Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3

by Ceci Giltenan

  The old man who came to the door was tiny, not much bigger than Mairead herself, and a little stooped. He had thinning snowy white hair, ancient weathered skin, and watery grey eyes. He greeted her with a kind smile, ushering her into his little home. The room was cluttered but clean, except for wood chips spread all over the hearth. The beginning of a carving was resting next to a small knife on the table.

  “Welcome, my lady, I am honored by yer visit. Have a seat here by the hearth.”

  She smiled and sat in the chair he offered. “Thank ye. I see ye like woodworking. My grandfather did as well. He was always carving something but if anyone asked him what he was making, his standard answer was ‘wood chips.’”

  Jock laughed. “Aye, I do make a lot of those. Cael, lad, reach down that wee bottle up on the shelf and pour us all a drop or two.”

  Mairead didn’t usually drink spirits, but she didn’t want to risk offending him by refusing. She was glad to see Cael poured very little into two cups and a more substantial portion in the third, giving it to Jock.

  “Other than woodchips, what kind of things did yer grand-da carve?”

  “He carved my first instrument, a recorder.”

  “Did he? That must have taken some skill.”

  “Aye. I was just a young lass, but I had been fascinated when I heard a minstrel play one. The instrument has three separate joints and the minstrel told him in order to play the recorder properly, the foot joint containing the last finger hole had to be turned slightly to one side. My grandfather carved intricate vines that wove from the mouthpiece in and around the eight holes. To assemble it properly, I just had to make sure the vines connected correctly across both joints.”

  “Now that was very clever.”

  “It did make it easy for me. He also carved a wee wren among the vines on the foot joint. It is so small most people don’t notice it, but I can see it when I play.”

  “Why a wren?”

  Mairead blushed. “He said wrens are tiny and not as bold and brightly colored as some other birds, but they are clever, industrious wee things and their song is glorious. After that, he called me his ‘wee wren.’”

  Jock chuckled. “Aye, I can see how he would. I have never tried to make something so intricate. I was a bow-maker and fletcher for years, but my eyesight isn’t what it used to be.” With that, Jock settled in for a nice long chat. He asked her more about her family and clan and told her about the laird and his younger brother when they were lads. “Of course, Robbie was still a wee lad when he and his mother passed. That nearly killed the old laird. After a few years, folks urged him to marry again, but he never would. ’Tis rare when a noble marriage is marked by true love, but theirs was. The way he used to look at her, it was as if he could never get his fill. It is the way the young laird looks at ye.” The comment took Mairead by surprise, and she couldn’t keep from showing it. Could Jock be right? Did Tadhg feel any small bit of the deep affection she felt growing? Jock laughed. “Why so shocked, my lady? Ye have the same look about ye for the laird. The two of ye are well met.”

  Mairead blushed and stammered, “I—he-he cares for me but-but we-we barely know each other.” She chanced a glance at Cael, who was grinning.

  “My lady, I’ll warrant ye know him well enough to know ye love him, and it is obvious he adores ye,” said Jock firmly.

  Jock was right about her; it wasn’t simply concern or affection. She believed she loved Tadhg. Could he be right about Tadhg too? Wanting somewhere to hide, Mairead put the cup to her mouth and took a large swallow. She completely forgot it contained whisky. The gulp of the strong alcohol caused her to cough and wheeze. Her eyes watered as she tried to catch her breath.

  Jock laughed and patted her on the back. “I don’t know why ye are embarrassed, my lady. Love is a blessing, and I expect ye are going to need to take it where ye can find it.”

  Mairead recovered momentarily. “Why do ye say that?”

  Jock leveled a sober glance at her. “Ye have been warmly received by yer new clan, have ye?”

  “Well, I’m still—it hasn’t been long.”

  “My lady, I’m old, and I am neither completely blind nor deaf but many people treat me as if I am. They say things in front of me they might not say otherwise. I am a Matheson. Usually I am proud to be one, but this clan was not prepared to welcome ye and I am ashamed of that.”

  Mairead just looked at him, not knowing how to respond.

  Cael said, “Jock, this isn’t the time—”

  “Nay, Cael,” he said sharply. “Ye are a big strong lad and maybe a cold shoulder or disapproving glare won’t hurt ye, but she is a wee lass. It does hurt, probably more so because she doesn’t understand why. I had daughters. I know tender hearts.”

  “Jock, ye’re reading way more into things than ye should. Lady Matheson is right. She is new, it will pass. The laird—”

  “The laird doesn’t know. Cael, lad, ye know full well the disgruntled ones hide this ugliness from the laird.”

  Turning to Mairead, he said, “My lady, understanding the problem is half the battle to solving it. What ye are seeing, the thing that is preventing some of the clan from welcoming ye, is purely raw jealousy. The simple fact is there were people in this clan who had hoped the laird would marry one of the clan’s daughters. There was a handful of young clanswomen who had tried to catch the laird’s eye and they are in a snit now. I hear ye’ve met Meriel. Vicious tongues have wagged about it all day.”

  “Jock, don’t.”

  “Cael, she needs to know. I’ll warn ye now, watch out for Eavan too.”

  “Who is Eavan?” Mairead asked.

  “She is the brewer’s daughter and a chamber maid at the keep.”

  “Not even a very good one,” added Cael.

  “I’ll not lie, she is stunning to look at, but that is where her beauty stops. She thought copper curls, violet eyes, and generous curves would be sufficient to win the laird. She is brazen.”

  Mairead looked down, not sure of what to say. Jock went on, “But here’s the important part, my lady, the laird has known every one of the eligible young women in this clan his whole life. Even with ample opportunity, he never showed the slightest inclination toward taking one of them as his wife. He has known ye for days and by the saints, I’m telling ye, he more than cares for ye. He loves ye, and don’t doubt that.”

  Mairead studied her hands for a moment. She fervently hoped Jock was right about Tadhg loving her. “Jock, thank ye for telling me about the—the resentment. It did hurt, and I didn’t understand it.”

  “When the laird hears this he’ll—”

  “Nay, Cael, please, must ye take this straight to the laird? He can’t force people to change what is in their hearts. Can ye give me the chance to win them myself?”

  “My lady, I knew there were a few members of the clan who were not happy about the marriage. It would have been hard not to hear the grumbling. And I suppose it would be too much to expect there wouldn’t be gossip about last night. But I didn’t know it was so widespread. The way the villagers behaved this afternoon was shameful. The laird would not thank me for keeping this from him.”

  “And what can ye tell the laird about the villagers? They weren’t particularly friendly, but no one did or said anything that could be considered disrespectful. Cael, he can’t force the clan to change their minds about me. I have to be the one to do that.”

  “My lady, the laird will ask me questions about today, and I won’t lie—I will answer his questions honestly.”

  “I understand, and I wouldn’t ask ye to lie,” she said quietly.

  “But I guess I don’t have to offer details if he doesn’t ask.”

  “That is fair enough.”

  Breaking the somber mood, Jock said, “Now, my lady, can ye tell me why ye were rumored to be a mouse? Ye seem pretty tenacious to me.”

  “Sweet Mother of God.” Cael put his head in his hands.

  Mairead laughed. “I have always been
more reserved than the rest of my family, but I was nicknamed ‘MacKenzie’s Mouse’ because all of my brothers and sisters are tall and extremely attractive. I was always so small and plain by comparison.”

  “My lady, I’ll grant ye the MacKenzies are a handsome lot, but on the day of yer wedding, I thought ye were the most beautiful bride I had ever seen, and I had three daughters of my own, God rest their souls. Of course maybe it is because I am such a hulking giant myself,” he said, giving her a wink, “but I have always been partial to wee lassies.”

  Mairead laughed, putting the distressing news about why the clan seemed to dislike her so behind her for a bit. They continued to chat for a while until Cael said, “My lady, it is getting late. It will be time for supper soon.”

  She rose and bid Jock farewell, promising to visit again soon. As they walked to the keep, Mairead thought about the things Jock had told her again. “Cael, can I ask ye a question?”

  “Aye, my lady. I will answer if I can.”

  “Tell me, does Oren have a daughter?”

  “Aye,” said Cael wearily. “Caitlin is a lovely lass and very sweet.”

  “That explains things a bit,” she said.

  “Frankly, I don’t think she ever had designs on the laird. Her mother is the bigger problem,” said Cael, without explaining more. “But ye did seem to puff Oren up at dinner.”

  “Ye see, there is hope.”

  ~ * ~

  That evening Mairead was acutely aware of the aloof politeness she had ignored for days. She endeavored to meet the coolness with as much warmth and grace as possible. Maybe persistent kindness would break down the invisible barriers.

  She had enjoyed each visit immensely, and she answered Tadhg’s questions readily.

  “Dolan asked ye to sing for him?” Tadhg sounded shocked. “I’ve known Dolan my whole life and he can go for months without a word to anyone. He gives ‘taciturn’ a whole new meaning. It was very sweet of ye to tidy up for him.”

  “It was the least I could do. Cael had it much worse when we visited Eilis. She chivied him from the cottage to chop wood.”

  Tadhg laughed. “That was probably so she could talk to ye alone.”

  “Aye, she wanted to hear every detail of the wedding.”

  Tadhg did not seem remotely surprised to hear they spent most of the afternoon with Jock. “Jock loves to have fresh ears to hear his stories.”

  “He has plenty of stories. He reminds me in some ways of my grandfather. Every chair my grandfather ever sat in was surrounded by wood chips.” Mairead signed and glanced wistfully around the hall.

  “Are ye missing yer family, sweetling?”

  Her throat constricted uncomfortably. “A little.” However, in truth, she had never experienced the kind of loneliness that she occasionally had over the last two days.

  He reached out and caressed her cheek. She leaned into his hand, taking comfort from his touch. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon.” Maybe if she said it enough she would be able to convince herself of it. However, even as the words left her mouth she didn’t believe them. She didn’t think she would ever get used to it. She had spent her life surrounded by people who loved her and for the most part the Mathesons didn’t even try to hide the fact that they disliked and resented her. Her mother taught her every detail of how to seamlessly run a castle, but she had no idea how to win over her new clansmen and women.

  “I thought maybe I would feel better after a chat with yer squire but he is dining elsewhere.” She glanced around the hall again but said no more. She wasn’t sure why Flan wasn’t sitting at the laird’s table, but she didn’t want to interfere if this had been Tadhg’s choice.

  “I thought it odd when he chose to sit elsewhere, too. Perhaps my comment to him the other day about being his laird as well as his brother-in-law made him think he shouldn’t. I will find out tomorrow.”

  Mairead was glad to hear Tadhg hadn’t banned Flan from their table.

  Before they left the hall for the evening, Elspet sought Mairead out to tell her Oren had found her harp. It had been uncrated and placed in her solar.

  When they reached their chambers, Mairead wanted to see the harp and play it for just a few minutes, but Tadhg pulled her gently to the bedroom. “I want to talk with ye first.” He put his arms around her and kissed her soundly.

  “Laird, it is difficult to talk if my lips are busy doing something else,” she said with mock severity when he broke the kiss.

  “Well, then, we had better get the talking out of the way so yer lips can get back to the more important business at hand.”

  “Was there something specific ye wanted to talk about?”

  Still holding her in his arms, he looked at her seriously. “Aye, Mairead, and I think ye know what it is.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.” Had Cael told him about the conversation with Jock?

  “Do ye not? Care to tell me what happened this morning?”

  “This morning?” This definitely had nothing to do with Jock. “What do ye want me to tell ye?”

  Tadhg considered her for a moment. “Oren sought me out, clearly angry about yer request to see the books.”

  “I’m sorry. I told him I had yer support, but he just wanted to confirm it.”

  “Mairead, I’m not angry, just puzzled. Ye knew he was going to be angry at breakfast. Ye were worried about ‘overstepping bounds’ and ‘causing offense.’ I assured ye that ye wouldn’t cause any offense, and I was barely out of the keep when my normally unruffled steward tracked me down looking like an angry rooster. How did ye know it was going to happen? I was supremely confident Oren would accept yer orders as if they were my own and yet ye seemed to know he wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t know—well, not for sure.”

  “Mairead, I don’t believe ye. Ye expected to meet resistance. Why didn’t ye tell me?”

  Mairead sighed. “It is really nothing. I had tried to speak to him for two days and thought he might be avoiding me. Even ye said it was unusual for him to be ill.” She still chose to leave the more damning details unsaid. “I know having a mistress here after so many years is a big change. I was worried, that is all. Once I was sure there was absolutely no question about my role, I was able to do what I needed to do.”

  “I see.” Tadhg chuckled. “Now can ye tell me what happened at the noon meal?”

  Mairead smiled up at him. “I knew his pride was injured this morning and I wanted to repair it a little.”

  “His pride was injured because he challenged ye, which he should not have done.”

  “I know, but he learned I do act with yer authority, and I am confident he won’t challenge me again. Besides, what I said was true. The system he uses is excellent. I just thought praising his work in front of others would undo a bit of the damage.”

  “I am impressed, Mairead. Ye are firm but have a tender heart. Still, if ye are having trouble, I don’t want ye to hide it from me. Now, I believe yer lips were interrupted moments ago, and it would be unfair to make them wait any longer.”

  He kissed her deeply again and all thoughts of playing her harp that evening fled.

  Chapter 11

  Mairead did not have the opportunity to play her harp for a while. After Jock’s revelations regarding the chilly reception she had received from the clan, Mairead knew she needed to win their respect and doing so was going to require more than just quietly running the household. She had no doubt she truly loved her husband and felt loved in return. She needed to do this for him. She wanted to win the hearts of his clan. Mairead, ye will just have to work harder. She had to make herself more visible, and retreating to her solar alone would not help her accomplish that.

  As planned, she met briefly with Oren the next morning to review inventories and discuss the household’s needs. Although, after her attempts to soothe his ego yesterday, he had softened a little, he was still far from friendly. She checked the previous day’s entries while he sat somewhat stiffly beside her. Sh
e glanced at him surreptitiously, noting his rigid disapproval. Yes, Oren was as good a place to start as any. “Hmmm. We appear to be running a bit low on candles.”

  “Yes. Many were used during the wedding.” His tone clearly suggested he believed too many were used.

  “Aye, I can see that. There were an awful lot of guests—more than I ever imagined. I was surprised really, but the laird told me he felt it was important to invite his many allies. I can only believe he was right. We wouldn’t have wanted to insult anyone.”

  Oren’s face reddened a little. “Aye, I suppose that is true. It wouldn’t do to cause offense.”

  “And, ye and Elspet did a wonderful job making everyone feel welcome. Inviting lots of guests is one thing, catering well to them takes skill and an eye to detail. Still, we will need to replenish our stores, don’t ye think?”

  “Oh, aye. As a matter of fact, I was planning to pay a visit to the chandler today.”

  “Were ye?”

  “Aye. We also need to replenish stores of salted meat, flour, ale, and wine.”

  “Perhaps ye would let me go with ye so I can learn more about the clan?”

  “I suppose ye can if ye’d like to.”

  The offer was made somewhat grudgingly, and she had the feeling she was the last person Oren wanted trailing after him. Still it was exactly what she wanted to do. “That would be wonderful. I truly appreciate it, ye are very kind.”

  She supposed after having called him “very kind” it must have encouraged him to rise to her positive assessment. As she went with him to meet the various craftspeople, she couldn’t actually say he was particularly warm, but he no longer treated her with the antagonism he had originally. She also found when she was with Oren, the clansmen and women generally regarded her with a bit more warmth and less hostility.

  In truth, over the next few weeks she believed Oren himself was developing a grudging respect for her abilities. Although pleased she seemed to be making some small headway with him, the lack of open hostility from the rest of the clan was a far cry from warmth or kinship. She still felt very much alone. She rarely had the opportunity to speak to Flan during the day and, while he did take his meals at the laird’s table again, he seemed preoccupied and was unusually quiet. He generally disappeared soon after meals were over.