Mermadak, Donnel and the men led their horses inside the stables. Aggie rooted herself where she was and stared up at the keep in awe and wonder.
It was such a magnificent and beautiful keep! She shielded her eyes with one hand as she looked up at the tall and massive structure spread before her. The afternoon sun bounced off the limestone walls, making it appear as if it had been dusted with diamonds. Grand and clean, it stood in sharp contrast to the small, dilapidated keep she called home. She suddenly felt quite out of place, her discomfort increasing.
Though she felt a twinge of relief at knowing no man in his right mind would want to trade the splendor of this place for the bleak McLaren keep—and she had no desire to marry—her dread and fear increased tenfold. If they failed at finding her a husband, her father would be furious. If they succeeded, she could potentially be shackled to a man she would be forced to call husband for the rest of her days. No matter which road fate took her this day, the end would be the same. She was doomed.
A shiver of dread raced down her spine when she thought of it. She pulled her shawl a bit more tightly around her shoulders as she looked around the keep and courtyard. Nay, this would not end well at all.
Contemplating a plan of escape and lost in her own thoughts, she did not hear the small band of young lads who came bounding around the corner of the stables. One of the little boys was unable to stop himself in time and crashed into her legs. Aggie let out a barely audible oomph when the boy ran into her. He toppled over and landed on his backside.
Without thinking, Aggie knelt beside him, helped him to his feet and dusted him off.
“I be sorry m’lady!” he exclaimed. “I didna see ye there!”
Aggie flashed a bright smile, patted the curly blonde locks and sent him on his way without a word. He was a cute little lad, mayhap no more than seven or eight years of age.
Her smile vanished the moment she felt a hand grip her arm. Mermadak pulled her to her feet and spun her around. Anger was plainly evidenced in his dark brown eyes and the manner in which he dug his fingers into her arms. “I told ye to stay out of trouble!” he growled. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, “Did ye speak to the brat?”
Aggie gave a rapid shake of her head.
Mermadak smacked the side of her head before pushing her back toward the stables. “Go unsaddle me horse!” he barked at her. “I have to take a piss.”
FREDERICK HAD WATCHED from the steps of the kirk as the group of strangers sauntered toward the stables. He hadn’t recognized any of the men and could not begin to guess who they were or why they were here. Rowan always gave Frederick some notice when guests were expected, so he found their presence curious.
He had just begun to head toward the stables and make an inquiry as to their identities, when he saw a wee, tiny lass slide down from one of the horses. From the distance, he could make out long, straight black tendrils that covered part of her face. The rest of her hair was braided and draped over her shoulder and bosom. She was such a wee, tiny thing that, from that distance, he thought her not much more than ten and four.
When he saw the man she rode with show no sign of manners by nearly kicking her in the head as he dismounted, Frederick felt a twinge of anger toward him. As he drew nearer, he could see the lass was older than he had first assumed.
The lass stood staring up at the keep. Even after she shielded her eyes from the bright sun, he could still see the look of awe and wonder on her face. The Graham keep was a beautiful place and most visitors stared at it in much the same manner when seeing it for the first time.
Frederick had seen the band of children running from behind the stables. Little Fergus ran straight into the lass and fell on his bottom with a thump. When the lass knelt to help the lad to his feet, her smile stole his breath away. An odd fluttering sensation took place in his heart. It was as if he’d seen the sun shine for the first time. Her smile was akin to an eruption of light, tenderness, and beauty.
Never before had he been as affected by a smile and he had no clear idea what to make of the sensation it brought to his stomach.
But what happened next made his blood boil. He could have gutted the auld man who smacked the side of her head. Appalled, Frederick thundered across the yard toward the stables. He was fully prepared to challenge the fool and demand an apology on behalf of the wee lass.
As he approached, Frederick heard the man order the young woman to unsaddle his horse. He found the man’s expectations baffling and he could not fathom why the auld man hadn’t directed one of the other men to the task. Ill-bred bastard, Frederick thought.
Frederick watched as the man walked away and the lass stepped inside the stables. He decided he would help her first before confronting the ill-mannered fool.
AGGIE HURRIED INTO the dark stable, her face burning with anger and humiliation. She hoped no one had seen her being smacked about. Although she was used to his mistreatment, it was still humiliating.
She stood for a moment, just inside the stables, letting her eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. The scent of fresh straw blended with oil and clean horses wafted through the air. Small bits of dust danced on the shafts of sunlight streaming through a few of the open windows.
Bridles, halters, and various equipage hung in a very organized manner along the walls. Sacks of feed lined the wall to her right. Though she would have preferred to linger and take note of how she could possibly copy the manner of organization to improve the McLaren stables, she knew she must hurry to tend to her father’s horse.
She passed a few occupied stalls as she made her way toward the other end of the stables. Her father’s bay gelding was tethered to the cross-ties midway down. Donnel and the rest of Mermadak’s men were lingering about, in no hurry to tend to their horses. Aggie ignored them as she untied her father’s mount and led it into an empty stall.
Och! How I wish I could just climb onto this beast and ride away! She mused as she worked the straps and buckles. Mayhap da will die before he can find me a husband. I could leave then and no one would think to miss me.
With her mind otherwise occupied, Aggie did not hear the soft footsteps of a man entering the stall she and the gelding now occupied. She had just begun to tug at the saddle when two large hands covered hers.
Her stomach lurched with fear as she turned to see who the hands belonged to. She had to lean her head back to look up at him. That in and of itself was nothing new for Aggie, for she was always having to stretch her neck to look a person in the eye for she had been cursed with a small frame.
However, this man was taller even than any McLaren man. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his broad chest. Broad shoulders and massive arms seemed to struggle to be free of the confines of his fine brown tunic. His wavy dark red hair hung just below the collar of that taut tunic. She stopped her perusal when she looked into his penetrating hazel eyes as if they, too, studied her.
Uncertainty enveloped her senses. He was smiling at her, showing her a bit of straight white teeth. Aggie caught a glimpse of a twinkle in those hazel eyes of his and she could not suppress the gasp that escaped.
There was no malevolence to be found in either his smile or his eyes. Had he been looking at her like most people did, with a blend of disgust and contempt, she doubted she would have felt so disoriented or confused. If she hadn’t known better, she could have sworn there was nothing more than kindness in the expression he offered.
She stepped away from the horse and the stranger, terrified of what would happen should her father find her here like this. She shuddered with fear when she felt her back press against the wall. She was trapped with no way out of the stall save for the route blocked by the horse and this massive wall of man.
This will no’ end well fer me!
HE COCKED HIS head to one side and stared as she took slow steps away until her back was pressed against the wall, taking note of the way she shuddered with fear. Hiding his anger as best he could, he offered her a smile.
“A wee lass should no’ be unsaddlin’ a horse while there be plenty of men about to do it,” Frederick explained as he removed the saddle and hoisted it onto the dividing wall.
She looked positively terrified. “Are ye well, lass?” he asked, taking a step toward her. He offered her another of his best smiles as he took another step forward. “I didna mean to scare ye,” he said softly. “I only meant to help.”
He was close enough now that he could, if he so chose, reach out and tuck the loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. Something told him the lass would either die from fright or take off running like a skittish deer if he made such an attempt. He kept his hands at his sides.
“I be Frederick Mackintosh, lass,” he said. Most lasses would have returned his proffered smile; a few might even have swooned. But this lass did neither of those things. Instead, she pressed her back more firmly against the wall, as if she could will it to move so that she could escape.
“What the bloody hell are ye doin’ with me daughter?” Mermadak’s voice boomed through the stables.
Frederick turned to face the man, taking a mental inventory of the smelly man standing before him. The auld fool glared first at Frederick then at the wee lass who stood trembling in the corner behind him. Frederick kept his position, his feet planted firmly. If the auld man thought for a minute that the furious glare he cast his way would get him to move, he was sadly mistaken.
“I was merely helpin’ the lass to unsaddle yer horse,” Frederick said as he turned around to look at the lass. She’d gone quite pale and there was no mistaking the abject fear in her eyes. He was about to offer her some words of reassurance, when the auld man stepped inside the stall.
He walked around Frederick and grabbed the lass by her arm and yanked her away. “If ye ain’t bought it or married it, ye canna touch it!” he tossed over his shoulder as he shoved Aggie toward the doorway.
Had Rowan not stepped into the stables at that moment, Frederick would have thrust his dirk deep into the man’s heart, just to see if he owned one. It? How on earth could a man refer to his daughter as it?
“Mermadak!” Rowan said cheerfully. Frederick could tell by the look on Rowan’s face that he was not nearly as pleased as he sounded. “Be there a problem?”
“Aye! I caught yer man here alone with Aggie!” Mermadak said as he shot a hateful look first to Frederick then to Aggie.
Aggie, Frederick thought. Such a pretty sounding name.
“I was merely helpin’ the lass to unsaddle his horse,” Frederick said as he gave a nod toward Mermadak.
“Verra kind of ye, Frederick,” Rowan said as he placed a hand on Frederick’s shoulder. “Will ye please go and tell me wife that we have visitors?”
Frederick knew this was Rowan’s way of defusing a difficult situation. He’d tell Rowan exactly what he thought of his guests later. He cast a smile toward Aggie before he quit the stables.
Rowan watched as Frederick fumed his way out of the stables. Rowan had known Mermadak McLaren, chief of the Clan McLaren for most of his life. He found the man, to say the least, repulsive. But his lands bordered Graham lands to the east and for now, they were allies.
He had not been expecting the McLaren or his men and daughter. Their presence here piqued his curiosity. “Please,” Rowan said with a wave of his hand. “Come into the keep. Me wife will see to it that yer fed and ye can tell me why yer here.”
Two
TO THE UNDISCERNING eye, one would think Rowan Graham completely oblivious to the world around him. However, those who knew him well knew that very little escaped his notice. Frederick was cut from similar cloth. Masking his anger as well as his repulsion behind his charming smile, Rowan acted the consummate host.
“I canna believe this is yer wee Aggie,” Rowan said as he led the group across the courtyard. “The last time I saw ye, ye were mayhap four or five.”
Aggie remained silent as her father continued to dig his fingers into her arm. She drew up the imaginary wall she had developed over the years. No one would be able to tell that her arm hurt or that she was angry or afraid. She had survived far worse over the years and no one was the wiser.
“She doesna speak,” Mermadak told Rowan.
Rowan eyed Mermadak suspiciously. He took note of the way Mermadak wheezed as they made their way toward the keep. He also noticed the firm hold the man had on his daughter’s arm.
If his memory served him correctly—and it rarely failed him—it had been a decade and a half, mayhap more, since he’d last seen Aggie. At that time, she was fully capable of speech. Aggie had been a wee sprite back then, so full of energy and always smiling. She was still a wee lass, but one look into those odd colored gold brown eyes of hers said much. All was not well with the young woman. Something had happened, but what?
“Doesna speak?” Rowan asked.
“Aye. ’Tis what I said.” Mermadak looked straight ahead as they took the stairs up into the keep.
Rowan decided against asking for the reason behind Aggie’s muteness. He pushed open the large wooden doors and stood to the side as Mermadak, Aggie and the men entered. His jaw was beginning to ache from grinding his teeth together. He’d find out soon enough why Mermadak was here.
They made their way into the large, open gathering room. Aggie took a quick glance around the room. Two large fireplaces stood on either end of the opulent and grand space. Three grand chandeliers hung from the beamed ceiling, holding dozens of lit candles. Aggie thought it a tremendous waste of money, to have candles lit during the day. ’Twas a luxury her clan could not have afforded.
The McLaren keep was a hovel in comparison to this beautifully appointed room. Tapestries hung on the walls and broadswords were displayed over the heavy mantles. Instead of rushes, large intricately crafted carpets were spread on the floors. Aggie thought they were far too beautiful to walk on, especially with her old and worn boots. She stopped abruptly, uncertain if she should walk around the rugs or across them. Her father settled the matter for her.
“Sit,” Mermadak said gruffly to his daughter, giving her a slight shove.
One of the trestle tables and two benches had been lowered for the guests. Aggie cast her eyes to the floor as she hurried toward the table. She was about to take a seat on the bench when Mermadak’s voice stopped her forward procession. “Aggie!” he scolded.
Aggie turned to look at him. He gave a shake of his head before nodding toward a chair that sat next to the fireplace. Silently, she rounded the table and sat down.
Frederick shook his head as he leaned a shoulder against the frame of one of the doors that lead out of the gathering room. The bastard orders his daughter about like a mongrel dog, he thought disgustedly.
From where Frederick stood, he could see and hear everything from a safe distance. A safe distance for Mermadak, that was. Frederick’s blood simmered as he watched this man treating the tiny young lass without an ounce of respect. He decided it was a very good thing that Rowan was here for he’d be the only man who could stop Frederick from doing something he might later regret.
Rowan was about to ask Mermadak again why he was here when his beautiful wife, Arline, came gliding down the stairs. She was a beautiful woman, with long auburn hair that was, as always, a riot of curls. Her bright green eyes lit up whenever she saw Rowan or their daughter, Lily. Frederick held Arline Graham in high regard. Truth be told, had Rowan not stolen the woman’s heart, Frederick would have loved to have tried.
“Rowan,” she called out to him. “I didna ken we were expecting guests!”
Frederick watched as Rowan turned and smiled adoringly at his beautiful wife. Rowan met her at the bottom of the stairs, kissed her tenderly on her cheek before taking her hand and leading her toward their guests.
“Arline, this is Mermadak McLaren, chief of Clan McLaren. His lands border ours to the west,” Rowan said, as he kept Arline’s hand in his. “Mermadak, this be me wife, Arline.”
Mermadak grunted and gave a nod o
f his head. He seemed completely disinterested in social niceties. Frederick could see a bit of confusion flash in Arline’s eyes as she looked up at her husband. Mermadak McLaren might be able to get away with being a horse’s arse in front of everyone else, but anyone who knew Arline, knew that the woman would not stand idly by and watch an injustice. Nor would she tolerate stupidity.
“And,” Rowan said as he turned his wife toward the quiet lass who sat in a chair tucked in the corner “this be his lovely daughter, Aggie McLaren.”
Arline’s smile returned as she stepped away from Rowan and went to Aggie. “Och! ’Tis a pleasure to meet ye!” Arline said as Aggie jumped to her feet. She gave a curtsey, but before she could return to her seat, Arline had taken the lass’ hand in hers. “Welcome to Áit na Síochána,” Arline beamed.
AGGIE WAS AT a loss as to what she should do at this point. She’d never been in the presence of a fine lady such as this before. Arline wore a magnificent gown of dark green silk that trailed behind her. A silver band with an attached veil adorned her head.
Aggie always felt poor, but being in the presence of such an elegant and graceful woman, made her feel even poorer. She imagined the lady had cleaning rags in better condition than the old, patched, hand me down brown dress she currently wore. Aggie didn’t think she should be touching the beautiful woman’s hands.
“She doesna speak!” Mermadak informed Arline.
Arline turned briefly to look at Mermadak before returning her attention to Aggie. “What do ye mean she doesna speak?”
“Just what I said. She doesna speak.”
Arline tilted her head and studied Aggie closely. Aggie averted her eyes, wishing she could be gone from this place, or more specifically, from her father.
Arline gave Aggie’s hands a gentle squeeze. It was difficult for Aggie to look the woman full on, but when she finally lifted her gaze, she didn’t see anything but bright green eyes and a warm smile. There was kindness in Arline’s eyes, no pity, no disgust, just kindness.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 2
