“Aye, thank you, Maggie. I will.” She rubbed her knuckles down Maggie’s cheek. “You remind me of my own daughter. All that fire and passion in your heart and clarity and creativity in your mind. I can only imagine how you must miss your own mother at a time like this. I know she died years ago, but I can tell that she loved you well.”
Emotion rushed upward from Maggie’s chest at the unexpected words, said so gently and lovingly. She pressed her fingers to her mouth to contain the sob, but it was too strong and broke free anyway. Her eyes flooded with tears, and they ran down her face.
“Och, lass. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Maggie lowered her hand and squeezed Flora’s. “Nay. ’Tis all right.” She blew out a breath and tried to smile. “I…I do miss her, even though it was so long ago. She held our family together. Everything slowly unraveled when she left. First my da, then my brothers. It hasn’t been easy.”
“She didn’t leave you, Maggie,” Flora said with just a hint of chastisement. “She died. Believe me, if she could have stayed, she would have. There is no stronger, no more protective love than that of a mother for her child. Someday you’ll find that out. Soon, I hope.”
The tears welled again, and this time Maggie didn’t raise her hand to cover the trembling of her mouth. “Aye, she died…because of me.”
“Nay, not because of you. Because you were her child, a piece of her heart and soul, and it was her right and duty to protect you. Doona take that away from her.”
“But if I hadn’t been—”
“Nay, Maggie. You were a child, doing childish things—exactly as you were supposed to do. And she was your mother, doing everything she was supposed to do as your mother. Everything you will do one day for your child. It was an unfortunate accident, but no one was to blame. Forgive her, Maggie. And forgive yourself.”
Maggie nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Aye, you will. And in the meantime, I will tell you all the dangerous things my children did that almost got themselves killed—and me too as I tried to save them. And all the stories of the other children I treated, and their parents—some who survived, some who didn’t—and you will come to understand that carelessness and disobedience is part of childhood, and rushing to the rescue is part of parenthood. It is a miracle most of us survived.”
Maggie snuffled and laughed at the same time. “Maybe I doona want to be a mother after all. Certainly not if they take after me.”
“Aye, I’m afraid our laird will be assigning numerous guards to each child, and they’ll still get into trouble.”
A knock sounded at the door before one of the maids rushed into the chamber. She bobbed a curtsy to Maggie before turning to Flora. “There’s been an accident in the stable, Flora. One of the grooms was thrown from a horse. They need you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
The maid ran from the room, and Flora hurriedly packed up her bag. “Soak your hand for a goodly amount of time, Maggie. At least until the cold wears off. I’ll return to help you in the tub if I can.”
“Doona worry about that, Flora. I can manage.”
It was well past midmorning by the time Maggie stood naked beside the tub, her hair a wild, knotted mess that tumbled over the curve of her behind. She’d dismissed the maids a while ago when the tub was filled, and now she wished she hadn’t.
Not to worry. Maggie could climb into the tub herself, couldn’t she?
She pulled the sling over her head—for the last time, if all went well today—and carefully moved her arm. Luckily, her shoulder didn’t hurt, and she could raise her arm high enough to keep it out of the water. Leaning forward, she braced her hand on the tub’s edge and slowly lifted her leg.
So far so good, but when she tried to swing her leg over the top, she realized she wasn’t far enough forward. She’d just decided to bring her leg down when she heard the door open. Relief flooded through her, and she called out, “I’m back here, Flora.”
She knew it couldn’t be Callum. He had gone to the loch with Gavin for a swim and intended afterward to go to the quarry to look at rock the mason wanted to use to resurface part of the keep. It was an ongoing project that would take years, Callum had said.
She rested her leg on the lip of the tub, knowing that Flora would be able to steady her and help her over. She looked up with a smile as the edge of a woman’s skirt came into view around the corner of the screen. But it wasn’t Flora. Nay, this woman was younger and quite lovely, with fair skin and black hair twisted into an intricate braid. Her age was beginning to show around her sharp, blue eyes.
Eyes that didn’t reflect the cheery smile on her face.
Maggie generally had a good sense about people—although she’d had no idea about the depth of Irvin’s treachery—and her hackles rose immediately. The woman’s smile turned to round-eyed concern as she rushed at Maggie, and there was nothing Maggie could do about it.
“Lady MacLean, let me help you!” The woman didn’t give Maggie a chance to respond as she grabbed Maggie around the ribs and pushed her leg over. Maggie gritted her teeth to stop from crying out, not wanting the woman to know just how vulnerable she was even though the fading bruises on her skin were obvious.
Why didn’t I bring my daggers with me?
“Stop!” she yelled once she had both feet in the water. She breathed deeply and tried to dredge up a smile. “Pray forgive me. I’m afraid I’ve hurt myself on the journey here. Perhaps just let me balance on your shoulder as I sit down.”
“Aye, of course, Lady MacLean.”
Maggie soon sank beneath the water and felt less vulnerable once she was covered, although she knew it was a false sense of security. If the woman intended to harm her, Maggie was at a grave disadvantage.
“I am glad to be able to help. I would have come to pay my respects sooner, but our laird, my cousin, has guarded you these past few weeks like a dragon guards his gold.”
It was a good comparison, but Maggie suspected the woman used it to ingratiate herself with Maggie. What new wife wouldn’t like to think of herself as being as important to her husband as a dragon’s hoard?
“Your name?” she asked. “You said you were my husband’s cousin?”
“Aye, Lady MacLean. My name is Glynis. I am married to Keith, the son of our laird’s mother’s sister.” She picked up a bar of soap and a cloth and held them up for Maggie to see. “May I?” she asked.
The request to tend an invalid in the bath, or to attend one’s lady, wasn’t unusual, and it would have been considered rude had she not offered. But Maggie was hard-pressed to say yes.
All she could manage was a nod and smile before she drew her knees up and pulled her hair over her shoulder. She’d originally planned to wash it, but she had no intention of letting this woman dunk her head under water.
“I canna tell you how excited I am—we all are—to have you here at long last and married to our laird. I’ve been praying all these years for my cousin to honor your marriage contract and finally bring you into his home.”
Maggie let that sit for a moment. It was a well-placed insult to both her and to Callum—bringing doubt to Callum’s character and implying that she wasn’t much wanted by him. “’Twas my understanding there was much distress in the clan after the old laird died. Callum made it clear he would have attended me sooner if not for that.”
“Trouble, my lady? Aye, ’twas a sad day. Some suggested the old laird had jumped, but that was soon put to rest. I’m sure your husband was verra upset when it happened. Everyone grieves in their own time, be it three months or three years. He did come for you eventually. You must take pride in that.”
She noted how easily the words flew off the woman’s tongue, how good she was at hurting and then soothing—one then the other. Verily, Glynis was someone to watch, maybe even to add to her list of possible traitors. Most likely, she was just trying to
retain her status as a high-ranking woman in the clan. She was cousin by marriage to the laird. Perhaps she’d thought of herself as the clan’s lady before Maggie arrived and bumped her down the ladder. It would be reasonable to assume she was trying to reclaim her place.
But then again, maybe not. She had a cunning air about her.
Maggie needed to render her words useless and then see what else Glynis would throw at her.
“I am proud,” Maggie agreed with a bright smile. “Thank you for reaffirming how fortunate I am to be married to our laird. He has certainly blessed me by finally making me his wife.”
Glynis’s mouth firmed, and inside, Maggie chuckled. Aye, it would be frustrating to try to hurt someone with your words and have them take pleasure from them instead.
Dipping the cloth in the water, Glynis rubbed it in circles over Maggie’s back. After a moment, she said, “Look how lovely you are, Margaret MacLean. Surely you had many fine men wanting to show you their affection these past few years. ’Tis not easy to be chaste when your betrothed keeps company with others. But that’s all in the past. I’m sure he’s thanking God he returned for you and you’ve forgiven his indiscretions.”
Indiscretions?
Grasping Glynis’s hand with her uninjured one, Maggie let the woman feel her strength. She met her gaze directly. “I thank you for your attentions, Glynis, but my bath is done. I have much to do now that I’m Lady MacLean. And of course, I must practice with my daggers. Did the lads tell you I killed a man who tried to kill our laird? It gave me quite a fright to see Callum so close to harm. I willna hesitate to use my weapons in defense of my family.” She rose from the tub, unaided this time, her shoulders back, her body sleek and strong even though she’d been so badly hurt. “And I think you are mistaken about my husband. Callum assures me of his fidelity these last few years. I believe him.”
Glynis rose as well, and Maggie could see in her eyes that her mind raced and she knew she had miscalculated. She bowed her head and dropped a small curtsy to Maggie. “I have indeed heard you are skilled. The lads talk of naught else. ’Tis a boon to our clan that you are here with us at last.” She stepped to the edge of the screen and bobbed another curtsy. “I shall take my leave and hope to see you at the evening meal.”
After she disappeared around the corner, Maggie moved more quickly than she would have thought possible and climbed out of the tub. She grabbed her drying towel and held it up to her body as she stepped around the edge of the screen, not wanting Glynis to be left unwatched in her bedchamber.
The sly woman was just opening the outer door. Maggie stopped her. “Glynis, have you e’er met my cousin Irvin Sinclair? He is a blackheart and a devil of the worst kind. Soon he will be taken from my castle and hanged for his crimes. ’Tis a bad day to be a traitor.”
Nineteen
Maggie straightened her plaid and ran her palm lightly over her hair to make sure it wasn’t sticking out all over the place. She’d barred the door as soon as Glynis had left and then slowly lowered herself back into the tub for a proper wash. She’d hardly been able to wait to dip her head and cleanse her hair of dirt and sweat—although it had been awkward to do with only one hand.
Afterward, she’d been exhausted but had forced herself to sit on the chair in front of the fire and brush through the tangles, working through the curling strands in sections. God’s truth, it had taken her at least an hour, if not more, to finish the job with just one hand. She’d been tempted to crawl back into bed, hoping Callum might come to find her. But ever since Glynis had left, Maggie had felt an urgency to explore the castle. More than ever, she needed to know how she could escape, if need be. To plant some weapons in the castle and begin her own search and investigation for the traitor.
Just a continuation of what she’d done at her own keep, really. And she’d proven very good at that.
After making sure her two remaining daggers, plus one more Callum had given her, were properly sheathed under her arisaid along her forearm, she unbarred the door. She smiled when she met the beaming faces of her guards—Artair and Finn.
Then she scowled. “Which one of you let that awful woman into my chamber? God’s truth, she tried my patience. I had to practically threaten her with my daggers to get her out.” Maggie didn’t want the men to know of her suspicions, but she also didn’t want Glynis in her room. The news of Maggie’s displeasure would spread through the guards like wildfire.
“’Twas not us, Lady MacLean. We just came on duty,” Artair said, following in step behind her as Maggie swept past. “’Tis good to hear you sounding like your old self though.”
“Aye,” Finnian added. “We missed your sweet voice. Such a gentle sound, like a wee bairn cooing for his mother.”
Maggie barked out a laugh as she glanced avidly around the passageway, counting doors and noting every nook and cranny.
“In truth, we were all so worried about you, lass,” Artair said, his light tone filling with concern, “but Laird MacLean assured us you were recovering well.”
“I am feeling much better, thank you.” She stopped at the top of the stairs that headed to the great hall below and turned to face the men. Beside her, another staircase continued upward to the third floor, making her wonder how many floors there were in all. “I’m sorry I slowed us down on the way here. I fear I put you all in grave danger. If we’d been attacked…”
“Och, lass, doona e’er think such a—”
Artair’s reply was interrupted by the sound of a woman’s voice singing horribly out of tune, coming from somewhere upstairs. The song was punctuated by the sound of running feet crashing down the staircase from the upper level.
Seconds later, a lass, no more than perhaps seventeen, came barreling around the corner, her gaze fixed on a sheaf of parchments in her ink-stained hands and a lute strapped across her back. Not watching where she was headed, she was going to plow straight into Maggie.
Finnian moved to intercept her, but she caught sight of him at the last minute, squawked in alarm, and darted past, knocking him into the tapestry on the opposite wall and colliding with Maggie anyway.
The tapestry came off its moorings and fell onto Finn as Maggie groaned and stumbled backward. Luckily, Artair caught her just in time before she fell down the stairs and broke her other hand.
The lass—tall, with sandy-blond hair and intense green eyes—tumbled to the passageway floor. Her sheaf of parchments scattered into the air and fell around her.
“Lady MacLean!” Artair yelled. “Are you well, lass?”
“I will be when you stop squeezing my shoulders,” she gasped.
Artair quickly released her with a mumbled apology and squeezed his hands around her middle instead.
Maggie grimaced. “Lord have mercy, that hurts too. I’m all right. Please, let go.”
He did, hovering in front of her, looking stricken as she tried to breathe through the pain. Maggie peered around him, which was hard to do, considering he took up most of the passageway, and saw Finn struggling to push the wall hanging off his head. He finally untangled himself and jumped up.
“Did you kill it, Finn?” she asked, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice. “Those tapestries are deadly.”
He turned bright red and glared at the poor winded lass who still lay askew on the stone floor.
“Nay, Finn,” Maggie said. “’Twas an accident. Make sure she’s not hurt.”
Finn’s face fell, and he hurried over to the lass. She jumped up, almost knocking Finn down a second time. She looked panicked, her eyes taking in the men and Maggie, then down to her parchments on the floor, then back to Maggie.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, looking like she was about to cry. “This always happens to me. If someone is going to make a mess of things, it’ll be me.” She gazed at Maggie, and her lip trembled. There was a scar there, her pretty face marred slightly by the s
igns of a cleft lip that had been repaired when she was a bairn. “You’re her, aren’t you? Lady MacLean. They said you were bonny and fierce and you’d saved Laird MacLean, putting your own life in danger. And then here I go almost killing you again.”
“Well, nay,” Maggie said. “I doona think I could have been killed twice.”
The lass laughed—more a wet, strangled sound—even though a tear had fallen down her cheek. “If anyone could have done it, it would have been me.”
“Then I should know your name, aye? Best to know the names of those who are most likely to kill you. Twice.”
The lass wiped her face and gave a slow, ungainly curtsy. “I am Aileen, Lady MacLean.” She sounded like a child practicing how to be a lady, her voice formal and stiff. “Cousin to your husband, Laird MacLean.”
“Thank you for the clarification. I would hate to confuse Laird MacLean with my other husband.”
Aileen popped up from her curtsy and gawked at her, those bright green eyes, so similar to Callum’s, going wide in her face. “Two husbands? How can you have two husbands? You jest, aye?”
“Aye.” She said it gravely, trying not to laugh at the younger woman. She was a bonnie relief to meet after Glynis.
Aileen’s face cleared, and she burst into laughter, interspersed with wee snorts that made Maggie laugh too. “I canna wait to tell Callum you said that.”
“I’m sure he willna be surprised,” Artair said.
Stepping forward, Maggie very carefully leaned over to pick up the pieces of parchment from the floor—which quickly had the others bending over to help as well. She looked at the page in her hand and tried to read the words scrawled on top. A poem, perhaps? A work in progress, with words and lines scratched out and then written over.
Aileen snatched the poem from Maggie’s hands, her cheeks burning. Then she bobbed a quick curtsy and mumbled an apology. “’Tis not finished, my lady. And no one but Keith has ever read my work.”
“Keith?” she asked.
“My…my…your husband’s other cousin on his mother’s side.”
Highland Betrayal Page 22
