by Alisa Adams
“Which was what?” Godet asked.
“Yes, what did ye say?” Ceena asked with an avid grin on her face.
“Ceena, ye are not helping,” Godet admonished her, then turned back to Ina. “What did ye say?”
“I said she was a violent, deranged, arsehole whose head is full of nonsense.” Ina looked over at the red-haired woman with her breasts spilling out, coming their way.
“Oh, oh m…” Godet whispered and tried to cover her mouth as she stifled a laugh.
Ceena did not try to stop the short laugh that burst out of her mouth just as Brigda walked up to them. “Good morning, Lady Brigda,” Ceena said gaily to her. “We were just discussing the old Scots language. Dae ye ken any of it?”
“I don’t even know what ye mean by ‘ken’,” she said snidely.
“Ah, well, Lady Ina was saying how lovely ye look today in yer riding dress and all. She said ye look like a tolla-thon lady,” Ceena said sweetly.
Brigda preened, touching her hand to her hair and then her riding dress. “Thank ye, this dress is beautiful. It costs more than a year of wages for the servants here at the castle. I definitely feel like a tolla-thon in it,” she agreed as she preened.
Ina had to turn her head away and cover her laugh with a cough. Tristan caught up with them just then and Brigda immediately preened for him as well.
“Good morning Tristan,” she greeted in a flirtatious tone. “The girls just said I look like a tolla-thon this morning.” She twirled in her dress for him. “That was quite sweet of the poor dears wasn’t it? After all, I’m quite sure they can’t afford to dress as I can, so they were admiring my riding dress.”
Tristan’s mouth was open in shock. “The girls said that? To ye?” he exclaimed, looking at the three sisters who stared back at him so innocently.
“Lady Ina did, Lady Ceena told me what it meant,” Brigda explained, patting her skirts.
“Oh, she did, did she?” he said and looked at Ceena with a raised eyebrow.
Ceena batted her eyelashes back at him.
“Lady Ceena, tell me what ye told her it means,” Tristan said firmly to her.
“I told her it means lovely,” Ceena replied simply.
“Ah.” Tristan shook his head. “One of its many meanings I suppose.”
“I suppose.” Ceena shrugged her shoulders and followed Godet who was walking rapidly on to the stables.
Ina looked at Tristan with a mischievous grin and walked past him. Brigda followed the girls, smoothing her hair and giving Tristan a suggestive look. He couldn’t help it. He shuddered. Brigda may have been beautiful, but it was clear from her actions that she was not a nice person. He thought that his brother was starting to realize the truth of Brigda with the sisters here as Brigda could not seem to hide her true self around the girls.
Tristan saw Gordon coming toward him and waited for him instead of following the woman into the stable. Gordon saw the look on his face and stopped. “What is it?” Gordon looked toward the stables, seeing the sisters walking inside. “What have they done?”
“I will forewarn ye that yer bride-to-be feels that she looks like a tolla-thon this morning,” he explained and waited for his brother’s response.
“I don’t understand. She thinks she looks like an arsehole? She cannae even know what tolla-thon means,” Gordon said. “Has she been talking to Aunt Hextilda? I’ll have to have a talk with her about her language. As her Laird, she needs to be careful, not everyone is unaware of the old Scots words. Tolla-thon means arsehole.”
“I am aware of what it means. But no… ‘twas Ina, the little angel. Ceena explained to Brigda that it means to look lovely.”
Gordon groaned loudly. “They are minxes these sisters.”
“Brigda has been insulting them daily, brother, can ye blame Ina?”
Gordon just looked at his brother, shook his head and went into the stables.
Brigda could not hide her surprise at the giant horses belonging to the sisters. She was riding astride a smaller, gentler mare and had to look up at the girls. This did not please her at all. Gordon’s horse was large as well, as was Tristan’s. She appeared to feel insulted that they were allowed to ride a taller horse than she. She complained to them that they should switch to a horse that was smaller so that she would not have to look up at them. She stated that their superior height was offensive to one such as herself with her status as the future wife of the Laird. She was ignored by all of them as they rode ahead of her. It was the only way to block out her whining and sniping at the sisters. Gordon, in particular, had a disgusted look on his face.
Tristan laughed at him. “It’s going to be one tolla-thon day!”
The girls laughed merrily and even Brigda joined in which made Tristan laugh even harder. “Tristan,” Gordon called back to him. “Wipe that tolla-thon grin off yer face or I’ll dae it for ye, dae ye ken, brother?”
“Oh, aye, brother, I dae, I dae!” teased Tristan.
“As yer Laird, I am warning ye, Tristan,” growled Gordon.
Tristan became quiet at that. “Aye, Laird MacDonell. I understand.”
Tristan looked over at Ceena who winked at him. He just shook his head and smiled ruefully. His brother was in quite the predicament. He looked over at Godet who was studying the land all around them.
“’Tis braw land isn’t it, Lady Godet?” he said quietly to her.
“Aye, Tristan, it surely is,” she told him reverently. “But there’s no need to address me or my sisters as ‘lady’. We’ve known each other since children after all,” she said with a smile.
Godet looked around at the rolling craggy hills. There was gorse and heather and bluebells covering any open surface except for here and there on flatter pieces of land where there were great expanses of crops growing in fields. As they climbed the rise of a hill, she looked down onto a picturesquely wild loch that had a waterfall spilling into it from a rocky peak further above them. She looked up and breathed in deeply, taking in the aroma of the flowers, the loch with trees meandering down to its’ edge.
“This is such a waste Gordon,” Godet heard Brigda say. “Ye should have sheep here like they are doing in the lowlands. Ye could make a fortune off of all this land.”
Godet turned sharply to look at her at that statement. “Ye cannae mean that Brigda!” she exclaimed. “That would mean Gordon, erm, Laird MacDonell would have to turn his crofters out of their homes!”
“He wouldn’t need crofters if he had sheep to turn a profit,” Brigda said with a shrug.
Gordon was watching the two women. “Why dae I need to make more money than I already am Brigda?” he asked. He spoke in a low voice, there was a warning there, but Brigda seemed to have missed it.
Ina spoke up. “I imagine it is because, as she told us this morning, her dress costs more than all yer crofters salaries,” Ina said boldly, “I imagine a tolla-thon needs many dresses, don’t ye, Laird MacDonell?”
Gordon’s eyes became steely green slits as he looked at Ina. “Ina,” he said in a warning tone.
“Oh, but she is correct, Gordon! I need many dresses as a Laird’s wife it is necessary. Ye wouldn’t want my father to see me dressed poorly. As if ye couldn’t afford to have me as yer wife,” Brigda crooned.
“Who is yer father?” Godet asked. It did not make sense that Gordon was marrying this vile woman. She was beautiful, but that was all.
“He is Angus MacKenzie, Laird of Clan MacKenzie,” Brigda said proudly.
Godet stifled a groan. MacKenzie was one of the largest clans and bordered MacDonell land. Was it an alliance that Gordon sought? Godet looked at Gordon whose jaw was clenched as he looked over his land from the hill they had stopped on then she looked at Tristan who was frowning at his brother. Godet and Ceena and Ina all stared at one another. It made sense now.
They began to ride back toward the castle. Tristan pointed out the many waterfalls and the names of the lochs they could see in the distance. Godet found herself riding
up ahead, letting Bluebell find his way home while she studied the land.
“Ye are deep in thought,” Gordon said quietly as he rode up beside her.
“Yes,” she answered him just as quietly. “Ye aren’t considering putting sheep on all this are ye?”
“No, the Highlands are not fit for sheep,” he answered her as he looked around.
“Are ye looking for ways to make yer land more profitable?” she asked him carefully.
“Why? Dae ye have some ideas for me lassie?” he asked her with a grin.
“I could think of a few…”
“Really? And ye think I musnae be short o’ money then?”
She looked embarrassed and laughed softly. “I dinnae think it looked like ye did, no,” she replied softly then looked over at him where he rode so close to her that their knees brushed one another’s now and then. “Ye sell yer horses that ye breed and train them? Ye have so many.”
He looked startled at that. “Och, no, they are for my men and for pulling the barrels.”
“The barrels? What does that mean?”
“Malt whiskey, lassie. That is where the money is. Not the sheep,” he explained firmly and grinned.
“Oh. Those crop fields are for the whiskey then?”
“Aye,” he answered. “’Tis barley.”
“And all those outbuildings ye have?”
“For the malting of the barley.”
She looked at him with a question on her face.
“We steep the barley in water to sprout then bake it in a kiln to dry it.”
“Go on,” she encouraged, feeling fascinated.
“Then it is ground and mixed with hot water in mash tuns. That makes the wort which is the basis for the whiskey. Then it goes in the washbacks where we add yeast to ferment.” He paused but continued when she urged him on. “Then it is heated in copper stills—the wash still and the spirit still. The best part, the heart of the run, is collected and poured into oak casks to age…”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “’Tis fascinating. I should like to see all that.” Then she smiled and looked at him with her bright silver eyes. “So, the horses pull the whiskey barrels?”
“Aye, they dae. We transport the barrels in big wagons to England and France as well as to the ports and on to America.”
“Why that is brilliant! I dinnae suppose ye need to be fashed with sheep then at all!”
“Aye. Brigda and her father have no idea how much money I actually have and I would rather it stay that way,” Gordon explained with a frown. “Right now, I can quietly make our whiskey unimpeded. I am adding my voice to passing an act to have whiskey distilleries legal, however, to ensure we are not... interrupted.” He smiled at her after that.
“Hmm, I understand that.” She looked ahead, deep in thought. “I imagine it takes many horses to pull those wagons with all those barrels such a distance.”
“Aye, it certainly does.”
“Have ye considered a stronger, larger breed?”
Gordon looked over at Bluebell with a startled look on his face. Then he smiled at her. “Ye are a canny lass, Godet,” he said softly with a smile. He could not look away from her. She smiled back at him and it held him there, to her, in that moment as they rode across his land.
“Why then?” she whispered, her teeth worrying on her lush bottom lip as she stared at him.
“Why what, lassie?” he asked slow and softly, his voice deepening as his eyes were locked on her lush, full lips.
“Why Brigda?” she said looking at him earnestly.
Gordon grimaced and looked away. Then he looked back at her. “The elders of the clan wish for an alliance. A vote was taken. We need access across the MacKenzie land to get to the large ports on the coasts to transport the barrels. I must dae this for the clan,” he told her curtly. He stared straight ahead now.
“I see,” she said. “Is there no other way then? To get the barrels to the port?”
He looked sharply at her. “I wish there was.” They stared at one another for a long time. Then he said softly, “As Laird, I dae not have the freedom to make my life as I wish at times.”
She nodded her head in understanding. Then she urged Bluebell on ahead, leaving him behind. Gordon let her go, though everything in him wanted to go after her, he could not. He walked his horse on at a sedate pace. Brigda passed him as well, saying she wanted to get back to the castle. Tristan and Ceena and Ina had wandered down to a waterfall.
He heard the first scream moments later. With his heart racing, Gordon kicked his horse, Glashtin, into a gallop. He heard Godet call out and urged his horse on faster, then faster again, hurtling over the uneven, rocky ground at a dangerous speed. He came upon them in a small glen surrounded by dense trees. Godet had Brigda blocked behind her by Bluebell. Brigda could not control her frightened, smaller mare who was rearing and spinning in fear. Godet had her dirk pulled out and was facing three riders. They belonged to Mungan.
Gordon let out a roar that made his horse rear just as he charged the three men. He ran full gallop into them, whipping out his claymore and pointing it at them. “How dare ye trespass on MacDonell land!” he roared in fury at them. “These women are under my protection!”
The leader of the three spoke up. His voice was hostile. “We only want one of them. Laird Mungan demands that ye send one back. The eldest sister is the one he wants. Give her over!” He had a hand on the musket at his waist as he stared at Gordon.
Godet saw the musket and knew that Gordon had naught but his broadsword on him. She could hear Brigda whimpering behind her. One of the men was easing his way to the side. His eyes were intent on Brigda.
“Get off my land now, ye scunner!” roared Gordon again.
“We willnae, not without the woman!”
Brigda screamed again as one of the men reached for her, grabbing her by the arm and trying to pull her onto his horse.
“Let her go!” Godet screamed, “tis me ye want!” Godet quickly threw her dirk, lodging itself in his arm. He let go of Brigda’s arm with a howl of pain. Godet quickly moved Bluebell over to Brigda and told her to get on behind her.
Brigda shook her head fearfully.
“Brigda, ye will be safer on me horse! Take my hand! Now!” she said urgently as she held the mare’s reins, trying to keep her settled. The little mare’s eyes were rolling back in fear at the situation but also at the woman who held the reins and bit too tightly, so painfully in her gentle mouth.
Brigda shook her head again rapidly, her face white with terror as she clutched the saddle and reins of her horse. She turned her mare suddenly, kicked it’s sides violently and galloped off toward the castle. Godet had only a second to realize that Brigda was running away before she had to quickly block the third man from going after Brigda. She rammed Bluebell into him, hard. He fell back in line with the others with a curse at Godet. Then she turned and faced all three of the men threatening Gordon. The leader still held his musket and was pointing it at him. The two other men looked up at Godet with sickening sneers on their faces. The one man she had wounded held his bleeding arm.
“Stay out of our way, MacDonell. We have no quarrel with ye. ‘Tis the woman, that’s all we want.”
“Over my dead body,” growled Gordon.
“My pleasure,” said the man holding the gun. He had a sickening smile on his face as his eyes narrowed at Gordon and he leveled his musket at him.
“Gordon, no!” cried Godet as she saw the man lifting his musket.
She kicked Bluebell forward. The huge horse rammed into the men as she called out, “Up!” The big horse stood up, knocking the leader from his saddle and his musket to the ground.
Gordon jumped off his horse and grabbed the musket and the collar of the leader’s shirt as he yanked him up off the ground. He shoved the musket into his chest.
“Get off my land,” he growled furiously. “If I see another one of ye come on my land or touch my woman it will be the end of ye. She is my woman,
not his. Dae ye ken?” he roared fiercely, his voice was furious, intimidating and threatening.
The man’s face went ashen. “Yer woman is she? Mungan will hear about that,” he spat out.
“Mungan has no right to me,” Godet said angrily, “just as he has no right to be called Laird of Castle Fionnaghall!”
“He is the Laird by all rights!” the man said angrily to her.
Gordon gave him a warning shake where he still held him tightly by his shirt front. “Dae not speak to her. Dae not look at her. She is mine. Niver forget!”
“Ye are asking for war, MacDonell!” the man said through clench teeth.
“With who?” Godet called out. “Ye are no Ross and neither is Mungan. He is a Munroe by birth. He took his last wife’s name of Ross. She was my father’s cousin. He has no right to be called Laird, I tell ye. Ye are all Munroes and ye have taken my home! I’ll not come back as long as he is there!” Godet’s voice was strong, ringing out bravely in the little glen. Her heart was beating furiously as she stared down the three men.
“Is this true?” Gordon shook the man again. “Ye are of the Munroe clan? Mungan changed his name and took his dead wife’s name to gain Fionnaghall and the Ross clan?”
“What does it matter?” the man said angrily.
“Oh, it matters,” Gordon rasped out. “It matters to her, so it matters to me. Mungan Munroe is not by right the laird of Fionnaghall or Clan Ross.” Gordon gave him a last furious shake and dropped him on the ground. “Take that message back to Mungan. Tell him what I, Laird Gordon MacDonell, said. Now, get off my land.”
Gordon turned away from the man, tucked the musket into his belt, and swung up onto his horse. He looked over at Godet and moved Glashtin beside her. They sat on their horses, side by side, and watched the men ride off.
“Ye faced a man with a musket with only a sword,” she said, looking at him with a raised brow and a crooked grin.
“Ye charged yer horse into a man with a musket,” he replied with a rueful grin.
Godet smiled at him and he smiled back, just taking her in. He desperately wanted to touch her. “Should ye have let them go?” Godet asked quietly.
