“Nay, I ken.”
“I do my best to shield him from the talking in town,” Lilidh said, “but it’s becoming harder the older he gets. He’s a smart lad and he’ll ask me questions soon that I willnae know how to answer.”
“Is it really that bad, with the townspeople?”
Lilidh shook her head. “Mathe, have ye forgotten who ye were?”
“I haven’t forgotten who I pretended to be,” Mathe said. “Ye know that the persona of MacBrennan wasnae who I really was.”
For one moment, Lilidh found herself suddenly overcome by memory. She recalled Mathe returning home late at night, covered in blood, refusing to speak to her. She remembered the suspicion as the people in town gradually pulled themselves away from her. She heard the rumours of deeds committed by her husband, the terrible things done in the name of the old laird, the gradual turning away from the life he had lived and towards something else entirely. A life that left no place for her.
“We must remember things differently,” Lilidh said. “Because I remember the opposite; MacBrennan was exactly what ye became in the end.”
Mathe looked up to the blue sky, and his face fell into a deep frown. “Ye're right,” he said without looking down at her. “I did change. The auld laird drew me ever closer, and I allowed myself to fall in so deeply with him I couldnae find my way back out.” He took a shuddering breath and looked down. “I became MacBrennan.”
“People were afraid of ye, Mathe,” she said. “Deathly afraid, even as they hated ye. So after ye left, what do ye think happened? They suddenly found themselves without the need to be afraid anymore, leaving only the hatred behind. And with ye gone, there was only one - two, I should say - people to direct it towards.”
“Ye and Fynn.”
“Aye, yer wife and yer son,” Lilidh said. “So I hope ye can appreciate why I need to know what yer goals are for him. He’s already living a life that he doesnae deserve, so I willnae have ye place any more heartache upon him.”
“I willnae, I promise ye,” Mathe vowed. “I ken ye dinnae want him to know who I am, no' yet. But the fact is that the lad needs a father. And if I cannae be his father just yet, then at least I can be his friend.”
At his words, Lilidh felt her eyes burn with sudden tears. She blinked them away quickly. “I dinnae want him to get hurt, Mathe. Ye cannae do this if ye’re no' completely committed.”
Mathe reached forward and took her hand. She considered pulling back, but his fingers were warm and his grip was strong and he looked into her eyes earnestly. She found herself surrendering to that gaze, and the way it looked into her very heart. It was intimate in a way that made her breath quicken.
“Lilidh,” he rumbled, “I told ye yesterday; I’m here to stay.”
“Fynn deserves happiness,” she said quietly, finding herself distracted by his gaze, and the way his fingers gently massaged hers. His touch brought unbidden thoughts to the forefront of her mind.
“As do ye,” Mathe said.
“Ye left me.” Her words were barely more than a whisper. His breath was warm on her face.
“I didnae mean to. After the auld laird died, I didnae know what to do. I took to my horse and rode without thinking.” He shook his head and smiled bitterly. “I’d certainly taken enough lives, but I’d never really lost someone close to me until then. I didnae know how to handle my grief, so I just rode. I always meant to come back.”
“Why didnae ye?”
“I was captured by the English,” Mathe said with a shrug. “I was still deep in Scotia, so it must have been an advanced scouting party. I was lost in my own troubles and I rode straight into them. It was only three days out of Dun Lagaidh and I was about to turn home. They took me back to London, and I’d been in prison ever since.”
Lilidh fell silent. She’d heard all sorts of rumours about Mathe’s sudden departure, but never one that ended so simply. She was almost surprised to find a part of her wanted to believe it; that he’d always meant to come back. That he hadn’t abandoned her.
That he’d still loved her.
But the gnawing question remained; was he telling the truth, or what she wanted to hear? And if he was indeed lying, then how long until he walked out on them both once more?
“I need to get to work,” she said finally, pulling her hands back, still feeling the warmth from his touch.
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “Why dinnae ye go, and I’ll clean up with the lad and then take him back to the West Gate.”
Lilidh nodded. “Fine. Keep him safe, Mathe.”
“I promise.”
11
Mathe MacBrennan
From the moment they walked into the blacksmith’s shop, Fynn was drawn to the swords hanging from a rack behind the counter. They were of a simple design; sturdy and capable, but not fancy. They were soldier’s swords that were built to last.
“Can I hold one?” Fynn asked.
“Better no', lad,” Mathe replied. “They are mighty heavy and sharp besides; I dinnae want to have to explain to yer mother how ye chopped off yer own foot.”
“They do look heavy,” he said.
“And sharp. Why dinnae ye come over here, instead? Take a look at these hammers.”
“The swords are better,” Fynn said.
“Are they?” Mathe asked. “I suppose it depends on how ye look at such things. Swords are better for some tasks, nay doubt.”
“Like fighting,” the boy said, making mock sword thrusts into the air.
“Aye, like fighting. But swords are all about taking things away.”
“What kind of things?”
Mathe shrugged. “Honour, dignity, even life itself. A sword is a taker. And the only things it gives back are false feelings. It might make ye feel stronger or more powerful than someone else, but it’s an illusion. A sword-arm is a poor way to measure someone’s worth.”
“So why is a hammer better, then?” Fynn asked.
“Easy,” Mathe said “A hammer doesnae take anything. It gives. A hammer lets ye build, and mend, and make the world a better place. I dinnae know of any sword that made the world better.”
“Have ye ever owned a sword?”
Mathe thought back to the chest buried under the old farmhouse. If there was ever a sword that had made the world a worse place, it was his old sword. Mèirleach na Beatha - The Thief of Life. It was as much a part of MacBrennan’s legacy as he was himself; the most recognisable sword in the lands of McCaskills and McPhees and even beyond. It was a wicked sword with a red ruby embedded in the hilt, and over time it had taken on a life of its own. As long as MacBrennan wore Mèirleach na Beatha, the people knew he spoke with the voice of the old laird, and acted in his authority.
And more blood had been spilled on its blade than Mathe could ever hope to atone for.
“No' for a long while,” he said.
“But ye did, once?”
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “It was verra special to me, once upon a time. But no' anymore.”
The blacksmith emerged from the back room with a burlap bag, handing it over. “One set of chisels, two blades, and a hammer.”
Mathe nodded. “Aye. My thanks.” He opened the bag and checked the contents, pulling out the hammer. “Well made,” he remarked.
“Aye,” the blacksmith said. “Expect nothing less.”
Mathe passed the hammer down to Fynn. “See, lad? This is what ye want. Forget those swords and let’s build something together instead.”
Fynn took the hammer with both hands, turning it over, struggling with the weight. “It’s wonderful,” he said with wide eyes.
“It is. Now let’s get back, shall we?”
They walked together under a bright blue sky and Mathe gave silent thanks that the weather had turned, at least for now. The stables were cold and draughty, and he wasn’t relishing the thought of building Rabby’s new table by the meagre light of the fire. As he walked with Fynn, Mathe was overcome by a sudden feeling of contentment. He was
home, he was with the son he didn’t even know he had, and he was about the spend the day building something. The sun was out and was warm on his face, and Mathe knew that he had been right to refuse the laird’s offer. He was here for Lilidh and Fynn, not for Blaine, and didn’t want to concern himself with anything that would come between his goals for them all.
The laird’s words had been concerning, of course. If Blaine was right, and there were people plotting against him, then there was certainly some element of risk for Mathe. He was reasonably sure that his presence back in Dun Lagaidh was unknown outside of the circles of the laird and the West Gate, and it was perhaps better to keep it that way for as long as he could. He remembered the type of men that were drawn to the old laird; those who valued strength and power over others. The idea of those types of men hiding in the shadows made Mathe feel both uncomfortable and strangely vulnerable.
He was sure they would see his return as a sign, and that brought complication that he had no desire to involve himself in.
Mathe’s neck prickled as they walked, and he saw traitors in every alleyway. With each person they passed, he put his head down. It was ridiculous, he knew, but Blaine’s words had taken root in his mind. The laird didn’t seem to know how many people were involved, which meant it could be a handful of troublemakers and nothing more, or it could be half the town. All he knew was that he didn’t care to find out. He pushed the West Gate door open and ducked through, holding it for Fynn.
Behind the counter, Rabby was organising plates and bowls, and looked up. “Ye have yer assistant again today, I see,” he said.
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “The lad is a good help, and he’s almost as excited to work on yer table as I am.”
“Ye get the tools ye need?”
Mathe nodded. “Good quality, too.”
“Oh, aye. I’ve travelled up and down the Highlands for years now,” Rabby said, “and I’ve yet to find another blacksmith as good as ours. Keep that in mind, if ye ever need something made up for yerself.”
“I’ll do that,” Mathe said and guided Fynn into the stables. It was still cool inside, but not as bad as the last few days, and Mathe knew it would warm up as the sun rose higher. He pulled the tools out and placed them on a small makeshift table he made up the night before, after Blaine had left. He’d been restless and tossed and turned in bed before giving up and coming downstairs; it seemed that working with the wood calmed his mind and soothed his thoughts.
“Now,” he said, turning to Fynn. “Let’s get to work. We have a table to build.”
The day wore on as the two of them worked side by side.
The table was coming together, forming before their very eyes, and Fynn grew excited once the final shape revealed itself. In truth, they were making better time that what Mathe had estimated, and he appreciated the help the boy could give. Even simple things like stacking wood, passing over nails and swapping tools was making the process easier, and allowed time for Mathe to occasionally pause work and teach the boy small things about the woodworking craft.
His earlier assessment of the boy’s quick learning certainly held up, and he seemed to absorb knowledge like a dishrag. Was it because he was bright, or was it because he’d never really been taught in such a way before? Perhaps it was like opening a water faucet, and now that his mind was becoming used to taking in new information, it craved more. All he knew was that Fynn was both eager and careful, listening to Mathe’s instructions and doing as he was told with maturity beyond his years.
Mathe was enjoying himself so much that he failed to notice the setting sun, and the banging of the stable door alerted him to someone’s arrival.
“Mama,” Fynn shouted and ran past the stalls.
Mathe cursed to himself. He’d meant to have Fynn back and cleaned up well before Lilidh finished work, but he’d gone and gotten himself so caught up in things that he’d lost track of the hour. “Lilidh,” he said, rising, “I’m sorry, I shouldnae have kept Fynn so long.”
To his utter surprise, Lilidh gave a quick wave. “It’s fine.”
“It is?” he asked dubiously.
“Ye two seem to be having fun.”
“Oh mama, we are,” Fynn said. “Come, look at the table that we’ve built.”
He dragged Lilidh over to the last stall, and she gasped. “Why, Fynn, this is amazing. The two of ye built this?”
“Building,” Mathe corrected. “Still have a way to go.”
“Well,” she said, “dinnae let me stop ye.”
Mathe glanced at her for a moment, but she was looking down at Fynn and the table. He felt his heart beat faster and for some inexplicable reason his hands felt suddenly clammy. He wiped them on his pants and picked up a chair.
“Here,” he said gruffly. “Make yerself comfortable.”
Lilidh glanced at him for a moment and then sat. Was that a smile he saw right before she looked down?
Mathe resumed work but found he couldn’t concentrate knowing Lilidh was there. He felt her eyes on his back and grew silent, not sure if he should act like she wasn’t there, or try to talk to her instead. Finally he growled and stood.
“Why dinnae ye give me a hand instead of sitting there?” he asked her.
“Me?” Lilidh asked with one eyebrow raised. It was an expression that she used to wear often in their youth, and for a moment she was a young woman in his eyes once again. He found himself as entranced with her as he had ever been.
“Aye,” Mathe said, “ye could help me brace the planks while I nail them together.”
“I’ve worked all day, and ye expect me to come down here and work all night.”
Mathe frowned, seeing the truth of her words. “Of course. I wasnae thinking. Why dinnae ye direct us, instead?”
Lilidh waved her hand and gave him another smile. “Mathe, I wasnae being serious. I dinnae mind helping.”
“All the same,” Mathe said, “ye can tell me if we’re square or no'. It’s hard to tell when I’m kneeling down.” With that he set to work, directing Fynn and squaring the planks. Lilidh remained silent for a time, watching, her knees pulled up and chin resting on them.
“That last plank isnae straight,” she said finally. “Move it down a bit on the left.”
Mathe adjusted it ever so slightly and looked up.
“Sorry,” she said. “Yer right; my left.”
He looked back down with a smile and adjusted it back the other way. “How’s that?”
“Let me,” she said and walked over, bending at the waist, adjusting the boards with a frown. The long linen dress she wore pulled up the back of her calves, and he saw her pale skin and found his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes rose higher, and he clenched his fists hard to resist the sudden urge to step up to her from behind; to grasp her hips and push himself into her. She’d always had a body that was more than pleasing to him, and it seemed that age hadn’t taken that away.
“Aye, well,” Mathe said in a rather hoarse voice, “ye were always better at getting things straight. Remember those shelves I made?”
“The ones that wouldnae hold anything because they were so crooked?” Lilidh asked.
“Aye, that’s the one,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I hadnae long started my apprenticeship, if ye remember.”
“Oh, I remember all yer excuses, dinnae worry,” she replied.
“Well, I suppose I should be thankful ye’re here to check our work,” Mathe said as he nailed the planks together. “Rabby wouldnae appreciate a table that cannae hold an ale.”
He hammered the last length of wood and straightened, unable to shake the image of Lilith bending over in front of him. He’d surprised even himself with the swift and sudden awakening of a deep hunger within; the almost overpowering urge to tear her dress apart and to see his wife naked before him. He’d tried so hard to keep his mind from turning to physical thoughts since his return, knowing that they would do nothing but torture him, but he realised with dismay that it was something he would
n’t be able to forget.
To distract himself, Mathe stretched his back, reaching above to scrape his hands on the wooden beams overhead. He didn’t like kneeling down for so long, and it took a moment for the blood to work its way back down into his legs.
“Ye're still tall,” Lilidh said.
“Ye're still bonny,” Mathe replied without thinking.
His wife fell silent and he felt her demeanour change instantly; like a wall had appeared in the air between them, her face suddenly closed. She looked away and wouldn’t meet his eyes, and in the light of the fire a flush grew up her neck.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldnae have said that.”
“It’s fine,” she replied quickly, still looking away.
“I think we’re about done here, anyway. The next bit will take a lot longer, so it would be best to start on a new day. Fynn, why dinnae ye brush yerself off.”
“Aye,” the boy said, patting his clothing and frowning at the impressive amount of fine dust that swirled away into the air. Once he finished, Lilidh reached down and took his hand.
“Thank ye, Fynn,” Mathe said. “Ye were a great help. And so was yer mother.”
The boy smiled and waved, but Lilidh remained silent as they turned to leave. Mathe watched them, cursing himself for a fool. Why had he gone and said that to her? Just when things between them seemed to be improving.
“Lilidh, wait,” he called as they opened the stable door. “One word.”
Lilidh glanced at Fynn. “Stay here,” she said, and walked back towards the stall, eyeing him uneasily. “Aye? I said it was fine.”
“Actually, I just wanted to make sure I could take the lad again tomorrow,” Mathe said. “If it’s alright with ye.”
He thought Lilidh relaxed somewhat as she considered his request with pursed lips. They were moist and glistened in the soft light, and Mathe resisted the sudden urge to lean down and kiss them, knowing that it would probably be a terrible idea. Despite how much he wanted to.
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 11
