The Valiant Highlander (Highland Defender #2)

by Amy Jarecki

  Deep down Mary prayed a demand wouldn’t be necessary, but that a betrothal would, indeed, be negotiated. Though she dared not hope for herself. She focused all hope on Mr. Oliphant proving Sir Donald’s innocence.

  But still, the further they sailed away from Glasgow, Da’s ramblings had Mary’s insides twisted so tight she wanted to scream. How could her father ramble on about Sir Donald when he was being held in the Tolbooth for crimes for which he’d been falsely accused? All Da seemed to care about was Mary’s virtue and reputation, and her waning prospects for a formidable marriage.

  Lord, she was only one and twenty.

  She couldn’t bring herself to tell Da that Sir Donald had asked her to marry him. Not now. Not with his very life in peril. What if the baronet decided to renege? Goodness, such an admission on her part could start a feud between their clans.

  Listening to Lilas and Florence prattle about their petty problems and ask her endless questions about the baronet only served to increase Mary’s unease.

  “You attended a ball?” Lilas asked, her eyes round as shillings.

  Smoothing her skirts, Mary tried to feign excitement. “Aye. ’Twas nearly the most fantastical part of my adventure.”

  Florence fanned her face with her hands—as if she’d taken lessons on being flippant from Lilas. “I want every detail.”

  “Very well, but then that will be all. It took sennights to sail home and I’m ever so tired.”

  They eagerly agreed and Mary told them about Barbara and her exquisite gowns and fan language. Then she was careful to stress how much dancing she did with Sir Kennan so no one would suspect the depth of her affection for Sir Donald—Don—the man who could take her to the moon and send her back floating on the air like a feather.

  Her voice was dry and sore by the time she’d finished, but after, Florence and Lilas left her alone as she’d asked. Rubbing her outer arms, the hollow feeling in her chest returned. While she’d sailed north, Mary’s thoughts of how she could be reunited with Don consumed her mind. If only they could have stayed for the trial.

  And there he sat, alone and suffering in that blasted Tolbooth.

  Of course, it was completely improper for her to write to him, but she could pen a letter to Barbara.

  Mary fetched her quill, ink well and a slip of parchment.

  9th September, the year of our Lord 1695

  Dear Miss Barbara,

  I must apologize for leaving Glasgow so abruptly. It was quite a surprise to see my father. He hadn’t traveled since the wars.

  I must also enquire as to Sir Donald’s hearing. Please do send word about the outcome as soon as possible. It would have been best if I’d been on hand to give my testament to the baronet’s innocence. I only pray that justice will prevail. I, indeed, need to thank him and you for your kind hospitality, if you could please convey my sincere gratitude.

  Though it is good to be home at Dunscaith Castle among my brother and sisters, I do miss you terribly. And how are you faring? Have Sir Coll and Sir Kennan returned with the new shipment?

  Of course, I cannot forget how much you wanted to visit Castleton. Please know you are always welcome. I do hope you and your brothers can pay us a visit before winter sets in. Wouldn’t it be a boon for our families to spend Yule together?

  Do write soon.

  Your dear friend,

  Mary of Castleton

  She sanded the parchment and re-read it to ensure she hadn’t made any unladylike mistakes. Holding a red wax wafer to the candle, she sealed it closed with her brass seal bearing the family crest. She’d been very careful not to mention anything to indicate she and Donald had been lovers. A missive could always fall into unwanted hands and be read and resealed. Hopefully she’d shown enough concern without being blatantly obvious that she was desperately in love with Sir Donald MacDonald of Sleat.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  One of the best things about returning home was that Mary could resume her daily routine. She’d missed her early morning meetings in the kitchens with Raymond. Today she awoke before sunrise like she always did, as if she’d never been gone.

  Now late September, she was anxious to meet with the cook about the harvest and found him stirring the fire beneath the enormous iron pot suspended from a chain secured to the top of the hearth.

  “Starting the oats to boil?” she asked.

  “Mary,” the old cook said with a big grin. “I was hoping you’d pay a visit this morn.”

  She gave him a squeeze. “And why wouldn’t I?”

  “Och, things haven’t been much the same since you left.”

  “No?” She playfully batted her eyelashes. “Did you miss me, then?”

  “Bloody oath I did.” He glanced over his shoulder as if he thought someone might be listening. “Will you be resuming your duties in the kitchen?”

  “I do not see why not.” Mary stepped closer and lowered her voice. “What’s happened whilst I’ve been away?”

  The old cook shuddered. “Your da sent Mrs. Watt to oversee. I’ve been running this kitchen for thirty years. I worked for your grandmother and then your mother, and then you, and never had a problem.”

  Mary’s back tensed. Why hadn’t Da assigned Lilas to oversee the kitchen? Raymond had never needed much overseeing. Mary discussed the menu and the stores with him each morning, and then he was free to manage the meal preparation, and was quite efficient at it. She patted the cook’s shoulder. “I daresay, with you at the helm, running the kitchens is one of the easiest, not to mention, most pleasurable tasks in this castle.”

  He grumbled under his breath. “Tell that to Mrs. Watt.”

  “For heaven’s sakes, has she been unkind?”

  “Overbearing is a better word—and she doesn’t consult with me like a proper lady of the keep would do. She just makes decisions and when I tell her we don’t have the stores for her menu, she’ll hear none of it.”

  “My heavens.” Mary drew her hand to her chest. She knew better than to speak ill of Mrs. Watt in front of the servant, but that didn’t prevent her from digging deeper. “How have you been managing?”

  “So far, I’ve scrambled to pull things together and meet her wishes.” He shook his head. “We had to butcher two sheep whilst a side of beef hangs in the cellar. Dear me, I’m afeard it will go putrid if we don’t eat it soon.”

  She gave his shoulder a pat. “Put it on the menu for the evening meal.”

  He shrank with a pinched brow. “Are you certain?”

  “Do as I say.” Mary inclined her head toward the passageway to the cellar. “And what about the harvest? Have the crofters brought in enough barrels of oats and barley?”

  “I haven’t had enough time to look. We’ve received a few deliveries, but ’tis a mess down there.” Raymond leaned forward. “That is why I’m anxious to have you back, my dear.”

  “Miss Mary,” Mrs. Watt said from the doorway. “I’m surprised to see you here this morn.”

  Whipping around, Mary grasped her hands behind her back while her heartbeat sped. Why on earth did she feel like she’d been caught stealing an apple tart? This was her home, for goodness sakes. She’d been the lady of the keep for nine years. Squaring her shoulders, she stood a bit straighter. “Why wouldn’t I resume my duties now that I’ve returned?”

  Mrs. Watt sauntered inside, giving Raymond the evil eye. “Didn’t your father tell you? I’m in charge of the kitchens now.”

  Raymond busied himself by scooping a bucket of oats from the barrel and adding it to the pot.

  Mary crossed her arms. “I thought you were taking over Da’s care.”

  “Aye.” The woman nodded, mirroring Mary’s stance yet adding pursed lips that made her face look like a prune. “That, too. Your father has entrusted a great many tasks to me, bless him.”

  “And why on earth didn’t he task my sisters with more responsibility? Heaven kens they need such experience.”

  Mrs. Watt pulled an apron from a peg on the wall
and draped it over her head. Obviously, she planned to stay. “Perhaps you should to ask him.” She folded her hands and pursed her lips. “I’m only doing his bidding. It wasn’t easy for your father when you were away, but he realized his daughters will soon be wed and he needed to find a replacement.”

  Mary couldn’t help but conjure a picture of the day she found them in Da’s bed. Never in her life would she be able to think of that moment without shuddering. She paced in a circle around the usurper. “Pray tell, has my father made you an offer of marriage?”

  The woman reached back and tied her apron strings. “Not as of yet, but I fail to see where that comes into it. The laird can appoint anyone he sees fit to his service and he has appointed me. The cook and I have things in hand. Might I suggest you tend to your embroidery?”

  Mary hated embroidery. Da knew she hated embroidery. Everyone in the castle knew it as well—Mrs. Watt probably did, too. “I think not. I was just discussing the need to set the winter stores in order with Raymond.”

  “Aye,” the cook said from his place at the fire. “Miss Mary always ensures we have enough put up come winter.”

  Mrs. Watt placed her hand on Mary’s shoulder and ushered her toward the doorway. “Well, mayhap she has taken care of such things in years past, but I am here now. I will do it.”

  “But Raymond tells me the cellar is already in disarray.” Sliding out from under the woman’s heavy hand, Mary wasn’t about to allow this pushy wench to buffalo her way onto her turf. She jammed her fists into her hips. “Tell me, how many barrels of oats do we need for the season? And how many meals can we expect a barrel to yield?”

  “Ah,” Mrs. Watt shot a panicked look to Raymond, who intently focused on stirring the oats.

  Mary drummed her fingers against her chin. “What about barley? What about wheat and rye? Are the hens laying? Have we smoked enough meat? Have the apples been stowed in the cellar? What about cider?”

  “Stop this. You are carrying on to make me look incompetent in the presence of the cook. I’ll tell you right now, I raised six bairns and I shall manage just fine with Raymond’s help.”

  Unconvinced, Mary strode toward the hearth. “How many mouths do we feed in this castle each meal, Raymond?”

  “Sixty-six, last count.”

  “Six to sixty-six?” Mary arched her eyebrows at the widow. She might be overreacting, but goodness, she wouldn’t allow her father to push her out the door. “Not quite the same is it?”

  “Your da thinks I have done very well since you left.” The woman’s voice cracked.

  I doubt my father has been out of his bedchamber now he has the enjoyment of the matron’s company. “Can you read?”

  “I fail to see where that matters.” Mrs. Watt again made a sweeping gesture to the doorway. “Please, Miss Mary, go about your affairs and leave the running of the keep to me.”

  “So now you’re overseeing everything?” Mary stamped her foot. “I beg your pardon, but I have always been the lady of the castle.”

  The woman thrust out her enormous bosoms as if she were the queen of blessed Scotland. “Well, no longer. I have assumed all your former tasks. Go on and ask your father.”

  Mary’s fingers flexed. This old matron was insufferable, and worse, she had the wool pulled over Da’s eyes. Never in her life had Mary wanted to show someone their place as she did right now. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. “Would you care to venture up to the wall-walk for a shooting contest? I’m certain with all your newfound skills you would be an ace. How about the first to drop four pigeons wins the right to be lady of this keep?” she spat with an acerbic edge.

  The woman snorted. “I have never been met with such disrespect in my life.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Mary scoffed. She might have crossed the line, but she wouldn’t be brushed aside without a fight.

  “Of course I would never partake in such vulgar behavior. I ought to tell your father—”

  Mary marched for the door. “Don’t bother.”

  Of all the maddening confrontations she’d had, this one had to take the cake. Why did her father not tell her Mrs. Watt had been granted so much responsibility? Did he want her off his hands that badly?

  True, he had an alliance to make with Mary’s hand, but why did he have to be so overbearing about it? Were their coffers that thin? Why didn’t he just ask for help rather than push her away like this?

  And why in God’s name hadn’t she heard anything from Glasgow?

  Dear Lord, Da will have me married off afore Donald’s hearing.

  ***

  The wind blew so hard, it whistled through the castle walls when Mary knocked on her father’s solar door. After her confrontation with Mrs. Watt, she’d avoided him up until now.

  “Come,” Da’s voice resounded from within like it had hundreds of times throughout her life at Dunscaith. Though, in the fortnight since her return, everything seemed different. The clansmen and women had carried on with their lives without her. Rabbie had grown taller, Florence and Lilas had become closer. The servants acted with more independence. Da no longer required her assistance with his massages. And no matter how she tried, the one person Mary hadn’t been able to avoid at every turn was Mrs. Watt.

  It seemed the widow wanted her gone more than Da.

  She stepped inside, heading for the chair at her father’s left—where she always sat when they discussed the running of the keep. “You asked to see me?”

  “I did.”

  Mary’s skin prickled while Da waited for her to sit. She’d always had an agreeable relationship with her father. But since he’d come to Glasgow and practically accused her of humiliating the family, she’d been guarded. So had he. And for some reason, every time he looked at her, she sensed the man judging her.

  Had all the years she’d managed his care and his keep meant nothing?

  Once seated, Mary looked to the ceiling and steeled her nerves.

  Da crossed his arms. “Mrs. Watt has indicated you haven’t been treating her respectfully.”

  So now the old battle-ax was spewing false accusations to her father? She had no doubt she’d been summoned because of her altercations with the widow, but having her father instantly side with the woman stuck in her craw. Besides, at least Mary hadn’t strangled the woman…yet.

  Affronted, Mary gaped. “I beg your pardon? I have done nothing but swallow my pride and endure the widow while she has supplanted me in nearly every endeavor.”

  “Aye? She told me you threatened her with a musket.”

  “Threatened? I challenged her to a shooting contest.”

  “Och, Mary. I rue the day your mother left us. What is to be done with you, challenging ladies with your musket? Bloody oath, you act as though you are a child.”

  “So you called me to your solar to issue a reprimand? Do you have any idea what Mrs. Watt is doing in the kitchens?”

  “Aye, I’ve been told you tried to evict her from the kitchens as well.”

  “I wouldn’t call it an eviction, but I will admit to flexing my muscles there.” Since her altercation with the woman, Mary had been secretly meeting with Raymond to ensure the winter stores would be in order. “And why should I not? I have been in charge of the menu since the age of twelve. If she chose to step in and help during my absence, fine, but now I have returned, I expect to resume those duties previously assigned to me.”

  Da dragged his fingers through his hair. “Mrs. Watt has come to mean a great deal to me.”

  Mary pursed her lips, narrowed her gaze and looked him in the eye. She would not be made out to be the shrew, not even by her father. “I assure you it hasn’t escaped my observation that she has become your leman.”

  “Pardon me?” He glared, sitting erect. “Such a statement is unduly insolent. You had best apologize, or I will have no recourse but to confine you to your chamber for an entire month.”

  “Forgive me. I’m still trying to come to grips with being dragged away fr
om Glasgow when mine was the only testimony sure to prove Sir Donald’s innocence. His fate could very well rest in my hands and if he is convicted, I will never forgive myself or you!” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You want to confine me to quarters so things will revert to the way they were when I was away and out of your hair—so Mrs. Watt can run the keep without my meddling. Is that it?”

  Da pounded his fist on the table. “Blast it Mary, you have become too overbearing.”

  “Become?” Clenching her fists, she turned and faced the wall. All of a sudden, she was too overbearing? She had to bite her tongue not to accuse the woman who warmed Da’s bed of being the person who put that notion in his head.

  “Sit down,” Da said with an edge to his voice.

  Biting back her groan, Mary faced him with crossed arms, but she didn’t sit.

  “I ken it must be difficult to have another woman step in, but I had a decision to make.” His face softened while he opened his palms. “You will not be here forever and I need a companion with whom I can live out my days. Ye ken I love you and the lassies, but ’twas time for me to make a change, and as lord of this castle, I made the best decision available to me.”

  “But you’re not—”

  “Hear me.” Da sliced a hand through the air. “As you are aware, I have decided ’tis time to select your suitor.” He fingered a piece of parchment.

  Her knees wobbled. Not at a time like this—and not when her own questions hadn’t been answered. “Have you received word regarding the outcome of the trial?”

  “Dear God, did you not hear me? Of course there has been no word from Glasgow, nor do I expect to hear from the baronet until he has cleared his name and is once again in charge of the cause. And that could take a very long time, indeed.” Da thrust his finger at the chair. “Now sit.”