Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘Wait! Tell me what’s happening, please?’ His voice sounded imperious, so Marsaili quickly told him what was going on. To her surprise, he threw down his quill and jumped up.

  ‘I’ll help,’ he said. ‘Lead the way.’

  She just nodded, too anxious about Archie to argue.

  Greine had already left the kitchen and they caught up with her at the edge of the woods. It was really only a small copse of trees, not a forest by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s what it had always been called for some reason. There was a particularly fine oak there, the only one for miles. It must have been hundreds of years old, Marsaili thought, and not far from the top of it sat Archie. From down below they could see he was clinging on for dear life, his face as white as death.

  ‘Heavens, boy, have you no sense?’ Greine scolded. ‘What on earth possessed you?’

  Archie didn’t reply. He seemed to be beyond speech and closed his eyes.

  Quite a few people had come running, but no one seemed to know what to do. Marsaili bit her lip. The boy was so high up, if he fell, he might not survive even if the branches slowed his descent.

  To her amazement, Brice started to take his shoes and stockings off, then shrugged out of his waistcoat. ‘I’ll get him down,’ he said and shouted up to Archie, ‘Just hold on, varmint, I’m coming. Don’t let go, all right?’

  Marsaili thought she saw Archie nod, but couldn’t be certain. ‘Are you sure you should be doing this?’ she asked, but Brice only nodded and swung himself up onto the nearest branch.

  Her heart leapt into her throat at the thought of him going up there, but after watching him for a few anxious moments, she had to admit it looked as though he knew what he was about. He made short work of the lower branches, which were stout and fairly evenly spaced. Higher up, he proceeded with slightly more caution which proved wise since once or twice a branch snapped off and made him lose his footing. A gasp went through the small crowd that was now gathered under the tree, but he seemed unconcerned and continued upwards.

  ‘Nearly there,’ he called up to Archie, who had his eyes shut again. ‘Hang on.’ This last admonition was plainly unnecessary, but Marsaili realised that by talking to the boy, Brice kept him from panicking. Her admiration for him rose a notch.

  In what seemed like a relatively short space of time, even though it felt like for ever, Brice reached Archie and wrapped one arm around the boy’s waist. ‘I’ve got you, you can let go now,’ he was heard to say. He had to repeat himself a few times until he penetrated the fog of terror the boy was obviously stuck inside. Finally, he made Archie comprehend that he had to put his arms round Brice’s neck instead and hold on tight. ‘I’ll need both my hands to get us down safely, do you understand?’ he explained.

  Marsaili saw the pair begin the descent and felt a cold sweat break out on the back of her neck. Her stomach muscles were clenched so tight she could barely breathe and she hardly registered the low murmuring of the crowd all around her. She had eyes only for Brice.

  He seemed to do everything with an easy grace, including tree climbing, and she watched, spellbound, as he used his powerful arms and shoulders to keep his balance. He lowered himself and his burden carefully from branch to branch until he was on the lowest one and could drop the boy down into outstretched arms. Finally, he jumped to the ground with the fluid movement of a cat out hunting. Marsaili couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  He looked up and met her gaze, then he smiled in that dazzling way. It seemed to her his smile was directed only at her, but then he turned to accept the congratulations from the bystanders and the thanks of Greine.

  ‘I’m right sorry to have put you to so much trouble, laird,’ the cook said. ‘I’ll skelp his backside for this, so I will.’

  Brice ruffled Archie’s hair. ‘No, please don’t punish him. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson well enough already. I’d say he was very brave to make the attempt.’ He winked at Archie. ‘But next time, let me give you some lessons in climbing first, eh?’

  Archie nodded and managed a weak smile. ‘Th-thank ye fer g-getting me doun, sir,’ he said in a small voice.

  ‘Not at all. Now how would you like a ride on my shoulders back to the house?’ Brice didn’t wait for the boy’s answer, but swung him up and sat him on his shoulders, then started walking. Archie squealed, but not with fear this time. He looked proud, like a hero returning triumphant from a battle and some of the colour returned to his cheeks.

  Marsaili exchanged a look with Greine, who shook her head. ‘The laird’s too soft,’ the cook muttered. ‘But maybe he’s right, Archie’s had a fright, but he’s haill. And after everything else that’s happened to him … Well, the least said the better. We’d best get back to our work.’

  As they followed the cavalcade of excited children, running and jumping around Brice and Archie, Marsaili felt something inside her melt at the sight. It was a rare man who would treat a child so gently, especially one who’d done something so stupid.

  She looked at Liath, who followed silently behind her as usual. ‘I guess you’re wiser than the humans here at Rosyth. You had his measure from the outset, didn’t you? Wonder if he’ll forgive the rest of us in time?’

  Liath gave a short bark and looked as if he was grinning. Marsaili smiled back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A week later, the morning dawned bright and sunny, and Brice was up early to make sure the harvest got under way. They’d had a run of warm, dry days, and the crops were ripe and ready – oats, barley and bere, the inferior kind of barley which grew on some of the less fertile fields. He knew they’d have to hurry if they wanted it all harvested safely. Any day now, it could turn rainy again, which would not be good.

  He’d been perfectly serious about taking part and knew he’d already proved this by working with the men making hay. Helping with the harvest was something every able-bodied man, woman and child had to do at Askeberga and he didn’t see why it should be different here. The strongest men would cut the grain with their scythes, the women walked behind, two assigned to each man. One laid the bundles ready, while the other tied them into sheaves. Children gathered up any left-over bits of straw and stooked the sheaves. It was teamwork, pure and simple.

  ‘Anyone who doesn’t take part won’t get a share of the grain,’ he’d told Seton the night before. ‘Unless they have a very good excuse, of course.’ He’d given the factor a pointed look, which had no effect since the man had skin as thick as shoe leather.

  He was pleased to see that what looked like the entire population of the township had turned up and were being organised into teams by Seton. He allowed the factor to assign him to one such group and someone handed him a well sharpened scythe and a whetstone. The villagers were still a bit wary of him, but once the work got started, he noticed they relaxed a little. One or two of the men even dared a joke or two, comparing his technique to theirs.

  ‘Is that how they Swedes dae it? Must tak’em till Yuletide.’

  Since Brice could see well enough there was no difference, he answered in a like manner. ‘On the contrary, you’re the ones who’d be lagging behind,’ he retorted with a smile.

  Harvesting was hard work which needed strength and endurance. He knew he had both and actually enjoyed the physical exercise it entailed. It would also be satisfying to have the grain safely indoors in case the weather decided to turn, which was all too likely here in the Highlands. He’d had the men repair one of the barns so they had somewhere dry to store the harvest. Now all they had to do was bring it in.

  All in all, he thought it was shaping up to being a good day.

  Marsaili was in a different team to the one Brice had joined. Since Seton was in charge of organising these, she rather suspected he’d engineered this on purpose. He’d continued to dart suspicious glances between her and Brice at every meal, even though she made a point of not looking towards the head of the table unless she had to. She didn’t want to cause trouble for the new laird u
nnecessarily and he hadn’t singled her out again either.

  She wasn’t so far away along the field that she couldn’t observe Brice, however, and she was pleased he was holding his own among the harvesters. He was right in the middle of the line of reapers, all swishing their scythes in wide arcs, working in tandem. Marsaili knew it was something that required quite a lot of skill, but she needn’t have worried about Brice. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

  It made her cross with herself that she cared, but since their meeting by the loch and his rescue of Archie, she had subconsciously begun to root for him. She knew he was going to have to prove himself here and she wanted him to become accepted. It may be silly, but if Liath liked him, he had to be a good man, she reasoned.

  At lunchtime, everyone took a well-earned break and Greine and some of her helpers came up from the house carrying hampers of food. Pitchers of ale were also brought and everyone received their share. Marsaili sank down in the welcome shade under a small tree and rested her back against the trunk. To her surprise, Brice hunkered down beside her.

  ‘May I sit with you?’ he asked politely. She nodded assent and he lowered his tall frame to the ground and leaned against the same trunk. He was so close she felt his shoulder brush hers, but although she knew she should have protested, she didn’t say anything. She discovered she liked having him near.

  ‘I hope your, er … swain won’t mind,’ he whispered, ‘but I saw him go off to his own house just now so hopefully he won’t notice. I’ve had enough of talking to the others for now.’

  ‘M-my swain? Whatever do you mean?’ Marsaili sat up straight and turned to stare at him. ‘I’m not promised to anyone.’

  ‘Oh? I was given to understand … but perhaps I misunderstood.’

  ‘You most certainly did.’ Marsaili gritted her teeth to contain the anger welling up inside her. If Seton was going around telling people she belonged to him, it was the outside of enough.

  Brice held up his hands. ‘Fine, I believe you and I apologise. I didn’t mean to cause offence.’

  Marsaili settled back down and tried to calm herself. It wasn’t Brice’s fault after all, so she shouldn’t take it out on him. ‘No, I’m the one who should apologise. It’s a bit of a touchy subject, is all.’

  ‘I swear I’ll never so much as mention it again,’ Brice averred.

  Marsaili just nodded, but after a short while she had to ask. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘What? Oh, no one said anything to me, it’s just that from the looks I received whenever I talked to you, I gathered … but obviously I was wrong. Really, I’m sorry.’

  Marsaili was relieved to know Seton wasn’t telling anyone he thought she’d soon succumb to him. It was bad enough him glaring at the laird when she was near him. One of these days, she’d have to make him understand she’d never be his. ‘Please, forget it,’ she murmured.

  They munched on bread and cheese for a while and Marsaili felt strangely peaceful sitting here with Brice. She realised that apart from his first visit, he’d never ogled her the way other men did or made her feel uncomfortable. He did have a strange effect on her body, but not because he was consciously doing anything, except perhaps teasing gently.

  ‘So when were you going to tell me we’re related?’ he asked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back when he’d finished his meal.

  ‘I didn’t think it was relevant. I’ve never thought of myself as your kin, no matter what Mrs Kinross says.’

  ‘Well, you should. You are kin, she’s right about that. And she clearly likes you, which in the circumstances is somewhat unusual.’

  ‘She’s a very kind woman.’ Marsaili spoke from the heart. She’d never had a harsh word from Ailsa and certainly no reproaches for being who she was.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Brice turned to look at her and Marsaili drew in a sharp breath. He was so close, those heavenly eyes only inches from hers. They held her enchanted, she simply couldn’t look away. If he leaned forward just a fraction more, his nose would touch hers and his lips … She swallowed hard and blinked. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he smiled at her. ‘I’m glad you chose the green silk, it will be perfect on you as it matches your eyes.’

  Marsaili knew she was blushing, but an answering smile tugged at her mouth. ‘Why, thank you, but … I really shouldn’t have it. You must have meant it for Mrs Kinross.’

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ he asked and she noticed his gaze had turned serious all of a sudden. She nodded. ‘To tell you the truth, all the silks were bought for someone else, but she didn’t deserve them, so I just brought them with me when I left Sweden. I’m afraid I had no thought of being kind to Aunt Ailsa or anyone. Does that make you think badly of me?’

  ‘No. At least you didn’t sell them for profit and you’ve now made several people very happy by giving them away.’

  ‘True. Still, it wasn’t very noble of me to pretend I’d brought it for her and my cousins.’

  ‘I think they’d forgive you.’ Marsaili laughed. ‘I should think any woman would forgive a man who gave them something so exquisite. Did you really buy them yourself in China?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve been there twice and each time I purchased my fair share of goods, silk included.’

  ‘Was that how you learned to climb, the way you did when you rescued Archie?’

  ‘Yes. I was up and down the rigging with all the other sailors. My father thinks I’m mad, but I love it. The view from up a tall mast is incredible. Fair makes your stomach do somersaults.’

  Marsaili shuddered at the thought. ‘I don’t think I’d like it. Going to China, though, that must have been wonderful. You are so lucky. To sail to faraway places and see the world …’ She sighed wistfully.

  ‘And eat rotten meat and drink water with maggots in it for weeks on end, oh, yes, lovely.’ It was Brice’s turn to laugh when Marsaili made a face. ‘It’s not as great as it sounds, but I admit the sights more than made up for all the hardships.’

  ‘You’re just teasing,’ she accused.

  ‘A little, but I’m serious too. I’m glad I went, but I have no wish to go again. From now on, I’ll leave it to others.’

  ‘Will you tell me about the good things some time?’

  ‘What, like the giant squid with tentacles eight yards long that nearly capsized the ship?’

  She punched him on the arm, which felt a bit like hitting a stone wall. ‘Stop it.’

  He chuckled. ‘Very well. I’ll tell you about my adventures whenever you like. But I may require some form of inducement, because it will be hard work remembering them all.’

  ‘What sort of inducement?’ She peered at him suspiciously.

  He bent to whisper in her ear. ‘One kiss for each tale.’ Then before she had time to protest or even gather her wits, he jumped to his feet and called out that it was time to go back to work.

  She could only be glad no one had been sitting within earshot of them.

  Brice didn’t know why he’d asked Marsaili for kisses. He knew very well he shouldn’t get involved with her, especially now he’d found out she wasn’t just a servant. Ailsa would have his hide if he tried anything. But there was no denying Marsaili was extremely beautiful and he felt drawn to her almost against his will.

  Truth to tell, he’d been tempted to kiss her there and then, but of course he could do no such thing. It would have been tantamount to a declaration of intent and that was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t leg-shackling himself to any woman any time soon.

  Thoughts of marriage inevitably made him remember Elisabet, but to his surprise the pain which usually accompanied the image of her in his mind didn’t come this time. He frowned, then realised that when he closed his eyes it wasn’t Elisabet he saw, but Marsaili. And if he compared the two, he didn’t find his new cousin wanting.

  That was odd.

  He glanced over to where Marsaili was kneeling on the ground, expertly tying up a sheaf of barley. It was hard work, painf
ul on the skin of the wrists and forearms, but she seemed oblivious and worked quickly. Her amazing hair flashed in the sunlight where it escaped the thick plait dangling across her shoulder. She moved with grace and there was strength in her capable hands and arms. As for her figure … well, no man could complain about that. Although she was tall – much taller than Elisabet, who had been more like a small porcelain doll and fine-boned with it – she was perfectly proportioned. Brice turned away.

  This wouldn’t do. Women couldn’t be trusted, no matter how lovely they were to look at. He’d learned that lesson now and he wouldn’t forget.

  Still, a little flirtation now and again couldn’t hurt, could it? As long as he didn’t go too far.

  After a week and a half of hard work, the crops were all safely stowed indoors. Marsaili was bone weary, but felt a great sense of achievement as she made her way back from the fields on the final day with the others. Everyone was in a good mood, looking forward to the harvest feast Brice had ordered for the following day.

  Brice himself walked at the front of the group, next to Seton who had taken no part in the harvesting other than as an overseer. Marsaili glared at the factor’s back. She’d heard someone say Seton was pleading some aches and pains as an excuse for not helping, but she knew he’d consider manual labour beneath him. He’d never done anything menial for as long as she’d known him.

  He and Brice appeared to be arguing and she lengthened her stride until she was within earshot.

  ‘We’re not graddaning. I told you, that’s an appalling waste,’ she heard Brice say. ‘You know we need the straw this year.’

  ‘But it’s how things are usually done here,’ Seton replied, his mouth set in a mulish line. ‘Always have. I think you’ll be hard put to find anyone willing to do anything else.’

  ‘We’re not burning anything. This year we’re doing it my way, by threshing, and if it doesn’t work, next year I’ll listen to you.’