Time passed before Gil returned and put a deep bowl in front of him. Mathe looked down and nodded at the sight of a thick mutton stew with roughly chopped carrots and potatoes. It was covered with a sprinkling of herbs, and he breathed deeply of the steam that rose in a cloud around him.
“Here’s some water,” the young man said, and put a heavy tankard down.
“My thanks,” Mathe said. “This is hearty fare.”
Gil nodded and left Mathe alone with his meal. For more years than he cared to remember, meals meant gruel three times a day; tasteless oatmeal ground into a grey paste, mixed with water and a hunk of stale bread if he was lucky. At first he had hated it, and almost smiled at the memory of his tantrums at teatime. Of all the terrible things in Mathe’s life, it had been the food that had nearly broken him. Not the darkness, not the isolation, not the same conversations every day with the only three people he ever spoke to.
No, it was the food that brought the first tears that he had shed since he was a lad.
Of course, eventually Mathe grew to accept the tasteless slop as simply another part of a life thrown away. It faded into the background, became part of the routine, and Mathe forgot what good food tasted like. Or even normal food. And although he couldn’t say whether the mutton stew in front of him was objectively good or not, to his taste it was the most amazing thing he’d ever eaten.
He cleaned his plate and washed it down with a long draught of water, then leaned back into his chair with a satisfied sigh. Once again, it was the little things. How many times had MacBrennan eaten a good meal with his mind on other matters, pushing it away and moving to his next task without a second thought? How much of life had Mathe missed because he didn’t think to look for the small things that made it worthwhile?
From behind him, someone slammed a tankard of ale down on his tabletop.
Before Mathe could look up, a body dropped heavily into the chair opposite. The man was old and wiry, with beads and shards of glass in his hair and beard. It was a face Mathe hadn’t seen in a long time, but it hadn’t changed one bit.
“Fergus,” Mathe said.
The old man showed his teeth and took a draught from his own mug.
“To good health,” he said, lifting his tankard.
Mathe slowly reached for the second mug. For many years he’d been acquainted with Fergus when the old man was a soldier in the barracks, but never more than that. He was old even back then, and Mathe was amazed at the lack of change; it was as if time had simply passed him by. He touched his tankard to the other and took a mouthful. “I think that ship has sailed for ye, auld man.”
Fergus shrugged. “I wouldnae talk if I were ye. I almost walked right past ye, and it was only those gangly legs folded up under the table that gave ye away.”
“Luckily for me, it’s no' a crime to grow auld, so at least ye’re no' here to arrest me.”
“And what makes ye think I’m no' here to arrest ye?” Fergus asked with a grin.
“Ye didnae come in through the front door, for one,” Mathe said. “If I was going to be hauled up to the castle, there’d be nay need for discretion. But ye came up from behind me. That means ye were in the West Gate already, which I find to be a remarkable coincidence, or that ye came in through the back door I spied behind the counter, which is more likely. It also means ye want to keep this little chat quiet.”
Fergus nodded. “Aye. And besides, I dinnae arrest people these days.”
“Retired at last?”
Fergus hesitated for a moment. “Actually,” he said, “I’m the steward.”
Mathe frowned in disbelief. “The steward? Of the castle?”
“Acting steward,” the old man admitted, “but, aye.”
“I cannae believe it,” Mathe said. If he had to name the most unlikely character to rise to a role of such importance, Fergus would have been near the top of his list. “Ye are the steward? Who on earth made that decision?”
“Now, now, lad,” Fergus said, “Blaine took a chance, and so far at least, it’s paying off.”
“What does Blaine have to do with it?” Mathe asked with a frown. “Shouldnae it have been Laird Arran’s decision?”
Fergus smiled. “Laird Blaine’s decision, MacBrennan, and he can pick whoever he damn well pleases.”
Mathe leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “Fergus, it sounds like there’s quite a bit of news that I’ve missed. Ye're saying Blaine is the laird?”
“Aye,” Fergus said with a nod. “I’m no' here to give ye a history lesson, so the short version is that Arran abdicated and has joined the church. Blaine was the steward, but then he married young Kenzie McPhee and became the new Laird McCaskill, so I’m acting steward.”
Mathe nodded slowly. He had absolutely no intention of getting involved with the McCaskills, but at least he knew Arran. His brother Blaine was more of a mystery. He’d heard rumours in prison of a mighty Highland warrior who was harrying the English down in France and bore the same name, but he’d always shrugged it off. Blaine was a common enough name, and the lad who’d fled from his father so many years ago had nothing about him that spoke of the potential to become a great warrior.
“MacBrennan, why are ye here?” Fergus asked bluntly, taking Mathe out of his thoughts.
“I dinnae see that it’s any of yer business,” he replied.
Fergus shook his head. “No' good enough, and ye know it. Ye're no' a common farmer or traveler deciding to settle down, and ye dinnae have the right to anonymity. Ye must have known and accepted that before ye came back. So why are ye here?”
“I’m here for my wife.”
“And that’s it?”
“Well,” Mathe said, “my wife and my son.”
“Ye're no' here to stir up trouble?” Fergus asked.
“Nay. I have nay desire to get mixed up in other people’s affairs, auld man.”
“That doesnae sound like the MacBrennan I remember. If I recall, ye were only too happy to get involved in all sorts of things that shouldnae have concerned ye.”
“Aye, for the laird. But the man I was died in the dark, Fergus. He rotted away in prison, and I left his body behind. I’m here for Lilidh and to make amends for the man I became. And I’m here to keep to myself and no' get involved in things that dinnae concern me.”
“A noble goal,” Fergus remarked, “but I’m going to give ye some advice.”
“I cannae wait to hear it,” Mathe muttered.
“Wake up tomorrow, pack yer things, and walk out of town. North, south, east or west, I care no', but leave Dun Lagaidh and dinnae ever come back.”
“Ye know,” Mathe said, “that’s the second time I’ve been told that today.”
“Maybe ye should listen.”
“Nay. I told ye, I’m here for Lilidh and the lad. They’ve lived a terrible life since I left, and that’s squarely on me. I willnae - I cannae - let it continue.” Mathe reached his hand across the table and grasped the old man’s wrist. “I need to be a better man, Fergus. I’ve done so much wrong that I dinnae even know where to start, but I owe it to Lilidh, and I cannae walk away now.”
Fergus looked across at him for a long moment in silence. Mathe withdrew his hand and leaned back again in his chair, meeting the old man’s gaze. He had laid himself bare, something that the old MacBrennan would never have done. Would the steward recognise that?
“How do ye plan to help them?” Fergus asked at last. “Do ye have means?”
“Well,” Mathe admitted, scratching his beard, “I’m actually just about out of means. I’ll find honest work, though. I was an apprentice before the auld laird took me in, so perhaps it will come back to me.”
“What kind of apprentice?”
“Woodworking,” Mathe explained. “Up in the sawmill by Glen Knapp.”
“Woodworking, ye say?” Fergus shifted in his seat and looked down with a frown. “These chairs could certainly use some blasted work. As a matter of fact…”
“
Aye?”
“We’ve been trying to find quality woodworkers for months, up in the castle. There’s no' many around, since the sawmill closed, so ye might actually find yerself some honest work like ye say.”
Mathe nodded. “Good to know. I’ll think on it.”
“And on that note, I better get myself back up to the castle.” Fergus put his empty tankard down and stood. “Ye know we cannae force ye to leave, MacBrennan. But if ye’ve told me true, and ye’re here for the girl and to keep to yerself, then we shouldnae have any problems.”
“I told ye true,” Mathe replied. “Ye have my word.”
“I cannae rightly say what yer word is worth these days, but I’ll take it for now. Just remember the legacy ye left behind. Some people might no' be verra happy to see ye at all.”
Mathe nodded. “I ken.”
“And some, on the other hand, might be verra happy indeed. But keep to yerself, and all will be well.”
Fergus departed through the front door and Mathe frowned at his parting words. He doubted anybody would be happy to see him, but he also knew that before he came north. He wasn’t here for them, anyway. The only thing that mattered was Lilidh. She was his chance at redemption, and to leave the past behind and be a better man, and in the face of that goal, nothing else mattered.
7
Mathe MacBrennan
The sounds of a cockerel woke Mathe, and he opened his eyes slowly, almost reluctantly. He’d been in a pleasing dream involving his wife. He dreamed about her often, although this time it was different; in his old dreams, Lilidh looked like she did when he left six years ago. Still young, fresh as a field of flowers, alluring in her innocence.
In this dream, though, Lilidh looked as she had the day before. Touched by age, but still beautiful enough to tighten his chest. Chin held up with proud dignity. Transformed and yet familiar, and more tragically graceful than he ever remembered. Mathe held the image of her in his mind for as long as he could, until it faded to black and he sat up with a sigh, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. Sunlight filtered through a single window and fell across his face, and he tilted towards it and listened to the sounds of the town coming to life around him.
He looked down at his hands. For such a long time, it seemed that all they knew how to do was kill. To bring destruction. To close into the metaphorical fist of the old laird and smash his foes. Mathe stretched them out and wondered if they could learn to do anything else; to hold a hammer rather than a sword, and to give rather than take away. But despite his words to Fergus, he was unsure. He’d lived for four decades, with a good portion of that spent wearing the guise of MacBrennan; what else did he know how to do in life? Yes, he had worked with wood as a lad, but that was a long time ago. Would it come back to him as easily as he’d claimed?
Mathe figured there was only one way to find out, and no time like the present. And after all, one look inside his coin purse made it painfully clear that he was all out of options. He rose, dressed, then padded downstairs into the common room. It was empty save for young Gil wiping down the tabletops, and the sounds of shuffling and cursing coming from beneath the floorboards under his feet.
“Morning, Mathe,” the young man said. “Sleep well?”
“Aye, verra well,” Mathe replied. “Has Rabby returned?”
Gil tilted his head and fell silent. After a moment, a particularly violent curse erupted from below them and he smiled. “Aye, he most certainly has. He’s just getting something into the storeroom and then he’ll be right up.”
Mathe nodded and took a seat. The sunlight lit up motes of dust that floated lazily through the air, and the room was bathed in a golden glow. More grunts, then Rabby’s head appeared over the counter as he emerged from the cellar. The man saw Mathe and nodded.
“Welcome, stranger,” he said.
“No' quite a stranger, Rabby” Mathe replied, and stood. The innkeeper tilted his head up as he approached and studied his face.
“Mathe MacBrennan,” Rabby said after a moment, his tone disbelieving.
“Aye. Mathe MacBrennan.” He could see Gil look up with a slight frown.
The innkeeper shook his head. “Notwithstanding the fact that ye’re dead, ye sure have some baws to come back here.”
“So I’ve been told,” Mathe replied. “And yet here I am.”
“Here ye are. In my inn, as bold as ye please.” The man hesitated. “Mathe, ye and I never had bad blood, but I feel compelled to tell ye I’m somewhat of a friend with Laird Blaine McCaskill.”
Mathe nodded. “Relax, Rabby. Blaine knows I’m here. In fact, the steward popped by last night and we had a drink.”
Rabby looked over at Gil, who nodded. “Aye,” the young man said. “Auld Fergus was here, and they had a blether. It makes sense now why the auld man wanted to keep it quiet.” He looked at Mathe with a frown. “I’ve heard a lot about ye, MacBrennan.”
“It’s Mathe.”
“And what is it ye want, Mathe?” Rabby asked. “I assume ye’re here for a reason.”
“I want to make ye an offer, Rabby.”
“I’m no' sure exactly what it is ye could offer me, but I’m all ears.”
Mathe nudged a chair with his foot. “I want to fix yer chairs. They’re auld and falling apart, and ye’re going to get one of yer patrons injured if ye dinnae do something about them.”
Rabby shook his head. “Unbelievable. If ye had told me this morning that Mathe MacBrennan would walk into my inn and offer to fix my chairs, I would have asked for a share of whatever ye were partaking in.”
Mathe smiled. “And yet that’s exactly what I’m offering.”
“And what would ye want in return? Or would ye simply be doing it out of the kindness of yer heart?”
“I would, if kindness could feed me, and put a roof over my head.”
“Food and lodging, then.”
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “Food and lodging. I’ll fix all of yer chairs, strip them down and start again when I have to, reinforce them all, and in return ye let me stay here with three meals a day. I’m happy to take a smaller room or whatever ye have to spare.”
“Why, Mathe?” Rabby asked. “Why are ye back?”
Mathe looked down. “Let’s just say I have a lifetime of wrongs to set right, and I need to start somewhere.”
Rabby looked at Gil, and Mathe saw the young man give a slight shrug.
“The chairs are in a bad state,” Gil said. “And food and lodging works out less than an outright payment for services.”
Rabby nodded slowly. “Aye, ye’re no' wrong. About the cost, and the state of my chairs.”
“So ye agree?” Mathe asked.
“No' so fast,” Rabby said. “I might no' have the tools ye need, and I’m certainly no' paying for them. And ye’ll need a space to work, I presume?”
“No' a large space,” Mathe said, “but, aye. I could do it outside if I have to.”
“Until it rains, and my chairs get the rot,” Rabby answered. “I’ll tell ye what. There’s a stall at the back of the stables that I dinnae use anymore. I’ve just been storing odds and ends down there. Why dinnae ye look and tell me if it’s suitable? Any tools that I have will be out in the stables as well, so see what ye can dig up, and if it’s enough.”
Mathe nodded. “Aye, I’ll do that now. I’m sure it will be fine, and I can make do with whatever ye have.”
“Let’s no' be too hasty,” Rabby said, “unless ye like banging in nails with the palm of yer hand.”
The stables were dark and cold, and Mathe made his way slowly to the end stall with his arms outstretched, feeling his way as much as seeing, His fingers stumbled with the window shutter until it unlatched and he threw it open, letting in both sunlight and warmth.
He looked around. The end stall was a mess and had clearly been serving the purpose of a general dumping ground for anything in the stable that didn’t have a designated place. Mathe rolled his sleeves up and set to work, clearing everything
out, and then began the hunt for tools. His search took him all over the stables and into every stall as he found the basic things he would need; a hammer, a saw, and even an old scraping plane. Everything looked slightly wobbly, but Mathe figured it was the best he would get.
At least there was plenty of wood; long and short planks, thick and thin. More than enough for repairs, and to even build himself a small worktop. He gathered them all up and laid them upright against the back wall next to his stall.
There was only one problem; he couldn’t find any nails. He looked on every shelf and in every stall, but it wasn’t until he glanced down and kicked at the old hay under his feet that he caught the glint of an old iron nail. He kicked more hay and uncovered two more nails, then looked around him with a frown. Every stall was covered in old hay, with who knew how many nails hidden inside. He crouched down and sifted out a dozen more nails and carried them back to his stall; it was enough to get started, at least.
The far door opened and Rabby emerged with a chair in his arms. “Any luck?” he called.
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “There’s enough here to get on with.”
“Good. And here’s yer first chair. This one actually fell apart last month, so I’ve been keeping it in the cellar where it’s just getting in my way.”
Mathe took it from him and inspected it with a frown. One leg had split in two and the whole thing twisted alarmingly. “Aye, this is certainly throwing me into the fire.”
Rabby smiled. “Relax, Mathe. I’m no' expecting the world.”
The innkeeper left and Mathe looked around, suddenly unsure. It was one thing to convince the man to give him a chance, and another thing entirely to actually go through with the work. What if he simply couldn’t remember?
Mathe breathed out heavily. No, he told himself. This is what he needed to do to help Lilidh, so this was exactly what he would do.
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 7
