Instantly, he rendered himself a monster. A brute. He had locked himself away in his private chambers, determined not to have someone as sensitive as Caoimhe frightened in her own home.
With an unsteady inhale through the nose, Niall blinked, sat up a little straighter in his chair, and looked over at his wife with a renewed sense of determination. He found himself wanting to correct this. To reach out to her in some way that wouldn’t see her running like a startled fawn.
He could start by actually having a genuine conversation with her.
“So, you’re getting on with Brogan then?”
He tried not to be distracted by how pretty she was when she smiled.
“I’d like to think I’m getting on with everyone. Even you sometimes.” Her nose wrinkled a little as she grinned, and Niall felt something tighten in his chest. “But I won’t lie. I do have the almost too-tempting desire to chase Stewart around with a pair of scissors.”
Niall blinked, surprised at the violence in that statement.
“He’s offended you?” he asked.
Caoimhe shook her head. There was a little light of mischief and trickster in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.
“Oh, no. I just really want to trim his little ear whiskers.” She made snipping motions with her fingers. “They annoy me.”
It had been so long since Niall had laughed that he wasn’t sure who was more surprised when he did it—Caoimhe or himself. It felt crackly and broken in his lungs but grew smoother as he chuckled. He rubbed at his chest in surprise.
Perhaps he found her comment so funny because he had often thought the same over the years. Stewart was entirely bald besides the little tufts in his ears, and it seemed ridiculous to have hair in all the wrong places but not in the right ones. Frequently, he had been tempted to suggest that the steward trim back the wispy white, but had never wanted to offend the old man.
Apparently, Caiomhe had felt exactly the same.
And now he had the amusing image of her chasing the old man down the corridors of the western wing with a little pair of shears in hand.
It was an odd thing to bond over, but at least they now had something to build upon.
Even if it was Stewart’s ears.
“I wanted to thank you.”
Niall was surprised that he should have done something that warranted thanks when he was marinating in his guilt of misjudgment.
Caoimhe, on the other hand, only watched him with honest eyes.
“You sent a physician to my mother? I didn’t know you were aware of her illness. That was very kind of you.”
Niall blinked. He had forgotten that her mother had paid a visit to Aberlynn. She must have informed Caoimhe that he had sent Fergus to see to her.
He shrugged. “Fergus is the family physician. You’re now my family, and so are your parents. It was of no import.”
He had been intending to reassure her but suddenly found her face hard to read. Her smile remained, however, and her words were soft with genuine feeling.
“It’s of import to me.”
The two of them fell into an odd little quiet again, until...
“I, er… had a visit from Fiona Brodie while you were away.”
Niall felt a spark of sympathy. Caoimhe spoke the admission with a timidity that told him that Fiona had been in fine form when she had made her unrequested visit.
“I heard,” he said, sipping from his goblet. The caudell she had made was perhaps a little more seasoned than he would normally take it, but it was nice. “I am sorry that I wasn’t here to play defender. Fiona’s barbs can be sharper than daggers when she wants them to be.”
Caoimhe’s spine straightened a little and she became a little haughty in her hold. Niall wondered if it was Fiona or he that had tweaked her pride.
“True,” she admitted. “But rudeness isn’t restricted to the upper classes, and I was perfectly able to handle it.” Her fine brows drew close in an expression of uncertainty, her gaze finding his. “I suppose I was just unsettled by it because I was blind to the history that she clearly wears like an open wound. Is there something I should know? As your wife, I mean?”
Feeling like a heel for having left her to deal with his aunt’s venom without the proper understanding of how it had been brewed, Niall sighed and drank from his cup again. Just how was he to put decades of discord into a single explanation?
He sighed.
“Fiona always wanted to be the wife of a laird. When she failed to turn the eye of my father, she got as close as she could. Now her ambitions have changed to be the mother of the future Brodie laird. She rules over Malcolm with a tyranny masked as affection, and the two of them take every opportunity possible to undermine me and my position.” He glanced at Caoimhe. “And now she’ll try to do the same to you. She likes to make little, unexpected visits, claiming the benefit of family to investigate the grounds and the estate. She’s looking for weakness, for rumor. Something she can use to benefit a shift in popularity towards Malcolm.
“It’s why I haven’t taken on any new hires in the last few years, besides those related to my staff. I don’t trust the woman not to sneak one of her spies in to mask themselves as a servant, and be even more hands-on in her manipulations.”
“Surely, her ambitions are for naught?” Caoimhe asked, her brow furrowing and her head slightly tilted. Niall noticed how one of her long curls had fallen from its fastenings and caressed her slim cheek. “You are the laird. And your sons after you?”
“By rights, yes. But Malcolm now has the heir that I lack. And should I not produce one before Fiona has convinced all of kingdom-come that my birth was not above reproach, I’ll risk a turning of the tides.”
Caoimhe was quiet for a moment. He hadn’t realized what he had said, or how she might interpret it, until she spoke again. Her voice was quiet and almost sorrowful.
“So, you went out and found the simplest woman you could. One that would not upset your politics or your household but could produce, for you, a child and heir. To put you and your cousin back on even footing.”
Niall grimaced. He didn’t like the way she described it. It was cold and callous.
And far too close to the truth.
But he didn’t wish to lie to her.
“Something like that.”
Caoimhe nodded. Her smile was flickering and momentary. Then, she rose to her feet. Niall did the same, a moment of gentility encouraging him to stand in her presence.
“I understand. And I think that I shall retire for the evening now.”
“Caoimhe…”
“No.” She raised a hand to stem any words that might have been hovering on his tongue. Words that even he wasn’t sure of. “It’s alright, my lord. The world is the way that it is, and I think no less of you for doing what you believed necessary to protect your family lineage. Please, enjoy the caudell and your evening. I apologize for disturbing you.”
And before Niall could say anything in defense of her little speech, she was already out the door and headed down the hallway. Her lightness of tread and her slight figure ensured that her steps were silent.
Niall had the horrible sense that she was lost to him the second she disappeared from view.
14
Words of Wisdom
Caoimhe had meant what she said to Niall that night. As much as it stung to think of herself as a simple means to an end, without the complexity of human impact, she knew that Niall had meant no personal insult. He couldn’t have. He didn’t know her when they had married, so who would he have been trying to insult? Instead, he had focused on the ironic benefits that her low birth and education yielded: the low likelihood that she would want to make comments on his affairs, and the ease with which he had won her hand. With all the negotiations that followed the union of two noble houses, Niall might have waited months before he could have been a married man, wed to a woman of his station. For her, however, he had had to wait a simple matter of three weeks. Because who, in her lowl
y state of life, wouldn’t jump at the chance to marry a man of wealth and status?
It irked her. But it was the truth.
Caoimhe could hardly reprimand the man for living in the real world and being honest about his intentions.
If she were angry at Niall for wanting her solely for the purpose of a quick and simple affair, then she would have had to hold ire towards Lord Duncan for his similar desires for an easy life and children. While Duncan was perhaps a little more sentimental about his hopes for his future, the two men had been no less practical in their plans.
It was this that Caoimhe kept at the forefront of her thoughts when Lord Mackenzie came to visit her the next day.
While the gatehouse lodge was only a few hundred yards down the private road that led to Aberlynn’s front gates, Caoimhe had not seen Duncan since her wedding. His sweeping entrance to the foyer, his hat in hand, and his step easy, as he bowed to the mistress of the manor, explained his absence simply enough.
“Lady Brodie, you look fine and well. I hope I am not disturbing you this morn? I had intended to wait, offer you and your husband privacy in the early days of your union, but I found myself drawn here on so fine a day and could not resist stepping in to wish you felicitations.”
Caoimhe was already smiling. Unlike when others addressed her formally, Duncan made the whole reality of her newfound status seem funny in a peculiar sort of way, and she couldn’t help but laugh outright.
“Lord Duncan, please. It’s Caoimhe. And your absence would be missed far more than your manners, I think.”
Duncan beamed through his beard, his laughter full-bodied and friendly. Strange how the man could be tall like Niall but hold none of the towering loom that her husband possessed. Around Duncan, she felt entirely calm and relaxed.
“Very well said, my dear. You do have a way with words at times that would put poets to shame.” He continued his chatter as Caoimhe led him into a front parlor and rang the bell for wine and breads. She would have run to the kitchens herself if it wouldn’t have taken so long. She still could not quite get used to the scale of the life that she was now expected to live.
“I still recall the way that you put his Lordship in his place at dinner that first night. I think you must have won his heart then and there,” Duncan continued.
Caoimhe tried to hide her wince.
“You do not have to embellish the past with romantic notions, Lord Duncan,” she said, softly, taking her seat across from him. “I am more than aware of the circumstances of my marriage and Niall’s need for a simple affair. I think it likely to be in spite of my tongue that night that I was offered the match rather than because of it.”
Duncan’s eyes gleamed with a look of age-old wisdom, his lips curling in a smile.
“My dear, if my nephew was interested in a marriage of convenience with a simpleton, I could have shown him a dozen such girls from the getty with significantly less brains than you. I think it very likely that my nephew knows not what he wants and simply dived for the first woman to ever stoke him from his own stoic reverie. Not, I hasten to add, a small achievement.” He raised a hand to press a single finger against his lips. “Then again, perhaps I overstep my familial rights by saying such things. Let us talk of other subjects…”
While Duncan’s words would haunt her in the days to come, twisting wounded pride into curious hope, his presence alone was enough to distract Caoimhe for the duration of his stay. The man was animated in his language, eager for discussion, and had an intellect that was clearly advanced and yet never came close to patronizing. The man was a pleasure to host. Not to mention a useful font of information.
“Lord Duncan…” Caoimhe began, when conversation had found a natural lull and they had paused to break a little of Mary’s spiced bread and churned butter. She used the knife to smear a little of her snack and then popped it in her mouth.
“What exactly is it that a laird does? I feel that I should understand my husband’s duties better, but that it would be out of place for me to ask him directly.”
She talked with her mouth full without thinking anything of it, only to look up and find her guest watching her with the doting look a favored relative might bestow on a misbehaving child. She covered her mouth, instantly, her eyes shooting wide.
Duncan laughed.
“Your lapse in good manners is safe with me, Your Ladyship,” he told her, before wagging a finger in her direction. “Just so long as my own missteps are kept just as confidential!” He dusted his hands of crumbs and sat back in his chair, settling in with a cup of wine in hand. “Now, let us see…the duties of a laird. What is it that you already know?”
“Only that they own the land and take their taxes for it. Most of the working men where I grew up had little to say about the governance of the province that was polite.”
“I’ll bet!” Duncan laughed. “It’s a flawed but understandable reading of the way of the world. Especially from men of such a position.” He was nodding sympathetically. “Well, I think the first place to start might be to explain where the taxes go and what they do?” he suggested, but Caoimhe was already frowning.
“What they do?”
“Of course! The money does not just sit in Niall’s pocket, my dear. It goes places. It does things!”
“Well, what? What does it do?”
Caoimhe found herself setting down her cup and leaning forward in her seat, eager to learn more about the man that she had married, through the work that he did. Niall had been willing to marry a woman he did not know, to take much risk in order to prevent his cousin from stealing such duties out from under him. Just what were the responsibilities that he considered too valuable to put at risk, for the sake of personal happiness?
“Well, for starters, most of the tax coin goes to His Majesty the king. It’s under his grace and kindness that these lands are Brodie lands, and Niall has to ensure that they stay that way by paying gratuities to the king. That money ends up feeding our armies or building our trade routes to other nations. It keeps us safe and well fed.”
Caoimhe nodded to show that she understood, encouraging Duncan to go on.
“Then there are the responsibilities more locally. The public offices and the enforcers that keep the laws in place. Laws that stop men from over-fishing the loch and ragabouts from causing mischief. Such men must be paid by someone. In the sad times when clans turn against one another, our soldiers must be equipped and fed. Then there’s the festivals and the celebrations. Or the aid that the laird gives out to rebuild barns that catch light in the summer or homes that flood in the winter. Not to mention the agreements with other lords about their merchants and where and how they can trade on Brodie land, giving us more to buy but not so much competition for our produce.”
Duncan smiled as Caoimhe appeared a little overwhelmed.
She couldn’t help but think of all the festivals she had attended in her life. All the times her father had been worried about the trade on the coastline and if the men were being careful to keep the fish levels high. He had often complained at the dinner table of greedy mongers that took too much from the waters. She thought of her father going into battle when he was young and what it might have meant for her family if he had not been given a sword and shield by his commanding officer.
And all of it because of Niall.
“I fear I have shocked you, Lady Caoimhe,” Duncan said softly, a sense of amusement in his voice. “I suppose the efforts of the laird are not much known in your previous spheres of society. My nephew is not one to sing his own praises or impress upon the people his role as their benefactor.”
Caoimhe was shocked that Niall withstood the angry grumbles of those around him without explaining his role within the system. He was no tyrant. He was a protector of his people.
For his part, Duncan could only shrug.
“Niall has always said that the duties of a laird are not to be done for the sake of praise, but for the benefit of the people.” Duncan snorted
softly in disgust, but his eyes were warm and approving. “Apparently, my nephew is a man of extremes and will accept barely a ‘thank you’ for his efforts lest it transform him into a power-hungry man.”
Niall did not want to tempt the sin of pride by publicizing his selfless dedication to a role that others wished to claim for their own greedy purposes. He hadn’t even been able to accept her thanks for sending a healer to her mother, simply passing it off as familial duty.
“What can I do, Duncan?” Caoimhe asked, her eagerness letting slip his title. “To help Niall. What can I do to stop his cousin from trying to convince everyone that he should not be laird?”
“Oh, he told you about that?” Duncan asked, clearly a little surprised. Caoimhe nodded. “I’m not entirely sure that I’m the man to ask, my dear. But, surely you are busy enough in taking on your mantle? Are you certain to cope with still more concerns?” His gaze traced politely over her delicate little frame.
“I assure you that I am stronger than I look, Lord Duncan. And I would worry more over something that I could not control than otherwise. Please…what would a laird’s wife normally be doing with her days? I find myself bored here, more often than not.”
The old gentleman that he was, Duncan seemed flustered at the idea of a young woman, new to her marriage, being left alone to become bored by her husband. But in an effort to maintain his own dignity and Caoimhe’s blushes, he cast about for an alternative way for new wives to be helpful to their husbands.
“What of the new year’s festivities? Samhain ?” he asked. “It is the biggest event of the year, and only three weeks from now. Perhaps you could help to organize that?”
Caoimhe made a face.
“Fiona Brodie was here not so long ago and made it fairly clear that such an event was hers to control. I do not think that my help would be welcomed there.”
Haunted By A Highland Curse: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance Page 12
