Lachlan dismissed the men. “Semias, remain behind.” Once the door closed behind the tacksmen, Lachlan rose. He came around the table. “Should I remember you?”
Semias lowered his head. He gave it a shake then faced him. “You were but a lad. I escorted you to MacLean. You were frightened, but did not let that show. Nay, you threw back yer boney shoulders and faced it.” His voice was laced with melancholy warmth.
“I do not remember you.”
“As I said, you were a lad and your mother had died a short time before.”
Lachlan inclined his head since it seemed as if Semias waited for his dismissal. Lachlan slumped in the chair. He folded his hand together and tucked them behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling. There was more to Semias’s story. He wasn’t sure if he wished to learn all of it. Yet, he knew he would. Was he ready for the story he had forgotten?
* * * *
Without disturbance, Lachlan made his way to the Laird’s Chamber. He shut the door without a sound. The bed seemed to be pulling Rowen into its depths, making her seem so small and frail. If not for her ragged breathing, he would have thought her dead. There was a chance of that. People died for fevers.
“What are you fleeing that you would risk your life and that of your son? I should send a messenger to your brother.”
“Laird,” Mistress Cullen came in. “I’ve brought some broth for the lass.”
“I shall take that. Where is her son?”
She grinned. “Filling his belly in the kitchens. He eats more than a grown mon.”
“Young boys do that.” Lachlan took the tray.
“Aye, he’d be needing a bath though he refuses it in a verra loud voice.”
“After his final meal then I shall see he is set to right. Now, why are you gawking at me for?”
“Ye’re the laird. Ye shouldna be doing such chores.”
“If we followed what should and should not, I should not be laird.”
She twisted her mouth. “Ye’ll be a fine one. I ken such things.”
“You converse with the netherworld?”
“I ken she is a banshee. Here to protect ye though it seems ye be protecting her.”
“Nay, Mistress Cullen, she is but a woman.” A woman that knocks him to his knees.
“Yer woman.”
He shook his head. “Nay.”
Mistress Cullen made a sound in the back of her throat before she departed in a flurry and rapid footsteps scraping against the wood floor.
“Let’s fill your belly.” He picked up the spoon and dipped it in the steamy broth. He blew on it before he placed its rounded edge to her mouth. He swore he heard the rip of her chapped lips as they parted. He dribbled the clear broth in her mouth. Some dripped down the side of her face.
“I do not think I am skilled in this.” He continued feeding her. She turned her head toward the spoon and made the most sensual grunt-groan he had ever heard. “I wish you were well. You will not know him, but Semias knows me. He may know times in my life that I rather forget.”
One memory never faded with time. These years later and he still woke from a cold sweat and gasping for air and feeling more alone than he ever had in his life.
“Lachlan,” Rowen whispered on a rough, scratchy voice. She lifted a hand.
He grabbed hold of the clammy flesh. “I’m here. You’re safe and so is your son.”
“Thank you. I missed you.” Her eyes drifted close, losing the battle to remain awake.
His heart squeezed with such force that he felt the pain twist his chest. He doubled over from the ache.
“I…I miss you.”
He scraped a hand through his hair. He was unsure of how he felt about Rowen. A dozen emotions raged within him depending on the memory, or the context of the news. This near to her and he itched to scream down upon her and hold her close.
“Ma,” Kenny burst into the room. Rowen forced her eyes open as Kenny leapt on the bed. He bounced on his knees, getting closer to her.
“Mo ghra.” She smiled sweetly at him. Her bottom lip cracked and a sliver of blood appeared.
“Ma is feeling better.”
Lachlan agreed, not that he had seen any difference, but the lad’s lip shook. He hoped Kenny’s statement was true.
“She was calling for my da.” The boy didn’t need a reply but kept on speaking, which was good since Lachlan couldn’t utter a word. “She misses him. She told Bran that, but he yelled at her. You know Bran?”
“Aye,” he grunted.
Kenny turned his wide gaze on him.
“Did Bran yell at her much?”
He shook his head, sending his hair flying about his face. “He dinna like her. I heard him say it. Da never let him be mean to her.” He bowed his head.
“You can tell me. He will not harm her.”
“He wanna to hit her and said he’d cut her down.” His face crumbled and tears fell. His little hiccups shook him.
“I will not let that happen.”
Kenny whipped up his head. He wiped his dimpled hands across his full cheeks, smearing the tear tracks. “You promise?”
Lachlan ambled to his side. Kenny craned his neck back. “I shall protect her with my life. I will not allow anyone to harm her. This I promise.”
* * * *
“Why do I have to bathe?” He scrunched his face as if he smelled something foul. Lachlan wagered it was him.
“You smell of cheese, sweat,”—Lachlan sniffed—“and manure. So either bathe or sleep with the horses.”
Kenny raced to the door. His heels struck his behind. He yanked at the door handle. His little grunts reached Lachlan’s ears. Ianatan opened the door. Kenny fell to his arse then jumped up and fled.
“That one stabbed me in the ass.” Lachlan made a half-step to go after him. He halted. A man only had his honor so he had to let the boy go.
Rowen would kill him. To let a boy of his wee years sleep outdoors in the winter. She would string him up. Lachlan had no notion on how to deal with a bairn. He knew how to make a warrior. That was all he could do with Kenny.
“Are ye going after the lad?” Ianatan hitched a thumb over his shoulder.
“Nay, let him have a hard night sleeping on manure and not much hay for warmth.”
“Ye needed me?”
“Aye, Ianatan, gather men to ride out in the morn.”
“Where are we heading?”
He clapped him on the shoulder. “To meet the clan.”
“Laird, do ye think it wise to venture out with Jonty out there?” He shifted on his feet.
“Aye, we’re going stalking.” Lachlan rubbed his hands together in glee.
Ianatan grinned. “We shall have a grand time.”
A rush of wind flowed through the hall and whipped back the flames. Kenny came in.
“If you wish to sleep in the stables then you cannot come in to gather supplies.”
He dragged his feet, leaving a trail of mud. His chin was buried in his chest. “It’s scary.”
“That it is. Now isn’t the time to sleep outdoors. In the spring or summer are best for the first time.”
“Aye, I’d do it then,” he said solemnly.
Lachlan steered Kenny toward the stairs.
“Where we going?”
“To bathe you. Come along.” Lachlan set off to the chamber on the second floor. “The tub has been prepared. Water warms in the hearth. Now off with that.”
The boy groaned. He slowly drew off his plaid and left it crumpled on the floor.
“Hurry, Kenny.”
“My da called me that.” He let the garment fall to the floor. He bent down and pulled off his wet, muddy shoes. He straightened and held his arms up. Lachlan cocked a brow at him. “You have to take it off.”
Lachlan hesitated. He grabbed it by the edge and whipped it off him.
“You have to test the water so I dinna get burn. That’s wat Ma does.”
Lachlan got down on one knee and dipped his hand in the
water. “It’s fine.”
Kenny came over and put a foot in. He yanked it out. “It’s cold. You have to make it warm like Ma does.”
“Your ma does a lot for you.” Lachlan took the pot from the fire and poured about half its contents into the tub water.
“That’s not how Ma does it.” Kenny shook his head and sucked his teeth.
Lachlan let out a drawn out breath. He poured more cold water in and raised his brows questioningly.
“You have to check it again. Ma says you have to see it’s…cor…correct so I dinna get burned.”
“How about you test it because I thought it was just fine before.”
Kenny rolled one shoulder up to his ear and dipped his hand in it. “It’s na like how Ma does it, but it’ll do I guess.” He climbed in.
Lachlan grabbed the ball of soap and dropped it in the water. “Make sure you get between your toes and under your arms.”
“You have to wash my hair like Ma does.”
“Lad, if I could take the stench coming from you I would tell you to wait for her.” Lachlan picked up the soap.
“I have to wet my hair first.” He leaned back on his elbows and dipped his head. When he came up, Lachlan rubbed the soap over his strands. He scrubbed the boy’s hair.
“There.”
Kenny dipped his head. “Na you have to wash my back.”
“You can do it yourself.”
He reached behind him to show he couldn’t. “I canna reach.”
Lachlan took a washing cloth and rubbed it over his back.
“You’re doin’ it ta hard. Ma—”
“Ma doesn’t do it like that. I know. This is the worse chore I have ever done in my years on this earth. You are not to get filthy again or you will be doing this yourself.”
“Ma gives me a treat afterward.”
“So you can get dirty again. Nay.” He finished washing the boy. “You can do the rest and don’t forget to get your boy parts.”
“I’m na getting a treat.” His jaw dropped.
Lachlan glared at him.
“I had to try.” Kenny stood up and out of the tub. “You have to dry me.” A puddle grew around him.
Lachlan snatched up the drying linen and flung it on his head. “Do it yourself and I don’t want to hear how your mother does it.”
Kenny chuckled, a naughty little sound that had his mouth twitching. The boy dried his body then started again.
Lachlan pulled it away. “Enough, get to bed.”
Kenny climbed into the bed. He bounced about, making the bed ropes creak. Bored by that, he climbed beneath the linens then squirmed, turned to his left side then flopped on his back then to his right.
“Ready.”
Lachlan stripped off his leine and left it on the floor. He splashed cold water on his face and rinsed his mouth. He took a cloth and rubbed his teeth.
“Ready for what?” Lachlan perched on the bed and untied the strings about his shoes.
“For my night time story. Ma tells me one every night.”
“I have to speak to your mother. She does too much.” Lachlan blew out the candles. The copper glow danced across the oak floors. He now understood why Ailsa dragged her feet as the day progressed. She had three bairns and he felt laid low by one.
“Tell me a story first.”
Lachlan dropped his plaid and slipped into bed. Damn, bed. He had slept rough in his years but the ground was more comfortable than this thing. His feet hung off the edge. The mattress lumped in places that had him feeling as if he were riding a wave and dug into him.
“Well…”
“Fine.” He’d tell Kenny anything to get some sleep. “I was about ten and four and we had to go out about the lands to gather the rent. MacLean, your uncle and I were—”
“Who’s MacLean?” In his childish voice, it sounded as if he said MacMean.
“He is laird of his clan, but at that time his father still lived. We were—”
“Did he like my da?”
“Aye.”
“My da died in bed. He fell off his horse an’ down a cliff. I miss him.”
Lachlan stilled as his little voice cracked. He opened and closed his mouth. What did one say to a child? Everything seemed foolish and hollow.
“Do you miss your da?”
Lachlan swallowed. The silence thickened. “Aye.”
* * * *
Mist hung over the clachan and brushed against the thatched roofs. Folks went about their daily chores huddled in their plaids against the cold. A woman tossed out a bucket on to the dirt road. Whatever it was, it soaked into the muddy earth. She hugged the pail to her chest and watched him ride forward. Others halted in their chores. Some men came from the cottars others from behind their homes. From young to old, these men gathered in the center of the road.
Lachlan halted and dismounted. He approached the men with Semias at his side.
“Laird, this is not proper.”
“I have never been proper in my life.”
Semias presented each man, adding a tidbit about them. He noticed their glances, some filled with awe and others nervousness. These people were his responsibility. He had led men, cared for land, and helped with decisions. Now, all final choices of life and death lay in his clutches.
“Some men have gone from this clachan.”
“Joined up with Jonty,” Lachlan said. Eight faces whitened with fear. Those men must be their sons or brothers.
One man stepped from the crowd. “Laird, you are our chief. We follow you.” Amhlaidh Lang lifted his head. Men behind him nodded in agreement.
Lachlan dipped his head in acceptance. A weight settled on him. He had followers. Some would say he was no longer alone, but he never felt so distant from people than at this moment.
“Laird, can we get ye a cuppa?”
“Aye, Mistress Darge.”
She beamed at him, revealing the bottom row of her missing teeth.
“Semias, bring these men to me.” Lachlan rolled off the names before he followed Mistress Darge into her cottar. He ducked to enter the low-framed home.
He took the wooden cup from her. “You look familiar to me.”
“My sister is Mistress Cullen.”
“I see it now. She runs the household well.”
“She has worked there since she was a lass. The auld lairdess depended upon her for everything.” Her face flushed, emphasizing the pores of her skin.
“I see. If I go into battle I may have her command the men.”
Mistress Darge giggled, covering her mouth. She sounded like a mere girl herself. “She’ll cut down many a mon, too.”
All liveliness vanished as Semias and the men crowded inside the home. Her husband was one of them. She made a half-step toward him. He gave her a stern look that kept her in place. Blinking, she hurried to get the men drinks.
Lachlan used this terse time to let their worries grow. The mind conjured worse possibilities than would actually occur and he planned to use it against them. Lachlan sat down on the finest chair the family possessed, which was nothing but planks of sturdy wood. When the men had their drinks, he raised his own. “Gordon.”
He took a taste at the men’s quivering response. “Each one of you has a man who has joined up with Jonty.”
Lachlan waited as they fixed glances at each other than into the depths of their cups. “Tell me who they are.”
“My eldest son,” Darge said.
Craig spoke next. “My two brothers.”
“My son,” Marr said.
Mallett stepped up next. His nephew he raised as well as his second son. Dorward confessed to his brother while Garrick said his brother-in-law joined, whom his wife loved very much. Ackane and Badenoch told him of their sons.
“The clan does not know the man I am. But I am a just man. Since these men are of my clan, I shall give warning. If they return to their homes, I shall be kind and if not…” He shrugged. “Let the others know that anyone aiding them whether with
food, clothing even a kind word shall be dealt with as well.”
Lachlan looked pointedly at each one. They gave him a nod. He finished his drink and thanked Mistress Darge for her hospitality. He departed with Semias on his heels.
“Do you think they will return?”
“Some may be taking advantage of my peace offering. I want the men about their chores, preparing for planting. This division will take a toll on the people who work the land. Rents will not be paid, some may go hungry, and the clan will be in danger from others.”
“Laird, send Mistress Murray to her family if not to Laird Murray to rid ourselves of that threat, then wed and we shall be able to call up more men.”
“In time. Onto the next clachan. I have more to learn.” He led the way through the crowd of gatherers.
The party rode on. The sun had risen halfway in the sky. Snow melted drop by drop. Imbolc had passed a fortnight ago. He had seen the Bridhid’s crosses hanging above the doors. That did not mean snow would not come again. Lachlan did not know how long—a fortnight or two—before spring arrived and that meant fighting, raiding—time when he was useful. He’d have to plan his next move and be ready for whatever may happen.
Upon riding into the next clachan, Lachlan went through the same as the others. He learned of men who had joined up. Coming for a cottar’s house on the edge of the road, he slowed at a deserted home, broken by age, weather, and lack of use.
“That was where you were born.” The simple structure looked like every other home in the highlands. He searched for some recognition, an emotional connection. Sadness, anger, and curiosity rose in him.
Lachlan slowly turned toward Semias. The man gave no expression. Lachlan walked away, keeping his stride calm when his insides leapt like a hundred fleas. Folk watched him. How many of these people remembered him? How many threw stones at him? How many called his name and ostracized him? How many sneered at him? Or just ignored him like manure on the bottom of their feet.
He clenched his jaw. Sweat broke out across his forehead and prickling heat spread across his chest to his back.
Swinging into his saddle, Lachlan did not feel like the just man he professed himself to be. There was a baser part of him that urged him to grab his claymore and cut them down. He rode away instead.
Highland Scandal Page 11
