He paused again, looking at the women one by one, as though expecting a protest. None came.
“I mention all this to you for several reasons. First, you must understand that I am occupied with the army and the hunting parties, so I must leave the management of the manor up to my wife, soon to be Lady Morrison. Second, I realize that you may not be used to some of the tasks that will now be asked of you. There will be more meat, and food in general, to store, preserve and prepare. We will be using the hall to dine in on a regular basis. We therefore need a clean, efficient kitchen staffed with people, such as yourselves, no doubt, who are up to the job.”
My husband looked around the untidy room, at the dirty dishes, the unorganized shelves and in the direction of the neglected pantry, before continuing. The women exchanged nervous glances. “Your workloads must have indeed have been heavy, since you weren’t able to carry out even the beginnings of my explicit directions, as given by my wife. So, what I suggest we do is to work together to complete the tasks. Now.” It was this word that, finally, hammered his point very convincingly home. He was highly irritated that he had come in after a long day of arguing, dueling, hunting and riding—as well as attending to somewhat more private pursuits, which had not been entirely...resolved for him—to find that none of his simple requests had been carried out. At all. “We’ll need to work later than you might be accustomed to, but you’ll be rewarded, of course. You’ll be given extra meat for yourselves to share with your families—but that’s only if you get the jobs done in a timely manner. ’Tis all or nothing, and it’s up to us to work until the work is done.” He surveyed the faces of his rapt listeners, with pronounced, assertive cheerfulness. “Are we agreed?”
These nods of agreement were more tentative, and his speech had taken on a decidedly harder edge.
“And are we agreed that, in the future, when my wife asks you to complete a task, you will do so without questioning it? I am not only extremely observant, but I have every reason to take as gospel every word, every impression and every grievance that my wife presents me with—not that I would expect any of those. We work with our own best interests at heart, after all, and hard work, as I’ve said, will be rewarded handsomely. Those who choose not to work—well, let’s just say I’ve been told I’m overemphatic about my dismissals, and those who are dismissed or demoted are offered the last of the food rations from that day forward. But I’m sure that’s of no consequence here. Now, you will tell me your names, in turn, and I will assign you each an important, necessary job. I will be on hand to assist anyone who needs it.”
There were tactics behind Kade’s message; we all understood that. Our dedication was as necessary as that of the soldiers and hunters if our keep was to sustain us through the long winter months: that now seemed obvious. That he had taken the time to explain this, I could see, was far more effective than my father’s method of leadership: of giving haphazard orders that were then followed up with demeaning punishments if the indiscretions were even noticed. My father was old and had never been fastidious. Hard work was never praised, or even valued.
It had been a challenging day for my husband. His fierceness—a fierceness I could now recognize that was comprised of spirit, industriousness and honor, not irrational wrath—had returned in full force. The servants saw it, too, and they reacted with a hesitant obedience. In fact, I’d never, ever, seen any of them work like this. Once given their assignments, they launched into their tasks wholeheartedly. Kade helped them, and so did I. As a cooperative, driven team, they cleaned, cooked, set tables, lit fires, baked bread and even attended to their own appearances. Within several hours, the kitchen and the grand hall of Glenlochie had been transformed.
CHAPTER TEN
I WOKE IN the night. A sharply defined ray of purple moonlight illuminated a square of the stone floor. Dull orange embers glowed.
It had been a week since we had claimed the turret as our own, and the space was now filled with our belongings, which were still in a state of disorder.
The room was warm. The fire burned from the logs Kade had stacked it with some time before.
I noticed that my husband was seated in a chair, asleep, slumped over the table he had claimed as his desk, his quill still grasped loosely in his hand. I could hear his deep, even breathing, which was never harsh or loud in his sleep. He looked uncomfortable, with his big body laid heavily across the table, his head resting on his outstretched arm, his hair askew.
I rose, and I went to him. I hoped he wouldn’t wake in a state. He’d been so aggravated by the unfolding reality of our clan’s appalling disorganization—understandably so—and he’d hardly slept since his arrival. At least when he did, I thought, it could be in the comfort of a warm bed.
I’d asked him once before about what he wrote in his books and letters, to which he’d given me a gruff reply. “Weapons designs, battle plans, tactics. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” I knew he had dispatched at least one letter to each of his brothers in the days since we’d arrived at Glenlochie. Now the unrolled parchment of a letter was displayed, held down by the length of his arm as he slept. The tip of the quill had bled a small black smudge onto the top of the page.
I didn’t mean to pry, but the words jumped out at me before I could stop myself. There was much my husband wouldn’t discuss with me, about his difficulties during the days, when we were apart. I knew of his conflicts with the men of our army—as illustrated by the confrontation earlier with Aleck and the others. Only the day before, he had returned to our chambers bloodied from a duel; he’d only mentioned this when I’d asked him about it several times. And I knew from his grim expressions whenever I saw him during the days that he spent much of his time seething, or wishing he was anywhere but here. I wanted to learn more about the secret workings of his mind. Justifying my intrusion as a genuine bid to support him, if I could just better understand how I might, I began to read.
Knox,
The situation at Glenlochie has worsened. Though I have managed over time to convince forty men to hunt in semiorganized groups, at least half the men of the Morrison army still dispute my commands. We have, in one week, succeeded in killing no less than twenty-eight deer, seven pigs, rabbits aplenty and a wealth of other game that should begin to keep the clan in provisions for some time to come. If we’re able to keep up this pace throughout the remaining days before snowfall, we might stand a chance of surviving the winter. The northern lands are indeed rich for hunting, I suspect because no one has bothered to do much of it and the animals have multiplied. The gardeners and farmers arrived—I thank you for sparing them for these winter and spring months—and I have put them to work training the recruits and salvaging what can be pulled from the pitiful gardens and the unkempt storage sheds. The croplands, thankfully, are in a somewhat less dismal state and there is plenty of wheat and barley. If need be, we’ll be dining on barley soup and coarse bread through the late-winter months. So I am hopeful we will not starve. I thank you also for your offer to send provisions if necessary. My hope is that we can subsist without depleting your stores. The cooks, alas, are entirely uninspired, but that is the least of my worries.
Morrison has little life left in him, and what remains is bitter, swilled and disoriented, and this appears to be nothing new. I have learned that he has ruled not only his clan but also his family with a mixture of abuse and disregard. For these reasons, he leaves a legacy of fear and complacency, even before his death, that will take some months—if not years—to remedy. His highest-ranking officers are among those who fight me at every turn and I fear I may have to kill one of them to prove my rights as their laird-in-waiting. I had expected to be accepted as successor, as discussed, but the men appear to regard me as an unwelcome intruder. I had not thought to go entirely uncontested as leader, but there is one officer in particular who would prefer to claim the title of laird-in-waiting for himself. Bloodshed, however, may only serve to divide the clan further, which is why I have refrained
as yet. It would be easy enough to do. The men are lazy and lack both will and proficiency. If Father could see the neglected state of their weaponry, he would no doubt be rolling in his grave. Heads would roll, and I am tempted to follow his methods. A mass mutiny, and with one target in mind, would hardly serve to better my position, however, so I must tread carefully.
Continued threats of Campbell’s arrival are rife. The men speak of him as though messages have been received, and I have strong suspicions that there is at least one traitor among us, if not a contingent of them. I have my suspicions about one officer in particular. I can only hope that I can succeed in training the few that are loyal and continue to win the regard of the masses before the rebellion reignites, which I feel certain it is bound to do. I dread to consider the outcome if I fail on these counts. Be prepared to deploy if you receive word.
Marriage presents brief moments of sweetness amid a sea of uncertainty. My wife is a vision who, I’ll admit, blinds me with her magnificence. Hers is a beauty that only seems to compound itself the more I see of her. She continues to regard me as a boorish brute of the worst order. I have reason, however, to believe she may one day believe otherwise. I live in hope and work to prove myself in every regard.
Kinloch is never far from my thoughts. I hope this letter finds you and our sisters well.
I am including a sketch for a high-powered catapult that may interest you.
Your loyal brother,
Kade Mackenzie
The letter sent a warm curl of emotion through me, which took some moments to identify. Awe perhaps. Compassion. And strangely, a deep and desperate longing. I wasn’t sure what it was I was longing for. To ease his burden, maybe. To help him somehow. I’d known his new life presented him with difficulties and a sense of displacement. But I’d had no idea how profound those difficulties were. He was facing a mutinous army, death threats, the possibility of his new clan going dangerously hungry, and a lethal ongoing rebellion whose reaches could be taking hold even now and within our very walls.
His words regarding me were even more astounding. That he regarded me in this way, and enough to expound the details of his yearning to his brother, was no less than astonishing to me. And I was having a physical reaction to his admission.
As my body reacted undeniably to his presence, my heart, too, was reacting to his words. He was capable of love, as Roses had made a point to explain to me. He strove at all times to live up to his family’s ideals of honor, as he had made a point to explain to me. These realizations shone from his letter as though the ink itself were lit with truth.
I felt a blooming sense of connection with my tormented, complicated husband like I’d never felt before.
It was true that once I had regarded him as a boorish brute of the worst order. I didn’t want to admit to him outright that I had read his letter, but I wanted to assure him that I no longer saw him that way. That the day had arrived. Today I believed otherwise.
Touching my fingertips to his hair, I smoothed it back from his face, brushing the loose strands from their disarray across his forehead and his neck. His hair was thick and shiny, soft to the touch. I let my thumb trace the stripe of his eyebrow, as he sometimes did to me. I drew my finger gently along the sharp line of his bristly jaw, to the plumped surface of his full lips, parted slightly in his slumber. His eyes blinked open. I continued to stroke his hair, hoping to ease his reaction before he could decide what that reaction might be.
“Husband,” I whispered. “Come. You’ll be more comfortable in bed than here at your table.”
He lifted his head.
“I’ll help you,” I crooned, hoping desperately he wouldn’t rise in anger when he realized that his letter was exposed, that I might have overstepped my boundaries.
He let me help him, allowing me to ease my arm through his, to hold him and guide him to bed. He was clad only in his underclothes, and his lean, muscled body was cool on the surface with a heated warmth under the skin. The dark of his hair and the dazzling light blue of his eyes created a delicious aesthetic contrast that I couldn’t help pausing to appreciate. He allowed me this, and seemed lost in a reverie of his own, gazing down at me as if I might have been an apparition. I pulled the furs down for him. When he didn’t react at all, still watching me with a glazed tenderness, I crawled under the covers, sliding over the wide expanse of the bed to my side of it. He followed me, covering us with the furs, lying to face me.
We lay like that for some time, just facing each other, with me touching his hair, smoothing it back from his face in a gentle, repetitive line. “’Tis all right,” I said softly, and he watched my mouth as I spoke, and my eyes. “You’re all right,” I said again, feeling somehow that he wanted to hear it. “I’ll watch over you.”
My fingers traced the line of his collarbone to the uneven surface of the scarred and sun-darkened skin of his chest. I touched the puckered knot of his most pronounced scar, the one that curved in a pale crescent at the front of his left shoulder. It was long healed now but must have been a terrible injury.
“What happened to you?” I whispered.
He didn’t respond immediately. “My attention was diverted by the death of my own father,” came his low reply. “It was Campbell himself who speared me. Our fathers took each other’s lives that day. Campbell the younger is one of the most vicious men I’ve ever fought. ’Tis the only time I thought I might actually be taken in a fight. But it was not to be. Knox saved my life, right before I saved his.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, as though spearing, fighting and saving lives were something he did on a daily basis. Which I suppose it was. I knew him to be one of the most lethal warriors in all the Highlands. But there was sadness in his tone that was unmistakable.
“You miss your brothers.”
“Aye,” he said simply.
My careful exploration wandered lower, to the coiled muscles of his stomach. His hand reached to grab my wrist in a stronghold, drawing my hand away. “Stella,” he said. A low warning.
He released my hand, closing his eyes, as though the matter was now closed.
The night was lit with sound and sensation amid the enclosing darkness. I could hear the soft crackle of the fire. I could feel not just the heat of Kade’s body but his brimming restraint. I let my fingers steal again toward him under the furs until my delicate touch again rested on the skin of his stomach.
He withdrew instantly, lying flat on his back, pulling his body farther from my reach so the coolness was starkly defined. “You know the rules, wife. We wait. We wait until you’re ready.” Then he lay back, again closing his eyes, yet his brow was still furrowed.
We wait.
I understood why, aye. He was using his self-inflicted rules to control himself, to allow me time to adjust. What I realized was that I had adjusted. I felt I was ready. I wanted to challenge his rules, to push his boundaries.
“I’m cold,” I whispered, not entirely untruthfully.
Kade opened one eye, reaching to fit the furs more snugly around my shoulders, but he did not touch me directly. Then he lay back once again. “Good night, lass. Go to sleep,” he said.
Silence, for a time.
“I can’t sleep,” I said.
“’Tis late,” he murmured dismissively.
Stillness wrapped around us, embellished by the rustle of the wind outside, the lonely call of a faraway night bird.
Emboldened by the heavy darkness and the lingering epiphany of my husband’s writing, I reached again, finding his fingers. I held them in silence and he allowed this, although his breathing caught, as though I’d charged something in him. As though there were only so many times he could refuse me.
I wanted to reassure him, that I no longer regarded him as I once had, as a threat, as yet another man who might use his might in punishing, overbearing ways. “I don’t feel afraid anymore, husband. Of you,” I whispered. “I wanted you to know that.”
His eyes opened and he regarded me silently.
Then he said, “I told you I would work to earn your trust, and I will.”
Without intent or design, I smoothed one finger along his open palm, curling my fingers around his hand, pulling it closer.
He held his hand firmly in place, and his eyes remained closed. “Stella. Cease this,” came his low command. And I heard in his voice his own simmering challenge. How far will you go?
I did not cease. My leg twitched forward of its own accord, causing my thighs to part slightly wider and my shift to bunch just higher. I couldn’t quite catch my breath, and my breasts rose and fell with my light gasps. I waited for his arm to relax, and I cautiously pulled his hand closer until I could feel the heat of it against my thigh.
His head turned, and his open eyes blazed with blue-lit intensity. “Little wife,” he said softly, laughter and promise in equal measure coloring his words. “Be careful, or you will get as much as you ask for.”
Aye, my fevered body was asking. I knew I was playing with fire. But I was already burning.
Returning his challenge, I drew his large, warm hand higher along the fine upper skin of my thigh, so very close to where I wanted to feel his touch. The anticipation was nearly overwhelming. He might still refuse me, aye, but the mere nearness of his fingers to my dewy, intimate folds was almost too much to bear. I was awed by the power he seemed to hold over me, and breathless at the heightened responses of my body to his.
Juliette Miller - [Clan MacKenzie 02] Page 17
