by Lynsay Sands
"Sorry, I mean sneaky like some women," he muttered.
"Hmmm," she said with displeasure, and then sighed and added, "Ask around and see if you cannot find out where Miriam has got to and if anyone has seen her in the area." She paused briefly and then added unhappily, "Although not seeing her may not mean she is not behind this. After all, 'tis a man doing the attacking. It could be someone she hired. She would not need to be in the area at all if that is the case."
"I heard she went back to her kin," Marach said thoughtfully. "If she did send someone, it's most likely kin. We can ask if anyone has seen members of her family about, or if any of her kin fit the description of the man that chased ye in the clearing," he suggested.
"Aye. Good thinking," Annabel praised, and then stood. "I am going back up to check on my husband."
"But ye've no' broken yer fast," Gilly pointed out with a frown.
Annabel glanced down at the bits of bread littering her spot. She'd torn her bread to shreds but had not eaten a bite. Shrugging, she said, "I am not really hungry anyway."
"I'll ha'e a maid bring ye up some cider and food," Marach said quietly. "Ye must keep yer strength up. Ye may need it in the future."
"Thank you," Annabel murmured and turned for the stairs. But as she walked, it suddenly occurred to her to wonder what he'd meant. Did he mean she needed to keep her strength up in case of another attack, or in case Ross died? Her mind shrank from the second possibility. Annabel simply didn't want to think about that. She liked her husband. Perhaps even was coming to love him. He was caring and concerned in his treatment of her, and he made her blood burn and her body sing. She didn't want to think of never experiencing any of that again.
"LIKE I TOLD the laird, Ainsley, Eoghann and I were drinking the night we decided to put in a claim to the title."
Annabel nodded to encourage the man to continue, and then glanced over her shoulder to be sure Gilly and Marach were each paying attention. A snort from Eoghann brought her gaze back around.
"We weren't just drinking, we were sotted," Ross's uncle put in. "We were supposed to be playing cards, but instead the three of us were yammering on about Derek."
"Aye," Fingal agreed. "We all three were annoyed with the little idiot blathering on about his being four years older, and how it would make him the wiser and better chief than Ross." He scowled. "And some folk were falling for it."
"Can ye imagine?" Eoghann asked with dismay. "After all Ross had done to prove himself, stepping up repeatedly and takin' the reins when his father, God rest his soul, was away or unwell. The lad is a born leader."
"Aye, and what had Derek done?" Fingal asked, and then answered in unison with Eoghann, "Nothing."
They both nodded together, looking like the brothers they were, and then Fingal muttered, "The lad's ridiculous yammering made us fair froth."
"Froth," Eoghann agreed.
"So, we decided if he wanted to play the age card, we could beat him there and we'd all put ourselves forward as runners for the title," Fingal continued. "Give the little bastard a scare."
"Aye," Eoghann agreed, and then added quickly, "But none o' us really wanted it. I'm a farmer at heart. Always ha'e been. Can't be bothered with all that political nonsense. Give me some good, fertile soil and I can feed the village. Give me a sword and I'd most like poke meself by accident," he said with a grimace. "I'd rather slop me pigs than kowtow to the English and our neighbors . . . and our father kenned that. Set me up with a fine bit o' land to till when I was still a boy, and I've made fine work of it. I'm content."
"And I like being blacksmith," Fingal assured her. "Always had a temper, and I can beat that out hammering me metal. I'd forever be at war were I clan chieftain."
"Aye, he would," Eoghann said with a grin.
"And that's no' a good thing," Fingal assured her. "I can hammer a fine sword, the best in the highlands, but wielding it?" He grimaced and shook his head. "I'd get meself stuck through, the first battle."
"Aye," Eoghann agreed. "As would I."
The two men were silent for a moment and then Fingal said, "I ken yer trying to find out who is behind these attacks as Ross was doing ere he was hurt, but if yer looking to us, yer looking in the wrong direction. Ross is a good leader, and bad as I am with a sword, I'd take one up in his defense, but I'd ne'er turn one against him."
Eoghann nodded solemnly and then asked, "How is the lad? Has he stirred at all?"
"Nay," Annabel admitted quietly.
Eoghann sighed, looking suddenly old. He shook his head. "It's no' fair. The lad's had a tough row o' it the last five or six years."
"Aye," Fingal sighed. "And it was just starting to look like he was comin' out o' it. He handled Derek and things were settling here and then he fetched ye back. It seemed things had taken a turn."
Eoghann nodded. "We were expecting the squawl o' bairns soon and a contented laird. A happy laird makes for happy people."
"I am sure he will wake soon," Annabel said soothingly. "He is strong."
"Aye, but head wounds are a tricky business," Eoghann muttered unhappily.
Annabel grimaced at the words. They had been repeated often of late, even by her, and she was sick of them. Tricky or not, Ross had to recover from this head wound.
"Ha'e ye considered Miriam?" Eoghann asked suddenly, and then added, "She did no' take Derek's passing well, and blamed Ross despite her boy starting this whole business."
"Hell, she was probably the one prodding Derek to claim the title," Fingal said with disgust. "That way she would be mother o' the laird and live in the castle."
"That's more than possible," Eoghann decided, and then added with disapproval, "Miriam always aspired to grander things than village life. She wanted to be Lady MacKay as a lass, chased our brother, Ranson, Ross's father, and was furious when the boy's mother won him over instead."
"Really?" Annabel asked with interest.
"Aye. That's a fact," Eoghann assured her. "I wouldn't put it past the woman to try to make trouble for Ross for dashing her last hope o' being the grand lady o' the manor."
"Do you know if she--" Annabel paused and glanced toward the keep doors when they suddenly opened. She recognized the man who entered. He was a MacKay and often guarded the front gate, but she had never been told his name, so she was a little alarmed when he glanced around, spotted her at the trestle tables and headed straight for her.
"Begging yer pardon, me lady," the man murmured with a slight bow as he reached her. "But there's a lady at the gate asking to see ye."
"A lady?" Annabel asked with surprise, searching her mind for what woman in Scotland might want to see her. The only women she knew so far were the servants here and Giorsal, and Giorsal would never be kept waiting at the gate.
"An Englishwoman," the soldier clarified.
Annabel's eyes widened and she stood at once.
"Hold on there," Eoghann said, jumping to his feet and then he eyed the soldier. "Is it Miriam?"
"Miriam?" Annabel asked with surprise. "But she is Scottish . . . isn't she?" she added uncertainly.
Fingal and Eoghann shook their heads as one, but it was Eoghann who said, "Nay. Miriam is English. Our father hired her father on as cook here when she was twelve. Her mother was dead, so he brought her along and they had a little room off the kitchens."
"It's where she got her liking for castle life. Wanted to run the damned place and get out o' the hot kitchens," Fingal added.
"I see," Annabel murmured and then glanced to the soldier. "Is it Miriam?"
"I do no' ken," the man admitted apologetically. "I never met the woman."
"Bearnard is a MacDonald," Marach said quietly behind her. "He married a MacKay lass this past spring and only moved here then."
"Aye." Bearnard nodded. "I ken not what this Miriam looks like. Howbeit, she did no' say she was her."
"Well, I ken what she looks like," Eoghann announced and started around the table, with Fingal on his heels. "We'll accompany ye and be sure if 'tis her, she d
"Oh, that is very kind," Annabel said with surprise. "But I am sure Gilly and Marach will recognize her if 'tis Miriam."
"Gilly and Marach are no' family," Eoghann said grimly as he took her arm, then glanced to the men and added, "No offense, lads. But with Ross down it falls to his family to see his lady's safe. Come on Fingal," he added, and the other man hurried to take her other arm. The two then proceeded to march her toward the keep doors.
Annabel glanced over her shoulder to be sure Gilly and Marach were following and then glanced from Eoghann to Fingal and said, "The two of you seem quite close."
"We're brothers," Eoghann said with a shrug.
"Half brothers," Fingal corrected. "And we were no' always so close. As lads I resented Eoghann, Ainsley and Ranson for having things I did no'. And for being acknowledged as the laird's sons where I was no'."
"What happened to change things?" she asked curiously as Fingal tugged the keep door open and the men ushered her out.
"Ranson," Fingal said solemnly as they crossed the bailey. "When our father died and he became laird, he came down to the village to speak to me. He acknowledged me as his half brother and offered me a position among his warriors." He smiled wryly. "But as I mentioned I was no good with the sword. He offered to train me himself, but I'd been training with the blacksmith since a boy and I liked it, so . . ." He shrugged.
"Ranson was the one who started the weekly game nights with the four of us," Eoghann announced. "Sometimes we took turns at playing Merels, other times we played cards. 'Twas the four o' us then. Derek's father had already passed on."
"Mostly we drank and laughed and just had a good time," Fingal informed her. " 'Twas a sad day indeed when we lost him."
"Aye," Eoghann sighed. "We considered inviting Ross to take his place in the game nights, but then this business with Derek happened and idiots that we were, we did no' explain to him that we did no' really want his title ere naming our claims to it. As ye can imagine, our stepping up did no' please him."
"We did no' think he'd welcome the invitation after that," Fingal added dryly. "So we decided to just let him be for a bit."
"And then Ainsley died," Eoghann said on a sigh.
"Aye." Fingal nodded solemnly and they all fell silent as they crossed the last few feet to the gate.
Ross had given the order that no one was to enter the bailey without good cause after the attack in the field of bluebells here in Scotland. Only villagers or visitors who were expected or had business at MacKay were to be allowed past the drawbridge. All others were to be held there until he, or in this case, Annabel, said it was all right.
Annabel didn't at first see anyone waiting at the gate until she had nearly reached it, and then a woman in tattered clothes, her face and hair dirty, stepped from the shadows near the wall of the barbican and into the light.
"It's no' Miriam," Fingal said with disappointment.
"Nay. Too young and pretty under all that dirt," Eoghann agreed and then informed her, "Miriam was a beauty when she was young, but grew into a bitter old sour-faced crone." Glancing to Annabel he lectured, "That's what greed, envy and bitterness does to a woman. Bear that in mind and keep envy from yer heart, lass, and ye'll be as lovely when yer old as ye are today."
"Thank you, I shall remember that," Annabel murmured, trying to ignore the blush she knew was creeping up her cheeks at the compliment. She was not used to being thought lovely. Ross was the first person who had claimed she was. It seemed the men in his family agreed. All she could think was that liking plump women was a family trait.
"Annabel?"
She turned back just as the woman tried to rush forward only to have the man who had kept her at the gate hold out a hand to stop her. The stranger peered down at the arm in front of her chest and then turned desperate eyes to Annabel.
"Annabel, do you not recognize me?" she asked in an English accent, and sounding close to tears. " 'Tis me. Kate."
"Kate?" Annabel said with amazement, her eyes narrowing on her face. She wanted to recognize her sister, but it had been fourteen years, and they'd both been children when she'd last seen her.
"Belly," she said pleadingly, and Annabel recognized the nickname Kate had called her when they were children.
"Let her in. She is my sister," Annabel said at once.
The moment the guard lowered his arm Kate rushed forward. Annabel started to raise her hands to take hers in greeting, but never got the chance. Kate threw herself at her like a child and burst into loud, heart-wrenching sobs.
Annabel stiffened briefly in surprise, but then patted her back and murmured soothingly. She also tried very hard not to wrinkle her nose or shrink away from the stench coming off of her. Kate needed a bath desperately.
She was not the only one to note this. The men who had surrounded her all the way to the gate, almost crowding her in their determination to keep her safe, had all suddenly taken several quick steps away. Annabel scowled at them for it and then eased the woman to her side. Circling her back with her arm, she then began to urge her toward the keep, murmuring there, there's and 'tis all right now's, though she hadn't a clue what she was comforting her over. Had her lover died? Abandoned her? Or perhaps he was abusive and Kate had fled him. Whatever it was, it seemed to have utterly destroyed her sister. And it must have happened soon after she'd left with him. It had only been little more than a week since Kate had run off with her lover. By the looks of her, she hadn't bathed or changed once since then and had been living in rough circumstances.
Annabel knew the men were following them. Despite Kate's continuous and loud sobs, she could just hear their mumbling amongst themselves as they trailed them back across the bailey and into the keep. That didn't surprise her; what did was the fact that they then also trailed them upstairs when Annabel herded Kate that way.
"There, there," Annabel repeated as she ushered Kate into the empty bedchamber next to the master bedchamber. "I shall order you a bath and some food. You shall feel much better after that and we can talk."
"A bath and food?" Eoghann asked with dismay from the door. "But she's English."
Annabel ignored him and urged Kate to the bed. Once she had removed her clinging hands and seated her on the bed, she patted her shoulder and said, "I shall go roust some servants to bring you a bath and food. I'll be right back. You just rest."
Turning then, she started for the door where the four men were huddled watching her.
"Lass, ye can no' waste food and trouble the servants on this," Eoghann told her solemnly. "She's English."
Annabel paused in the door and scowled. "Sir, in case my accent had escaped you, I am English."
"Nay, yer a MacKay," he countered.
"Aye, but I am also English," she insisted with exasperation.
"Nay," he said stubbornly. "Ye were raised English, but ye married a MacKay, so now yer a Scot."
Deciding this was a waste of time, Annabel waved the men out of the way with exasperation and moved past them to hurry to the stairs.
"I did no' ken she had a sister," Fingal commented as the men followed her.
"Aye. She ran off with the son o' Waverly's stable master," Marach said dryly. "Waverly disinherited and disowned her and presented the laird with Annabel as his eldest by contract."
"Which we're all grateful for. Our lady is a sweet nun--" Gilly's words died abruptly when Annabel whirled in horror.
"Giorsal told?"
"Giorsal?" Gilly asked with confusion. "Does she ken?"
"Nay, m'lady," Marach assured her. "I overheard the Waverly stable master and another man talking after we arrived there."
"Not that," Annabel waved impatiently. Ross had already told her about the conversation where it had been revealed she was the second daughter. "I meant did Giorsal tell you about my being raised at the abbey, intended to be a nun?"
Dead silence met her question, and then Gilly cleared his throat, and said, "Actually, I was no' saying ye were a nun. I was saying ye were a sweet nun next to yer sister's loose ways," he explained, and then glanced to Marach in question as he added, "I do no' think any o' us kenned ye were a nun, did we?"
Marach shook his head silently, his gaze on Annabel with concern.
"I am not a nun," Annabel said quickly, mentally kicking herself for jumping the gun and revealing what she hadn't yet told her husband. Sighing, she admitted reluctantly, "I was an oblate."
There was a moment of silence and then Fingal asked, "An oblate? Isn't that a fledgling nun?"
"An oblate is a lass raised in the abbey, intended to be a nun, but without having taken any vows or signed contracts to that effect," Marach said quietly.
"Aye, a fledgling nun," Eoghann said.
"Well, nun or no', I'm thinkin' Ross got the better sister," Fingal muttered. "The other one is a fair mess."
Reminded of her intended task, Annabel turned away and continued down the stairs, muttering, "She merely needs a bath and change of clothes. By all accounts she is the beautiful one in the family."
Her mother had made that more than clear, and had moaned over Annabel's lack in comparison as she'd prepared her for the wedding.
"Nay," Fingal disagreed and then predicted, "Even cleaned up ye'll outshine her. Her face is too narrow, and her nose big, and she's too skinny. No meat on her bones to hold on to or cushion ye while ye--"
His words stopped abruptly and Annabel glanced over her shoulder just in time to see Eoghann remove his elbow from the man's stomach. Shaking her head, she faced forward again, sure they would change their minds once Kate was cleaned up. None of that really mattered though. Annabel had resigned herself to being the unattractive failure in the family. Besides, Ross seemed to like her just as she was. Although, she did wonder how he would feel when he woke up and met Kate. He may feel he had been cheated in the deal . . . especially once he heard that Annabel was an untrained ex-oblate. And while it was obvious the men hadn't known that part before, they did now, and she knew they would tell him when he woke. If he woke. Whether she lost him or not, Annabel hoped he would wake. The world would be a much sadder place if he didn't.
Chapter 13
"I made a terrible error," Kate said wearily, wiping tears from her face.
"You were in love," Annabel said sympathetically.
Kate had bathed and looked an entirely different person than the filthy waif she had first appeared at the gate. Her sister's hair was a fine golden color, her face slender, eyes big and wide apart, and nose straight. She was also quite slim. The abbess would have loved her, Annabel thought as she took in the gown Kate now wore. It was a pale yellow gown with white trim that she and Seonag had mended and altered, making the bustline bigger for Annabel. It had fit her like a glove when they'd finished, Annabel recalled unhappily, but it hung on Kate's much smaller frame like a sack.
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