Dungald gave a snort. He was not afraid. He was not afraid because he had the righteousness of God on his side. "Must everything be about money?" he snapped. "What honor is left in this world?"
The man chuckled. "I wonder the same."
Dungald stared into the velvety darkness. He couldn't see the man but he could feel how close he was. He could see the glisten of his eyes, hear him breathing. "Ye know not what ye speak of. I should have been the earl, not that whining brat. His father was not worth the pot he pissed in! My father defended this castle! My father saw to its day-to-day running. The late, great earl was too busy marrying and getting brats by one woman after the next to be concerned with Dunnane."
"Tsk, tsk, ye sound bitter. Bitterness is not a draught well taken to the table," the man warned.
"Shut up. If I want your opinion, I shall pay for it. Until then keep it to yourself!"
The man jingled the coins in the bag. "As ye wish, master."
"Now go before you're seen." Dungald turned away, anxious to get to his warm bed and the even warmer wench who waited for him. "Continue with your orders."
"Need another heart?" the voice taunted.
Dungald stalked off. "Nae, not unless you can bring me the boy's."
Chapter 12
"Aye, this fabric for his lordship's coat, to match the green-and-brown plaid for his kilt," Kara said, fingering the rich forest green brocade. "And a length of the plaid for my gown as well."
She sat at a table in the corner of the great hall, making the preparations for Harry's birthday festival. There were so many decisions to make, too many. After a while she chose fabrics, food and guests by what was easier, faster. She certainly wanted Harry's birthday celebration to be a fine one, but she didn't want to turn into a raving lunatic for the sake of a boy's fourteenth birthday, either.
"Aye, my lady." The tailor bowed and backed away, his fabrics draped over his shoulders like a Roman toga.
"Thank ye, sir," Isla told the tailor. "Tell me when ye need his lordship for the fitting. Next!"
Isla had been a godsend this last fortnight. Kara could never have organized such a large celebration without her. The girl learned quickly and was amazingly adept at dealing with servants and merchants, as well as with Harry. She had undying patience for the most mundane chores. She helped Kara focus on each task at hand, knowing when to offer suggestions and when to remain silent.
"How many partridges?" Dunnane's sour-faced gamekeeper asked. The man had to be in his seventies, walked with a cane and squinted, but he was a master of his duties. He kept Dunnane's tables laden with meat, and the surrounding fields and forests devoid of poachers. "I must know how many partridges ye need," he grumbled.
"Depends on the number of guests, James." Kara flipped through the sheets of paper scattered on the table. They were all notes taken in her own sprawling handwriting. She located the guest list lined with clan and family names, checks, and names crossed off. "I believe we're up to a hundred and thirteen men and women. Plus children and servants."
The gamekeeper tapped his cane impatiently. "How many partridges?"
Kara tried to think, but she couldn't. She pressed her hands to her temples.
When Harry had brought up the idea of a birthday festival, she had thrown herself completely into planning the event. She thought it would be a good way to keep her mind off Ian. In the last weeks she'd been too busy planning for the party and overseeing the tower renovations to see him at any other time but the evening meal.
But, in spite of her busy schedule, Ian was constantly in her thoughts: when she ate, when she sewed, when she lay awake alone in her bed at night and listened to Harry's soft snoring. As she chose the menu, the guests, even the entertainment for Harry's birthday, she imagined what Ian would like. She secretly pretended he was her husband and she was planning a surprise for him. Then she spent half the hours of the day pining for him and the other half feeling dreadfully guilty.
Ian, too, seemed to be going out of his way to avoid her. And when they did meet it was always in the presence of others; he stayed away from the tower, away from the staircase where they seemed to run into each other.
They were both trying so hard to avoid what she feared could not be avoided that her nerves were raw. She was jumpy, tired, couldn't sleep at night, and had no appetite. She could only imagine how he was holding up, because he was always so stoic. But Kara knew how she felt: like a pot on the edge of boiling. Simmering, not knowing at what moment she would spill over.
"The partridges, my lady," the gamekeeper repeated.
Kara glanced up at Isla, who stood at her right hand.
"I'll check with the cook," Isla said smoothly, "and tell ye how many blessed partridges we need. Next!"
Kara groaned. Shadows were lengthening in the great hall. The sunlight coming in through the windows high on the walls was beginning to fade. She'd been at this for hours.
"How much more?" Kara whispered behind her hand.
Isla leaned over her mistress's shoulder, still seeming to be unencumbered by her growing abdomen. "The weaver, the dairy mistress, and a gentlemen wishing you to hire his minstrels." She drew her lips taut in an attempt not to smile. "Also a man with monkeys."
"Monkeys?" Kara gathered her notes.
"Aye." Isla grinned. "He says they're performing monkeys. Swing on little swings, drink from ale bottles, spit and scratch, I suppose."
Kara glanced at her maid. "Sounds the perfect entertainment for our Gordon men, don't ye think?"
Isla snickered. "Ye want me to see the last few while you take a walk in the garden?"
Kara rose, thankful for the offer. Despite the girl's age, she trusted Isla implicitly. "You would do that for me?"
A man who looked a wee bit like a monkey, and most definitely smelled like one, hovered in front of the table, waiting to be recognized.
"Would ye take a barefoot slut of a pregnant girl into yer house?" Isla questioned. "Would ye feed her, clothe her, treat her kindly, and give her a reason to think she has a place on this earth?"
Kara patted Isla's arm. "We'll hear the musicians tonight. We'll take the monkey man, and ye deal with the dairy mistress the best ye see fit." She looked into the young girl's warm eyes. "Thank you."
Isla slipped into Kara's chair. "Next!"
Kara walked out of the hall and out of the castle by the guarded yett. Once outside, yet still within the walled bailey, she walked to the south side, where there was a small garden.
She took a deep breath as she walked under an archway. It was May and the garden was finally beginning to turn green. Trees were sprouting new leaves, bushes were budding, bulbs were poking their heads up from the thawed ground. Everything in the garden seemed so fresh and new, as if just awakening from a long slumber. Kara admired the garden's fresh vitality and yearned to feel the way the garden appeared: hopeful.
She walked down a stone path, deeper into the garden. A bird sang in the ivy that grew up a trellis. Insects chirped. There was a large stone fountain that stood in the center of a bed of green vines. Water trickled from a cherub's pitcher into the pool.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Kara glanced up, surprised to see her mother-in-law seated on a stone bench beside a sundial on a pedestal. Kara had been so lost in her own thoughts that she'd not realized she wasn't alone.
"Mother Anne."
"Just out for a walk?"
"I needed a breath of fresh air, I think." Kara clasped her head. "I'm swimming with so many details. I want Harry's birthday to be special for him, but I fear I've bitten off more than I can chew."
"Nonsense. I see you at work. You are a perfect mistress for Dunnane. Better than I ever was." Anne tapped the place beside her on the bench. "Will you sit with me?"
Kara accepted the invitation. She liked Anne and had enjoyed her companionship these past weeks. She was thankful that spending evenings with her mother-in-law took away from time Kara would have ordinarily spent with the men in
the great hall. With Ian.
"Ye look troubled," Anne said.
Kara avoided the older woman's gaze.
"You're pale and ye seem to be thinner than when I first arrived. You're not by chance with child, are you?" Anne's tone was gentle, but she couldn't hide the hint of hope in her voice.
It was all Kara could do to keep from laughing aloud. Since the night she'd argued with Harry, she had slept alone. Not that it would have made a difference. She had no intentions of having sexual relations with a boy. "Nae. I am not with child, Mother Anne."
Anne sighed and patted Kara's hand. Her touch was oddly comforting.
"Ye know, it's not easy, the lives we women lead," Anne said, folding her hands in her lap. "We are here to serve, to protect, to comfort, to love. To bear children for our lords, raise them to be lords themselves. 'Tis a large pair of slippers to fill at times. And so easy to lose ourselves."
"I'll manage. 'Twill only take time to grow used to my new duties."
"Aye." Anne squeezed Kara's hand. "You've a good attitude. I admire a woman who does not shrink from her duties." She paused. "The question is: what if fulfilling our duty is not all we desire out of life?" Anne looked sideways at Kara.
Kara felt that Anne could somehow see through her, know what she was thinking.
"Duty is not always where our hearts lie. Husbands are not always where our hearts lie." She paused, glancing away. "And sometimes what we believe, what we know to be the truth, is not."
Kara was feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. What was Anne trying to tell her? What did she know? Kara had been so careful around Ian. He had been so careful. Surely Anne didn't suspect there was anything between Kara and her elder son.
"Ye understand, Kara," Anne went on, her tone suggesting she meant more than she said. "I think that if ye fulfill your duties, ye be entitled to some happiness of your own. Ye'd be amazed how easily a husband will turn his head when he is well fed and a son sleeps in a cradle on his hearth."
What did Anne mean? Did she mean what Kara thought she meant? That it would be permissible to have a lover? Would she say the same if she knew it was her other son that Kara loved?
"I married Harry's father because he was a good prospect for a husband. He needed my father's name at court to get him out of a wee bit of trouble. I needed his name to protect myself, to provide stability for Ian." She lifted her hand from Kara's and tightened the tartan shawl she wore on her shoulders. "Once I provided his lordship with a son, I was free to do as I pleased. He even allowed me to return to Edinburgh for most of the year."
Kara was silent. She could feel her heart ticking in her chest.
Anne rose. "What I'm trying to tell you, and saying badly, is that I understand your marriage to my son has not been easy. Is not easy. Will not be easy." She softened. "He seems to care a great deal for you...."
Kara lowered her gaze, her guilt slipping over her like a widow's veil.
"But he is young and at times immature. Not a man a woman dreams of marrying." Anne was quiet for a moment as she gazed over the garden.
The sun was slipping over the horizon, below the west wall of the garden. The sky was a muted shade of pink and mauve with strokes of red. The breeze was slight; new leaves rustled.
"Take my words of age and wisdom, Kara." She turned to the younger woman. "If you do your duty, as all women must, you could find some happiness in this world. You could make a place for yourself. A place acceptable to both you and your husband. Just remain discreet."
Kara studied her fingernails. She could not believe Harry's mother was saying these things. And yet she was thankful. It did her heart good to know that someone knew how she felt.
"I appreciate your advice, Mother Anne," Kara said quietly. "I—"
"Kara!" Isla appeared in the garden archway. She waved a hand wildly. "Come quickly! His lordship has been injured!"
Kara leaped off the bench and ran across the garden, her woolen skirts bunched in her hands. Anne followed.
"What happened?" Kara demanded as she ran beside Isla and cut in front of her.
"He and Master Ian were dueling, mistress." They ran out of the garden, past the entrance to the house, to the outer courtyard.
"Fighting!" Kara exclaimed. Her heart was pounding. Not Harry. Not her dear Harry. Why in God's name would Ian be fighting with Harry? Had the man no sense at all?
"Practicing, mistress. For the duels at the birthday festival."
"No one told me he was dueling! Whose idea was this? The competition was for guests, not him!"
Isla darted along the wall. Kara could see a crowd of men, along with Ian, down on their knees circled around a prone body. It had to be Harry.
What would she do if Harry died? She would be expected to marry Dungald. She'd sooner run a sword through her own heart.
"It was supposed to be a surprise." Isla clasped her red cheeks. "Please don't be angry, mistress. His lordship wanted to surprise you with his abilities."
Reaching the huddle, Kara pushed a burly Gordon aside. "Harry!"
Ian was kneeling to the boy's left, pressing a cloth onto Harry's thigh. The cloth was soaked with blood. Harry's eyes were closed.
"Harry!" she cried, her voice shriller than she intended.
She was thankful when his eyes blinked open. "Kara?" he said.
Softly she brushed her hand over his cheek. He was so pale.
"My son," Anne begged. "Does he live?"
"He lives," one of the men muttered.
"A flesh wound," said another.
Isla held Lady Anne's hand, keeping her back out of Kara's way.
Kara lifted her gaze to look Ian straight in the eye. "Was he injured elsewhere?"
"Just my leg," Harry said weakly, lifting his hand to point. "Don't worry yourself, wife." He smiled a crooked, boyish grin.
"Don't worry!" Kara flared. "You're struck by one of your own men! Your own brother. Run through, and I'm not to worry!"
"My lady," Ian said gently.
She raised her head again. "What is wrong with you, fighting with real swords?" she spit. "Ye could have killed him!"
"Kara," Ian said again, this time more forcefully. "That is enough."
"Enough! It is not enough! You're supposed to be protecting him. Keeping him safe from harm, not running him through with swords!"
Ian rose. "Take him into the hall," he barked, wiping his hands on his plaid kilt. "I'll send for bandages. Isla, my medicinal basket. Fetch it from my chamber."
The men moved to follow Ian's bidding, lifting Harry gently between them.
Kara stepped back. "Are you certain he should be moved? Shouldn't we summon a surgeon from Aberdeen?"
Ian grasped her arm tightly. "Kara, hush," he said sharply. His face was hard and lined.
"Let go of me," she hissed under her breath. "Let me go to Harry."
The men carried the boy off, his mother trailing behind.
"Not like this."
"Like what?" She squirmed to get away from him. She didn't care if she made a scene before the men. She didn't want Ian touching her. She didn't want him touching her because a part of her wanted so badly to be touched by him.
"You cannot behave like this," Ian said between his teeth. He dragged her along the stone wall, away from the others.
"Let go of me!"
He pulled her behind a half wall that extended from the main wall that circled the castle. "Kara, you're embarrassing him. Demeaning him in front of his men."
She yanked and he released her so quickly that she nearly tumbled.
She glared at him, rubbing her forearm where his fingers had bruised her flesh. "What do you mean, demeaning?"
"Ye want him to be the lord of the manor, so treat him like the lord."
"A dead boy cannot be a lord!"
"He is not dead! He is not even greatly injured. Injuries occur during practice. It's the only way the boy will learn."
Kara turned away, feeling hot tears rise behind her eyelids.
"He shouldn't be dueling." She folded her arms, hugging herself. Suddenly the air was cool. The sun had set. "He doesn't know what he's doing. He's only a little boy."
"He is not a little boy. He is nearly a man, a man with a wife and responsibilities, and men must know how to fight."
At the mention of the word wife, she inhaled sharply. "He could have been killed," she managed.
"Ye think I don't know that? Ye think I wanted to hurt him?" Ian's voice cracked with gruff emotion. "Ye think I wouldn't give my own life for that of my brother? If ye think that, lass, then ye don't know me as well as I thought ye did."
Ian walked away and Kara let him go. Tears slid down her cheeks. He was right. She knew he was right. The injury wasn't so bad. Harry was conscious, talking. Men were often wounded in dueling practice. Her brothers had all been wounded when learning the art. She had just forgotten.
Kara stood at the wall another few moments, collecting herself, and then went to the great hall to see how Harry was doing.
She found Harry sitting up in a chair in front of the fireplace. His leg was propped on a stool, where Lady Dunnane could get a better look at his wound. He was drinking some wine and eating a sweet biscuit slathered in jam. Color was returning to his face. It appeared he would live.
"Harry." She went to his side and squatted, taking his hand. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't intend to be the hysterical wife."
Harry's men wandered about the hall, talking amongst themselves. Servants ran back and forth fetching bandages and food, and adding to the general disorder. She saw neither Ian nor Dungald.
Harry smiled up at Kara."'Tis all right." Bright spots appeared on his pale cheeks. "I rather liked having ye come running to my side."
She rubbed his hand between her palms. It was dirty and smelled of sweat and soil but was still a comfort to her. She loved Harry; she knew it when she'd run through the garden, fearing for his life. What pained her now was the knowledge that what she had suspected was true. She loved him as a brother and nothing more. There would never be more. "Nae, it was wrong of me to behave thusly before your men. I promise ye it won't happen again."
Highland Bride Page 12
