by Willa Blair
“Must I be concerned for yer future well-being? Or that of the clan?”
Logen’s voice yanked her back to the present, shocking her, like cold water to her face. “What?” It took a second to recall what he’d said. “Nay!”
“Then ye are well?”
She took a breath. Where was her anger? Had the Healer stolen her emotions, only to give her an awareness of the emotions of others? “I...believe so, Laird MacDugall.”
“Yet yer escort recommended ye be watched. So ye have been observed since ye returned to us. There havena been any reports of strange maladies in the clan. Ye have remained compliant with the Healer’s instruction for rest and contemplation. For that reason, I willna set upon ye the penalty my advisors recommend.”
Penalty? Coira’s heart pounded its distress at hearing the word, though she’d expected nothing less. What penalty? What did they know, or think she’d done? Logen gave her no chance to ask.
“Instead, ye will rejoin the clan. But ye must make yer own way back into their trust.”
No punishment? Had she understood him correctly? If he knew what she’d done, how could he think she deserved a reprieve? “Is that possible?”
“I fear I am not the best person to ask, being newly made laird. I am not entirely in the clan’s favor either.”
The change in subject confused her. She shook her head. “Out of favor? How can that be?”
Logen shrugged. “I am the remainder of several candidates whose factions, in essence, eliminated each of them from contention. That left me most favored long enough to be elected laird.”
Was that a whiff of fear she detected? Or resignation? Did he expect to meet the same fate, sooner or later? And what would happen to her if he became some faction’s next victim? Would that leave someone in power who would deal more harshly with her? What penalty had his advisors recommended?
Coira gave in to the urge to cross her arms over her chest. What sort of mess had she returned to? And what would be the clan’s reaction when they learned their laird had decided not to punish her? Did he have allies, or was he as alone here as she? Was he truly strong enough to defy his advisors or was he using her to test them? Would they take it upon themselves to retaliate for the wrongs she’d done to the Lathans and to the clan’s reputation? Her stomach roiled as her mind ran through the possibilities.
She’d expected to be punished. What was she supposed to do now?
****
Logen tensed as he stared down the table in his solar at the latest of his advisors to decry his decision not to punish Coira. Based on the few hints her escort had let slip about events in the highlands, rumors had been swirling since she arrived, growing wilder and more dire with each passing day. It troubled Logen that the escort was clearly under orders not to reveal everything they knew. But the message from the Lathan laird had been specific in its forgiveness of whatever had happened. Since the Lathan did not demand consequences, Logen had no reason to impose any, and he certainly would not do so based on rumor.
If only he knew what had happened that required such…circumspection…or was it compassion…from the highland clan.
But he was right, whether these ruffians could see it or not. Forcing Coira to make her own way was harsher punishment than lashes or time spent in the dungeon could be, no matter how well deserved—or undeserved—they might be. She would find regaining the clan’s trust hard going, but nothing worthwhile was ever easy. She would succeed or fail on her own terms. Much as he would do.
“The Lathan only wished the sea air would restore her. Did that sound like a man, or a clan, bent on revenge?”
“So ye mean to allow her to walk among us, unguarded, unsupervised, as though nothin’ happened?” Rannulf would not let this go.
“Aye,” Logen repeated for at least the sixth time. “Unguarded, but no’ unobserved. Every eye in the clan will be upon her, and she kens it well. Ye must give her the chance to prove herself—”
“We mustna do any such thing,” old Eric interjected in his crackly voice. “She’s been among wild highlanders these last two years, where the auld laird sent her against our advice. They sent her back to recuperate from…what? Some strange ailment that requires isolation and rest? She could be a danger to the other lasses, the bairns.”
Logen fought down the irritation this discussion was causing him. If he was to convince these fools, he must remain calm, his tone reasonable. “She isna. The healer has approved her. She’s hale, a great deal more than ye. So watch her all ye like. She will again become a useful member of this clan, and ye’ll no’ be able to deny her.”
“And what makes ye so certain of that? Are ye hankerin’ for a lass, then. One new to ye? Do ye think by going easy on her, she’ll lift her skirts for ye in thanks?”
Logen snorted his disgust, then leaned forward and pinned Rannulf with a glare. “I dinna think any such thing. And if ye were thinking, ye’d realize I havena gone easy on her.” He emphasized his point by tapping the table between them with his index finger, when in truth, he’d rather use the pommel of his sword. “The clan wouldha’ accepted any punishment the Lathans demanded. They didna. The Lathan wished her well, for God’s sake. But to satisfy the concerns of a few, what she must do now is much harder. She will spend as long as it takes making amends to every member of this clan for any discord she may have caused.” As the rude chuckle erupted around the room, Logen slammed his fist onto the table. “If one hair on her head is disturbed by any man whose attentions she doesna welcome, I’ll gut that man myself. We dinna treat our lasses that way.”
“She’s no longer our lass.”
Logen stood and planted both fists on the table top, looming over Rannulf. “I’m laird here, and I say she is, born and bred. We are her family and it’s up to us to help her.”
“Who’s helpin’ the Lathans she harmed?”
“If she harmed any of them, and we havena any proof she did, they’ve been cared for and are no’ of concern to us. Coira is.”
Hugh, who’d kept silent up to now, leaned forward. “As laird, ye say she is again one of us. Let yer actions speak, then. Make her yer charge. She’ll be yer responsibility, and her actions will reflect directly on ye.”
A chorus of aye’s echoed around the room.
Logen grimaced, but saw no way to avoid the challenge. “Aye, I will. Hear me, then. Any harm done to her is harm done to me, and willna be ignored.” He looked from one side of the table to the other, making certain he had their full attention. “Ye may consider me little more than a fisherman who was made laird by accident, but think on this. I havena survived these long years at sea by being stupid or soft. Ye’ll remember that I beat all comers in training as a lad, and years of hauling nets have only made me stronger. I’m one of the few who walked away from Flodden.” Logen paused to force down the bile that threatened to rise into his throat. Now was no time for those memories. “Our clan has been through troubles, but that time is over. Dinna think to use this lass to stir them up again.”
“Sure of yerself, are ye?” Auld Eric’s voice never wavered.
“Sure enough.” Logen walked to the door and opened it, his meaning plain. “Now that’s clear, we’re done here.”
“For now.”
“Aye, for now.”
He stood by the door, making eye contact with each man as they left the room. He had to appear stronger than he felt at this moment. Their challenges, based on nothing more than speculation and aimed at a lass who had harmed none of them, told him he still had a great deal of work to do to consolidate his position in the clan. His power base was too small, since most were fishermen and too often gone from the keep to back him up in a violent confrontation. This meeting had not come to blows, but his advisors had just raised the stakes. His future was now even less in his control. Coira’s actions, Coira’s acceptance, would make the difference, not only for her future here, but his.
A few of the council nodded as they passed by. A few clapped him
on the shoulder before quitting the room. A few glanced quickly away. Aye, he’d keep his eye on all of them, but those last few he would watch most carefully.
Chapter 2
Everywhere she went, Coira could feel the attention on her. Her new sense gained strength each day, making her more sensitive to the moods around her. Simple curiosity reassured her and made her feel like she might stand a chance of becoming accepted. But some people’s anger and suspicion surrounded her like a cloak of needles, pricking her skin and making her bleed from a thousand small wounds. She braved those people as long as she could, smiling and offering no insult, but she moved away from them as quickly as was polite to do so. She could tolerate individuals for a short time, but even small groups pained her. She couldn’t imagine joining the clan in the great hall for the evening meal.
But she could not hide in her chamber forever. Logen had charged her with regaining the clan’s trust and acceptance. To do that, she must find a way to prove she could be a valuable member of the clan.
As penance for her greatest heartache, she spent a part of her day in the nursery with the infants and small children. She didn’t understand how she could have threatened a child, no matter how desperate she was for Toran’s attention or angry that he was sending her away. The person she had been seemed as foreign to her as the highlands had seemed when she first arrived there. But in helping to care for the bairns, she could, in small measure, atone for the awful thing she’d done. She fervently hoped the lass had forgotten, perhaps with Aileana’s help, that horrible night.
The nursemaid, Mhairi, welcomed her help, but there was no doubt some of the mothers did not. As soon as one left, another arrived. Their tension tightened her muscles. Their irritation felt like splinters under her skin. She breathed deeply, fighting to ignore them and remain calm, even cheerful, as she helped Mhairi feed or change or play with her charges.
The littlest bairns would fret until the current mother-guardian’s irritation faded. Coira noticed the infants breathed easier at the same time she did. She wondered if babies were born with the ability to sense the moods of others around them, but lost it as they grew.
Although the effort exhausted her, she was gaining ground with some of the mothers. They no longer glared daggers at her, simply took a seat and turned their attention to their needlework or played with the older children. Coira actually enjoyed those visits.
Her greatest ally so far was a cousin, Elizabeth, who had been a childhood friend before Coira went away, and who started spending time in the nursery with her. When Elizabeth arrived, the latest mother took her leave. Elizabeth and Coira exchanged a glance, then, as the woman exited the room, Elizabeth made a face at her retreating back.
“Watch yerself, lassie,” Mhairi chided softly.
Coira bit back a smile as Elizabeth dropped into the chair, still rocking slightly, that the other woman just vacated.
“She didna see me,” Elizabeth retorted. “And besides, this...parade...of watchers is a waste of time. It’s not like they’re doing anything to help ye, are they?”
Mhairi shrugged. “’Tis no’ their place to do so.”
“Of course it is—these are their bairns, are they no’?”
Mhairi just smiled and Coira relaxed.
“Tell me more about what I’ve missed while I’ve been away. Everything seems to be very...unsettled.”
Mhairi snorted and turned back to playing a game with the smaller children.
Elizabeth set her chair to rocking at a faster pace. “Where to begin? Deaths at Flodden—I suppose ye heard about that?”
“Aye. Who in Scotland hasna?”
“The clan has been working its way through the auld laird’s heirs, one by one. ’Tis no’ a job with much longevity, it seems.”
Coira’s heart clenched. Logen had hinted at such, but it hurt to hear it confirmed.
“So the new laird...?”
“Had best watch his back, else he’ll end up like the others and another unlucky fool will take his place. Or the wrong man with enough minions to help him hold power.”
“When did this clan turn into a nest of vipers?”
Elizabeth gestured toward a window and the battlements beyond it. “The good men, except for those few left behind to man the walls, went to fight with the king. The lazy, wastrel, cowardly...well, if they could, they remained behind. When the good men failed to return...”
“The rest began to fight over the spoils.” Coira nodded.
“And the good men left behind were outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and, eventually, outmatched.”
“Why do the troublemakers cling to a semblance of order, a laird and a council?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Ambition, I suppose. To become the rightful laird, ye must have in place a lairdship to assume and a clan to rule. Chaos serves no master.”
Coira glanced over to where Mhairi was settling her charges down for a nap. “Thank heavens for that. Or the women and bairns would be in great danger from a mob of desperate men.”
“It may yet come to that.” Elizabeth stilled her chair. “Logen didna want the job, but cooler heads prevailed and convinced him to take it. Logen is a master on the seas and an accomplished warrior. He knows how to deal with trouble from the island clans as well as the Campbells. But there are no guarantees our troubles are over. There could still be factions that hope to remove him and replace him with one of their own. It remains to be seen whether he can hold power and become the leader this clan needs. He may no’ have enough time.”
“Who is helping him?”
“So far? A handful of fishermen and men who were his friends before this came about. The women could help, but I think most want to stay out of the men’s battles lest they suffer for having chosen the wrong side.”
“We need to do something to build support within the clan.” But what?
“And how do ye propose to do that when ye need to build support for yerself.”
“Perhaps the two are not mutually exclusive.”
“Have a care, cousin. Yer acceptance depends on building bridges, no’ burning them. To do that, ye must avoid taking sides. Remain neutral. Stay out of the power struggles. Besides, what can ye, a woman, do, when the men play politics and worse?”
Coira didn’t know how to respond to that, but she had an idea the Healer’s gift might be just the edge Logen needed.
****
Coira was tiring of mincing about the keep, smiling and staying neutral. Another week passed uneventfully. No one seemed to be hiding any anger or frustration. Many still shunned her, but after hearing some of the rumors going around about her time in the Highlands, she understood why. It pained her to know how much more work she had to do to be accepted. Still, none of the rumors were as bad as the truth, and that, at least, was still her secret to keep.
She needed a change of scenery, a diversion, or she would be the one hiding frustration and anger. Elizabeth arrived in time to keep her from pacing a rut across the floor of her chamber.
“Thank goodness, ye’re here. I’m about to go out of my mind.”
“Ye are doing well, Coira. I overheard Nan say something almost even-handed about the work ye did for her yesterday.”
Coira wasn’t sure if Elizabeth was serious or not until she broke into a grin.
“Wonderful.” Coira planted her hands on her hips. “I’m running out of ideas. What else can I do to raise opinions of me? Leave the keep?”
“I have the solution for that,” Elizabeth told her with a smirk.
“Truly?” Coira instantly felt lighter. “Where are we going? I hope ye have something interesting in mind.” Elizabeth had been taking her around the keep, reacquainting her with the nooks and crannies they’d explored as children, as well as out of the keep into the meadow and down to the beach, but never out of sight of the keep’s high walls.
“The fishing boats have been spotted on their way in. Everyone is headed for the beach to help carry the catch back up to the kit
chen.”
Coira groaned. This was work she was familiar with, having done it many times as a young girl, but it was not the sort of diversion she hoped for. It was one time when every able-bodied member of the clan worked together, bringing down baskets and carrying them back up, full of fresh fish to be cooked for the evening meal, or salted and dried for later use in soups and stews. “Let’s go then.” Her mouth watered at the thought of roasting fish for dinner even as she winced at the thought of the hard, messy work to come.
They collected their baskets from the kitchen in companionable silence, then joined the line of people making their way down the cliff path to the beach. Once everyone was down the single-file path, people could begin to carry the loaded baskets back up the cliff to the keep.
Coira spotted Logen standing at the shoreline, hands on his hips, as the first boat, a small, flat-bottomed birlinn, beached. He moved forward to grab a net, passing its length through his hands with obvious skill. Others joined him, clearing the nets and tossing fish into small baskets. Coira’s gaze was captured by the ripple of muscle in his arms and across his broad back as he worked.
The next boat, a larger galley, beached further out in the surf. From waist-deep water, Logen pulled himself over the side and onto its deck, then bent to assist with its catch.
As Coira handed over her basket to be filled from the first boat, a sensation of hatred, like a cold wind, blew past her. Startled, she glanced up in time to see Logen trip over something on deck and tumble headfirst over the side.
Nay! She froze with fear as he rolled in mid-air. He hit the shallow water with a tremendous splash, spread-eagled rather than headfirst. The noise of that splash caught the attention of those around her, but she sensed only surprise, not satisfaction.
