by Mary Wine
A grumble went through the men watching, and Melor took a step back, looking unsure for the first time.
“If she were any sort of good daughter, nothing I said would have drawn her out of her father’s house.”
Connor smiled. “Ah well, there we agree. No one should be taking the word of a Douglas.”
Melor’s eyes widened, and he lunged at Connor, making it past his men, who tried to keep him safe. Connor allowed the man to charge and let his sword drop away. Melor’s eyes brightened with victory, but it was premature. Connor stooped and ducked beneath the swing of the large sword to come up in front of the man. Connor grasped a handful of Melor’s doublet to hold him close while he pressed the tip of a small dirk against the soft underside of his chin.
“I’d like to kill ye, Melor, make no mistake, but I believe I will let ye live so that I might have the pleasure of watching ye be beaten by men who are just as ambitious as ye are.”
The man whimpered, disgusting Connor. He shoved Melor toward his men and watched as they helped him mount his stallion. Once he gained the saddle, he turned a furious look toward Connor and the other men assembled there.
“I’ll nae be forgetting this night! I swear it on the Virgin’s tits!” He didn’t wait for any response but kicked his stallion harder than any good horseman should. The creature jumped and started off into the night with a sharp snort of discomfort.
“Swine.” Shawe spit on the ground and sheathed his sword. “Ye should have let me kill him if ye were nae going to do it.”
“I’d rather watch his own kind eat him. With a lad on the throne, the Douglas are fighting each other for power.”
Shawe shrugged. “Ah well, there is that bit of entertainment that we might look forward to, providing he does nae have us murdered before someone arranges his demise.”
It was a possibility, but one Connor wasn’t worried about. He turned and looked for the proprietor of the tavern. The man stood nearby, wearing the colors of the McLeod clan. Connor dug into his doublet and pulled a small leather pouch from a pocket inside the lining.
“For yer trouble, McLeod. The Lindsey do nae forget to even up with those they do business with.”
The proprietor opened the pouch and peered inside. He nodded with satisfaction and offered his hand to Connor. They clasped forearms before the tavern owner tucked the silver inside his shirt.
“The Lindsey are welcome here, and I didna know about the girl or I’d have sent her on her way. I certainly knew nothing about the deception. I agree with ye that we do nae need that sort of thing, and I’ll nae have it happening beneath me roof. Douglas colors or no’.”
“The girl is my concern; forget her name. We all need to trust someone; it is a shame hers was placed in Melor Douglas.”
Connor raised a hand, and his horses came with nothing more than a silent signal. His lads were watchful. They might be young, but they were practicing the skills of Highlanders, and being alert was essential. Connor gained the back of his stallion, his thighs grasping the warm sides of the animal while he rubbed the neck of the beast in greeting. He looked toward Shawe and found his captain watching him, waiting on his next order.
“Now it’s time to ride to Chattan land.”
Two
“Did ye think that no one would see ye?”
Deirdre froze, recognizing her father’s voice. She had somehow convinced herself that things could not become worse. Obviously she was mistaken.
“Or that of the hundreds of souls who seek shelter in this castle, no’ a single one of them might flap their lips about the woman they saw riding out at dusk? On the back of a horse that I own and keep?”
Her father appeared from the shadows of the kitchen, and he was not alone. She had no reason to think that he might be by himself, but she realized that she had hoped for it. A laird who offered his unprotected back to the unknown was often repaid by a dagger being plunged into it. It was not even her father who ordered his Highlanders to keep close to him. They did it because they wanted the clan to remain strong. A murdered laird was a sure way to announce to every neighboring clan that the Chattan could not look after their own lands. That was a fine way to invite raids, for in the Highlands, if you couldn’t hold what was yours, another clan would happily take it from you.
“Do nae dare stand there in silence when I’m giving ye a chance to speak, Daughter. Ye have shamed yer clan, and that is saying it gently.”
“Ye are correct, Father.”
Deirdre stepped all the way into the kitchen and felt the warmth of the hearth hit her chilled face. She hadn’t noticed the cold so much, for the hurt inside her was a thousand times worse.
Her father snorted, his frustration clear as the church bell at dawn. “Fetch yer sisters to me chambers. It is time for me to look at ye all and make firm decisions.”
Deirdre lowered herself and heard another gruff sound from her father. She didn’t linger to allow him time to berate her for her respectful motion. Her future marriage to Connor Lindsey would have made a strong alliance for the Chattan. That she had thought to have an even better one with the Douglas was of little worth now.
Melor had used her to destroy her father’s hard work in arranging the match with the Lindsey. Kaie might even suffer for it, because the McLeod might think that all three sisters were lightskirts.
She pressed her lips into a hard line and felt bitterness rise up to choke her. She welcomed it, embracing the hatred that sprouted from it.
Twin tears stung her eyes as she contemplated how it was possible that a few short hours had changed her outlook on the future so dramatically. What had seemed so full of hope and happiness was now a bleak and barren wasteland where the only thing she had was shame.
The word “barren” stuck in her mind. She hesitated in the hallway, looking toward the chamber where her sisters slept and the dark passageway that would take her to the kitchen stockroom. The air was musty inside the stillroom but she knew her way well.
She reached for the herbs she wanted and muttered a soft prayer of thanks for the fact that they were not completely dry, else they would have been locked away, because they were potent plants that could do as much harm as good. She turned to look at the back of the room, but the two maids who slept there were curled up and facing away from the doorway.
Good, at least something was in her favor tonight. Or perhaps she should say morning, for the horizon was beginning to lighten. Moving to the hearth, she picked up a large iron hook and used it to pull the kettle that was left near the back of the huge fireplace. An entire sow could fit into the fireplace, but now that winter was looming, only a single pot simmered for the morning porridge and a kettle to have hot water on hand.
Deirdre poured a measure of the liquid into her mug and smiled at the steam that rose from it. She carefully recited the Lord’s Prayer twice to time how long it needed to steep before lifting the mug to her lips.
Maybe saying the Lord’s Prayer would be considered blasphemy when she knew that the potion would ensure that her monthly courses came, but Deirdre didn’t know any other way to judge the time needed. Twice through for steeping herbs and three times to hard-boil an egg.
She refused to care about it and drained the mug. The taste was bitter, making her nose wrinkle, but she smiled when she finished, because while Melor might have enjoyed laughing at her tonight, she was going to have the final word on the matter of whether she conceived his child. Yes, she had been a fool to believe his affection sincere, but she had never been so naive as not to drink a bitter dose of herbs every time she returned from meeting her lover. Men were so prideful that they never bothered to think that the women surrounding them might be every bit as clever as they were.
Pigs.
She tossed the wilted leaves and berries in the slop pail before wiping the mug and setting it back with the others. She hurried off to fetch her sist
ers. Tension tingled along her back, but she welcomed it, because at least she was free of the constant waiting for Melor to make good on his word. He never would, but she would not wallow in her grief. He wasn’t worth that.
No man was. Not now or ever.
Deirdre held that truth close to her heart.
***
Brina had never noticed that her father was aging.
His face looked more wrinkled, and his eyes lacked the sparkle she seemed to recall so vividly. The fire in his chamber was built up, the red and orange flames flickering through the darkness that had yet to be broken by dawn. A faint pink glow was beginning to tease the horizon, but darkness and shadows still reigned supreme.
Which made her suspicious, for the dark hours were the time when evil was strongest. The night had already been full of tension as she waited on her sister’s return. Deirdre was quiet and her face tight, while Kaie looked nervous.
“I suppose I’m to blame for no’ wanting to lose ye.” Laird Chattan nodded and turned to face them fully. He was a large man, with shoulders that were wide and a stance that was steady. His kilt was pleated and belted about a waist that was still trim because he was not prone to sitting about and drinking ale while those who called him laird toiled to produce that ale.
He was a true Highlander, one who stood shoulder to shoulder with his men and expected to sweat just as often as they did.
“I’m wounded by the way the pair of ye have repaid my leniency in this matter, Kaie and Deirdre.”
Her father pointed toward her sisters.
“The pair of ye will regret this business, for the privacy I blessed ye with will be no more. Ye’ll be watched now as befits those who betray me trust. Get ye gone, for I’ve no’ the stomach to see ye any longer this night. Ye shall wait on my word as to what will happen to ye. Be sure that there will be action taken for this betrayal.”
Kaie smothered a soft cry behind one of her delicate hands.
“And ye shall ask me for nothing, Daughter, for ye have earned only my scorn.”
Kaie lowered herself and left the chamber. Two husky women who had been standing against the back wall followed her. Both were midwives and women of knowledge. Her sisters would not find it simple to dupe them. Deirdre cast Brina a look that was full of regret.
“Get ye gone, Deirdre. I am finished with ye until yer new nurses bring me proof that ye are no’ breeding.”
“He swore he would wed me, Father.”
Their father turned on her like an enraged stallion. “Are ye daft? Did ye somehow miss the fact that young Lindsey came to our table and declared his intentions before one and all like an honorable man should? How ignorant do ye have to be no’ to question any man who whispers to ye during a spring festival and then expects yer maidenhead without the church’s blessing?”
“He was Melor Douglas.”
There was a snort from the captains, but their father cursed. Viciously and long.
“A Douglas? I’d call ye simple, but I know full well that ye have good wits in that head. The Douglas clan is planning to rule Scotland, girl, and they wanted the Lindsey land bad enough to raid it. How could ye betray my word with a man who killed the family of the husband I betrothed ye to? Melor Douglas used ye for revenge against Connor Lindsey. Now get out of me sight before I forget that ye are at least young enough to be expected to be foolish when it comes to matters of yer heart.” Robert Chattan shook one finger at his eldest daughter. “Better pray for yer mother’s sweet soul, for I should have ye lashed, but ye are her daughter with all yer passion. So I find that I cannae order yer blood spilled.”
Robert Chattan suddenly closed his eyes as a ripple of emotion went across his face. He drew in a deep breath before lifting his eyelids once more. His voice was quieter now, a hint of a ghost from years lost to the passage of time in his tone.
“Go on, Deirdre, for all that I treasured yer mother’s love for me, I cannae forget that yer recklessness might well have brought disaster to us all. The Lindsey are nae a clan to be insulted, and that’s a solid fact.”
Deirdre went, her face white but her chin level. Brina heard her father mutter in the suddenly silent chamber. The wind howled beyond the window shutters, making them rattle a tiny amount.
“I want to thank ye, Brina, for no’ shaming me.”
“Ye should nae have to; it is my place.”
Her father walked toward a long table that sat near the wall. He picked up a wooden mug and drew a long drink from it. Wind blew through the shutters, bringing the scent of the fermented beverage drifting on the air to her.
“Aye, and it is that place that I must speak with ye about. It is time that I let ye go, Daughter, in spite of the fact that it pains me to say it.”
Her father’s knuckles were white where his fingers wrapped around the mug. Brina stared at the telltale evidence of his regret, allowing that to combine with the hurt that flooded her heart and dilute it so that it was bearable.
“I’ll ride once daylight is fully broken. I need to look Connor Lindsey in the eye when I reveal what yer sister has been about. We will take ye to the abbey along the way.”
Brina nodded. “Kaie wants to go with me.”
Her father stiffened, but she did not let that keep her silent. “She does nae want to argue with ye, Father, but she longs to serve the church too.”
His lips twitched up into a grin. “I am going to miss ye something terrible, Brina, for ye are a fine daughter.” He shook his head. “Either one of yer sisters would have pleaded with me to take Kaie in her place.”
“I do nae wish to marry.” The words were past her lips before she thought of how disrespectful they would sound to the captains standing nearby.
Her father snorted with amusement. “Of course ye do nae. I’ve allowed ye to be raised up knowing that I would never present ye to any man who would tell ye that you were his.”
Her father’s voice trailed off as he realized that he was agreeing with her. She could see the resistance in his eyes.
“Please reconsider, Father. Kaie—”
“Enough, Brina. Ye know well that the place of a laird’s daughter is to do what is best for the clan. The Chattan need the alliance with the McLeod.”
Brina ground her teeth with frustration.
“If that is the way it must be, then I will wed Roan McLeod, and Kaie can follow her calling.”
“The man would label ye a hellcat, for ye are no’ meek enough for marriage, even to a Highlander.”
The captains behind her father both grinned, and she felt her temper heat.
“I’ve been taught manners. I know how to be respectful, and I will nae shame ye.”
Her father chuckled. “Ye’d try; I know that.”
He drew a long sip from his mug.
“I might have been able to do that before Deirdre went and disgraced herself. Now my word will have to stand with the McLeod and the church, because if I go changing it on all three of ye, no one will accept it for anything.”
She knew the tone of voice that her father was using. It was solid and unbendable. It was the laird of the Chattan declaring what would be, and no one argued with the laird.
He was trying to maintain peace.
Brina lowered herself before quitting the room. She struggled to hide the discontentment brewing inside her.
She would not give him a reason to label her a hellcat again. There had been few times that she disliked her sire, but she detested what he’d called her.
She was not a hellcat. Having the courage to speak her mind was not something to regret or place unsavory titles on.
She didn’t return to the chamber that had been hers for as long as she could recall. She walked toward the stairs and climbed up into one of the towers that allowed the Chattan to see anyone approaching. Dawn was now creeping across the land, illuminating
the shadows and revealing that there was nothing sinister there at all.
Brina looked over the fields stacked with drying bundles of barley and wheat. Pumpkins and squashes lay between the drying vines that they had grown on. There was still greenery where carrots and beets had yet to be harvested and taken down to the cellars. She lingered over the most common, thatch-roofed homes and the smoke rising gently from their chimneys. She drank it all in, trying to memorize every detail, for the next time she saw Chattan land, it would be from over her shoulder as she looked back on it.
But she would not look back. Her future was bright, and she felt an eagerness rising inside her to take charge of the duties that would be hers. She smiled, feeling the warmth of the rising sun on her cheeks. Soon enough every man who met her would dip his head with respect toward her. She was going to enjoy watching them rein in their pride, and that was the truth.
Call her a hellcat if they would, but she would not be bending to any man’s whim.
***
Laird Chattan rode from his castle with a full two dozen retainers. Brina traveled between the twin columns that they formed. She held her chin high, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Many of the inhabitants of the castle stopped their labors to watch her go. They leaned out of windows on every floor of the towers and quickly climbed the stairs to gain the curtain-wall walkways. Children waved, and someone began to ring the small church bell.
Once away from the fortress, she denied herself a last look at her childhood home. Only a slim splinter of doubt bothered her, and she was determined to pluck it before it festered. She focused her mind on the lessons she had taken to help ensure that she served the abbey smoothly in times of good harvest and poor. The sun rose, but it seemed to lack the warmth that should have still been upon them. Instead the wind whipped at the hem of her overgown, and she shivered when it grazed her knees above her boots.
Winter was coming early this year. The fields that they passed were busy. Everyone could feel the bitter chill in the air, and they hurried to bring in the last of the autumn harvest. Much of it was not ripe, but the sky began to darken, hinting at snow. Anything that froze would be lost, and the bundles of grain needed to be taken away before ice knocked the seeds from the stocks.
