by Julianne Lee
He offered the rectory in the chapel, and explained that due to the condition of the castle and his recent arrival, the priest would be on his own for cleaning, furnishing, and maintaining the accommodations for the time being. The joy and gratitude on the young man’s face was so effusive and heartfelt, it made Alex wonder if providence might actually have been at work in the man’s life today.
Patrick, having eaten, was given leave to his new rectory. As he went, Alex glanced over at Lindsay, who sat at a far table with the lesser knights, and noted she was watching the priest leave, a look of wariness on her face. Then she turned toward Alex with a question in her eyes. He looked away.
The evening continued, and nearly everyone was slipping into drunkenness. Alex, though, had stayed sober, watching Lindsay and taking glances at her whenever he dared. When she made her way to the public garderobe off the hall, he rose from his table and headed there also.
The small room was empty, and Alex jammed a stool against the door to make certain nobody followed. Lindsay, untying her trews, turned to see who had come in behind her. Alex took her face between his hands and kissed her.
One hand held up her pants, and she murmured against his mouth, “You’ve brought a priest so you can force me to marry you?”
He leaned back, surprised. “No.”
“He just showed up here, out of the blue?”
“Yes.” Alex stepped back to search her face in the flickering sconce light.
“Fairly stiff coincidence, I’d say.”
The accusation caught Alex flat-footed. He blinked and gaped, then said, “Maybe it’s God working in mysterious ways.”
“Suddenly you’re a believer?”
“You’re not?”
“I am. But don’t you dare use that to—”
“No. I’m not. I swear.”
“That doesn’t work on me. I know bet—”
“Hey.” He placed a finger over her lips. “The guy showed up because he’d heard we were coming here. He’d been on the lookout for a flock, and heard through the ecclesiastical grapevine there was a castle chapel with a new master. It wasn’t even coincidence.”
The question left her eyes. “Oh. Very well, then.”
“You don’t want to marry me?”
“I don’t wish to be forced.”
Irritation rose. “If I were going to do that, I would have done it already.”
“That’s a relief.”
Now he wasn’t certain whether she meant that, or if she was being a smart-ass. He kissed her again, and she let him. He slipped a hand inside her open trews, and she let him do that, too. She pressed against him so he stroked her, but when he tried to shove the trews from her hips, she balked.
“No.”
“Yes.” It had been far too long. He was quite ready to lift her and take her against the stone wall.
“Not here.” She held his hand and drew it from between her legs. Reluctantly he obeyed and stepped back again so she could restore her clothing.
“Then, when?”
“I don’t know. But someplace that doesn’t smell like a latrine and with people outside waiting to get in.”
“Marry me.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think hard.”
“I am. But I’ll have to start sleeping with the men now.”
Alex’s mind slipped a gear, and he gaped at her. “Excuse me?” She gazed across at him, blank for a moment, then realization of what she’d said struck. Her eyes went wide and she laid fingers over her mouth. “Oh. No. I mean, I need to reside in the barracks now that there is one.”
He blinked. That was better, but he was still puzzled. “Why?”
“Do you want a recurrence of what happened with Hector? Or worse, with his mother?”
He made a face. “No. But how are you going to keep them from seeing? Your... you know, bandages.”
She shrugged. “I’ll manage.”
Alex hated the idea. No way did he want her sleeping among the men, away from his protection, where a bad slip might mean disaster and she could he attacked if the truth were discovered. The urge to make his case for marriage was nearly unbearable. But he’d already done that. Now he kept silent, waiting for the reply she’d promised.
Chapter Seventeen
For several days Alex was kept busy attending to the business of making his castle functional. One by one the men of the island came to pledge their allegiance to him by kneeling before him and reciting an oath. Alex kept track of who had pledged, by carrying around a sheet of parchment and a charred stick with which he wrote their names. Later he would make a permanent record with quill and ink, and that would be the basis of an island census once he knew how many children each man had. He was already on his way to mapping out the social structure among the vassals.
He’d noticed the villagers and the island farmers didn’t seem to have suffered much from the lack of a garrison, and surely didn’t miss the English garrison commander who’d lost his life there at the hands of the MacDonalds and MacLeods. It made him think his own men were as unwelcome, but one day he made a comment to Donnchadh to the effect that the village folk were bearing up well under the burden of a castle full of men to be fed. MacConnell’s reply was bland.
“With all respect, sir, ye noblemen have your purpose. Better you and your men to be the ones protecting the island than we bearing naught but pitchforks and dirks. We small folk being allowed no swords, we’re happy enough for the presence of them as are skilled in fighting.”
Alex asked, “From whom do you need such constant protection? MacLeod? MacDonald? Someone else?”
Donnchadh looked at him as if he’d said something incredibly stupid. “See who comes first to claim this island from you, or to reive our livestock, and you’ll have your answer. See who wants the garrison for himself.”
“Do you hope for one of them to come?”
“I hope to tend my land and raise my family.”
“A man of peace?”
“A man of prudence.”
“And if MacDonald or MacLeod were to come? Who would you support?”
Donnchadh grinned. “Why, my liege, of course. I’ve pledged my allegiance to you, have I not?”
Alex nodded, but he wondered.
He hardly saw Lindsay that week. She lived and worked with the men, ate at the other end of the room, and socialized with knights closer to her own rank, most of whom had also been knighted at Bannockburn. During those meals he would sit at the head table and try not to stare at her, but his eyes frequently drifted to where she sat. He never caught her looking at him.
As with the priest in search of an empty chapel, it didn’t take long before there were visits from folks who’d heard a young, handsome, unmarried knight with good prospects had taken possession of Eilean Aonarach. Alex had been in residence only five days before a large, nicely turned-out boat came, hearing the hopeful father of a young maiden. A Mackay, from the far north, and he had come a long way.
“Crap,” Alex muttered when he learned who awaited him in the Great Hall and why. At the moment he was occupied with the installation of a pulley on the hoist over the barbican, and was neither in a mood for company, nor was he dressed for it. He’d seen the boat coming, but had hoped it carried only a messenger who could be fed then sent on his way with a reply.
Trusting Alasdair Ruadh to continue the job without him, Alex went to the Great Hall to greet his not particularly welcome guest, and decided he was as well dressed as he was going to get today and too bad if the visitor didn’t like it. “Good morning to you, Mr. Mackay,” he greeted as he emerged from the stairwell and strode across the stone floor.
Standing about, looking as if they were appraising the building, Mackay and his entourage turned at the sound of his voice to offer smiles and greetings.
Alex sent a maid to the kitchen for some mead and cold meat. “You must be hungry.” Nobody ever turned down food in this country, even if they weren’t hungry. Neither
would Alex, anymore. “Come and sit.” He directed his visitor’s servants to follow the maid so they could eat in the kitchen, then waved a hand at one of the plain chairs nearby, and pulled up another for himself. “If you’ll excuse the poor furnishings, I’ve been here less than a week and don’t expect to be so lacking for much longer.”
Oddly, Mackay seemed pleased by that. He was the shortest, roundest man Alex had ever seen in this or any other century, and his tiny, dark eyes seemed magnetically drawn toward his own long, pointed nose. Alex shuddered to think what the daughter must look like. Surely this was a waste of time, and he hated to lead this guy on, but the aspersions cast on his sexuality in the past made him too cautious to dismiss this overture out of hand. He entertained himself with a fantasy that the daughter might be a beautiful and sweet and terribly unappreciated stepchild.
Mackay settled himself and adjusted his seat with care so he might not tumble out of the chair as he said, “Sir Alasdair, I hope I bring you good news.” His toes barely touched the floor, and he balanced himself on his perch with the balls of his feet.
“Perhaps you do.”
The man beamed and looked around at the hall. “I have it you are well thought of in certain important circles.”
“I’m a royal vassal, on good terms with His Majesty. I’m glad to hear my reputation is what I thought.”
That brought a chuckle. “A confident man, as well. I expect you’re a very important knight in Robert’s service.”
The buttering was thick and enthusiastic. Alex wished this guy would get to the point, say his piece, and get the hell out. “I’m told...” Food was brought from the kitchen, and a table moved from against the wall to serve them where they sat. “I’m told you are here to speak to me of your daughter.”
“Indeed. My beautiful daughter. A fine girl, sheltered like a princess her entire life. Disposition sweet as honey, and never a harsh word for anyone.” Mackay picked up a bowl of mead and drank from it.
Alex pictured a spoiled, fat, beady-eyed little girl without the slightest clue to life’s realities. But he said only, “I’m sure she’s very charming.” Noncommittal. This was a negotiation. Alex already knew it would come to nothing, but he needed to make it look good for a little while.
“Och, more than charming. The birds come to roost on her shoulders.”
A sudden flash of a Disney movie made Alex nearly burst forth with laughter. He blinked it back and bit his lip, then said, “How sweet.”
“You certainly must be looking for a wife, now that you have an estate. And with the north secured from the English I see prosperous times ahead.”
Alex saw them, too, but with Lindsay. “How old is your daughter?” It occurred to him the girl’s name hadn’t yet been mentioned.
“She’ll be twenty-three on her next birthday.”
Damn. Neither too old nor too young. No quick rejection there. Alex cleared his throat and said, “And what about her father? Tell me about yourself.”
Mackay was pleased to launch into a recital of his own accomplishments as a merchant. He was apparently quite wealthy, and heavily connected to the widely known MacKenzies. His son was married to the daughter of another royal vassal in Sutherland. Alex listened with an ear for something he could use, and as Mackay talked the meat and cheese on the nearby table disappeared. It was astonishing how long a man could go on about himself. Alex was yawning long before it was finished. Very early on he’d noted the man’s family tree and figured he knew how to get rid of him.
When Mackay finally led the subject back around to his daughter, Alex made a show of thinking hard and preparing to say something difficult.
“Well, you see, as you said earlier it’s true my prospects for the future are excellent.” Mackay smiled, but not as brightly as before. The guy was a salesman, and surely could smell the rejection coming as Alex continued. “Most excellent, in fact. I have money, land, and my influence is growing. Also, I don’t know if you’re aware, but my father was a nobleman.”
“Aye.” The eyes were wary now. “I would point out that I am also aware you go unacknowledged.”
“But I am acknowledged. I arrived from the Continent too late to know my father; nevertheless his sons call me brother. And so you can see that I might have higher hopes than to marry into the merchant class.”
Quickly Mackay pressed on. “Let us at least arrange a meeting.”
That gave Alex pause. Apparently the girl was pretty enough her father thought her presence could sway this decision. So he said, “It’s early yet. I’m only just beginning to settle into my new home. Perhaps in a few months—”
“My daughter does not grow younger.”
“Nor any of us. And were she to find happiness elsewhere in the meantime I would wish her all good fortune and many healthy children. But if in six months neither of us is married to someone else, then I will meet her.”
Mackay now smiled, apparently relieved to have salvaged that much. “Very well. Six months, then.”
Alex gestured to a maid standing by. “Mary will show you to the guest quarters.”
“I’m afraid I must hurry on my way.” Mackay stood. “Business never slows, you see.” He puffed up his chest and took a tone as if Alex should be impressed by his industry.
“I do see. Then have a safe and prosperous journey.” Alex stood, and Mary escorted Mackay and his entourage toward the barbican and Mackay’s boat. Alex watched them go.
“That was graceful.”
Alex turned to find Lindsay standing behind, just within earshot of his conversation with Mackay. “You heard all that?”
She nodded and approached him. “Am I to take this as an ultimatum? Six months?”
There was a long silence as he gazed into her eyes and she searched his face. He thought of how much he loved her, but that he couldn’t bear to be left hanging forever. Or even six more months. Finally he decided.
“Yes.”
There was no expression on her face. No apparent reaction at all. Then he turned on his heel and left the Great Hall to see how work was coming on the hoist, and hardened himself to what she might be thinking now.
He didn’t see her for the rest of the day, not even at dinner.
That night as he retired to his quarters he found a sheet of parchment folded in thirds slipped under the door to his inner chamber. He looked back to the residence antechamber, but nobody was near, not even the maid. Then he stared at the thing as it lay there by his feet, wondering whether he really wanted to know what it would tell him. His pulse picked up enough to make him uncomfortable, and his hands felt cold. Finally he took a deep breath, picked up the note, and closed himself into the bedchamber. He bolted the door with a heavy bar as was his habit. Then he sat on the edge of the bed to read the page by the light of his candle.
It was a formal letter. The words were odd but legible, and he could make out the weird spellings in the Middle English. As he deciphered, his puzzled frown dissolved and he smiled, for it was from a Marilyn Pawlowski, expressing her intent to visit and placing her estimated date of arrival in Glasgow at a week hence. The maiden Pawlowski suggested a desire for her brother to meet her there, and further expressed pleasure at the prospect of seeing once again her foster brother, Alexander MacNeil, to whom the letter was addressed.
Warmth spread from Alex’s belly to every extremity, and his heart tripped madly in his chest. The joy of it nearly made him laugh out loud, and he said to himself, “Okay, we’ll call that a ‘yes’.”
The very next day, Lindsay was dispatched on a fishing boat to Barra. There she would place herself under the care of the laird and request help with their plan. They needed her to travel with him and some carefully chosen MacNeils to the shore of the mainland, where the retainers would remain on the boat while Hector and Lindsay went alone to stay with some MacIain cousins for a day or so. Then on the way back to the coast, Lindsay would make her change and return to Eilean Aonarach as Marilyn.
While she
was gone, Alex occupied himself with organizing his castle, training his horses, improving his Gaelic, and jogging for exercise. It felt good to run again; it had been an awfully long time since he’d run for pleasure. As he exited the outer bailey and headed out onto the pasture and toward the forest, the peace of being alone settled in and he was glad to rediscover what his body could do for itself.
As he passed a small patch of farmland, a shout went up and he saw the farmer wave a pitchfork at him. Alex waved back, but the man took off at a run to intercept him, plaid flying. So Alex slowed to find out what the man wanted.
“Whatever is the matter, sir?” The MacConnell farmer ran up to him, breathless and holding his chest.
The language, of course, was Gaelic, and Alex took a moment to regain his breath and decipher in his head. Then he constructed a reply in the local language.
“Nothing. Nothing’s the matter.”
“Why do you flee?”
Alex chuckled and shook his head. “Not fleeing. Running. I like it.” He jogged in place a few steps to demonstrate how much he liked it.
The man stepped hack and looked at him with a light of distrust in his eyes, as if Alex had confessed to being in league with the devil. “You enjoy it, you say?”
“Aye. It’s good for my heart.” He stopped himself from suggesting the farmer should try it himself, for he figured the guy probably got plenty of exercise every day. “It keeps my wind good. I can fight long.”
That was something a Scot could understand, and the farmer nodded. “Aye. Then by all means run far and fast. Never let me stop you.”
Alex grinned, waved farewell, and resumed his jog.
Farther on, another farmer stopped him, and he repeated his explanation, then chuckled to himself as he ran onward and into the thickest part of forest along the north side of the island.
