.”
A noise from inside the house made Lilidh turn. After a moment Fynn’s face appeared behind her, yawning loudly. He rubbed his eyes, then looked up and saw Mathe.
“Duine,” he called happily. “Ye came back.”
Mathe nodded. “I told ye I would. Nay gathering stones today though, I’m afraid.”
Lilidh’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth thinned. “Dinnae speak to him.” She turned to the boy. “Fynn, mama and Duine are going to speak on the porch. Sit by the fire and warm yerself; I’ve made ye a bowl of porridge.”
“But I want to speak too, mama.”
“Porridge, Fynn,” she said. “Now.”
The boy grumbled and disappeared as Lilidh stepped out, closing the door after her.
“Do ye have a cloak?” Mathe asked. “It’s cold out.”
“Dinnae concern yerself,” Lilidh said.
Mathe hesitated. “The lad?”
“Forget ye ever saw him,” Lilidh said. “He’s done right without ye.”
“He’s mine?”
“Of course he’s yers. Look at his eyes; who else could he belong to? No' to mention he’s already a head taller than other lads his age.”
“He seems a bright lad. We played a game yesterday out here, taking rocks from the mud to make a crown.”
Lilidh nodded. “He is bright, and verra good at playing by himself. He has to be, since nobody else will play with him. Nobody in this town wants anything to do with the widow MacBrennan or her son, ye see. Fynn doesnae ken why, but he’ll learn soon enough. I cannae wait to have that little chat with him.”
Mathe found himself unable to meet her eyes. “They would punish the lad?”
“Anything that yer legacy touches, Mathe. Me, the lad, our auld house.”
“I went there last night. What happened?”
“Gone,” Lilidh said with a shrug. “Nobody was caught, but the sheriff believed it was someone who travelled up from the McPhee lands. They had a grudge and didnae seem to care that ye were long gone. I didnae have enough coin to rebuild, so we moved into town.”
“Ye werenae hurt?”
“We got out, barely. It was the dead of night and we were both sleeping inside. Luckily, Fynn was asleep next to me and I woke to the smell, before the fire took hold. Another few minutes and things could have been verra different, though.”
He nodded soberly. “And this place?”
Lilidh smiled, but it was twisted and bitter. “This place was all I could afford. A house in the mud, slowly falling down around me. It’s fitting, I suppose, considering how it mirrors my life. Fynn deserves better, Mathe, and maybe I do, too.”
Mathe felt a curious pain in his chest, spreading outwards, pressing from every direction. Lilidh’s words cut into him, and for one moment he imagined the difficulty of her life. The pain she must have endured over the last six years; shielding the truth from Fynn, trying to be a good mother in the face of terrible circumstances, and all because of him. He knew he needed to make amends, but didn’t realise just how much. Would a lifetime even be enough?
“Where have ye been?” she asked.
“Prison,” Mathe admitted. “I always meant to come back, but I couldnae.”
“Did ye escape?”
“Nay,” Mathe said with a shake of his head. “There was nay escaping where I was kept. They released me. It was some sort of prisoner exchange, and they chose me at random.” Mathe fell silent for a moment. “I thought I was going to die in there, without getting the chance to speak to ye.”
“Maybe it was best if ye did,” she said. “There’s naught left for ye here, Mathe.”
“That’s no' true, Lilidh. I’ve come back because I need to do right by ye. I was a poor husband, and now I’m a poor father, but I promise ye I willnae stop until I’ve made amends.”
Lilidh shook her head, and her eyes were wet with tears. “Mathe,” she said softly, “it’s too late. I’ve spent the last six years believing ye to be dead. I’ve moved on from ye, and dinnae want ye in my life again.”
“Ye cannae truly mean that,” Mathe said, shaking his head. “We were in love, once.”
“And ye were a different man once. But ye changed, and then ye left.” Her face hardened. “Ye destroyed my life, Mathe MacBrennan, and I willnae let ye do it again. Leave, and never come back.”
Lilidh opened the door and stepped inside, and Mathe reached out. “Lilidh,” he said, “wait. I’ll take lodging at the West Gate, please -”
“Leave!” she screamed, her face twisting in anger.
Then she slammed the door in his face.
5
Lilidh MacBrennan
The door crashed shut and Lilidh stood frozen, staring at it, her eyes wide.
There was silence outside for a long moment. Then the sound of receding footsteps. And only then did she allow herself to cry; to sink down onto the floor and put her back to the door, heaving great sobs that tore through her body.
Mathe was alive.
It seemed like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. Why now, when things were f
inally going her way? Was the world just that cruel? She’d only just passed her trial, and it was impossible to forget how much of a problem Lilidh’s relationship with Mathe had posed to the chamberlain, and that was with Mathe six years in the ground. How much more of a problem would it be with a living and breathing MacBrennan back in Dun Lagaidh?
Fynn walked over, concerned. “Mama?” he asked hesitantly.
Lilidh raised her head and smiled through the tears. “Aye?”
“Why are ye crying?”
“It’s naught, bhobain,” she said.
“Where is Duine?”
“Gone,” Lilidh explained. “We willnae be seeing him again.”
The boy frowned. “But I liked him.”
“Aye, but he couldnae stay. Have ye eaten yer porridge?”
“Most of it,” the boy replied. “But it’s gone cold.”
Lilidh sighed and stood, wiping her eyes. “I’ll heat it again in the fire.”
“I’m no' hungry anymore.”
Lilidh shook her head. “We cannae waste it, Fynn, ye know that. I have naught else to give ye if ye get hungry later.”
“I willnae get hungry later, mama. I’m full.”
“Fynn, I’ve spoken,” she said in a firm voice. “After I’ve warmed it up, we can eat together.”
The boy grumbled to himself, too low for Lilidh to hear.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Naught,” Fynn said, pouting.
Lilidh nodded and scooped the porridge back into a small pot over the fire, gave it a quick stir, and then pulled her working clothes out and dressed. Her mind kept returning to Mathe and his words, repeating over and over.
That he’d changed.
He’d certainly changed his appearance. So much so, in fact, that when the door had first opened, Lilidh hadn’t even recognised him. Mathe had never worn a beard, let alone one so long, and he seemed a shadow of his former self. His face was shrunken and gaunt and his eyes were hollow. He was still tall, but when he reached his arm up, his coat had pulled back and Lilidh saw nothing but a thin skeleton.
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 5
