by Deb Kemper
“Makes it possible. Bards can be eloquent but are often fickle.” He leaned back in his chair and touched her, brushing his fingertips across her hand. “I go to attend another council in Inverness. If there’s aught ye need, say.”
“Thank you, sir. I lack nothing.” She responded dreamily.
He chuckled. “Really? A woman who lacks nothin’?” He held his pipe and beamed.
She fumbled for words. “I mean to say everythin’s provided. The barmekin’s seamstress has tended my clothing needs adequately and the cobbler has me well shod.”
“I’m sorry. I tease ye, lass.” He sobered, tugging on his pipe and considered her.
“The council you go to, if I may…is there more talk of war?”
“We’re at bloody war.” His tone soured. “The foray that caught ye in Aberdeen is one more nail in our coffins. Scotland and Ireland are a steady supply of slaves, fer the English plantations or cannon fodder fer their army. They rob us of our youth, thinkin’ it another way of breakin’ our spirit. We’re made of tougher stuff than that.”
“I’ve heard some Scots ceded land to English lords.” She rested her head on the wing of the chair to consider this handsome, strange, intriguing man. Warmth coursed through her when he spoke. It doesn’t matter what you say. Let me hear your voice.
“Aye, some Lowlanders swear fealty to the English king. A few Highland clans have joined their cause, not that it’ll count in their favor should the English succeed in crushin’ us under their boots.” He shook his head. “Once you give ’em yer land, it’s gone forever. Too much blood’s soaked into this ground, lass. I’ll do what I must to keep it in our hands.” He looked down at his pipe, “…as long as there’s breath in me.”
Oh, I understand that well. My people are driven out of their homes, bound in slavery, and murdered in droves. Every generation starts anew, most with little or nothing. Amalie nodded. “I ken your feelin’.”
He looked up, eyes narrowed under his thick brows. “Aye, I supposed ye would Miss Solomon.”
She blanched.
Chapter 9
She whispered. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t ’til now—guessed. Yer too secretive, lass. It’s plain there’s something you guard closely.” He drew on his pipe and leaned back. He turned the stem of his pipe toward her. “What’s spoken in this room stays ’ere. Do ye agree?”
She gulped. “Aye, sir, I agree.”
“Amalie, I mean ye no harm. Ye ken I’m responsible fer ye?”
“Aye.” She nodded and exhaled.
“Now, tell me ’bout yer family.”
“I’ve three brothers. Asa’s the youngest at twelve. Jacob and Aaron are twins, sixteen. My parents sent us to Scotland for a month to visit my aunt. My father’s a Rabbi. It’s difficult for him to leave Dublin.”
He nodded. “Ye gave yerself away with yer knowledge o’ scripture. Have ye married?” He laid his pipe aside, leaned back, and studied her from the shadows. God in heaven, she’s lovely. Even with a pout on her lip, at bein’ discovered, she’s a fetchin’ lass. Tall, supple, a mite too thin, but after a couple of bairns, she’ll fill out nicely.
“No, betrothed a long time ago.” She glanced away.
“And…?” He prompted her with a gesture of his hand.
“He died in an accident.” She met his eyes again.
“Were ye heartbroken?”
She smiled sadly. “It was an arranged affair. I met him only once. He was young, as I. We were both terrified. A fortnight later my father received a letter sayin’ he died when his cart overturned, pinning him beneath.”
“It’s hard to believe there were no more suitors.”
She squirmed. “I’m…tall, sir.”
His eyes widened. “I noticed.” He smiled. Ye fit me well.
“It seemed the men most interested were not. I refused, perhaps through pride.” She blushed. “Anyway, no one suited my fancy.”
“Yer difficult to please then?” He grinned at her discomfort.
“Not in my opinion. I felt I’d know,” she patted her hand over her heart, “just know. Papa told me I would, you see.”
His eyes rested on the hint of cleavage by her hand. “There’s a distance in age between ye and yer brothers.”
“My mother—died when I was three. Papa remarried a few years later. I’m blessed to have had so much of his attention. It’s why I’m fluent in languages, history, and scripture.”
“How’d yer mam die?” He continued his scrutiny, while she assembled her words.
“She was a healer…though she rarely ventured outside our community. A Catholic man, whose wife was near death, heard of her success. He sent a servant for her. Papa said she was hesitant to go to them, but relented, at the servant’s distress.” She gazed into the fire for a full minute.
Garth watched her process the loss from an adult prospective.
She glanced up before continuing. “When they arrived, a priest had come for last rites. Mama refused to go into the room until he left. When she examined the patient she found treatment by the physician poisoned the patient. The woman’s husband was desperate.
“He begged for Mama’s help. She advised them, left a tonic, and returned home. The woman lived. My mother was hanged and burned for a witch. The priest reported and led the campaign against her.” She looked up to find his eyes locked onto her.
He reached across and gripped her hands, clasped in her lap. “I’m sorry, lass.”
She nodded. “Papa remarried a wonderful lady, Kay, a few years later who became a mother to me.” She smiled through tears. “I know that a lot of our troubles come from our belief in God, but to belong to Him is worth the heartache.” She leaned back and closed her eyes for a long blink, swiping at the tears hung in her lashes.
“When were ye going home to Dublin?”
She grimaced. “The day after the raid.”
Their silence deepened as they relaxed, warmed from a damp, chilly day. The haze of his pipe’s smoke wafted in thin clouds around them. Amalie found herself watching him through sleepy eyes. She dozed and woke suddenly, shook herself.
“I fear I keep ye up late tonight, Amalie. Go on to bed. We’ll talk again on my return.” Garth rose, knocked his pipe on the fire-box, and laid it aside. He turned to watch her walk to the door. “If ye find anything among my books or manuscripts ye can use, yer welcome to them. They’re few but all in Gaelic or English. There’s a Bible I recently bought transcribed into English. I barely cracked the cover of it, so far. ”
She peered back over her shoulder. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your offer.” She opened the door and slipped through, without a sound.
Garth looked around the room. What had been warm and welcoming earlier now felt cold and lifeless. He banked the fire and went up to bed.
Chapter 10
The Mackintosh strode into the ram-shackle auction house. “Tavish in?” He boomed at a man toting a bale of cotton from the dock with huge hooks.
“Aye, sir.” He nodded toward a shack at the rear.
Garth headed for the area, wary of guards or anyone else who might attempt to deter his errand. He opened the door without knocking.
Tavish glanced up, startled, “Who the h…oh,” he rose, “beg yer pardon, laird. What can I do fer ye?”
“I purchased a lass from ye a few months ago, tall, red-haired, Irish. Do ye recall her?” His hands rested on his hips.
“Aye, sir, I do. How’s she workin’ out fer ye?” He grinned round a mouthful of rotten teeth.
“Where’d she come from?” The frown on his face left little doubt he was displeased.
“A merchant shipman sold her and three others to me, said her da paid a debt wit’ her.” He scratched his matted dirty beard, eyes narrowed. “The other three women he brought went to the brothel down the road.”
“Who was he?” Garth’s voice grew louder with each question.
“Sir, I never seen him before,” Tavish dron
ed. He backed away slowly until he butted the wall.
Garth’s large square hand slapped the shoddy table before him. “I’ll have his name before I leave here, if it takes the day, Tavish.”
The old trader studied the laird, his tongue moistening his lower lip. He searched a mantelpiece on the wall behind him and reached up to pull a leather-bound ledger from the shelf. He opened it, and thumbed through the pages.
“Well now, looky here, sir. I forgot all about this.” He produced a piece of parchment and slyly peered back at Garth. “I wonder…what could it be?”
In two steps the Mackintosh was beside him. “Worth two pounds to ye, if it’s what I seek.”
He snatched the page from Tavish’s hand and unfolded it. A scan revealed the information he wanted. Good, the ship wasn’t one of mine. He folded the page and slipped it into his satchel. “Here’s yer payment, then.” He laid the notes on the table. “This stays between us, Tavish.” His right forefinger jabbed in the trader’s face. “If anyone turns up askin’ questions, ye ken nothin’, savvy?”
“Aye, sir. Don’t ken a thang.” His grubby hands gathered the notes and stuffed them into his sporran.
“How’d she avoid bein’ raped on the ship?”
“How’d I ken that, sir?” Tavish whined.
“Answer me!” Garth’s fist clenched.
“He said she told him she’s on her cycle, wouldn’t work fer her so she said she’s a Jew—unclean.”
Himself smiled inwardly at the paradox. Smart girl!
****
Garth proceeded to the meeting of the war council. He was relieved and encouraged, after leaving Tavish and smiled as his long stride ate up the distance. He rounded a corner abruptly and ran headlong into a woman with packages. He grabbed her arms to keep her from tumbling into the street.
She gasped his name when she recognized him. “Garth!” Her hat sat askew on her well-coifed dark hair.
“Ah, Brigit! I’m sorry. My mind was occupied. Have I done ye damage?” He smiled into her pretty upturned face.
She brushed the skirt of her dress down, green eyes examining her clothes, straightened her hat, and laughed nervously. “Nay, I’m fine. No worse fer the wear.”
They both awkwardly considered their surroundings and rescued her two boxes from the dusty street.
“I received yer letter a few months ago.” She glanced up to find his face reddening, so she hurried on. “I understand completely, sir. It has been a privilege to—be available to ye these past four years.”
He was speechless for a moment. “Uh, aye. I thank ye kindly fer yer time and all, but well….One must move on. Ye ken?” He glowered, trying to overcome his embarrassment.
“I do. Ye never led me to believe…we had a more permanent arrangement. Have ye met—well, it’s not my business.” She turned away.
His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “If it offers solace, aye. I’ll marry soon.”
She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “It does at that. Congratulations, sir. I hope she’ll give ye many happy years.”
“Ta, Brigit. I wish only the best fer ye but….” He sighed. “I’m not the kind of man to marry and keep a mistress. It isn’t in me to lie.”
Her head dipped once. “I ken that, sir. I can’t say I’m not disappointed to lose ye. I hope she’s worthy. That’s all.” She sent him a sly glance.
He flinched. “Aye, she’s more than worthy. I only pray she’ll have me.” He turned away and hastened his step, good humor squashed.
What was I thinkin’ to get involved with that kinda woman? Pray, God, it won’t come back to haunt me.
****
A tap, at the heavy door of his study, drew Garth away from his musing. “Come in.” He stood as Amalie crossed the threshold.
She bowed her head. “You sent for me, sir?” Her hair hung down her back, tied from her face with a ribbon. “I apologize for my appearance. I’m barely dressed.” She brushed her hands over her thin cotton dress and winced, realizing she’d forgotten her stays.
“I hoped Gerty would no’ wake ye. Did she?” Ye look like a dream floatin’ through my door. His eyes swept over her and noted her discomfort, and the reason.
“I was abed readin’ a book I borrowed from you. I asked my father to send a trunk with supplies from my schoolroom, in the letter you posted for me. I hope you don’ mind.”
“That’s fine, lass. Come, sit with me awhile.” They took their seats. Garth leaned toward her and smiled. “So, how’re my daughters fairin’?” Less than a foot separated them.
“Very well!” Amalie sat on the edge of her chair, her face aglow. “Mallow has begun to conjugate verbs in French. Jessica is learning the sounds of vowels. We’ve planted herbs in the kitchen garden and….”
“Herbs? What kind?” A frown creased his face.
“For cookin’ and fragrance, sir, not healin’. I know your vicars and priests are always on a witch hunt.” She dropped her eyes from his intense gaze.
He smiled with relief. “I’m sorry, lass. I’m troubled at the moment.”
Her head tilted. “Why?” Her voice softened.
Garth’s defenses melted at her concern. He leaned back with a sigh and studied an answer. “Matters progress at council.”
“Closer to war?” She ventured.
“Aye, in the midst, to hear it told.” He glared at his cold pipe, stuffed tobacco in the bowl and studied the result. “I’ve no heart for battle just now.” He admitted. I need to spend my energy on ye and get my house in order.
Silence settled on the room, for a time. They began to relax into their former rolls.
“I missed our talks.” Amalie confessed. “But your girls have stolen my affection and keep me on my toes.”
“I missed ye as well, Amalie.” Warmth flooded his body at the admission. He shifted. “I brought ye a wee bit a something.” His long fingers coaxed a trinket from his leather sporran on the table beside him.
She leaned toward him.
He reached across the space between them. “Saw this and thought of ye.” He laid a gold chain across her hand. A faceted blue stone, mounted in gold, dangled from the middle.
“My laird, this is…beautiful.” She swallowed and paled in the firelight.
“As are ye, Amalie.” He smiled.
“Such extravagance! Why? I’m sorry, sir, you caught me off guard.” She blushed.
He slid from his chair to kneel at her feet, caught her chin in his fingertips. “Amalie, please, when we’re alone, call me Garth. I’m yer laird outside this room. Inside, I’m yer friend.” His arm brushed her thigh as his hand left her face, he felt a surge of heat. She blushed.
She maintained eye contact with him, as he returned to his chair. Her voice came out choked. “Why? You don’t have to be my friend.”
“Ye have so many ye’d shun me?” He chuckled, feeling a great deal of power over the tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Nay, but…why?” She swiped her hand over her reddening face.
“Well, my coin purchased ye…suppose I do as I please.” He responded with a touch of sarcasm.
She straightened her back and shrugged. “Tell me what you want. Is there more than friendship on your mind?” She blushed feverishly. Her chin rose.
He contemplated her question, rolled his eyes to the dark corner of the room. He opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed. “I suppose it looks like I’m tryin’ to seduce ye?” He frowned.
“Is that what’s happenin’? I know you have the right to demand whate’er you want.”
“Amalie, I’ve never forced a woman into relations. Don’t have to.” He rubbed his weariness away. “My wife sat in that chair sometimes of an even’. We’d talk o’er the day. It’s been four lonely years since anyone sat there but my daughters. I enjoy talkin’ to an intelligent, beautiful woman. Aye, I notice that about ye too.” He brushed a rough hand over his eyes, threw up his arms in surrender. “I don’t mean to offend ye. Yer free to
go.”
He stood abruptly, took three long strides, and opened the door in haste. She rose, rushed through—and ran all the way up to her room.
Chapter 11
“Garth, may I have a word wi’ ye?” Quentin clasped his large square hand over his cousin’s shoulder as they walked through the barmekin.
“What?” He stopped, turned to face the younger man, arms crossed.
“I want to ask ye for Amalie in handfastin’. She can still teach Mallow and Jessica of a day.” The clan’s champion rested his fists on his narrow hips.
Garth laid a large square hand on Quentin’s shoulder in turn. “I’ll speak to her but I think handfastin’ won’t be enough. And ye need to know, we spend a good deal o’ time alone together in the even’.”
Quentin frowned. “What’re ye saying? Are ye takin’ her yerself?”
“There’s no takin’ involved—so far. We talk, that’s all. Still…we’re alone.” He glared into his cousin’s eyes, spun and started on his way to the stables. Let him think as he wishes.
Quentin stepped in front of Garth. “Wait, please. I need to know if I love her in vain.”
“I’ll speak with her tonight on yer behalf. Don’t hold out hope. She’s a chilly woman for all her gentle smiles.”
“Ye’ve tried then?” Quentin grinned.
“I merely tested waters from afar.”
“Perhaps she’ll prefer me.”
“Perhaps, but that may not be in yer favor.” He stepped around his cousin and proceeded to his horse’s stall. Amalie with another man….I canna live with that. He stopped to look back but Quentin was out of sight.
****
Amalie hesitated at the heavy oak door. The clock chimed nine times. What’ll I say to him after last even’? Her fingers toyed with the beautiful sapphire necklace she wore. She took a deep breath, as the door swung open.
“I wondered where ye were. Ye’re never a moment late, Amalie. Come in.” Garth stepped back and allowed her to enter. He closed the door softly behind her.
