Full Mackintosh

by Deb Kemper

  “Strugglin’. It may take years to undo the damage the fever did to her mind.” Amalie kept her eyes on her husband, relishing the sight of him. “Mallow’s birthday’s next week. Did you write a letter to her?”

  “I did write a letter fer her first birthday, without her da, since she can remember.” Garth’s voice broke.

  “I imagine you’ll be home soon and we’ll have a huge celebration. I’ll make cake and all your favorite foods. You’re lookin’ thin in the haunches, sir.”

  He leaned in close to her ear. “The English have no clue what good food tastes like. They eat swill and have strange names for it, makin’ fun of it, then pokin’ it in their faces. I don’t fathom how they ever won a war, much less sustain an empire.”

  Amalie laughed. She laid her hand on his face and leaned in close. “I miss you awfully, milord.”

  He kissed her soft lips. “And I ye, my heart.”

  Chapter 29

  “Mackintosh!”

  Garth looked up through the bars, set in the wood door, at the English guard. “What?”

  “The commander says tell ye that should ye want a woman ye may have one.”

  Garth smiled at the look of delight on the guard’s face as the man opened the cell door.

  “Well, then,” he swung his long legs over the side of the cot. “Ye may tell him I’ll take him up on that offer.” He stood and stretched. “Let’s see, she’s about this tall.” He struck his shoulder. “Her hair’s russet, eyes brown, and she answers when ye call ‘Lady Mackintosh.’”

  “’e din’t mean yer wife, ’e meant a whore.” The guard rolled his eyes at the thick Scot.

  “Ah, then I respectfully decline.” He sat at the table and picked up the book he’d been reading.

  “It ain’t like yer woman’d ever know.” The guard scratched himself through grimy trews.

  “That may well be, but I fail to see how a man could be enticed to partake of a portion, every buck in town’s had a part of, when his adorin’ wife waits fer him.” He grinned at the guard. “Besides, she’d know. If she didn’t, I would.” He shook his head. “Ta.”

  “Ye don’ make no sense to me. It’s a jiggle.” The man frowned. “Who cares?”

  “I do. I gave my word, as her husband, her laird, and a Highlander. With all that’s in my power I’ll ne’er break it.” He adjusted a knight on the chess board.

  “Crazy buggar!” The jailer left him in peace.

  “And ye English call us barbarians!” He yelled in the guard’s wake.

  ****

  Lord Livesey tapped at Garth’s cell door. “Mackintosh?”

  Garth was on his feet in a flash. “Aye, Livesey.”

  “Are you up to a game of chess, my friend?” The physician scraped one of the two wooden chairs across the stone floor and took a seat.

  “Most assuredly. I’ve studied yer moves from the last game and warn ye that ye face a formidable foe, sir.” Garth pulled out his chair and sat.

  Wearily, Heath Livesey brushed his hands through his hair. “If all our differences could be as simple as a game of chess, the world would be better for it, I think.” He moved a pawn.

  The Mackintosh grinned and moved a man. “I’d take a cut o’ the cards myself.” He crossed his massive arms and leaned back in the puny chair. “…a toss of the die or even a flip o’ the coin.” He considered the frown Livesey wore. “Maybe we’re too old for this. Wars are fought by younger men seekin’ to make a name fer themselves.”

  “We made our names in France—glorious, beautiful France—before the ravages of battle tore away the green pastures and lush lavender fields, eh?” Livesey glanced up.

  Garth reflected on their youth for a moment. “Aye, we left for university one summer and wound up in the midst of a battle two summers later. When we sailed fer home, the country was wasted. I, fer one, was wiser, though. I kenned I never wanted war fought on my own land. Scars ravage more than men.”

  “They do that. Tell me again about your children.” Heath Livesey leaned back and studied his Scottish friend.

  “Mallow, my oldest is about to turn fifteen. She’s headstrong, opinionated, and beautiful. Jessica is seven summers. She’s my heart. My first wife died giving her life. Then there’s my son, Ewan. He’s two and….” Garth glanced away, out the small cell window at the top of the wall. “Amalie came to me from the auction block. A merchantman in Aberdeen had picked her up, during a slave raid. She saved her brother from the slaver, but was nabbed tryin’ to hide herself. Sold at auction, she was, with more dignity than all the crowd possessed. I couldn’t get past her and go about my business. I realized later it was God’s own hand that turned me over and again to rescue her, only to have the favor returned.” He paused for a moment. “She came to teach my girls and taught me to love. I thought I knew but…she’s all I’m not and everythin’ to me.”

  Silence settled between the two men for a time. The change of the guards at the gates and walls echoed back to them. Feet shuffled across the cobblestone as the former shift retired for the evening.

  “My eldest son, Edmund, is eighteen in May. He’s a lion.” Livesey chuckled. “He came into the world roaring and goes at every task intent on conquest, very like his mother.”

  “What of your wife, have you more children, since last we met?”

  “Katherine’s a warrior; she runs the estate with an iron rod. My daughters are ten and five. They’re the beautiful image of their mother, but have my placid nature more than her strength.”

  “When this is over….” The Mackintosh began.

  Heath Livesey leaned forward. “My very thought, Garth! Let’s not lose touch again. True friendships need care and nurture. We’ll come to your castle, bring the youngsters.”

  “Aye, we’ll have Millie put out a spread and dance ’til dawn ev’ry morn.” They laughed together. “It’ll be grand.”

  Lord Livesey sobered. “Collin came by the surgery earlier today.”

  Garth went still. “Aye?”

  “He…um…brought along a letter that Sargent Rory sent to your wife.”

  “That lie caused an uproar as, I suppose, it was meant to.” Garth interjected softly.

  “I need for you to understand it was done without my knowledge.” Livesey frowned uncertainly.

  Garth leaned back and crossed his massive arms. “Aye? What became of it?”

  “You don’t know?”

  Himself shook his head. “Nay. Nor have I seen Rory to accept his apology.”

  “There won’t be one, I fear.” Livesey glanced toward the iron bars. “Unwittingly, I led Collin to Rory. So fierce was my anger, that I made a direct path to him. I found him behind the administration building, smoking.” He frowned. “Upon leaving, I thought I saw Collin from the corner of my eye. I can’t be sure. Rory was found, awhile later, by guards, his throat cut.”

  Garth nodded. “I see.”

  “I’m not sorry, Garth, it’s just that….” Heath Livesey ran his hands through his thin blond hair.

  “Collin makes a deadly enemy.” The laird’s voice went flat. “If it was him, who killed Rory, it’s his way of teachin’ the British to use caution when dealin’ with us.”

  Livesey nodded. “Well, I warned Rory, more than once, not to incite resentment. I washed my hands of him.” He rose. “I thought you should know, in case the investigation turns up evidence against Collin.”

  Garth smiled without humor. “It won’t. He’s a careful man, and a more careful assassin.”

  “That I remember best of him. He’s a good friend to have, but an awesome adversary.”

  Garth nodded and wiped both hands over his face. “That he is, and I hope to always be found worthy of his friendship.”

  “As do I, my friend.” Livesey reached for the door.

  ****

  Amalie and Mallow sat at the judgment seat listening to woes of the clans. The bailiff sat off to Mallow’s left side, taking notes.

  “…and then me neig
hbor come by with a huge stick and beat the tar outta me ol’ man. So there we are, milady. What ye reckon we ought to do now?” Bruised and bedraggled, Myrtle Saunders, perhaps thirty summers, stood before them wringing her hands.

  Amalie watched Mallow process the information, brows knit.

  “Well,” Mallow began, “I think first I’d thank the neighbor.”

  Amalie smiled, slipping her hand to cover her amusement.

  “Then,” Mallow added, “I’d take care of my house and children. What do ye need from us to do that, ma’am?”

  Myrtle pondered the question. “I got me garden to eat from and me goats and chickens. I reckon we’ll do fine, fer a bit. What if the mean bastad, beg pardon, milady, comes back?”

  Mallow checked with Amalie and spoke quietly. “Should we order him to the stockade?”

  Amalie tilted her head to one side. “Is that what you think is fair?”

  Mallow nodded. “Aye, don’t ye?” She glanced back at the bailiff, who nodded.

  “Seems so to me, too.” Amalie agreed.

  Mallow returned to Myrtle. “The bailiff will issue a bann to have stocks ready fer him if he shows ’is cowardly face again. Grayson will take care of it, if ’e darkens the gate. As fer yer own defense, I reckon ye have a dirk or sghian dubh?”

  “Aye, miss. Do I kill him or wound him?” Myrtle asked with relish.

  Mallow thought about the question, turning to Amalie who merely nodded. “Whate’er the situation calls fer. If ’e returns repentant, perhaps a trifling flesh wound mi’ suffice. But I think a surly nature deserves a bit more, don’t ye?”

  Myrtle nodded and curtsied. “Ye took a load off me mind, ye did. Thank ye verra much.”

  Mallow hastened to add to her judgment. “One more thing, Mrs. Saunders! If ye kill him, send one o’ yer younguns to report, so’s a man can help ye bury him.”

  “Aye, miss. Thank ye kindly!” Myrtle walked away with a straight back and new confidence.

  Mallow leaned toward Amalie. “Da hates wife beaters with a passion.”

  “It’s a fine judgment then.” Amalie commended.

  She met Amalie’s eyes. “He’d’ve ordered lashes….Once I watched from the parapet when he laid lashes on a wife beater—thirty of ’em. He swore to the man should he ever again hit his woman, he’d kill ’im. Then he offered to fight him himself, if Grayson wasn’t handy.” She pressed her lips together and sighed. “I shoulda ordered lashes.”

  “You have to do what your heart tells you is right.”

  “I canna wait fer him to come home.” Mallow added; the longing stung her eyes.

  Amalie patted her hand. “Aye, darlin, I feel the same.”

  Late afternoon, Amalie and Mallow strolled back to the castle. “I ken that if Da dies before Ewan’s of age that I’ll be The Mackintosh.” Mallow stole a peek at Amalie, her face set in deep thought.

  “How do you feel about that?” Amalie slowed her step.

  “Sometimes alright, though I’d rather teach, get married, and have bairns, ye know?” Mallow plopped onto the steps to the front of the castle. The overhang kept them in shade.

  “I do, Mallow.” Amalie sat beside her.

  “My mam used to read to me. I don’t remember a lot about her, but I still recall her voice, as she read bedtime stories to me. I ken her likeness through the painting in our room.”

  Amalie let the quiet settle around them for a moment. “My mama died when I was three. Papa’s handy with charcoal and has many pictures, he’d drawn since they were betrothed. He put them together to make a book for me. In one sketch she’s holdin’ my hands while we splash in a stream…uh, burn. Her head’s thrown back, laughing. It’s my favorite way to remember her.”

  “What does your da do?”

  Amalie shifted as she studied how best to explain a rabbi. “He’s a scholar, teacher, and artist. He speaks and ciphers seven languages and reads ten.”

  Mallow’s eyes widened. “Ten languages? And here I am strugglin’ with three!”

  “Aye, he’s a brilliant man. He has many followers, students who come to him for wisdom. He teaches from a vast storehouse of centuries of acquired knowledge.” Amalie smiled, pondering her beloved father.

  “Why doesn’t yer family come to see us?” Mallow cocked her head to the side and propped it in her hand.

  “Papa has a lot of classes and it’s hard for him to leave. Your da has promised we’ll go to Dublin soon, taking you all with us, to meet my family. They’ll love you.” Amalie reached for a stray tress and tucked it securely back into Mallow’s braid.

  Mallow leaned over the narrow divide and hugged Amalie. “I’m so glad Da married ye. I kenned ye loved him long before he did.”

  Amalie rested her face on Mallow’s head. “I wish you’d told me. It would’ve made it a lot easier.”

  Mallow chuckled. “That’s what he says!”

  Chapter 30

  The cell door swung inward. Garth Mackintosh pushed back a chair and stood from the rough wooden desk, where he sat reading. As he removed his glasses, his wife breezed through the open portal.

  “Amalie, I didn’t know ye were comin’ today.” He tapped his reading glasses on his fingers and bent to her for a brief kiss.

  “Well,” she looked around the room. “If you want to go home with me, get your belongings. The coach awaits us.” She met his eyes, smiling.

  “Go home? They didn’t say a thing about bein’ released, my heart.”

  “Aye, today—into my custody. I’ve negotiated a truce between us and them. There are a number of rules, but you can go home.”

  Garth grinned. “I’d like nothing better than to be in yer custody.” He glanced around and began to pack his books and the few clothes they’d allowed him. “What sort of rules do the English give us?”

  “You’ll not like any of them, but I’ve promised we’ll abide by them.”

  “I’ll do anything to leave here.” Garth folded a sheath of papers into his leather pouch.

  “We’ll see about that, sir.” She nodded amiably, though her eyes remained doubtful.

  “What did they take?” He paused to study her.

  “Most of the trappings that make you who you are. The important thing is, you can come home and raise your children.”

  His eyes narrowed, as he studied her. “There’s more?”

  “We’ve kept the bridge up from the moat for fear of brigands and marauders. The Brits are takin’ our weapons, even now. Collin and I stored an arsenal in the secret passage from the hall.”

  Garth quietly settled his frame onto the cot and pondered the grimy stone floor.

  “Nothing remains as it was before you left for Inverness, Garth. We’re done for. Word circulates that you’ll lose your lands. The English are banterin’ about puttin’ their own people in authority over The Chattan.” Amalie wiped her cheeks with a hankie and retucked it, inside her sleeve. “They’ve begun to build roads into the Highlands, for better control of us.”

  “Roads?” Garth grinned and left the cot.

  “Aye, roads.”

  “Well, let us be on our way home, then. Mayhap this is the beginning of a new chapter rather than an end to us, Amalie.” He stood and gathered his few possessions. She helped him carry them to the waiting coach.

  ****

  Millie met them at the entry door to the keep. “Milord.” She dropped a curtsy.

  “Millie, thank ye fer all ye’ve done to keep our family going.”

  “It’s mine too, sir.” She avoided his eyes. “There’s John MacGregor to see ye—with his wife. I put ’em in yer study.”

  Garth’s stride carried him through the large oak door. “John! So good to see ye, old friend.” As the door closed behind him their voices muted.

  Millie checked Amalie, her hand on her lady’s back. “Are ye alright, lass?”

  Amalie shook her head. “Nothing will ever be alright again, Millie.”

  “Wssht, tain’t so. This too shall pas
s.” She smiled wearily at her friend. “For centuries we’ve been threatened with extinction, invaded, overrun, hunted down, and murdered. Yet here we are.” She laid her hand on Amalie’s back. “The children’ll be anxious to see ye. Go to ’em. Shall I send ye up a bath?”

  “Oh, that would be delightful. I’ll be in the nursery. Have Gerty fetch me when my bath’s ready.” She looked sadly at the study door. The former Lady Cameron’s laughter erupted. “I’m sorry but I hate that woman.”

  Millie chuckled. “Aye, ye’re not alone. Don’t trust her either, no further than I cou’ throw her heavy…well.”

  “Aye, that too, Millie.” Amalie left for the stairs with a chuckle.

  ****

  Millie saw the supper table set formally for the whole family, brushed her hands together, and headed for the study. She listened at the door for a moment, tapped, and entered.

  Garth looked up with obvious relief. “Aye, Millie?”

  “Sir, the children are on their way down to dine with ye. I can see yer guests out.”

  John MacGregor stood and offered his wife his hand. “We’ll be on our way, then. Ye have a good homecomin’, laird.” They passed through the large oak door to the foyer.

  “Ta, John. I appreciate all ye’ve done overseein’ things in my absence.” Awkward silence followed for a few seconds.

  Lady MacGregor tittered. “It was nothing, sire. We jest done what any good friend wou’ do. Didn’t we, John?”

  “Aye, aye, that we do.” Cloaks pulled on, they hastened out the door.

  Garth caught Millie studying him, lips pursed with distaste. “What, Millie?”

  “We need to talk, sir. Things aren’t what they seem.”

  “What’s happened?” He sighed, dreading the answer.

  “Yer wife and daughter ran the Chattan while yer fine friends there,” She jabbed the air with her thumb, toward the door, “went south to confer with yer old chum, The Campbell. The Duke of Argyll’s brokerin’ deals for the English to get some of the Highlanders to their side, promisin’ powerful positions. That Cameron woman can’t have ye, to make her the Lady of the Chattan, but she’ll see she gets the title one way or another.” She wrung her hands.