by Ceri Bladen
“Good morning, lassie. And what are ye up tae, today?”
Aileana jumped and looked at Kameron before flicking a glance at both Fergus and Donald who flanked their Laird. “I’m not sure. I’m trying tae find Morag.” When she had arisen, she’d waited for Morag to appear from wherever she slept, but after having stern looks from others—presumably thinking she was being lazy—she decided to search for her instead.
“Are ye going tae tell me yer name, so I dinnae have tae keep calling ye ‘lassie’?”
Before she had time to answer, Donald butted in. “If she doesn’t want tae tell ye, Laird, I overheard the servants calling her Elspeth.”
Aileana gave Donald a stare before she caught the narrowing regard of Kameron’s eyes on her.
“Is that so?” He rubbed his short beard, far from convinced. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered the old laird of Ackergill Tower’s wife being called Elspeth. Interested in that piece of information, Kameron turned to address his men. “Give me a wee time, I’ll meet ye in the stables.” She had bristled when Donald had told him her name and sensing she was about to stand up to him, he didn’t want his men to become annoyed with her. He personally liked her spirit, but he couldn’t allow her to disobey him in front of his men. He’d have to find a way to get around it.
“Aye, Laird. We’ll get ye stallion ready for ye,” said Fergus, his gaze narrowing briefly on her. “Although ye know that Eachann likes ye tae ready him, Laird.”
Kameron’s cheek twitched. He was well aware of the fact, and most of the time, he tended to his steed himself, but he wanted to talk to Aileana alone. “Aye, are ye saying yer not capable, Fergus?” Kameron widened his stance.
“Nae, Laird. We’ll be on our way.” Fergus backed down.
When they left, Aileana didn’t watch, she wasn’t interested in them. Something she couldn’t name was building inside her and it both frightened and excited her. She waited for Kameron’s attention to be back on her, forcing herself to stay calm.
“So, ye name is Elspeth? Is that right?”
Aileana said nothing—she didn’t want to lie to him. A flush of shame coloured her face, but she refused to look away.
“Elspeth what?” His piercing blue eyes narrowed on her cheeks and saw the rosiness there. A surge of desire whipped through him, knocking him with its intensity. She had been on his mind a lot, but he’d never had such a violent reaction before. “If ye cannae tell me who ye are, are ye married or unwed?” He blurted out, suddenly wanting to know. He needed to squash the jealousy he felt bubbling inside his chest. When she still refused to answer his question, more annoyed at himself, he let out a large huff before he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “All right, lassie. I like yer spirit, but I cannae be seen tae be treating you differently. Ye’ll have tae start working with the rest of the servants.”
“That is no problem, as that is what I am.” Aileana grabbed her skirts and pulled her shoulders back.
“I have a feeling it isn’t, but—” his brows knitted, “—Morag.” He motioned his housemaid forward when he saw her appear from the stairwell behind Aileana. He was glad she had appeared. Being alone with her might not be in any of their interest—especially if she was Aileana MacAlpin. Then she would be a pawn to use, not someone to take a fancy to.
“Aye, Laird?”
“Put Elspeth to work today.”
Morag nodded. “Aye, doing what?”
“Whatever the other servants are doing.” He kept his gaze on Aileana. “No different treatment. Elspeth, if that is her name, is tae be treated the same as everyone else until she sees fit tae tell us who she is.”
“Aye, Laird. As you wish.”
Morag put her hands on her ample hips. “Right, lassie. What work can you dae?”
Aileana’s chin jutted out, annoyed that Morag would think her freeloader. “I’m able tae dae the same work as any woman my age.”
Morag’s eyebrows raised. “So, you were a servant at Ackergill Tower?”
“I—” she paused, suddenly not feeling comfortable lying to her, either, “—I carried out lots of duties with the other servants.” She could tell by the look on Morag’s face she still didn’t completely believe her.
“Right. Come with me tae the kitchens. With the slaughtering of cattle going on, I’m sure cook will find ye work tae dae. The cow’s heads and feet need tae be made into broths and potted hough; the stomachs stuffed for haggis or used for tripe. I know cook received some livers, hearts and lights, which need tae be eaten today. Aye, lots of work.”
Aileana felt her stomach churn but didn’t know if it was because of the talk of food before she’d broken her own fast or the fact that Laird Kameron was watching her.
“There is plenty of suet for the mealy puddings—” Morag stopped and turned towards her, “—mayhap, ye can make tallow candles?”
Aileana nodded.
“Or use the hides tae make mats and coverings? Aye, lassie, there is plenty tae dae during the butchering season. Come, ye can have a lump of cheese and porridge before ye start work with the others.”
Kameron watched their exchanged, impressed Aileana didn’t flinch at the workload. Every time he met her, whether he liked the fact or not, his interest in her became stronger. His lips thinned. This was a dangerous road to travel. “I will check with ye later, Morag, tae see how Elspeth is doing.”
“Aye, Laird.”
Kameron turned to Aileana. “Good day tae ye, Elspeth.” He touched his bonnet before walking away—not willing to stay any longer, else he might forget to treat her like a MacAlpin.
Evening…
Aileana stretched her back. Thanks to the treatment of her father and brothers, she wasn’t unused to hard work, but bending over for most of the day, salting the meat by layering pieces in a keg, before sealing it, was back-breaking. She looked at her hands, red and sore, and sighed. There was nothing she could do about them now, and no one she could ask for fat to rub on them to soothe the pain. Apart from brief instructions, no one had talked to her the whole day. When she heard Morag’s voice as she entered the kitchen, Aileana couldn’t help but smile. She was the friendliest face she’d seen all day, even though she knew Morag was only doing her job by talking to her.
“Right, lassie. I see ye have finished.”
She nodded. “There was a lot of meat tae preserve.”
“Aye, which will be good during the winter. Anyway, I haven’t time tae chat I need to get tae the larder tae check on cheeses and milk, and I still have jobs tae get done before food is served.” She let out a large breath before looking at Aileana. “I haven’t had time tae arrange for a fire to be lit in the Laird’s chamber. Quickly go up and dae it for me before he comes back,” Morag instructed.
“Is he still out?” Aileana’s brow puckered together. It was hours since she’d seen him, she’d presumed he would be back before dusk. Perhaps he did work hard—unlike her sire and brothers did.
“Aye, but he’ll be back soon, and I need the room warm. He will need heating after being out for the day.”
“All right,” she said hesitantly. “Morag, I dinnae know where his chamber is.”
“I’ll go,” came a voice from behind her. Aileana turned and saw the young servant who had served her pottage the other day.
Morag shook her head. “Ye will not, Wynda—” she wanted to add, according to the gossip, that she spent too much time there already, “—ye need tae sort the tables out in the hall, as ye know what ye are doing. Elspeth will take no time lighting the fire.” She turned back to look at Aileana. “Ye dae ken how tae light a fire?
She nodded.
“All right. Hurry now,” she said passing Aileana a small rushlight to light her way.
“But where dae I go?” asked Aileana.
“Through the hall, tae the dais. Behind is a stairway. Go tae the top and ye’ll find his bedchamber there. Ye cannae miss it.”
“All right.”
“Take an em
ber,” Morag said, waving her hand towards the kitchen fire. “It’ll make it easier tae light the fire.”
Aileana walked through the hall and up the stairs, carefully making sure her light did not blow out with the draft. There was plenty of activity in the hall, with the servants setting out the tables, but it was quiet as she made her way up the spiral staircase to the top of the tower. No one was inside the laird’s bedchamber, but she still knocked the large wooden door before entering.
She placed the rushlight in the wall mount to give her light. The bedchamber was large, with colourful tapestries hanging from the walls. It even had glass windows—in Ackergill Tower they still had only shutters and panes of flattened cow horn. She walked over to it, touching the cold surface with her fingers. She smiled as she looked out over the view, now being enclosed by the dark, but highlighted by the full moon. From here, she could see for miles—the crashing waves of the turbulent sea; the snow-covered fields, which stretched on forever; and the lights of the villages near the castle. She stared for a while, forgetting why she was in the room—forgetting for a moment why she was in Calder Castle.
The noise of the main gate screeching open made her jump back into reality. Shutting the night air out with the wooden shutters, she turned towards the fire, ignoring the massive, wooden, four-poster bed, which took up most of the room. When she got to the hearth, she kneeled and lit the fire. Once it was lit, she stood, ready to walk out before she saw a sporran lying on the floor. She bent and reached for it out of pure instinct to keep things tidy. She hesitated when she heard someone walk in the room, behind her.
“Well, och, what dae we have here?”
Aileana straightened quickly, keeping her back towards him. She took in a deep breath before turning to face Kameron, regarding him with a wary expression. “I was asked by Morag tae light yer fire. I have finished now, so I will leave ye,” she said, keeping her gaze low. It wasn’t that she was she was being subservient; his nearness was causing havoc to her senses.
“Dinnae leave on my account—” he glanced at the sporran clutched in her hands, “—ye can carry on tidying, if ye like.”
“Nae,” she said, sidestepping towards a small table, placing the sporran down. “I have finished, and ye have to get ready for yer food.”
“After I changed, I was going tae seek out Morag tae see how yer day went. Did it go well, lassie?”
“Aye,” she said, what else could she say? “I made candles for a while—” she didn’t want to say that Wynda took over that easier task, “—before I salted the meats.”
“Ah, you’ve worked hard.”
“Aye, Laird, as a servant is expected tae dae.”
His jaw tensed, he wanted to explain he had to show his clan he didn’t treat her different, until his gaze caught sight of her hands. “Why are ye hands so red, lassie?”
Instinctively, she placed them behind her back. The concern in his voice confused her.
Kameron raised a dark eyebrow. “Let me see them, lassie.” When she didn’t move, he did, grabbing her elbow to pull her near. “I said, let me see them.”
Aileana slowly removed them from behind, wincing, even though he was gently encircling her wrist, turning her hands for a better look.
“What has happened?”
“’tis nothing. I helped salt the meat, today.”
“And ye weren’t given any gloves?” When she shook her head, he gritted his teeth. He knew his kinsfolk wouldn’t like her, but he didn’t expect them to be harsh and unkind. He let her hands fall from his. “Wait.”
“Nae, I need tae go.”
“Wait.” Making a grunting sound and muttering in Gaelic, he turned towards his bed-cabinet with a swish of his kilt.
Aileana stayed still, unwilling to look at Kameron by his bed—because it was stirring up all sorts of images she needed not to think about. She turned her gaze towards the fire, its flames soothing her jumpy nerves.
“Ah, here it is,” he said, inspecting the small pot of lotion. “My ma swore by this. It’s bee’s wax.” Kameron glanced back at her, but hesitated. Her colour was heightened, and her neck flushed. He was unsure as to why. Was she up to no good? Had she been sent by the MacAplins as a spy? Or did he affect her? He hoped it was the latter as his desire awakened. He chose to ignore it—now wasn’t the time to act.
When Kameron reached her, he placed the pot on the table and asked her to hold out both her hands, so he could inspect them. When she did, he didn’t comment—they were shaking. “Let me rub a little of this into them, it will soothe.”
“Nae, I can dae that myself.” She couldn’t let him touch her. His hands had made no contact with hers, so far, but already her senses were all over the place.
“Och, now, lassie. Must ye always fight me?”
She looked at his face and searched for anger in his voice—to disagree with a laird was not the correct thing—but he looked calm, playful even.
“Please will ye let me rub this into ye sore hands? It will help heal them, lassie.” He raised a dark eyebrow.
Forcing herself to pay no heed to the charm his accompanying smile contained, she ignored the wild fluttering in her stomach. “All right. But not much, it must be expensive.”
Kameron gave a small snort before picking up the pot. He stuck his finger in and rubbed a little into the palm of one of his hands. He rubbed them together. “Tae warm it up.” He indicated for her to put one of her hands onto his. Her hand was tiny. He began to rub it in—the palm first, before concentrating on every finger. She had flinched when he’d first touched her, so he took his time until she relaxed. “Does that feel all right?”
“Aye, Laird,” she replied, keeping her gaze from his searching blue one, too off-balance with him so near. Her nerve endings tingled—and not just in the hand he massaged gently. This wasn’t right. She liked it too much.
“Good, lassie. Does that feel better?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.
Aileana quickly glanced up and saw the intensity in his blue eyes. She froze, unable to look away or take her hand from his. Not a word was exchanged—until a large crackle from the fire broke the intimacy. She jumped back, locking her hands in front of her. She kept her eyes lowered while she backed further away. “Aye, thank ye, Laird. I’ll be going now,” she said, her voice choking. She never gave him a chance to respond before running out of his room.
Chapter 4
Ackergill Tower - MacAlpin Lands, Scottish Highlands
“Ye imbecile Why did ye use our sister as a decoy against the MacMahons?” shouted Alban MacAlpin across the main hall when his brothers entered.
Servants scurried away, not wanting to be pulled into another dispute between the MacAlpin brothers. It was difficult enough when the old laird’s wife died, and the old man’s foul temper had increased, but at least when he was in charge, there was relative order within the clan. The three young sires always fought each other.
Donnan pushed his matted red hair back off his face and scowled at his brother. “We use Aileana because she’s wee and able tae slip away.” He walked over the dirty rushes towards the dais his elder brother stood on. “Usually,” he muttered under his breath as he reached his brother.
“Well, not this time!” Alban bellowed as pushed his hand roughly through his unwashed hair. This was all he needed, his head was still pounding from the ale he consumed yesterday, without his sister missing. It wasn’t that he cared about Aileana, but coin—even land—would be lost if they couldn’t get her back.
“Well, if ye came on the raid instead of bedding that wench, ye might have had a say in the plan.” Donnan stepped on the dais, level with his brother.
Alban squared up to him, his fists flexing as his knuckles cracked. “Ye got more tae say now yer near me?”
“Brothers,” Druce’s low voice cut through his brothers’ standoff. He, too, made his way across the hall towards the dais, but he made sure he avoided most of the filth on the floor. “While I agree Donnan sh
ouldn’t have taken our sister out on this raid, what is done, is done. We just have tae think of a way tae get her back, especially if she is with Kameron MacMahon’s clan.”
Donnan gave Druce a side-glance, still not taking all his attention off his older brother. “She might not be with the MacMahons. Mayhap she is hiding somewhere, not wanting tae come home, yet? Ye ken what a weak soul she is.”
“That could be a possibility however, unlikely,” replied Druce waving his hand. Why are my older brothers dimwits? He stepped up to face them both, keeping a distance if one chose to throw a fist. “The likelihood is that she has been caught by the MacMahons, so we need to decide what we are tae dae.”
Donnan’s head whipped towards Druce. “Why dinnae we just leave her there?” His lips split into a wide grin showing his yellowed teeth at, what he thought, was a good suggestion.
“Because, ye eejit,” Alban glared at him, "when our dear sister marries, she has land attached tae her name.” He turned and walked towards a chair, sitting heavily. “Our dear departed father—” he crossed himself and looked towards heaven, not that he cared one iota about the Lord, “—made sure that the land stays within MacAlpin’s control.”
Donnan spat on the floor and shrugged. “Kameron MacMahon would ne’er marry a MacAlpin.”
Alban let out another short breath of air. “He will if he learns of the land that comes with her. He would wed her for spite—just like his grandfather.”
This time, it was Donnan’s time to scowl. “Why dinnae we just kill her, then? That girl is sure tae bring shame tae the MacAlpin name.”
“Because the king stated that if she died—naturally or suspiciously—the land attached tae her returns back to the crown. We lose it either way. Father was planning on marrying her off tae Ethan.”
