“All this?”
“You are either attempting to seduce me or frighten me, and I appreciate neither.”
His expression, the intensity of it, didn’t change. “I dinna want to frighten you.”
“I think you do.”
He inclined his head almost imperceptibly, accepting this, or at the very least, not refuting this. Turning, he kicked out the stool from the table that had remained with the cottage and sat, facing her. He rubbed his hands along his thighs. She’d seen him do that before.
“I dinna mean to frighten you. If I tell you precisely what’s going on in my head”—here he gave a sheepish, somehow still humorless smirk—“whenever I seem to be within arm’s reach of you, will you consider it? I’ll tell no lies.”
“I-I am willing to listen.”
“Fair enough. First, let me ask: trust aside, why dinna you want to be seduced?”
She bristled, but only because she didn’t want to be questioned. Not about anything. She gave the most expedient answer, which also happened to be closest to the truth, though she hadn’t really thought long and thoroughly over this, she knew. Of late—since he had kissed her—she’d spent too much time considering how to keep herself from being seduced. “I’m not...that is, I don’t—I mean, mayhap you are familiar with women who like to be...seduced simply for the sake of being seduced, but I’m not...made like that.”
He rather winced. “You’re telling me that you’ve no liking for the end product of seduction.”
Katie frowned in response. “I did not say that. I just don’t...do it for the sake of doing it.” Frustrated by this monumentally unseemly conversation, she said, “You are supposed to be telling me what’s in your head.”
“Aye, but you’ve answered so many questions just there that it won’t be necessary.”
Her jaw fell. And then she figured it out. “You want to couple with me, but only for the sake of coupling.”
For the space of a second, he appeared as if he would—at least wanted to—deny it. “I dinna ken you well enough to want more.”
More.
His delivery was unfortunate, his honesty rather brutal, but she had to appreciate the truth, anyhow.
“Well, I’m pleased to have that settled then.”
Alec lifted a brow in question.
Stymied by his confusion, Katie explained in a curt voice that made her proud, “You want something I’m not willing to give. I do not know you very well, but I believe you’d not ever force it, so that I consider the entire matter at an end.”
He nodded, slowly. Ruefully? After a moment, he said, “You have so much anger, lass.”
She did. She knew that. Or rather, she’d lived with worry and fear for so long, which often manifested itself as hostility, that she wasn’t sure it wasn’t who she truly was, or if she simply couldn’t recall how to behave without anger.
She only shrugged, not sure what he expected her to say. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, left off claiming she might have said the same about him. But then, what would be the point?
Alec stood. “I’ll bring the other wagon down in a bit and send ‘round lads tomorrow, use them for what help you need to get settled. They can erect a counter there at that end for your needs.” He walked to the open door. His hand rested on the jamb for a moment before he turned and faced her again. “I’ll leave you to it.” He watched her a moment before adding, “I hope that Swordmair pleases you, Katie Oliver, that you ken it’s a better life here, mayhap find some joy.” Another pause. “Mayhap some peace as well.”
She cried when he left, when his footfalls could no longer be heard moving further away. It started slowly, just a whimper, heat pooling in her chest, until it grew, spilling out that she clapped her hand over her mouth.
She didn’t cry for Alec MacBriar or because he might quit his nebulous pursuit, but for the pattern it represented in her life.
“Ol’ Maybeth willna let me near ye ‘cept if I am willing to wed with ye,” her husband had said so many years ago. “If that’s what I’ve got to do....” Hindsight had shown that those words, in effect, had been his proposal.
There had been others before Farquhar. Boswell had run off Eagan Tonny when he’d made loose with his hands after she’d stitched up his father’s leg. She’d been invited to wed by persons with whom she’d spent even less time than Alec MacBriar, their intentions as clear as her husband’s had been. Older and wiser, she had understood them better.
And then Farquhar.
Possibly Gordon Killen had been unique in his pursuit, as he’d not ever tried so much as to hold her hand.
Katie fell gracelessly into the chair Alec had vacated and gave herself the same speech she’d used so many times before. She didn’t need to find love. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t crave the physicality of a marriage great enough to become chattel once again. She wouldn’t barter her body for whatever fleeting but surely meaningless benefit it might bring her.
Her son was her life.
She needed nothing else.
Chapter Nine
Katie spared one last glance at what progress she’d made—very little, on the whole—but was excited about the unexpected delight she found in her new cottage. She been busy over the last hour, industrious enough to have dispelled her tears and nearly all thoughts of Alec MacBriar. She closed the door behind her and made her way back to the castle, intent on collecting Henry. She didn’t want him getting underfoot or becoming bored with whatever kitchen task the mistress had set him.
While she indeed appreciated the short walk up to the keep, she chewed her lip outside the door, which had been closed, wondering if she were allowed to simply walk right in.
“Staring at the door dinna open it, lass. You need to push it.”
Turning, grinning already at Malcolm’s words, she found him walking toward her from what appeared to be the stables, the first of many low-roofed buildings that made up the northern wall of the keep.
She admitted willingly to him, “I didn’t know if I—”
“The hall is open to visitors always,” Malcolm explained, stepping past her to open the door. “Alec said he found you a place. It’ll do?” He asked, preceding her inside the hall.
“It’s wonderful, so spacious,” she said. “I’ve come to collect Henry. Where are the kitchens?”
“Through here,” he answered, leading her to the archway at the corner of the white-washed wall. He was forced to duck a wee bit inside the dark corridor, which twisted and turned toward the very rear of the keep.
Katie thought to say, “You should stop by tomorrow, Malcolm. I should give one last look to your injuries.”
“Aye, I’ll do that.”
The corridor widened and lightened and finally opened into a tall and wide room, crowded with at least a dozen industrious people, filled with smoke and steam and laughter.
Malcolm walked her straight to where Henry sat upon a tall stool at the long counter in the middle of the room, next to Magdalena MacBriar, both of them pinching all the stems and leaves from a pile of blueberries. Malcolm helped himself to three bannocks, stacked high upon a plate in the middle of the counter, as he passed.
“Henry lad, your fun is done. Here comes Mam.” With that, he flashed his charming grin at Katie and walked out a rear door.
“Aw,” her son grumbled, though was excited to see her, Katie thought.
“I hope he hasn’t been any trouble,” Katie said to the mistress.
“Trouble?” Magdalena frowned and smiled at the same time at Katie. “The lad’s a gem, good company.”
Relieved, Katie addressed Henry. “We’ve quite a bit of work ahead of us, Henry. We have a new cottage.”
His eyes lit up at this news, even as he didn’t necessarily look as if he was happy to leave the kitchen and Magdalena.
“You’ll join us for the feast tonight, aye, Katie Oliver?” The mistress wondered, plopping sometimes almost every other pruned blueberry into her mouth.
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“Oh, no, but thank you.”
“But what will you eat? You cannot have settled your kitchen so soon, aye?”
“Mam, please,” Henry begged, folding his hands pleadingly at his chest, showing what he assumed was an irresistible grin.
“Canna say no to that face,” Magdalena MacBriar chortled, her cheeks easily reddened. “Ye come up when you hear the bell peal, lad. Bring your mam with ye.” She winked at Katie and then innocently returned her attention to her blueberry stash.
Not yet committing, Katie gave her thanks to the mistress and extended her hand to Henry, who jumped off the stool and left the kitchen with her.
Inside the corridor, Henry began eagerly, “Maddie said—”
“Henry, I dinna care what permission she gives, but you’re to address her properly.”
“Mam, I did. Called her mistress all the time until she said she would no’ talk to me any more if I kept it up.”
This struck Katie somehow as rather funny that she laughed a bit. “She’s very sweet, I think.”
“I like her,” Henry agreed.
BY THE TIME THE BELL sounded from Swordmair, three long and slow gongs, Katie noted, she and Henry had not only set up their bed and linens and arranged most of her sparse kitchen items, but they had fetched water from the creek and washed up, though sadly she hadn’t any fire wood yet to warm the water or the cottage. They’d changed into their cleanest garments, ones washed with Alec MacBriar’s help, and were ready when the supper call came. Katie had decided that her cloak was unusable until she laundered it and wrapped herself instead in the old woolen shawl, which she’d acquired from Maybeth, who had been the only mother she had ever known, who had taught her the healing arts.
Henry didn’t hold her hand as he normally might but bounced and bounded along the trail, jumping and scraping his hands against low hanging leaves, so much livelier than she’d seen him in recent memory. He talked non-stop as well, though Katie could only hear some of what he said.
“...And Maddie said she was going to mix cream and sugar into the blueberries and I dinna ken what that’s gonna taste like, but it sounded good. The one girl, I think her name was...” he carried on, further ahead now that Katie heard him not at all. But she smiled anyhow.
Guards stood atop the gate and along the curtain wall, nodding pleasantly as Katie and Henry passed beneath. The courtyard of the keep was lit with wall-hung torches, though the sun wouldn’t set for hours yet, and many people and groups of families walked ahead and behind them, all gathering for the feast.
And what a feast it was. Not once in her life had she ever dined in the hall of a castle, not ever anywhere outside whatever her home was. She didn’t know if there was any protocol to follow, if there were an ascendancy order to the trestle tables, or if people just sat anywhere. But the seats were empty as of yet, all the folks milling about, making jolly conversation with their neighbors and friends. Standing just inside, having only moved out of the way of the door, Katie held Henry’s hand tightly, unsure, uneasy, biting her lip and looking around for any familiar face.
Her awkwardness was thankfully short-lived, as the laird and mistress appeared and took their seats and the entire room moved about to claim their own. Aymer came bounding through the door then, spotting Katie and Henry.
“Aye, c’mon now,” he said, taking Katie’s elbow. “Canna stand and eat.”
Bless him.
He directed her to a table in the middle left aisle, where Fergus and a lass were seated—whom Katie was sure she’d spied in the kitchens earlier when she’d fetched Henry—their four hands joined across the table. Aymer climbed over the back of the bench and sat next to Henry while Katie sat opposite, next to Fergus. Aymer quipped to Fergus, “She’ll need at least one paw to eat, lad. Let her be.”
In the next moment, Simon joined them and then the laird stood and banged his tankard on the table, which effectively quieted the hall rather all at once. Katie straightened and glanced up at the head table, seeing that the laird stood in front of a large ornate chair, with carved arms that depicted the head of a wolf. Seated next to him was his wife on his left and Alec on his right. Next to Alec sat Malcolm, his head angled, his lips moving that Alec nodded at whatever he said. On Magdalena’s left sat a man Katie did not recognize, about the laird’s age, but slimmer, neatly dressed, his gray hair cropped close, very distinguished looking. Katie wondered if he were a guest.
“Aye now. Welcome! Welcome! Aye, and God bless us all, it’s good to have a full house again.” He opened his hand toward his son. “Favored by God yet again, for look who He’s returned to us once more.”
His voice was ideal for this, for any occasion that required speech to carry far and wide, and to so many ears. Deep and resonant, the laird’s voice suited him perfectly, as large and imposing as was the man, the richness of it filling the hall.
Cups and tankards were banged on the trestle tables and choruses of “Aye, aye!” followed. Someone whistled and Katie smiled softly at this warm response. Alec nodded slightly at this praise, seeming to stare at no one in particular, mayhap only the edge of the table upon which one hand sat. At his side, Malcolm gamely raised his tankard, inducing a louder cheer.
The laird continued, which silenced the room again. “Gone and back, and no the worse for wear, battling for honor and tradition and our blessed freedom. Your future laird proudly reports that Robert the Bruce, our true king, fights bravely and steadfastly, gaining ground”—he winced a bit here— “slowly, but certainly. We can do no more just now, until Bruce builds his own army stronger, greater in number, and as thirsty for English blood as any true and honorable Scotsman.”
Another cheer rang out while the laird bent and said something low to his son. Alec glanced up and replied, his voice unheard as well, and then surprised Katie by lifting his striking gaze to meet hers directly. Embarrassed to have been caught staring at him, she lowered her eyes to the hands in her lap.
And then she was startled to hear the laird say, “And where is Katie Oliver?”
Gasping, she raised her eyes again, finding the laird, watching him search about the room.
“Katie Oliver!” He called again.
Laughing, Aymer said, “Up, lass. Stand up.”
Horrified, she did so, slowly, haltingly.
The laird noticed her movement, the only person standing aside from himself. and his bright eyes lit on her. “Och, and isn’t she a bonny one? Jesu! So here she is, folks. Ministered well to Malcolm here, like as no’ a still-breathing man because of her fine handiwork. Now, dinna get excited, there’s no saving all the rest of Malcolm—God bless him.”
Laughter rang out. Malcolm lifted his hands and pinched his face comically at this jesting, moving his smiling gaze around the room.
“Aye, Katie Oliver will tend all your aches and pains and sew up your troubles, I ken. Morven, God save him, left us in a wee bit of a dither. Aye, but now we’ve Katie Oliver in our midst, here to stay, and kind enough to be so young that it seems she’ll be with us long after I’m gone. Will ye no’ welcome her kindly to Swordmair?”
More cheers sounded and more tankards lifted, the noise thrumming in her ears and her chest.
She’d never received such recognition—any recognition!—in all her life. Truth be known, it was as warm and lovely as a smile from Henry, one of those sweet ones he gave when he was in awe of her cleverness or pleased with her teasing or such. But her cheeks were red, nonetheless, the singular attention unsettling. She bobbed her head a bit at all the curious regard settled upon her and quickly retook her seat. Aymer, across from her, was grinning and saluting her with his tankard.
And then supper.
Katie and Henry pursued no effort to keep their eyes from widening as so many generous platters were laid about every table. Henry actually shifted on the bench, folding his legs under him to make himself higher, that he might see and reach every bit. One entire platter was piled high, with some endeavor at a pleasing
presentation, with cheese and sweet breads and fruits. Another long dish with curved ends offered cutlets of meat, smothered in a thick sauce showing mushrooms and onions. The blueberries Magdalena and Henry had pared made their presence inside a shallow and hammered silver bowl, mixed with the cream and chunks of sugared cakes. Garlic seasoned beans and two-bite individual pork pies completed the meal.
Every bite was divine and, Katie was sure, never to be forgotten. At some point, though, she had to caution herself—and then Henry as well—to not overeat lest they be made sick by bursting bellies.
Mostly, Katie and Henry only listened to the constant and pleasant conversation at their table, too invested in the fare and too new to Swordmair to contribute much. When all the tables had been cleared, people seemed only to linger, chatting still, the din merry. Music was strummed from some corner of the room, lifting Katie’s gaze to find its source, though she could not. Occasionally some folks left their seats, greeting others at different tables. Katie was happy to sit and watch.
She hadn’t paid too much attention to the soldiers on their journey, her mind fairly preoccupied with any combination of dread and hope and possibly so many other negative, energy-wasting things—and of course, Alec MacBriar. But she observed much throughout the evening, noting that Aymer and Simon seemed to be quite a pair, moving as one unit from table to table, chortling and guffawing louder and louder as the evening wore on. Malcolm never moved from his seat, kept in constant conversation with Alec, and then John and Ranald who stood before the head table. Fergus was never far away from the pretty lass, whose name was Margaret, she’d since learned. The elder MacBriar, likewise, stayed seated, though was rarely without company, some person seeking his attention; sometimes the meeting appeared quite serious, others showed the huge and aged man chuckling easily and loudly. Always, though, there was a hardness about his wide features. Magdalena MacBriar was up and out of her chair as soon as she’d eaten her supper, making her way to each and every table, talking cheerily to everyone.
The Love of Her Life (Highlander Heroes Book 6) Page 12
