by Deb Kemper
He watched Amalie with his youngest until she noticed the tension in the room and looked up. She smiled and bent to his daughter’s ear.
Jessica grinned, stretching her gooey hands for Da to inspect.
He roared with laughter. “I see yer mess, little one.” In three long strides he was beside her to nibble raw dough off the tot’s hands.
“Da, ye’re supposed to cook it first.” She giggled. “Ye’re ticklin’ my fingers.”
“Ye’re a fine lass to be in the kitchen makin’ bread.” He kissed the top of her head and stepped past Amalie to Mallow. He watched her knead the new loaf Millie put before her. “And ye, ye’ll be runnin’ things before long.” He rested his left hand on his daughter’s back. “May the good God of Heaven help us, Millie, when this one’s ready to take over.”
“Indeed, sir.” Millie kept a pleased eye on her newest pupil.
“You can join me at the judgment seat today after dinner, if Miss Amalie can do without ye.” Garth bent over Mallow.
“Aye, Da.” She turned to see Amalie, past her father. “May I?”
“Certainly, Mallow.” Amalie smiled approval.
Garth’s right hand parked on the small of Amalie’s back.
She stiffened. Her face paled.
Garth smiled down into her fear. “I’ll only keep her an hour or so. This is a good idea, Amalie. I’m pleased to see my wee lasses learnin’ to cook.”
She mumbled, watching him closely. “Science, sir.”
“What?” His eyes brightened with mischief, the tip of his tongue moistening his lower lip.
“They’re learning what makes oat bread and why it works.” Unnerved, she frowned up at him.
Millie looked on with a raised brow. Garth decided to give her something to speculate. His voice dropped when he asked. “Ye’ll meet me tonight?”
“Aye, sir. To report, as usual.” Amalie shot him a look that spoke volumes of her embarrassment, as though the blush creeping high on her neck and cheeks was not enough.
He winked. “’Til, then.” He turned for the kitchen door and left them.
A little while later, the girls returned to the nursery for Mallow to read to Jessica until Amalie finished. She helped the chatelaine clean up the girls’ muddle.
“So, what’s with the laird’s hands all o’er ye, lass?” Millie’s hissed question demanded an answer.
She whispered. “I don’t know…honestly.”
“He’s bold about it, in front of his daughters and the servants. What’s this about meetin’ him? Are ye alone?” Millie scraped flour off the table into a bowl.
“Aye, I go to his study at nine o’clock to report on the day with his lasses.” Amalie shook leftover flour through a sieve back into the bin.
“Has he takin’ liberties with ye?” Millie glanced around to be sure no one was listening.
“No, he’s very gentle mostly. We talk. That’s all, Millie. He’s never touched me before…well he did pat my hand a couple of times, but in innocence I supposed.” Amalie shrugged.
“He looks at ye like…well, I don’t ken. I never seen him act like this before. But he’s always been full of pranks, that one.”
“Is he ever…with a servant?” Amalie blushed.
Millie chuckled and shook her head. “I’ve kent him since he was six summers. I come here when his mam passed thirty-one years ago.”
“The woman who was here the night I arrived…?”
“Is the woman his Da married two years later and her daughter, the laird’s half-sister. He had a brother but…he passed too.”
“You know the master’s ways then.” Amalie sighed and dusted off her aparan.
“Aye, and I never seen him act like that with no one. Not even his wife.” She wiped her hands on a damp rag then peered up at Amalie to murmur. “His Mary was a bit of a cool fish. She was a bright thing ’til after Mallow was born, then sickly. She rarely came to the hall or even down to dinner, preferrin’ it in her room. Granny Mae said there was nothin’ wrong with her but then she passed after little Jessica was born and he was consumed with grief.” She frowned. “Maybe it was guilt, though.”
“Should I speak to him about his behavior today or ignore it?” Amalie pressed down the cover on the metal flour bin.
“Wssht, girl, nay. Ignore it. But if it happens when ye’re alone, ye might ask him if there’s something he wants.” Millie looked on Amalie with sympathy. “He’s a good man but ye’re a pure lass. Ye wanna stay that way fer yer husband. He’d understand that, I’d think.” She brushed her rough hands down her aparan.
“I better get to the girls. Thank you, Millie, for your friendship. It means a lot.”
The older lady smiled. “Well, now ye’re the same age of my own Matilda. We never outgrow needin’ a mam.”
Chapter 5
Amalie knocked on the large oak door of the laird’s study. She heard him acknowledge her entry and swung the door open. She stepped in amid billowing smoke, from his pipe, as the clock chimed nine times. He sat a clay tankard on a side table and rose, as she entered.
“Amalie, please come. Sit.” He indicated the chair opposite his. “May I get ye a sherry?”
“No, thank you. I’ll not keep you but a moment, sir. I’ve tested your daughters this afternoon. I waited ’til now so they were comfortable with me. Mallow reads very well. Jessica’s ready to begin letters. How do you want them taught, Gaelic, English, or both?” Amalie perched on the edge of the chair to underscore her brief visit.
Garth sat back and studied the fire a moment, drawing on the long stem of his pipe. “I’ll leave the course to ye. Do what ye think’s best.” He nodded and smiled through smoky blue haze. His voice dropped. “Please, stay with me awhile.”
She hesitated. “Yes, sir.” Amalie adjusted herself in the chair and rested her head against the back, joining her master’s gaze.
Flames danced in the tall stone fireplace, kissed a spot of sap, and sizzled. A burst of steam whistled before evaporating. Silently they basked in the peace of eventide and duskiness of the room.
“They enjoyed bakin’ bread this mornin’.” Amalie’s soft voice broke the hush.
“How’d it turn out?” He smiled.
“Jessica made a mess of herself. Her pinafore may be beyond saving and the laundress will surely hate me for the aparans.” She chuckled at the memory. “Mallow did quite well. You received her bread at high table this even’.”
“Then it was excellent.” He studied her a moment. “They need a mother, Amalie.” He laid his pipe on a clay dish. “Mallow needs a firm female hand to guide her into womanhood. Jessica needs a mam.”
“Aye, sir, I was thinkin’ that very thing this mornin’, watchin’ them enthralled with the workin’s of the kitchen. There’s a limit to what servants can do to help.”
Garth watched her lazily. He stretched his long, thick legs before him, brushing her skirt. She didn’t move.
“Do ye have any suggestions?” He asked slowly, his voice deep.
Amalie peeked up at him. “About what, sir?”
“What kind of woman would be a good mother for my daughters?”
She pondered the fire, for a moment, then met his eyes. “One who loves their father.”
“Ah, that may be difficult.” He leaned into the shadow of the chair’s wing, in the dimly lit room.
She laughed lightly. “Somehow, I think not.”
“In all honesty, Amalie, there’s not one who prefers me that I’d have. There’s great power in bein’ the laird of the Chattan, but more’s the difficulties. Every decision has to count to the people’s good. Many can see the kingship of the roll but fail to ken the servitude. It’s a thankless job, at times, and requires a special woman to fill the vacancy.”
Amalie watched the flame, aware his eyes rested on her. “Mmm, I’m sure you’ll find her.”
He grinned. “I might at that, lass. There is a lady, well born, but no dowry to speak of. I don’t need the money or
land. Ye give me mind to settle on her.”
Amalie nodded and felt a hollow pit open inside, at his words. “May she bless you lovingly with many years, laird.”
He grinned. “I didn’t see ye at supper at the hall tonight.”
“I had dinner with Ceidra Turner. She has a cottage outside the gate.”
“That’s Angus’s widow?”
“Aye, she’s a sweet girl and her son, Seth, is a delight. I took books to her to help him start reading.”
“I’m glad to see ye makin’ friends here.” He pulled two envelopes from his leather satchel. “Ye received replies from yer father and yer aunt today.” He handed the packets across the small space separating them.
She clasped them to her chest with joy. “Thank you very much.” She laid them in her lap and pondered the writing on the outside under the wax seal.
“What’s this then? Go on. Open ’em. What news of yer brother?” He leaned forward as she ripped one open and scanned her aunt’s reply.
“Aunt Sarah says that Asa made it back to her home, late the night of the raid. She heard news of the slave transports and feared us both lost. Asa has difficulty sleeping, from nightmares. She accompanied my brothers home to Dublin.” Amalie’s eyes teared. “I’m sorry, laird.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “When I recall the hopelessness of that day—so much—trust and innocence shattered in a few brief moments. How can men be so brutal?”
Garth shifted and reached for her hands, still clutching the letters in her lap. “I wish I had an answer fer ye, Amalie. I do. It galls me ye had to endure such callous treatment. If I could take the pain from ye, lass, I would.”
She lifted her eyes to find him genuinely concerned. The lord of the high places of Scotland heard many woes and still cared for her well-being. “Thank you.” She lowered her head and admired his large hands, grasping hers. “Thank you for redeemin’ me and all the benefits of bein’ in your employ. I’m glad it was you.” She looked up.
His color heightened. He cleared his throat and tore his eyes from hers. “As am I, Amalie.” He released her, sat back in his chair, shifting his regard to the fire.
She felt the change in atmosphere. The room seemed to have shrunk. “I’ll be sayin’ goodnight, then. Thank you. I do appreciate the letters.” She stood, turned to the door, and looked back but he was already on his feet behind her.
He reached out to lightly touch her shoulder. “Amalie?”
She tilted her head to one side. “Aye, sir?”
“I…uh…sleep well.” He smiled. “Come, sup with me, at high table, on the morrow?”
“Shall I bring your girls?”
He grinned, glad to be back on safe ground. “I look forward to seeing the three of ye, then.” His hand dropped to his side.
She left his study, taking the pleasure with her.
Chapter 6
Festival of Martinmas
November 1, 1714
Mallow and Jessica held Amalie’s hands on each side. They walked the streets of the barmekin admiring garlands some villagers hung on their doors and windows. Wreaths of dry grain and hops woven with the last of the heather scented the warm air.
“May we go out as well?” Mallow’s eyes were hopeful.
“If we can find an escort, we may.”
“There’s Quentin ahead. I’ll go ask.” Mallow released her hand and loped to where the champion stood talking with a guard, at the gate.
Amalie stopped within hearing distance, grasping her wool shawl closer to her in the chilly breeze.
Mallow clutched Quentin’s hand and tugged him toward Jessica and Amalie. “Please, tell Miss Amalie ye’ll take us out the gate!”
Quentin’s smile met Amalie’s. “I’d be honored, milady.” He reached for her hand and dropped a kiss on her knuckle. “Amalie, how kind of ye to think of having me escort ye.”
Her eyebrows rose as she glanced at Mallow.
“Twas my idea, cousin.” Mallow propped her hand on her hip. “We can’t go beyond the barmekin without a guard. Who better than the clan’s champion?” She swung an admiring gaze up to him. “Surely Da canna fault that.”
He scooped Jessica off the ground. “Then come along, lassies, and we’ll find yer flowers.” He led the way into the meadows beyond, depositing Jessica after clearing the barmekin road.
Both girls stayed within sight but ran ahead. Mallow saw a friend and looked back at Amalie. “May I?”
“As long as you’re where I can see you.” Amalie responded.
“So how’re ye finding life in the household of our laird?” Quentin walked easily beside her, two inches taller than she. His tan trews fit snugly, his white leine’s sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. A leather thong held back his black wavy hair.
Amalie nodded. “Well, thank you. The girls are a delight.” She checked on Jessica, a few feet away pulling flowers off the stems. “Wait, little one. I’ll show you how to pick ’em.” She reached into the thickest of a bunch of purple heather and plucked a stem near the base. “Now, see this?” She held the stem between her fingers. “We’ll weave the stems together to form a ring. Then you may wear it on your head like the other girls are doing.”
Quentin laid a woven wreath on Amalie’s hair. “Do ye like it, Jessie?”
She nodded with a vivid smile. “I do.”
They collected flowers and shafts of wild grain while Quentin’s large hands expertly wove the stems into wreaths. In minutes they had several to share.
Jessica wore two wreaths, one of purple heather, one of barley, struggling to keep them on her silky blonde hair in the light breeze flowing over the field.
“What a beautiful day!” Amalie watched the people around her, preparing to celebrate the feast of the harvest and St. Martin.
“Aye, will ye be comin’ to the dance tonight or must ye stay with the girls?”
“I thought to bring them for a little while, before Jessie has to go to bed. Mallow can stay out longer. I’ll be around.” She checked on her charges’ location.
“Will ye save me a dance—or two—or three?” His dark blue eyes narrowed, reminding her of The Mackintosh.
Amalie studied him, watched the sun shine on his wide, strong, handsome face. “Aye, I’d like that.” Something stirred inside her. This must be what it feels like to be in the company of an attractive man…who’s not above my station.
“Yer hair’s the color of fire out in the sunlight, Amalie. Ye’ll never be an easy one to hide.”
“How well I know, sir.” She turned away to look for the girls, noticed each nearby, keeping an eye on her.
Garth paced the parapet of the keep, surveying the area with a keen eye. Hundreds of folks gathered outside the walls. Herdsmen drove cattle ahead of them into the slaughterhouse. He scanned the field looking for one person in particular who should stand out among the crowd.
“Ah, there ye are, Amalie.” He whispered to himself and hoisted his eyeglass. He honed in on her location, spotting his daughters nearby. She reached for Quentin’s arm and laughed at something he said, her brilliant hair lifting off her shoulder in the breeze. “That won’t do, lamb. I have plans fer ye.”
****
Mallow and Amalie held hands on the way to the great hall. Festivities were underway, revelers well into their cups. A shrill blast of the bagpipes and drum roll called order to the mayhem.
“Da’s about to speak! Hurry!” They dashed across the crowded barmekin, arriving as Garth wrapped up his encouraging address.
As they surged into the crowd, waiting to enter the cool darkness of the large stone building, Amalie glanced toward the high seat of the chief. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness and saw he watched the door as he spoke.
“Good plantin’ weather, plenty o’ rain, and prayer has brought us a fine harvest this year. Need I remind any of ye to check on the poor and elderly? Be sure everyone has enough to get them through winter. If not, let the taxman know and we’ll provide. Enjoy yerselves, all of ye, a
nd thank the good God of Heaven fer His blessin’ on our provision.”
The piercing roar of the Mackintosh battle cry went up from the crowd of more than a thousand people, “Loch Moy!”
They began to mill about tables laden with food.
The Mackintosh cut a route through the swarm toward Amalie and Mallow. “So where’s yer sister?” He grasped Mallow’s shoulder and Amalie’s elbow as the throng pressed round them.
“She wa’ so tired she had to nap. But I think she’s done fer the day.” Mallow’s voice rose over the clatter.
He turned to Amalie and watched her mouth move as she explained further. “We were out for a long time. The fresh air and sunshine did her good. I’ll go back in a while, after Mallow’s situated, and check on her.”
“The nursemaid’s there?” He yelled as he reached around her to block the surge of bodies.
“Aye, she was.” Amalie felt her knees go weak. His hand moved and held fast to her waist.
“Don’t be concerned.” He bent to her ear. His hot breath sent chills through her. “She’ll bring her down if she wakes.”
Amalie nodded and found herself pushed sharply against him. He held her on one side and Mallow on the other as the mass crushed round them.
“Let’s make our way toward high table and take a seat. Millie’ll see that we’re served.” He steered them toward the platform at the other end of the vast hall. He kept Amalie in front of him, shielding her from behind with his hard body, his hands set upon her hips. “None are immune to the excitement of harvest, Amalie. There’s anticipation and dread in the air, as we prepare ourselves to batten the hatches for the cold, dark winter.” He spoke into her ear. She felt him linger a moment longer than necessary.
Mallow led the party, with Amalie’s hands perched on her shoulders.
“Excuse us, please.” Mallow touched each sleeve or arm gently and returned the smiles of her clan, with a polite nod.
Amalie felt Garth deflect elbows, and occasionally bump into her, dawdling each time.
