“I’m sure a mother knows if her daughter is putting in the required effort.”
“Nay, Caitlin is a sweet, hardworking lass.” Oren sounded slightly indignant. “I think she tries her best, but perhaps it is like making crust for tarts? Some people have the knack and others don’t, and it is hard to enjoy doing something when ye find it so frustrating.”
“That is true. I suppose she has no other skill?”
“What gave ye such an idea? Didn’t I just say Caitlin tries to cook?”
“Now a good cook, such as Ide, is like a rare jewel, but ye said yer wife doesn’t cook much. Caitlin couldn’t really be expected to be very skilled in the kitchen with no one to teach her. It’s a shame, really. She might have a knack for cooking.”
“Aye, it is a shame.” Oren rubbed his chin and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Her mother wants her to learn to weave, but ye are right about a good cook being indispensable.”
“But I don’t suppose Ide has time to teach her.”
“Of course Ide would teach her if I asked her to. Ide knows what a good lass Caitlin is, and she would be lucky to have her.”
“Well, it seems to me ye have found the solution yerself.”
“Nay, I don’t think Shea would like the idea.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I certainly wouldn’t try to force my will on a man, but I suppose ye know what’s best in yer own home.” Mairead smiled sweetly.
“That I do, and I think it would be best for Caitlin to learn cooking skills from Ide,” he said with firm resolve. “Excuse me, my lady, I am going to discuss this with Ide now.”
“I think ye might have a very good idea there.” Mairead had to escape the great hall before she exploded with laughter.
Chapter 12
Flush with her victory, Mairead smiled to herself as she wrapped her plaid around her head and made her way to the village to discuss the possibility of Meriel learning to weave from Pol’s wife, Mae. As she walked she took stock of “the rest of her life,” which began a little over a month ago. The first few days had been a challenge but so much had changed since then. She believed the clan was finally beginning to accept her. Now Christmas was just over a week away, and the preparations were well started. She was pleased with what she had accomplished. When she arrived at the cottage where Pol’s family lived, Mae welcomed her warmly.
“My lady, please come in and sit by the fire. It is a bitter cold day.”
“Aye, it is. The air smells like snow. I hope I am not interrupting ye. If I am, I would be happy to come back another time.”
“Ye are always welcome here. I love to have an excuse for a wee break in the afternoon.”
“Well, I don’t want to take up too much of yer time but I have a question for ye. Would ye consider training Meriel as a weaver?”
Mae couldn’t have looked more shocked if she had been asked to teach the sheep to weave their own wool. “Meriel? David’s daughter, Meriel? Are ye sure?”
Mairead went on undaunted, “I understand her mother was a weaver and ye were friends?”
“Aye, my lady, we were good friends. I still miss her.”
“Meriel remembers being fascinated watching her mother work. She would like to learn.”
“Aye, her mother was an excellent weaver. But, my lady, ye know full well the laird sent Meriel to work in the kitchens.”
“She hates it there.”
“She brought it on herself.”
“I know, but she made a mistake, and she is sorry for it. I’ve discussed this with the laird and he will allow her to work with ye if ye are willing.” Mae looked unconvinced, and Mairead continued to present her case. “Sometimes young women do stupid things. I know I have made my share of mistakes.”
“Oh, I can tell ye were quite the trouble maker,” Mae teased.
Mairead laughed. “None of us is perfect, but some of us have been blessed with loving women to teach us.”
“Ye may be right, but honestly, Meriel has always managed to create problems. Ye only witnessed the most recent one.”
“Maybe she just needs a strong woman to help guide her a bit. Ye said her mother was yer dear friend. Would ye consider doing it for her?”
Mae sighed and shook her head in resignation. “It might be a mistake, but aye, I’ll take her on. Her mother would have wanted it. Mind ye, if she doesn’t put her full effort into it, I won’t keep her.”
“I wouldn’t expect ye to, but I think she may surprise ye.”
~ * ~
The afternoon light was fading as Mairead made her way back to the keep. Clouds were gathering, and it was growing colder. She already missed Tadhg, and she didn’t look forward to spending the evening alone. Chilled by the time she returned to the keep, she retreated to the warmth of her solar for the first time in weeks, hoping to take some solace from her music.
Her harp stood like an old friend waiting for her by the hearth. She lit several candles and sat by the harp, pulling it toward her to rest it on her shoulder. She hoped to lose herself in its delicate melodies. As she began to tune the strings, the candlelight illuminated the soundboard into which the strings were anchored. There was a dark mark, or indentation of some kind, on the sounding board. Standing the harp upright again, she knelt beside it with a candle to inspect it more closely. It looked as if the edge had been struck by something hard, creating a dent and a small crack along the grain of the wood. The flaw wasn’t terrible—the instrument could still be played. Perhaps one of the craftsmen at Cnocreidh could repair the surface damage. Still, Mairead couldn’t understand what would have caused this damage to the harp. It was as if someone had struck it with something deliberately.
As she was checking the harp over to make sure there was no other damage, the sounds of muffled crying came from the hall, followed immediately by a nearby door slamming. Someone was clearly upset. She went through the antechamber and stepped into the hall trying to determine the source of the sounds. To her surprise, the sound came from Flan’s room. She knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She entered anyway to find her brother sobbing face down on his bed.
She rushed to him and knelt next the bed. “Oh Flan, what is wrong? Why are ye crying?”
“I’m sorry, Mairead, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.
“Flan, what has happened?”
“Mairead, we don’t belong here. I’m so sorry. Can we just go home? Please, Mairead?”
“I have never seen ye like this. Calm down now and tell me what has ye so upset.”
“Mairead, the Mathesons are hateful. I can take it if I have to, but they say ugly things about ye behind yer back and ye shouldn’t have to stay here among them.”
“Flan, don’t say that. Maybe a few of them—”
“No, Mairead, ye don’t understand.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
When he was able to stop crying, he sat up. Mairead moved to sit beside him on the bed. His lip was swollen, and his face bruised. “Flan, what’s this? Were ye fighting?”
“Aye.” He wiped the tears from his face with the heels of his hands.
“Flan, why?”
“I was helping Heck in the stable because the laird is away. Some of the older lads came in and were saying mean things. They said there were more deserving Matheson lads who should have been the laird’s squire and then they said there were better Matheson lasses who should have been the laird’s wife. I tried to ignore them and just do my work. But then Tully said terrible things about ye just because of the story about ye.”
“What story, Flan?”
“Ye know. The night when—well, when—ye know, when Meriel said ye had no clothes on. Well, I got mad. I knocked Tully to the ground and hit him, but the others pulled me off and held me while Tully hit me.”
“Oh, Flan, ye were fighting because of me? Are ye hurt?”
“Not too much. Heck stopped them before Tully got more than a punch or two in. They said they were just teaching me a lesson bu
t Heck asked them why it took three braw young warriors to teach a sapling squire a lesson. And he told them to get out. Mairead, I’m sorry I ever asked Laird Matheson to marry ye. This is all my fault.”
“Don’t say such a thing, Flan. I’m sorry ye are hurting, pet, but I am not sorry I married Laird Matheson. He is a good husband, and it will just take time to get to know the rest of the Mathesons better. I won’t lie to ye, it hasn’t been easy for me, either. But all of the Mathesons are not unkind.”
“A lot of them are.” Flan wore a sullen expression.
“Flan, tell me, do ye want to be a great warrior?”
“Aye, I do.”
“Do ye think Laird Matheson can help ye become one?”
“Aye,” he agreed grudgingly.
“Then ye will do what it takes to stay here and become a great warrior. Ye are Flan MacKenzie and ye won’t let some ugliness spouted by a few of the Mathesons stop ye.”
“But what about ye, Mairead? Someday I can go home. Ye have to stay here with this nasty lot.”
Home. Mairead’s heart caught at the thought of it, but she said, “I am home, Flan. I have been learning to make it work. Ye don’t need to fight my battles.”
“But Mairead—”
“No more, Flan. We can do this. I am not a mouse and neither are ye.”
He put his arms around her. “Aye, Mairead.”
She returned his hug. “Good. We will go down to supper together in a bit.”
He sniffed loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t want to go down for supper tonight. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“Flan, ye can’t hide here. Wear yer battle scars with pride. After all, ye won them defending yer lady. Ye might want to wash yer face and clean yerself up a bit, though.” He nodded. Before she left the chamber she said, “after supper come to my solar. I will play my harp and ye can tell me some of Da’s old stories like we used to do at Carraigile.”
After supper, Mairead spent the evening with Flan as planned. She played her harp and her recorder, allowing the music to work its magic on them, raising their spirits. Well after midnight, Mairead finally overrode Flan’s pleas for more, chivvying him to bed. As she was putting the instruments away, Flan pointed to the damage on the base of the harp.
“Mairead, how did that happen?”
“I’m not sure. It must been damaged during the move,” she answered, although she didn’t quite believe it herself.
Flan knelt beside it, looking at the damage more closely. “I don’t see how this could have happened in the move.”
“Well, it did, and I’m sure it can be fixed. I think yer concern over my harp is another ruse to stay up. Go on, now.” She ushered him out of the solar. “The sun will rise too quickly for both of us as it is.”
~ * ~
The following afternoon, the rushes were being changed in the great hall in preparation for Christmas. Mairead and Oren sat in the steward’s study discussing the final preparations that needed to be made for the upcoming feasts when Finola tapped at the door. “My lady, our priest, Father Keenan, has returned.”
“Splendid. Thank ye, Finola. Please ask him to wait in the great hall, and I will be right down.”
“Certainly, my lady.” Finola started to leave, and Mairead stopped her. “Finola, after ye have done that, would ye see that someone stokes the fire in my solar? ’Tis a bitter cold day and I have some work to do.”
“Aye, my lady, I’ll see to it.” Finola turned and left. When Mairead turned her attention back to Oren, his brow was furrowed. “Is something amiss?”
“Nay, my lady. We can finish these plans later. Ye go meet Father Keenan. It is good that we will have our priest back for Christmas.”
When she reached the great hall, she was surprised to see two priests waiting by one of the hearths. She approached them. “Good afternoon, Fathers. I am Lady Matheson.”
The plump and bookish priest gave a small bow. “My lady, it is a pleasure to meet ye. I am Father Keenan.” He gestured to the other priest. “I would like ye to meet Father Mungo, another priest in my order.” They exchanged pleasantries before Father Keenan said, “I am so sorry I couldn’t be here for the wedding.”
“Ye need not apologize, yer family needed ye and I’m glad ye were able to go. How fares yer father?”
“Alas, my lady, he passed away but I am grateful I was there. My mother is old and very frail as well. This has been quite a strain on her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“In fact, I have asked my superiors for an assignment closer to home, so I can be nearer to her. This is why Father Mungo has joined me. He will take my place here. I returned to gather my possessions and say farewells.”
“I’m sorry we’ll be losing ye, but I’m sure it is a blessing for yer mother to have ye near. Father Mungo, ye are most welcome. At least I won’t be the only new addition to Cnocreidh anymore.”
“Aye, we’ll forge our way together, my lady.” He smiled warmly.
“If ye will excuse us, my lady, I would like to show Father Mungo the chapel and the chapel garden, while there is still daylight.”
“Would ye mind if I joined ye? I would like to see the garden, too.”
Father Keenan flushed a little. “I suppose ye could join us. Certainly, I’d love to show ye my garden.”
“That is a splendid idea, and it would give us a chance to get to know one another a bit, as well,” said Father Mungo.
They chatted as they walked. Mairead immediately liked both priests but while Father Keenan seemed introverted and scholarly, Father Mungo was outgoing and affable. She was secretly glad he would be the one staying. Although most of the tender vegetation in the chapel garden had succumbed to the cold December weather, Father Keenan showed both of them where he dried and stored his harvest. They talked for quite a long time, longer than Mairead had intended. “Pardon me, Fathers, the time has gotten away from me and the afternoon grows late. I must get back to the keep now, but please join us at the laird’s table tonight.” They agreed, and she hurried to the keep through the deepening afternoon gloom.
Elspet approached her as soon as she entered the hall. “My lady, the watch has spotted the laird’s party approaching.”
The day had been damp and cold with ever thickening clouds and snow flurries suggesting a storm was on the way. “Thank ye, Elspet. It has been a raw day to be traveling. Would ye make sure some mulled wine and a hot bath are sent up before the laird arrives?”
“Of course, my lady.”
The last servant was leaving their chamber when Tadhg entered. He grinned and pulled Mairead into his arms. “I didn’t think there could be a more welcome sight after a long day of travel than a warm drink and a hot bath, but my sweet little wife, ye are.”
“Well, husband, I will still be here after that bath grows cold, so I suggest ye take advantage of it first.” Mairead laughed as she unfastened his plaid and began undressing him.
He captured her lips in a kiss, but allowed her to remove his clothes while he kissed her. Finally she broke the kiss when she pulled his tunic over his head. Reluctantly he climbed into the bath but groaned as the warmth penetrated his cold limbs.
When he had finished bathing and was dried and dressed, he pulled her close and nuzzled her neck, breathing her scent in deeply. “I missed ye, my love.”
She smiled coyly. “I missed ye, too.”
“What has happened while I was gone? How did Oren take yer suggestion about letting Caitlin work with Ide in the kitchens?”
“I didn’t actually make the suggestion.”
“Really?” He arched an eyebrow at her. “I had hoped it would work out. I can speak to him if ye wish.” He sounded a bit disappointed.
She grinned. “I didn’t have to make the suggestion. I just helped Oren think of it himself.”
“Ye are jesting. Shea has always looked down her nose at the idea of Caitlin working in the kitchens.”
“I sus
pect Oren knows his daughter has been unhappy and just needed the opportunity to act.”
“Well done, Mairead.” Mairead blushed at his praise.
“Is there any other news?”
“Aye, but supper will be served soon. I’ll tell ye on the way down.”
He reached for her hand, pulling her back into his arms. “I think we should forego supper in the great hall. I want to spend the evening alone with my charming, clever wife.”
“As much as I would like to stay here with ye, we can’t.”
“I’m the laird. We can if I say we can.”
“Well, Laird, we have this one little problem. I told ye there was more news. Father Keenan returned today.”
“Father Keenan won’t mind. I will welcome him home tomorrow.”
“He might not normally mind, but he will be leaving us tomorrow. His father died and he asked his superiors to assign him to a position closer to his home. Father Mungo, another priest in his order, accompanied him and will be staying on in his place. I invited them to dine at our table.”
Tadhg sighed heavily. “Ye are right. I can’t let Father Keenan go without a farewell.” They descended to the great hall. At the outset of the meal Tadhg’s attention was on Father Keenan and Father Mungo. During a lull in the conversation, he looked around the table and his eyes rested on his squire’s bruised face. Leaning close to Mairead, Tadhg asked, “Was Flan in a fight?”
“Aye.” Mairead nodded but said no more.
“Do ye know what happened?”
“Generally.” Again she offered no details or explanation.
Tadhg’s brow furrowed and his voice contained more than a hint of frustration. “Were ye going to tell me about it?”
“Nay.”
Tadhg arched an eyebrow at her questioningly.
Mairead sighed. “Ye are his laird and I think it isn’t always easy to be both the laird’s squire and my brother. If ye wish to ask him about the fight it is yer right.”
“Mairead, I’m yer laird too and I am asking ye about it.”
Before she could respond the resounding crack of breaking wood rent the air. Looking toward the sound, Mairead watched as one of Tadhg’s men retrieved something he had stepped on from under the rushes. She gasped when she recognized the crushed remains of her recorder in the large man’s hands. Marshaling her emotions, she made her way to the stunned warrior.
Forgiving Hearts: Duncurra 1-3 Page 36
