Wedgewick Woman

by Patricia Strefling

  Turning, his mind running wild, the boy wondered what he had forgotten.

  “You owe me an apology. I would have it now.”

  “Sir, yes, I…I am sorry for shooting you. I intended to protect…” his voice wavered, “the Campbells.”

  “And your allegiance will be with me now?” He boomed. “I will have your word.”

  “You have my word, Lord Carmichael.”

  “You speak my name.”

  “I heard the Campbell speak it.” he said quietly.

  “What age be you boy?”

  He watched as the boy stood a little taller, “I’d be eleven, Sir.”

  Carmichael looked away for a moment, then spoke. “You’d be nine and no more.”

  The boy’s face reddened considerably. “How’d ye know it?”

  “I was as narrow as you at that same age.”

  “Oh.” The boy looked at his new Laird with a renewed appreciation for he was tall, wide shouldered and looked to be very strong.

  “Go now.”

  The boy shot down the hill toward the lake and was gone out of sight in a mere moment, so short was his body.

  Carmichael smiled. The boy remembered his name. Perhaps he, too, could use the boy to some advantage, teach him to be a good soldier. Then the ache in his arm reminded him just what sort of task he had recently brought upon himself.

  Chapter 8

  With the day’s delays and the Laird’s inability to use his left arm to its full purpose, the entourage headed north and finally cleared the woods and wound its way down a slight incline reaching Greenoche before the sun had set.

  Greeted by the guards, they were treated to a simple meal of oatcakes and boiled vegetables.

  Afterward the tents were set up; for the cottages of the Bothwell clan were pitifully small and barely capable of withstanding the elements.

  “’Tis unfortunate we did not respond to the missives the Bothwells sent us.” The Laird uttered as he and Ewan retired to the tents.

  “Aye.” Ewan agreed. “The coverings at the windows are threadbare, the children have no shoes and even the dogs look weary.”

  “They will not want to leave their lands.” Laird Carmichael discerned at once.

  “Indeed not, Sir, for they are a proud people.”

  “Well, proud or not, something must be done. This is a shame to the name of Carmichael.”

  “Aye. Have you any theories?” Ewan prompted.

  “Only one.”

  Ewan waited.

  “I should marry the red-haired young lady … for her Mother was flaunting her young daughter like a horse at the market.”

  Laughing aloud Ewan joined in, “Yes and you too, could have shoeless, red-haired children running with the dogs.”

  “It is a grave affair, is it not?” The Laird quieted.

  “Aye, that it is.”

  “We’ll discuss the matter come morn.”

  Morn brought a light rain and the dirtied streets turned to mud-splattered byways through which children continued to play. Clothes that had been tossed over bushes to dry the last eve were now blowing hither and yon, some landing in the mud.

  Immediately the Laird took charge and commanded. “Pick up these garments.” His voice was heard over the rain. The children stopped their running, stood wide-eyed for a moment and slowly began to do his bidding.

  “And afterward, get these piles of sticks picked up and put them next to your cottage. Out here they are a hazard as one walks through the streets. And, they will be good for your mother’s firewood.” He added by way of teaching.

  Two of the females curtseyed slightly and the boys just stared. “Get to it.” he shouted and watched with a slight smile as the barefoot youngsters scurried in every direction. That done he returned to his tent where this day they would meet with the chief of the small clan and decide what could be done.

  “We are sorry for your father’s death.” Several of the men repeated. “It has been four years since we’ve seen a Carmichael.”

  “For that I ask your forgiveness. Your missives had come to my attention more than once but I was so busy…” he started to say “chasing his wayward wife,” but decided that would not sound proper…”that I am only now realizing the error of my decision to put other things first. You have my attention.”

  For two hours the Bothwells spoke, first the men, then the women about the trials of living so far north of the Carmichael’s to whom they now belonged. They would not, however, consider moving to Dunbeernton Castle. This was their land and if they left it, the Campbells would take it as their own. They would even now run them off if they were any weaker.

  “The Campbells are not all bad people.” Carmichael reminded them. “Some of the sects are evil men; but then there is evil and good in every camp, aye?”

  They nodded in agreement.

  “But Sir, if you will allow me, the sect that is closest to us is one of the most evil. Should we need protection will you offer it?”

  Affronted by the mere question, Lord Carmichael stood to his feet. “It is the way of the Laird to protect his people. Do you not know it, man?”

  Silence.

  “They killed your own father, mi’lord.” One woman’s voice came from the back.

  The Laird turned an angry face. “Who spoke?”

  Silence.

  “It was I.” A female voice quivered.

  “Stand and be seen.” He ordered. “Come forward.”

  The mother of the red-haired daughter stepped from among the people. A hush came over the crowd for it was not seemly that a woman should be heard before a man. The elder Laird Carmichael would never have addressed a woman in such a meeting.

  Laird Carmichael heard the whisperings about his father’s ways.

  “I will not return to what is past. My father was his own man and I am mine. Too many centuries have passed with one clan fighting another. Must I remind you of the blood shed at the Glencoe Massacre, and the Catholics fighting the Covenants, need I say more?”

  “No.” her voice barely was heard.

  “Then let it be known now that I am not my father. He wished to attain lands at any costs, even his own life. I will give my life for my people, but not for needless purposes. We have enough lands and people, that if we work together in some semblance of peace, we will be strong. Wars can sometimes be won with words of peace and not the sword.” He concluded, at which time a small round of “ayes” could be heard.

  “Let us begin here. This day. I will send you Carmichaels and Muldoons … those that are willing,” he amended, “and they will stay with you for one year, helping with your crops. I will send sheep and goats and tools to get you started. After such time you will either strengthen yourselves or ye will join us on our lands to the south. Is it agreed?”

  Laird Carmichael waited patiently while the people talked amongst themselves.

  “Could we have two years, in the event that the elements fail us?” One said.

  The Laird looked to his men, Ross and Ewan, who had accompanied him to the meeting while Cameron and Fergus walked the lands with others.

  “What say you?”

  “Aye.” Ewan agreed as did Ross.

  “Tis done then. We shall return on the morrow after looking at your grounds to see what can be raised in your fields and where sheep can be fed. Build some protection for the animals and get them out of the cottages that are ready to fall in upon you and your children. Share accommodations until we can return and build new homes.”

  “We will do it.” One stood.

  “Aye.” Others followed.

  “Allowances will be made for whatever we can provide that you do not already possess. Men come forward.”

  “Leave us and go make your lists. Bring the children if they wish to attend.” He said to the women. We will speak with you later.”

  “He wishes to speak with us and the young ones?” Excited whispers traveled among the womenfolk as they hurried to their meager dwellings, a b
it of hope shining from their eyes.

  By afternoon the lists had been assembled and decisions made as to whom would be coming back with the Laird. “I shall appoint three men to ride back and bring you immediate relief. Have you any suggestions?”

  Three names were quickly called out and the men were dismissed to ready themselves for the journey. Each of The Four spent the day riding the lands in each of the four corners. The Laird, trusting his men to do their duties, stayed in the village and spoke to the women and children.

  “Boy, what is your name?” he asked the waif who had shot him.

  “Cork, Sir.”

  “Cork, come and see to the cleaning of me muddy boots but before you do, run to my tent and get me other pair.”

  The boy was out the door before he could blink. He heard a loud thump and realized he had slipped in the mud and taken a fall. He smiled for the lad did not utter a sound. Perhaps the boy would earn his place.

  The small cottage was full of females of all ages who wanted their say with the handsome Laird. Babes cried at their mother’s hips and the young ones, thankfully, were mostly quiet. Still the noise made his head ache.

  A small goat wandered through the front door. The boy called Cork reappeared, muddy, but with the clean boots held high in the air.

  “Thank you. Now if you would clean these.” He pulled off his muddy ones and put on the dry boots.”

  In the next moment, just as he looked up, a loud bawl issued from the goat as a toddling boy was trying to ride it. Before he knew about it he had a small female child thrust into his left arm, which pained him greatly. While the mother chased the goat and the young boy, he found himself staring into the roundest pair of blue eyes. Bright copper red hair covered the miniature head and the wee lass was smiling at him. He moved the chubby child to his good arm, hardly knowing what to do with it while the other women giggled, not a one offering to lend him a hand.

  Still seated, he decided that holding his burden was tiring out even his good arm. Could a babe be so heavy? He wondered. Setting her upon his lap, he felt a strange warmness dampen his trousers. Snatching her up again, he lifted from the chair and stared at his wet leg…to which now there arose such a laughter within the small cottage that he felt his face flame.

  “Where is this child’s mother?” he boomed.

  The entire house stilled, until someone called the name Rose and the woman came back in from outside and retrieved her fat little wet bundle. Not wishing to make another issue, he ignored his wet trousers and tried to regain his position, but it was useless.

  Every face in the room was about to break out in another fit of giggling. “Dismissed.” He announced sharply and shooed them out. Had he been a fool to address the women while his men worked?

  He passed Cork who was sitting on a large log cleaning his boots and said not a word, but saw the boy look away and pretend not to have heard the calamity inside.

  “Tis not the job for a Laird.” He mumbled rushing back to his own tent to rustle for a clean pair of trousers.

  With clean dry clothes he sought his physician for a change of bandage. The wound was bleeding again.

  “Tis as I hear it? We are leaving on the morrow?” The physician asked.

  “Aye. Are ye anxious to see your wife?” he spoke laughingly.

  “Aye. We are due a babe and I want to deliver her of the child myself.”

  Laird Carmichael looked up sharply. “And why did ye not tell me this before we departed?” he commanded.

  “My duty is to you, my lord.”

  “Your duty is to your wife.”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Don’t thank me. Next time inform me and I’ll bring Devin or Keir along.”

  “Thank you for your kindness. This is our third child…another lass no doubt.”

  Laird Carmichael envied the man.

  Chapter 9

  The journey back to Dunbeernton Castle was uneventful, except for one thing.

  “Cork, are you daft?” the Laird shouted. “I have placed my boots by my bedding so that I can find them in the event of a skirmish and what have I to do but search for them every morn since you joined us.”

  Cork stood still, wondering why the Laird was shouting at him. “I clean them every night.” He said in way of explanation.

  “Yes, but you do not put them back. They must be put back. In truth I will be running out in my stocking-ed feet trying to gain my horse.” He thundered.

  Cork ran to get the boots and placed them next to the Laird’s bedding.

  “Thank you boy. Now repeat that every night and I shall make you my knight.”

  With that, the lad scooted out the door. Lord Carmichael noted his straight back. He had withstood the shouting and had obeyed immediately. Pleased, he closed his eyes and mentally began to plan his duties for the next day.

  His thoughts considered the fact that he’d been a free man for just under a year. The three years previous it seemed he had done nothing more than chase his beautiful, spoiled wife from hither to yon undoing damages over here, then over there. Truly he had neglected his people and for that he was sorry. He renewed his vow not to let another woman stand in the way of his duties.

  * * *

  Safely back at Dunbeernton Castle, the first morn brought sunshine and a flurry of activity. There were goods to be gathered from the woolery, the sheep and goat barns, the shoemaker, as well as the tool shed and food cupboard. The packing continued for three days. Then the Bothwells that came along were sent back with a mix of forty unwilling Carmichaels and Muldoons.

  Thinking on that he shook his head. It had been a rare moment when he’d lost his temper. “You see that I myself traveled to tend to our people and yet I cannot get a few faithful servants to do my bidding. I shall start appointing if some do not step forward this moment.”

  Several men emerged from the group. He eyed them carefully, memorizing their faces, their names. More Carmichaels appeared than Muldoons he noted.

  “And the Muldoons? I want an equal number.” He demanded. “Now.”

  Reluctantly several stepped forward and he nodded in their direction. They were to do his bidding, but he wanted to respect them, and so offered before commanding.

  “How many women would like to attend their husbands and learn about children who need shoes, cottages that need window coverings and such frivolities?”

  To his amazement, nearly every man was joined by his wife.

  “The women like you.” Blithers whispered behind him.

  Lee ignored him for the moment.

  Two women did not join their husbands, one a Muldoon, one a Carmichael he noted. Those men he felt a kinship with immediately and assumed that they, too, had wives like Helen. Poor souls.

  “Be about your duties.” He dismissed them and left the large room. “See to it Blithers that Ross is told that no one leaves the castle without escort and make it known the people are to journey East of the Campbell’s lands…well away from the main road, if possible. I would have no trouble.”

  Blithers bowed quickly and was gone.

  A servant passed his doorway and he bellowed. “See to it that Mrs. Calvert is sent in right away.”

  Not two minutes later, the woman appeared, breathless, at the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron and straightening her cap.

  “You need not have hurried so.” He said without looking up.

  “As you wish.” She curtseyed lightly.

  “My apologies, I must have sounded harsh.” He stood. “Will you see to it Mrs. Calvert that we have your special pudding and extra hens on the table this eve…and…” he paused, “it wouldn’t hurt to have some of that wonderful bread stuffing you make, plus two or three extra meat pies.”

  He watched as her eyebrows shot up. “If that is not too much, I would like to make certain our troupe has enough to eat this eve before they leave in the morn.”

  “I shall see to it.” she said and turned to leave quickly, for she had much to
do.

  “Oh, and Mrs. Calvert…” he called out and she reappeared in the doorway.

  “No need to curtsey every time you greet me when no one else is about.”

  He had not looked up but if he had he would have seen her face; fair affronted was she. Not curtsey to the Laird? It was unheard of…plain disrespectful it was. But then her Laird was different and yet a young man—but no, he had been raised as a Laird’s son and knew the importance of respect among the classes…her thoughts followed her down the long hallway but left her when she considered all that had yet to be done.

  The large tables were set up and groaning from the weight of the food. Mrs. Calvert had prepared all that he had asked and a good bit more, but he knew, not without a bit of snapping of Mrs. Calvert’s blue eyes and some sharp words to the kitchen help.

  “Very good sendoff, sir.” Ross complimented him. “The journey will reacquaint the Carmichaels, the Muldoons, and the Bothwells. The McDougals shall be averted from having anything to do with this affair.”

  “Exactly my plan.” The Laird agreed. “And…he looked at his friend, “It kept me from attending another dance frenzy this evening.”

  Ross’ face turned and they shared a look. “The ladies were quite disappointed when their Laird did not show up, I’m sure of it. ‘Twill be a lot of speculation tomorrow, if I don’t miss my guess.”

  “Oh you can be certain about that, my friend. Now I shall attend to myself and you may take to your cot early. I’m off to fetch James and take care of a few matters this eve. Do not be overly concerned, “ he said quickly, at the look on Ross’ face for his chief guard’s duty was to stay at his employer’s side. “I will see to the matter and go directly up to my room. I’ll call for Blithers if you are needed.”

  “As you wish.” Ross waited until he was out of sight, choosing to remain at his position. He listened as his Laird’s booted feet tap the stone floor with each step and finally heard the large wooden door snap shut, then went to his own cot.

  “James.” Laird Carmichael greeted as he stepped inside and James jumped from his chair, grabbing papers and stuffing them into the desk shelves.