“Nae, then, Clydie,” Katy said with a sigh, “do not hesitate to speak plainly. As Bridgett has just reminded me, I do so, and so does she. Come to that, most of the women we know speak plainly. You are more tactful, but tact and I have small …” Her sense of humor stirred then, and she grinned ruefully.
Clydia chuckled. “Small acquaintance, aye, we know. You speak or act first, and if you think, it is usually long afterward.”
“So of what did you hope to warn me?” Katy asked. “If it is that Da is vexed with me again, you need not. He has made that plain to me already.”
“I expect he has,” Clydia said. “However, although Bridgett is holding your best kirtle, you do not seem to know why she is.”
“I said I don’t want it, but she will not heed me.”
“Nor should she. Da sent me to tell you that we have a visitor and that you must dress nicely for supper with him.”
“Him? Who?” Katy’s thoughts flew to the mysterious Will. Surely, that too-sure-of-himself gentleman was not so daft as to—
“Gilli Roy,” Clydia said, banishing the image of Katy’s stalwart rescuer and leaving dismay and the image of her slightly built, red-headed kinsman in its stead.
She gaped at her twin. “Gillichallum Roy Mackintosh? Our cousin?”
“Aye, sure,” Clydia said, taking the pink kirtle from Bridgett and holding it up. “Take off that dreadful rag you’re wearing and wash any other bits that need washing. You cannot want to look like what young Rory calls a ‘middenraker.’”
Despite herself, Katy laughed at the image of the outspoken scamp her cousin Àdham had brought home with him after the Battle of Lochaber. Turning back to the basin, she said on a lingering gurgle of laughter, “If Da heard you quoting our Rory, and using such a word—!”
“Da is not here,” Clydia pointed out. “But if you do not hie yourself, my dearling, he soon will be. Then you, not I, will be the one ruing his presence.”
Bridgett helped Katy take off her tattered kirtle and soiled smock and handed her a clean linen smock to put on.
As Katy donned it and tied the strings gathering it at its neck, she said, “Is that the other thing Lochan told you, Bridgett, that Gillichallum Roy had come?”
“Aye, it is,” Bridgett admitted.
“Sakes, has everyone been talking about me?” Katy demanded. When neither of the other two answered her, she said, “But why is Gilli here? And why should I put on my best kirtle to greet him? No one has ever told me to do that before.”
“This time is different,” Clydia said.
“Plainly so, but why?”
“Because, evidently”—Clydia exchanged a look with Bridgett, who rolled her eyes—“he has come to offer for your hand in marriage.”
Katy stared at her. “Gilli? He wouldn’t! He does not care a pin for me.”
“Apparently, he does,” Clydia replied in her usual calm way.
“Well, he must be daft, and I won’t have him!” Katy retorted.
Will entered the tower’s round solar from the stair passage to find his sister, fifteen-year-old Alyssa, curled against pillows on the cushioned seat created by the splayed embrasure of two tall, open windows. The solar overlooked the castle’s rear wall to the forested south hillside beyond it, so the light was dim despite narrow lancet windows on the east and north faces of the encircling wall.
Alyssa smiled at him. Slender and small, she had well-defined features and alert, quick-moving hazel eyes that twinkled when she smiled. A white veil covered her neatly coiffed blonde hair, and she wore a pale yellow kirtle and had wrapped a dark-green wool shawl around her shoulders. She had needlework in her lap.
The breeze drifting through the windows behind her was chilly.
“They will serve supper soon, Aly,” Will said, returning her smile. “Would you like me to go downstairs with you now?”
“Sit here for a few minutes first,” she said. “I have scarcely seen you for two whole days. Have you been out on the ridge again?”
“I have, aye,” he said, pulling a stool near the window seat for himself.
“Did you see aught of interest?”
He shrugged. “Squirrels, birds, two deer, a few hawks overhead, a hen pheasant on her nest.” And a pretty, young madwoman who required rescuing when she foolishly tried to climb a tor, he added silently. A madwoman with a most alluring manner about her, one that I’d like to know better, in many ways.
“I wish I could go with you sometimes when you walk along the ridge.”
“Sakes, lassie, I’m supposed to be guarding against enemies. What if you were with me and we came upon some?”
“Have you ever come upon one?” she asked him.
“None to concern me,” he admitted. “But I’d wager that if I did take you along, de Raite would have my head on a charger.”
“I wish you wouldna call him de Raite,” she said. “It sounds disrespectful.”
“I cannot call him ‘Father,’ lass. His uncle Thomas was more of a father to me than de Raite has ever been. Nor can I call him ‘Gervaise’ unless I pronounce it in the French way as he does, which I think foolish, whilst the Scots way could make people think I refer to our brother Jarvis, instead of de Raite. I like Jarvis.”
“I know,” she admitted. “I also know that you are still angry with Father over those dreadful hangings.” When he grimaced, she added, “I agreed with you, you know. He ought never tae have hanged them. Why, now he will not even let me accompany him into Nairn, let alone go with Meggie and two guardsmen as I did before. He fears I might hear more than he wants me tae hear about the hangings.”
“I know you agreed with me, but you are wise to keep silent,” Will said. “He would react badly if you shared that opinion with him or others.”
“I know,” she said sadly. “You are the only man here who does talk with me. Do you not wonder if our menfolk treated Mother the same way they treat me?”
“I scarcely remember her,” he admitted. “I was just seven years old when you were born and she died. De Raite sent me off to Inverness-shire then to live with our granduncle. He said it was because he believed that wee lads should have little to do with womenfolk before we are grown.”
“And ’tis when you began calling him Comyn of Raitt—and now de Raite,” Aly said. With a sigh, she added, “I have scarcely been outside the castle wall since he hanged those men.”
Will frowned. “Has he forbidden you to go beyond it? Surely, you and Meggie still pay visits in the clachan. That is one of your chief duties, is it not?”
“Aye, and we used tae walk in the woods, as well. After the hangings, I feared the Mackintoshes might retaliate, so Meggie tended to those duties until recently, and nae one complained of aught that she could not resolve by herself. In troth, Will, without Meggie’s guidance and that of other women in the clachan, I should never have known what my duties entailed.”
“You ought to have friends of your own station, Aly. Mayhap you should ask de Raite to let you visit some of our kinsmen.”
“Would you ask him? He pays nae heed tae me. In troth, I think he dislikes me, so I cannot think how I am ever tae marry and have a household of mine own.”
Will knew that de Raite paid little heed to Alyssa unless she irked him. However, he assumed that such neglect was due more to de Raite’s ignorance of womanly things than aught else. Aly had been a biddable child, and she was now a biddable young woman. Although Will had disagreed with de Raite more often than not, he did agree with him that Alyssa, at fifteen, was too innocent and childish yet to marry, despite being three years past the marriageable age for girls.
He also knew, however, that if de Raite decided he could build a strong alliance by offering her to the son of another powerful laird, he would seize the opportunity. “I doubt that he dislikes you, lass,” Will said. “He just thinks more about his
own goals than he does about other people’s.”
“I ken fine that he has more important matters tae consider, but he looks on me more as a servant than one of his children. For my part, having had naught tae do with women of mine own station, other than a rare visit tae Nairn’s kirk of a Sunday, I ken more about being a servant than about acting as a lady should.”
“It must be hard, Aly. I cannot teach you such things myself, but I do know that Aunt Eubha, Granduncle Thomas’s daughter, offered to come to look after you. De Raite refused to have her.”
“Aye, he said she would try tae rule him and he’d no have that,” Aly said. “I doubt any woman could rule him. I do know that married ladies have many responsibilities beyond caring for children, though. Someone once told me that daughters of noble lairds oft live with noble kinsmen tae learn proprieties and how tae run a household when they marry.”
“Who told you that?”
Alyssa shrugged and looked away. “I canna recall who. Is it not so?”
Will thought about that. Perhaps Katy was not a daughter of Sir Fin of the Battles but a niece or cousin sent to foster with his lady wife.
“Is that true, Will?” Aly demanded, leaning forward. “Were you no listening tae me, sir?”
Regaining his wits, Will said, “Aye, sure, I was, lass. They call it fostering, and I expect daughters of the great lords do foster with kinsmen or other lords’ families. But de Raite is not a great lord. Sakes, even if he were, I doubt it would occur to him to arrange a fostering, especially if you have not asked him to do so.”
Alyssa grimaced. “How could I ask for a thing of which I knew naught, and how would I dare ask him tae send me elsewhere? He never even took me tae visit Granduncle Thomas Cummings and our cousins near Inverness whilst you were living with them. Nor has he invited them tae bring their lady wives tae meet me when those cousins have visited Raitt.”
“They would not bring their ladies if he did invite them, because Raitt is known to be a male household,” Will said. “In troth, Aly, I’ve known since I returned here that you have been unhappy. I ought to have given thought to how unusual your life is, for a lass.”
“I do not blame you, Will. The best times of my life are moments like this, when I can talk tae you.” She drew a deep breath and let it out before adding with a rueful look, “But you can do naught tae aid me, for ’tis as Meggie says: ‘Life be what it be, and one lives as one lives until one dies.’”
Chapter 3
Silence reigned in the twins’ bedchamber for nearly a minute after Katy’s furious declaration that she would not have Gilli Roy Mackintosh as a husband.
At last, reluctantly, she met Clydia’s patient gaze. “How am I to handle this? You know as well as I do that Gilli Roy does not want to marry me any more than I want to marry him.”
“I do,” Clydia said, glancing at Bridgett, who had moved to tidy the washstand and bundle up the ruined kirtle for mending or the ragbag. “However, you cannot tell Father that you refuse to see Gil, can you?”
Katy winced, knowing that she dared not test her father’s patience more than she already had—not, in any event, until Fin had time to regain his normal equanimity. “Do you think that such a match would please him?”
“Gil is not as fine a warrior as our father or Cousin Àdham,” Clydia said. “But he is the son of the Captain of Clan Chattan.”
“Malcolm’s youngest son,” Katy said sourly. “And doltish, withal.”
“Nevertheless …” Clydia glanced again at Bridgett and then back at Katy.
Katy shrugged her indifference. Bridgett knew nearly all that anyone could know about the two of them and had never been a talebearer. However …
“Even Bridgett would warn me against marrying a man I don’t want to marry,” Katy said.
Bridgett grimaced. “Aye, that I would, though the one I married were a rogue wha’ talked more wi’ his fists than wi’ his mouth. Had it no been for the Battle o’ Lochaber, I’d still be married tae him. I ken fine that the rest o’ ye thought it were a dreadful battle, but tae me own mind, ’twere a bless—”
“We know,” Clydia interjected. To Katy she added, “Mam will know how you feel about Gil and will stand your friend if you cannot stomach him. However, you must dress suitably and treat him civilly, even warmly. I agree that he has never shown interest in a closer kinship with you, but you have little choice in the matter now and will have none if you irk Da more than you already have today.”
Grimacing, Katy sat on a tall stool in her smock to let Bridgett brush and arrange her long hair into a thick coil at her nape. Lulled by the rhythmic strokes, Katy reflected on what an odd day it had been, first to be rescued by a so-intriguing stranger, then to face her angry father, and now … a proposal of marriage from her doltish cousin? It was as if the Fates were toying with her!
A too-short time later, wearing the pink, lace-trimmed kirtle and the plain white veil that she usually wore in company, she went downstairs with her twin, leaving Bridgett to tidy their room.
The great hall at suppertime was a lively place, because nearly everyone who worked in or near the castle was welcome to take supper there. Many of the castle guardsmen slept in the hall when off duty, so after supper, they would dismantle the trestles and lay pallets out for sleeping. Most of the women and the off-duty men with families would return to their cottages in the nearby west woods to sleep.
Katy saw her father and Gilli Roy from the foot of the stairway, for both men stood together near the large fireplace directly opposite the great-hall entrance. They had doubtless been watching for her to come downstairs.
Fin still looked stern, and Gilli Roy seemed uneasy, even apprehensive.
At least, despite the occasion, he had dressed simply in a fresh tunic and a muted red-and-green plaid. Just two years ago, he had visited St. John’s Town and returned with curled hair and foppish clothing. His nose and chin still jutted out as if one were trying to outdo the other, but the curls were gone and his hair was neatly tied back with a plain black ribbon.
He met Katy’s gaze briefly before his own slid away toward Clydia.
“Is he trying to discern which of us is which?” Katy muttered.
“He can tell by our clothing and your wee scar, as well you know,” Clydia murmured with a look that told Katy her sense of humor had stirred. “Do recall, for your own sake, that you agreed to be civil, or your scowl will terrify the poor lad.”
Accepting what she knew to be excellent advice, Katy raised her chin and strove to pin a smile on her lips.
Fin’s stern expression relaxed, proving that her choice was a wise one. He greeted them almost cheerfully and said, “As you see, Katy-lass, your cousin Gilli Roy has come to visit.”
“Aye, sir,” Katy said, turning to Gilli and making her usual slight curtsy. “We bid you welcome, cousin. Do you make a long stay?”
“Nae more than a fortnight and mayhap less,” he replied quietly. Then, glancing at Fin before meeting Katy’s gaze again, he added glumly, “The length o’ me stay must depend on the success o’ me venture … or its lack o’ success.”
“Marry, sir, what is this venture of yours that so much must depend upon it?” Katy asked, brushing what felt like a hair from her cheek.
Gilli Roy paled, but Fin said, “We’ll discuss that after supper, Katy-lass. Your lady mother is on the dais now, so we will join her there.”
Gilli Roy turned toward the dais, while Katy glanced at Clydia and collided with her direct gaze. “What?” she muttered as they followed the two men. “Was I not civil enough?”
“Aye, sure, you were,” Clydia said. “But you let Gil think that you have no notion of why he is here when, in fact, you do.”
“Aye, but you did not want me to blurt that out, did you?”
“You know I did not, but you used the word marry. We may both find ourselves in the
suds if Da learns that I told you so much.”
“How did you find out, then? I thought Da himself must have told you when he sent you upstairs to fetch me, but Gilli Roy’s demeanor and words belied that. So, who did tell you?”
“Rory did,” Clydia said. “That scamp evidently overheard as much and could not bear to keep it to himself. Da told me only to fetch you and tell you to dress for a visitor. I’ll own, though, that I am glad the laddie did tell me. Had he not, and had I not warned you, you would have pressed Gil to tell you exactly why he has come. You know you would.”
Katy acknowledged the truth of that statement with a nod.
At the high table, she sat in her usual place, at her mother’s left, with Clydia at her own left and her father and Gilli Roy at Lady Catriona’s right. Thus, Katy did not have to concern herself with the men as she helped herself from platters of meat and a pottage of chicken, leeks, and cabbage that gillies offered her.
Lady Catriona, with a bit more than fifty years behind her, still had the tawny, sometimes unruly hair that her daughters had inherited in a slightly lighter version. At present, her own long tresses were confined in a plain white coif, and she wore a simple golden yellow gown that made her eyes look golden too. At a distance, people often mistook her for one of the twins, and she could still occasionally outshoot her husband with a bow and arrow.
“Did you enjoy a pleasant afternoon, dearling?” she asked Katy after they both had begun to eat.
“More pleasant than Da thought was wise,” Katy replied frankly. “I finished taking the bread and such to the cottars in less time than usual. Then, I wandered from Da’s pond onto the southwest hillside.” Blinking away Will’s image when it leaped into her mind, she added, “In the end, I was gone too long.”
“That was unwise, which you know as well as I do,” Catriona said. “But I expect your father has made that plain to you.”
“Aye, Mam, he did, and you are right to say that I’d ken as much if he had not,” Katy said with a sigh. “Even Bridgett scolded me.”
The Kissing Stone Page 4
