by Sandy Blair
“Aye, but all apparently isna going well, else we’d not have received this.”
“Could it be because ye charged him with—Duncan Thomas MacDougall! Stop pulling your sister’s hair or you’ll find yourself sitting in a corner.”
“Humph!” Why could she not just clout the wee beastie on the side of his head as he did and be done with it? But nay. His ladywife had to torture their poor son for an hour, making the wee laddie sit in a corner where he fretted and grumbled for all to hear.
If he lived to be one hundred years, he’d never ken his ladywife’s odd, twenty-first-century ways.
Beth turned her attention back to him. “What was I saying? Ah...Angus. Could it be that you charged him with finding an educated chatelaine but instead he found himself in your cousin’s words, one that’s not one of us?”
“Mayhap. He does take pride in keeping his word.” He sighed. “When I tricked him into the wager, I just wanted him to find a worthy wife. I was weary of seeing envy in his eyes every time he watched the Silversteins or you and me. He was lonely and too proud—”
“And stubborn.”
“And too stubborn,” he conceded, “to admit it. And I only insisted on a chatelaine, because I didna trust him not to grab the first unsuspecting lass he came upon. He does, after all, crave a lairdship with a passion most men dinna expend even on their wives.”
Beth grinned and patted her swollen belly. “Unlike one handsome laird I could mention.”
“Humph!” ‘Twas not his fault Beth was a delicious handful in bed.
Beth rose and put her hands on the small of her back and arched. “I’d best start getting a room ready. I don’t move a fast as I used to.”
Duncan came to his feet and wrapped his arms about her. “Have I ever told ye how lovely ye are?” How she could think herself plain was beyond kenning.
Beth blushed to a rosy hue as she always did whenever he mentioned her appearance. “Go on with you.” She kissed him and waddled off carrying his seed, his legacy, snug within her hips. God, he loved her.
He cleared his throat. Now to make sure Angus experienced the same mind-befuddling existence.
~#~
Riding ahead of them down the slippery shale slope, Ian called over his shoulder, “How about Belinda?”
Angus, leaning back as far as the saddle would allow, asked, “What say ye, Birdi? ‘Tis fair.”
Birdi, leaning back as well, shook her head. “Nay.”
The men had suggested hundreds of names, mayhap as many names as there were stars below heaven, and still none felt right to her. And here they were only a mile or so from Angus’s Drasmoor. She could already smell change in the air. Something tangy, not unlike the breeze off Inveraray, yet different, stronger, foreign, not unlike the man who held her. And she needed a name before she met his people.
She now kenned, to her shame—augh, she loathed that word—that she’d never been given a true one. She’d only assumed she had. She huffed. “More, tell me more.”
Angus yawned. “Meg, Peg, Margaret.”
“Ye’ve said those before.”
Ian called, “Florence, Paris, Roma.”
Angus laughed. “Dinna listen to him. He’s desperate.”
Somehow, finding a name for her had turned into a challenge between the men. Why, she didn’t ken, but suspected they did it only to keep awake. They’d not stopped but to relieve themselves or eat in more than a day.
“Mckensie,” Ian called.
Angus huffed, “Nay. Mckensie MacDougall sounds too harsh. Every time she says it people will think she’s clearing the back of her throat.”
She liked the name but Angus did have a point.
And she couldn’t get over Angus’s offering her his sire-name. She would be a MacDougall for life no matter what awaited her in Drasmoor. So grand a gift she had no way of repaying.
Drasmoor. She didn’t want to reach it. All would change. She’d lose the ease of being herself. The last three days—though hard on her back and bottom—had been a warm poultice on her heart and mind. Angus and Ian had even teased her about her power. Well, ‘twas not really her power but Goddess’s streaming through her, but they didn’t care. They teased her anyway. And she still couldn’t fathom why or how they believed in a god from some faraway place where they had sand mountains—which she wouldn’t mind seeing before they fell—controlled the moon, the sun, and all that grew. So verra strange.
They came over the crest of a high ridge, and Angus pointed over her shoulder. “Look, Birdi, your new home. Drasmoor and Castle Blackstone.”
She shoved aside the hair whipping about her face in a stiff wind, again assault by the scent of peat, fish, and sea. A great mass of shiny blue and green loomed before her. It appeared to her weak eyes to go on forever. Throat tightening, she realized that here she truly could get lost.
They rode downhill, uphill and down again and finally broke out of the forest. Angus slowed Rampage just as she heard dogs barking, cattle lowing, bairn laughter, and shouts—all she’d come to associate with a busy village.
“This is Drasmoor,” Angus whispered.
As they followed Ian, boisterous people ran up to greet them using words Birdi struggled but failed to understand. She did her best to smile, despite the frantic thundering of blood in her ears.
Here in Angus’s village the brown blobs—shapes she kenned to be crofts—were spaced too far apart, the smell of horse and fish was too strong. And then she saw a tall dark shape looming at a distance before her, nearly black against the brilliant green she now kenned to be the sea. Fearing the answer, she pointed. “What is that?”
Angus pushed the hair from her cheek and whispered, “Tis Castle Blackstone.”
Ack! ‘Twas surrounded by sea, water that didn’t lie flat like her pool but moved as if alive. Oh, Goddess...
Before she could garner her courage she was lifted from Angus’s charger and put into a boat. When it rocked beneath her, she squealed and grabbed hold of the side for dear life.
Angus steadied her. “Easy, Birdi. All’s well.”
“Nay! ‘Tis far from well.”
He chuckled as he took a seat beside her and pulled her onto his lap. “There’s nothing to fear, Birdi. The sea’s calm.”
Oh, Goddess! ‘Tis calm? Oooh...
The boat shifted again as men joined them. She looked about. “Where’s Ian?”
“He’s tending the horses. Not to worry, he’ll catch the next boat.”
Too soon they were moving, rocking up and down to the rhythm of oars beating water and men grunting. Unable to do anything else, she squeezed her eyes shut and huddled into Angus’s warm chest. She didn’t like this, not at all.
Mother of All, ‘tis I, Birdi. I ken ye’re busy but ye need to listen. I’m in great danger. I’m in a boat...
~#~
Angus lifted Birdi’s chin. “Ye can open yer eyes now. We’re here.”
“Oh.” She straightened and looked up. “Yer castle is bigger than I feared.”
Angus stood and took her hand. “‘Tis a good-sized fortress, but there’s naught to fear.” He guided her to the side of the boat. “I’ll lift ye up and onto the quay, but stay where I put ye. I dinna want to be fishing ye out of the sea.”
She nodded like a sandpiper. “Aye.”
When her feet hit solid ground, she froze in place, apparently not daring to bat an eyelash. Ah, his poor Birdi.
Angus bounded onto the quay and took her arm. “Are ye ready to go inside?”
She looked none too sure, but took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “Aye.”
“Good lass.” Angus then took his own deep breath. He’d yet to figure out a way to tell his liege about the mess he’d gotten himself into without sounding the idiot.
But ‘twas good to be home for the first time in months. He’d missed the camaraderie of his friends, and God kenned how much he’d missed Lady Beth’s kitchen.
As they crossed the interior bailey, Birdi’s
head cocked right, then left, as she tried to identify the sounds, her lips moving soundlessly. She was, he kenned, counting her steps.
He opened the lower bailey door for her. “Take hold of the rope near yer left hand. Good, now pay close heed. The steps are curved and bend to the right as ye climb. I’m right behind ye.”
Birdi made slow but steady progress, her skirts in her right hand. “Why do they curve so?”
“They curve in this manner so that should we come under siege the attackers cannot wield their swords within the stairwell.”
“Oh.”
At the top of the stairs he pushed on the heavy oak door, took Birdi’s elbow, and guided her into Blackstone’s thirty-foot-long great hall. Seeing his liege and lady standing before the left-hand fireplace, he turned Birdi in their direction.
“Something smells wondrous,” Birdi whispered.
He smiled down at her. Wee Mistress Oatcakes didn’t ken the half.
His smile vanished when he looked up and realized he already stood before Duncan. He bowed. “My lord and lady.”
Duncan’s gaze roamed Birdi from tip to toe. “Welcome home, Angus. I see ye found what ye were looking for.”
Not exactly. “My lord, my lady, may I present Lady MacDougall of Loch Ard Forest. Lady MacDougall, this is my liege, Duncan MacDougall, and his honorable wife, Lady Beth.”
Birdi, to his amazement, executed a graceful curtsey. Had he been asked to execute the same maneuver, he’d have fallen flat on his face, such was his current agitation.
Lady Beth came forward and took Birdi’s hand from his arm. “I’m so very pleased to make yer acquaintance. Come, we need leave these two alone so they can chat. I’ll show ye to yer room.”
As Lady Beth started to lead her away, Birdi sent a silent plea to him over her shoulder. “All is well, Birdi, fear naught. I’ll be there in just a moment.”
Duncan snorted. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Motioning for Angus to take Lady Beth’s chair, he said, “Sit and tell me about this Birdi. Ye have exquisite taste, by the way.”
Angus groaned. “First I need whiskey.” Lots of it.
Duncan caught the eye of a passing clanswoman. “Mistress, whiskey for our friend and one for yer liege. Tall ones.”
Grinning, the woman dipped a curtsey, “As ye wish, sire.” To Angus she said, “‘Tis good to have ye home, Angus.”
“Thank ye, Kari.”
Whiskey half drunk, Angus said, “All isna as I wished, Duncan. I bragged I could bring home a lady of high birth, and I’ve failed.” He took another swing of the water of life and heaved a sigh. “It all began on the morn I was deep in Macarthur territory and awoke to the sound of splashing in the nearby pool and then this woman, naked as the day she was born, rose...
~#~
Too soon for Birdi’s comfort she found herself in the room Lady Beth had assigned to her and Angus. “Tis lovely, my lady.” And it was, from what little she could see of it standing by the door.
“Please call me Beth. Duncan and Angus are such good friends it would be silly for ye to call me ‘my lady’ while they called each other by first names. May I call you Birdi?”
Birdi wrung her fingers, wishing with all her might that she’d already found the perfect name. “I’ll not be Birdi much longer.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, Angus says I may choose any name I wish, but I’ve not found the right one as yet, but ye may call me Birdi until such time as I do find one.”
“Well, I think that’s a grand plan.”
Birdi heaved a relieved sigh and wandered about the room in careful fashion so as not to trip. What she could see and feel of it so far, she found most pleasing. The high poster bed was much like the one at the duke’s home, but broader. Chests sat at the foot of the bed and one sat beneath an open window with a deep sill and thick wooden shutters mounted on either side. A fire burned to her left as she faced the door. She sniffed but couldn’t catch the scent of Angus. “Is this Angus’s room?”
Beth moved to sit on the end of the bed. “Nay, ‘tis a special room reserved for special guests. The garderobe is just to the left.”
A garden robe? She’d have to ask Angus when she was supposed to wear such. She didn’t want to appear the fool before his friends. Inching closer to Lady Beth so she might better study her, Birdi ran a hand across the honey-colored fabric on the bed. Ah, rich and deep, like the bolt of cloth Angus had left behind at the waterfall. Which was such a waste. “Tis lovely velvet.”
“Thank you. Here.” Lady Beth thumped the mattress. “Come sit beside me.”
Birdi sat, finding it very soft, more so than even the duke’s bed.
Taking one of Birdi’s hands, Lady Beth smiled. “Do tell. How did ye meet our handsome Angus?”
Oh, nay. Nay, nay, she wouldn’t be relating that tale. “He is handsome.”
“Aye, he is.”
Birdi racked her brain for something to say other than he almost killed my wolf and I bled all over him. When her stomach growled, she murmured, “I like havers—oats. And Angus cooks fish verra well.” She looked about helplessly. “I would like to learn how to make Lady Frasier’s fish pies. They’re verra good.”
Beth grinned. “Ah, you’re hungry. I do apologize. I’ll see to it immediately while you freshen up.”
She was hungry. “Thank ye. Angus has told me ye’re a fine cook.”
“That’s nice to hear, but I just prepare meals that make men happy.”
“Ye do?” If she could cook the foods that made Angus happy, mayhap he’d grow fond of her and forget his hale Mary and her bee-hive breasts. “Might ye teach me?”
“I’d love to.” Lady Beth stood and checked the water in the pitcher. “Oh, it’s already cold. I’ll have the lass fetch some warm water for you.”
“Nay, ‘tis fine.” Curious as to why this woman didn’t speak as the others, Birdi garnered her courage and asked, “Are ye from another place as well?”
“I am.” She patted her belly, a good seven moons swollen with child. “I’ve been here three years.”
“Are ye happy here?”
“Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.” She stepped closer and stroked Birdi’s cheek. “You’ll be as well. Angus is a good man.” She walked to the door. “By the way, you have lovely eyes.”
Birdi tried to draw breath but nothing happened. As the room spun, she wondered what ailed the people of this clan that they didn’t ken a spae when they saw them.
“Birdi? Sweetie, can you hear me? Shit!”
Something cold and wet pressed Birdi’s forehead and she opened her eyes. Lady Beth hovered over her, concern clearly etched on her odd but pretty visage. Wondering why she should garner such sympathy, Birdi looked down and saw she sat on the floor, propped against Lady Beth. Embarrassed to her toes, she struggled to stand.
Lady Beth pressed her shoulder, thankfully, her uninjured one. “Sit for just another moment.” She wiped Birdi’s face and hands before looking deep into her eyes. “Are you feeling better?”
Birdi nodded, still amazed the woman wasn’t screeching.
“Let’s forget about your ablutions and get something in your belly, shall we?”
“Aye, that might be best.”
“Good.” She helped Birdi to her feet. Hand at her elbow, Lady Beth guided her back to the great hall.
The moment they entered the warm hall, the men came to their feet. Lady Beth handed her off to Angus and reached for a bell. A heartbeat later Birdi sat at Angus’s right on a raised platform at the opposite end of the room, her back to a warm fire and a mountain of food before her, most of which she didn’t recognize.
When she hesitated, Angus pointed right and murmured, “‘Tis roast pork and applesauce, ye’ll love it. That,” he pointed to a pile of greens, some of which she did recognize, “is salad. Verra good as well.”
“And this?” She pointed to a brown mound to her left.
“‘Tis roasted pheasant with rosemary. Y
um.” He deposited what appeared to be choice pieces on her trencher, reached for a small metal pitcher and poured brown liquid over the meat. “Bon appetit.”
“What?”
“Eat.” With that, he dug into his trencher with both hands. Birdi, hungrier than she’d been in a long while and still shaky, sampled her first mouthful. Finding it salty, crispy, she murmured, “Oh my word.” She had definitely died and gone to Angus’s heaven.
She couldn’t get the meat into her mouth fast enough. Wishing for four hands, she found Angus grinning at her. She smiled back but didn’t stop eating fearing Lady Beth might ring her bell and then the delicious food would be taken away.
When she scraped the last of her bread through the last of her brown juice, she leaned back, folded her hands over her well-stuffed middle, belched then sighed. To no one in particular, she said, “That was verra good.”
The laird of Castle Blackstone laughed, startling her. “Ye’ve met yer match, my friend, at least at the table.”
When Angus chuckled, Birdi relaxed, deciding she might like it here, after all. Angus stood, pulled her chair back, and whispered, “Tis Lady Beth’s custom that we now retire to the other end of the room while the table is cleared.”
She took his outstretched hand. “As ye wish.” Being a lady definitely had its benefits: good food, bonnie gowns, a comfy bed above stairs, and someone else to clear the table. She could live like this.
She was halfway across the long room, her hand resting on Angus’s strong arm, when a door to the right squeaked and a dark shape move toward her.
“Good day, MacDougall, Lady MacDougall,” the dark shape said. “And who is this?”
As the man moved closer, Angus’s liege said, “Father John may I present our newest Lady MacDougall. Lady MacDougall, this is...”
Birdi’s heart stopped. Cold sweat erupted beneath her arms and across her brow. She saw only a black hood, black gown, and a large wooden cross. Beware of the priests in black gowns who burn the likes of us on pyres.
“Aaaaahhhh!”
Arms out, elbows locked, she rammed the hooded specter of her nightmares in the chest knocking him backward, and bolted toward the door. Tripping and stumbling down the circular stairs, she keened, “Oh, Goddess, please, please help me!”
