by Ceri Bladen
“Has anyone else been called, or are they staggering the pledges and vouches? It was far too full, last time. A shambles,” Kameron commented.
“I’m unsure, Laird. They didn’t mention any others, and I haven’t heard of any other lairds being called at this time,” said Dav.
Kameron gave a snort. He was summoned every year, usually in spring, to proclaim his allegiance and vouch for his tenants. He didn’t like going during the winter, leaving his land and kin. “What about our neighbours, the MacAlpins? Dinnae they need tae dae the same?” He wasn’t sure if he would be happy to run into them in Edinburgh, or if it was safer for Aileana if they were away.
“They dae, but it doesn’t mean they stick tae their promises,” Dav shrugged.
“True enough.” There was no point worrying about the MacAlpins. “When dae I need to go?”
“As soon as you can. Tonight, if possible.”
“Nae, I have things tae sort first. And I’m nae risking my men in the dark.” Kameron shook his head. “I will leave tomorrow at the earliest.”
Dav agreed. “It will take us a couple of days tae ride there but hopefully the snow will not be tae deep. I have sent word tae get your house ready for yer arrival.”
“Good,” Kameron said. His maids, who kept his small house in Edinburgh, would need warning to remove the dust sheets off the furniture and stack it with food and fuel for the small hearths. As he retained only a skeleton staff there when he wasn’t residing, it was effectively shut. His father bought and used it when he was summoned to the area. No one knew how long they had to hang around, waiting to have an audience with the council or king. Knowing this, the local inns took advantage, hiking up their prices. “Right, I will sort things out here and we will ride tomorrow, at daybreak. The court can wait that long. Men,” he glanced at a couple of warriors, “make sure the messengers and their horses are seen tae.”
“As ye wish, Laird.” Dav and the men bowed and left.
Kameron waited for his tacksman to leave before turning to Fergus. “I need ye tae stay here and look after Aileana for me while I’m away. If the MacAlpins haven’t been summoned, they might try to get her back while I’m away.” He saw the scowl forming on Fergus’s face as he took in the news. He tried a different tack—not because Fergus would not do his bidding—because if Fergus felt valued, he did a better job. “I can ask one of my other men, but I trust ye.” He hid the smile when he saw Fergus’s shoulders pull back. “I want her tae be watched, until I know what I’m going tae dae with her, and I haven’t got time tae make plans at the moment.”
“Aye, Laird. I’ll watch her.”
“Men, we ride early on the morrow,” Kameron stated, as he flicked a look at the others. When they moved away, he glanced towards the doorway of the pantry. Luckily there was no sign of Aileana—otherwise he would be going back there to finish what he started.
Next morning…
Before daybreak, in the warmth of the stables, Kameron saddled his horse. He liked to do it himself, never relying on anyone else for his safety—it was an unwise laird that did. As he went about his task, he listened to the horses snorting as they tossed their heads while the stable hands—who were glad they didn’t have to go near his stead—prepared them for riding. His men would join him once they awoke and broke their fast. He hoped they wouldn’t be too long but some of them had consumed more than a wee dram of whisky, last night.
Kameron had been careful what he drunk, but still ended up unable to sleep—not because of the summons, but because every time he closed his eyes, the red-haired beauty appeared, making it impossible to rest. His horse snorted, sensing his tension. He smoothed Eachann’s black mane to calm his restless stallion while he reminded himself it wasn’t the worst thing to stop a man sleeping.
After soothing words and the black beast stopped pawing the ground, Kameron packed his brown leather pouch laden with a couple of extra bannocks he’d pinched from cook on the way through the kitchens. He was sure the men would welcome the treat if the cold became too much. He placed the pouch’s handle over the wooden post and bent to check the condition of his mount’s hooves.
Once the stallion was prepared, and he was happy, Kameron ran his large hand along the horse’s neck. While it snorted, he recited the Gaelic poem he always did before they travelled together. As he finished the words, he heard quiet footsteps behind, and he tensed knowing it wouldn’t be one of his men. His horse sidestepped nervously and he grabbed the reins expertly quietening the huge horse. Spooked, the beast could do too much damage to him in the confined space. His jaw twitched when he noticed Wynda. He walked out of the stall heading her off. “Good morning. You’re up and about early.” He busied himself filling up a sack with the horse’s oats for the journey, so she didn’t have his full attention.
Wynda stepped forward, the hay brushing the bottom of her earasaid, the smell of hay and horse thick in the air. “I wanted tae see ye before ye left, Kameron.”
Kameron’s hand hesitated a fraction, for her familiar use of his given name outside of intimate moments. He flicked a glance at a young stable hand who was eaves dropping. “Ye are nae tae use me name, Wynda. Ye ken that. Ye are nae my wife,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“Sorry, Laird,” she said suggestively, fluttering her eyelashes. “How about a quick roll in the hay before ye leave, so ye have something tae remember me by?”
“There are folk in here, Wynda, tending tae my men’s mounts.”
She stepped forward to finger his brooch. “That’s ne’er stopped ye before—” she leaned closer, “—Laird.”
He sighed. Her statement was true. Although he had never discussed their relationship with anyone, it shamed him to think he hadn’t cared if they were seen coupling. He had tried to be discrete, but it hadn’t bothered him either if the fancy took him in a not so private area—until now. It would not please him for anyone to see Aileana naked. Perhaps he was maturing? But this conversation made him realise he wanted Aileana to be more than a bedmate and whatever he felt for the MacAlpin lassie, it seemed he needed to be more direct with Wynda. He straightened his shoulders. “Wynda, if I wanted to see ye, I would have sent for ye.” He was sorry to see the hurt flick across her face, but he could help the way he felt. He’d tried to protect her before, but she hadn’t understood, so now he had to be blunter. “This meeting cannae carry on, Wynda.” He sighed. “I haven’t got time tae discuss it now, but I will when I return.”
“Oh.”
He resisted the urge to comfort her. It was difficult though as he had thought something of her, felt soft feelings for her—and it wasn’t just his loins talking—but now, he didn’t. He wasn’t being harsh, it was just the way things were. “Is there anything else ye wish tae say?” He wanted her gone before his men arrived.
“Aye, turas math dhut,” Wynda said, moving even closer for her hand to splay across his chest.
Kameron looked down on her hand before stepping back from her contact. “Thank ye, Wynda for your wishes that the journey will be good. I’ll return soon.” He flicked his gaze behind her as his men entered. “We’ll talk on my return. Ye can leave.” He turned away to end the conversation, ignoring the smirks on his men’s faces. He grabbed the horse’s reins to lead him out of the stall. “Yer mounts are ready, I’ll wait outside.”
When the men gathered in the court yard, Kameron put his gloved hand in the air, commanding the metal inner gate to be raised and the wooden doors opened. He pulled on his reins and squeezed his thighs to control his stallion, spooked by the noise, until they were opened, exposing the frosty view outside the walls.
He glanced at his men—dressed warmly for the long, freezing journey ahead in woollen great belted kilts, trews, and fur-lined ghilley brogues. The air he breathed out made white shapes in the morning chill as he rotated his broad shoulders. Kameron felt the weight of his sword, strapped to his back—Highland style. “Men.” He flicked the reins, giving his beast permission to move fo
rward. As it crossed the frost covered ground, Kameron caught a glimpse of red hair, behind a post. He smiled to himself, pleased that Aileana was interested enough to come and see him leave. It made his previous sour mood evaporate.
Chapter 8
Calder Castle
End of February 1681
“Hey, laddie, come dae me a favour. Follow her—” Fergus nodded towards Aileana’s back, “—for a while.” He tapped his crotch and grinned. “Call of nature.” He didn’t need to go, but he wanted time away from his watch to have a drink to whet his dry mouth, or find that servant, Wynda, that he’d been occupying himself with. He was thoroughly bored with watching the lassie, watching her work for over a month, while he twiddled his thumbs. He’d never thought of helping her—she was a servant and he was one of the Laird’s trusted men. Fergus’s lips thinned as he turned away from her. He should have insisted on going to Auld Reekie, not stuck here with the redhead. In his mind, she wasn’t in danger. If the MacAlpins hadn’t come for her yet… But, the Laird—for reasons unknown to him—was being overprotective. Mayhap he was waiting to ransom her when he returned? That would make sense.
The boy’s eyes narrowed on Aileana. “Until when?”
“Why does it matter, lad?” Fergus’s fists balled. He was irritated enough—about watching her and Wynda, who wasn’t putting out for him—without some lad questioning him. Feeling as though he wanted to take those frustrations out on the lad’s nose, he turned abruptly. He caught sight of Wynda. He smiled to himself, she’d been giving him the eye and run-around since Kameron had left. It had started innocently enough—a smile, a wave, a bannock sneaked from the kitchen, but, to his delight, had moved on to a fondle in a darkened corner. They hadn’t kissed, as she said she didn’t want to, but Fergus didn’t mind—kissing was for women folk—he was hoping to get to the nitty-gritty. A month was long enough to wait. It mattered not to him she was once the Laird’s playmate. She had told him they were no longer together, and Kameron wouldn’t care if he found out—he had been through many women, so Fergus was sure he would mind that he’d taken one of his hand-offs. He returned his attention to the boy. “Until I say, laddie. Watch her until I come back.”
“Aye.”
Wynda waited until Fergus walked past, without saying a word to her—she knew the drill. She followed. When she looked at his back, revulsion rippled through her. He was nothing like the Laird. His straw-like hair—which had a similar odour—was even more wild today, and she could smell his scent as he walked in front of her. To be truthful, she couldn’t ever recall him smelling so ripe when the laird was around, but that didn’t help her now. She fisted her hands. She didn’t want to be meeting him, but for her plans to work—to get Kameron back—she had no choice.
“In here.” Fergus pointed to the entrance of the buttery.
She followed as they passed the yeoman, who pretended not to see them, and the whisky and wines that he was expected to look after, and down the stairs to the ale area. Wynda forced herself to relax when Fergus closed the door behind them, after getting rid of the man who watched the alcohol butts. They were definitely away from prying eyes, and while she trusted she would come to no harm—her reputation wouldn’t be untarnished. But when she was Lady of Calder, they could talk all they wanted.
Fergus leaned against the door. “Where were we last time?” He smiled, wiggling his eyebrows.
She held her arms out, praying he didn’t see them shake. It was becoming more difficult to control his advances, she hadn’t anticipated Kameron being away so long, or the length of time her plan was taking to happen. When his hand grabbed her breast and his mouth found hers, she moaned. The dimwit didn’t notice it was faked—she had to keep him interested in her, so when the time was right, she could keep him away from watching Aileana.
One week later…
Aileana, unsure of what to do to keep busy at such an early hour, walked into the warm kitchens. She hadn’t been able to sleep as she was agitated—dreaming of Kameron. She couldn’t get away from thinking of him—day or night—and it was starting to wear her down. Morag had told her that the Laird had said she wasn’t to continue working with the servants. She hadn’t listened. To blend in and not bring herself trouble, she had to work alongside them. Most still didn’t like her, despite working hard, so not having to work would never earn her their respect. Not being able to see Morag, she headed for the cook, to find a job.
In the great hall, while Aileana laid the knives on the trestle tables, she noticed Kameron’s empty chair. Her stomach sank. She couldn’t confide in anyone, but she missed him around. Days seemed longer and lonelier without the knowledge of someone seeking your company. Having never had feelings for anyone before, it had taken her a while to understand her strange emotions and reactions to him. But the pain she felt in her chest with his absence told her she had strong feelings for him—although she could not do anything about them even though she was Aileana MacAlpin. He knew, he certainly prompted her to tell him whenever he saw her—more so when he was about to leave for Auld Reekie, but she’d kept her mouth shut. She hadn’t known why at the time, but now she understood that she was afraid if he knew, his interests in her might change.
Aileana finished her task and glanced around. Fergus wasn’t following, and she was glad. When Kameron had gone, Fergus never left her side, but thankfully he seemed to have become bored with her. The Laird had been gone a long time, so perhaps Fergus didn’t think she would attempt to leave—and he was right.
Aileana returned to the kitchen where the servants were busy making porridge, sprinkling barley into the boiling water, a handful at a time, and then stirring it with a wooden spurtle. Others made brose, by pouring water into oatmeal. They looked too busy to disturb. Perhaps she could help somewhere else? She spotted Morag in a darkened corner. Aileana walked over. “Good morning, Morag. Is there anything I can help ye?”
“Madainn mhath, tae you, tae. Trying tae keep busy?”
“Aye, something like that.” She didn’t dare mention images of Laird Kameron MacMahon had kept her from her sleep. “What are ye making?” she peered into the cauldron of, what looked like, milky porridge.
“Sowens, my lassie. The fermentation has begun, so I need tae drain off the water before I can boil. Will ye help me?”
“Aye.” Aileana had eaten the sour, viscous gel on many occasions, but even though it was considered a delicacy, she didn’t enjoy it.
Once they had drained the water, Morag pointed to the table. “Could ye pass me the salt, lassie?”
“Aye,” Aileana replied, reaching for the pot. Her brows puckered. “Why are ye making this today, ye aren’t usually cooking?”
“Och, that servant, Wynda, is late this morning and cook was in a tizzy. She asked me tae start it off, but Wynda still isn’t in.”
“Where is she?”
“Och, I would like tae know, tae. I’ve had tae haul the water from the well, myself. I’m tae auld for this.”
Aileana bit her lip wondering whether to tell Morag she’d seen Wynda with Fergus on a number of occasions. She wasn’t sure if anyone else knew, but as Fergus was supposed to be following her, she was more aware of his presence—and when he wasn’t there.
“Let’s finish off here, then ye can help serve the oats to break their fasts.” Morag’s eyes narrowed on Aileana. “After, ye can come tae church with me. By the looks of it, ye could dae with guidance.”
Aileana’s eyebrows puckered briefly. “Aye, I will.” She had no idea what Morag meant, but she wasn’t going to argue. She hadn’t stepped inside of a religious building since leaving Ackergill Tower and perhaps a few teachings of the Lord would rid her of the carnal thoughts she was having about Laird Kameron. That thought made her saddened. Confused between what she felt, and what the Catholic church told her she should feel, she picked up a bowl and headed back to the hall, “I’ll finish laying the tables.”
Wynda looked around before slipping through the secret gat
e, hopefully unseen. The warriors guarding the walls and main gate where huddled around the fire pit, keeping warm after their night shift. She didn’t blame them, it was bitterly cold so early in the morning. She, herself, would normally be in the warmth of the kitchens, but it was important that the fewer people see her in the village, the better. When her stomach rumbled, her mind returned to food. Morag would be furious that she wasn’t there to make the sowens, but she didn’t care. When she was the Lady of Calder Castle, that auld goat, Morag, would not be in charge of the keys and if Thomasina, her friend, did her bidding today, she would be rewarded by being in charge of the servants. Rubbing her cold hands together, she smiled and hurried towards the kitchens to find Thomasina.
When she found her, Wynda handed Thomasina a small pouch of herbs. “Remember, no one is to see this.”
“It wannae harm me, will it?”
She scowled at her. “Of course not, ye eejit, ye have tae mix it with warm water and drink it for it tae work.”
Thomasina stuck her chin out. She might be younger than Wynda, but she wasn’t going to be treated badly—especially as she was doing her a favour. “Dinnae ye be calling me an eejit, otherwise I won’t be giving this to Elspeth.”
“Sshh!” Wynda glanced around. “The walls have ears. Dinnae mention that woman’s name around me.”
Thomasina looked upon the packet. “But what has she done to ye to make ye hate her so?” After spending time working with her, she had grown to like Elspeth.
“I…” She paused to think what she could say; not wanting to admit that she was smarting from the attention Laird Kameron was giving the woman. “Her clan killed my father, I’m just paying her back.”
Thomasina’s eyes widened. “Yer not going tae kill her are ye?” she tried to hand the packet back. “I though ye only wanted to make her sleep?”
