Kilts Ahoy!

by Markland, Anna

  “I read my father’s journal,” he repeated, “as ye asked me to.”

  “Did I?” she replied, eyes wide.

  He dug his fingernails into his thigh, praying for patience. It wasn’t Moira’s fault she was losing control of her wits. “Aye, ye did,” he assured her, disturbed they’d attracted the stares of everyone in the hall. “I am curious about some of the entries.”

  She patted his hand. “That’s nice, dear.”

  “Perhaps ye could accompany me to the library and we’ll look at them together.”

  She blushed profusely, eyes darting around the hall. “Oh, I canna do that. ’Twould be unseemly to keep company with a handsome Romeo like ye without a chaperone. Besides, I’m too tired after the day I’ve had working out in the fields.”

  Resigned to getting no coherent information out of her, he offered his arm as she stood. “We’ll talk on the morrow.”

  “As ye wish, young mon,” she replied, accepting his gesture.

  She chattered almost without taking a breath all the way to her chamber. Marshall could make no sense of the confused ramblings about the difference between rabbits and hares, but he took heart when she paused before entering her chamber, pecked a kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Goodnight, Marshall.”

  Perpetuating the Lie

  Perplexed, Teagan rode back along the cliffs after her usual morning gallop. Having steeled herself to accept Marshall wouldn’t be watching from Castle Robson, she’d been dumfounded to see him on the battlements. He’d waved as if nothing were amiss, as if he’d not reneged on his commitment the day before. “I dinna understand him,” she admitted to Bo. “Nor why I waved back. Is he toying with me?”

  Trotting by her side, the hound looked at her and woofed without breaking his effortless stride.

  “I ken. Ye think I’m daft. Ye’re right. I canna get Marshall Robson out of my thoughts.”

  Apparently tired of his mistress’ complaints, Bo loped off to cross the bridge before her.

  She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, but the man who filled her thoughts had disappeared. “’Tis a game to him,” she told her horse. “Weel, I’m nay going to play. I dinna intend to go to Wick this afternoon and wait for him like a lovesick ninny.”

  But that would mean no sailing with Seth.

  “I’ll go, but I’ll ignore him if he does come.”

  Exasperated, she dismounted in the forecourt, knowing full well her needy heart wouldn’t listen to her head.

  *

  Trusting his usual wave had conveyed his regrets for having missed his assignation with Teagan, Marshall hurried to the hall in the hopes of finding his aunty.

  “Gone to the library,” a serving woman told him. “Said she’d meet ye there.”

  Hungry as he was, he decided to forego breakfast. There was no telling how long Moira might remain in possession of her wits if, indeed, she’d gone to the library to explain her insistence he read the log.

  He was surprised to find her sitting at his desk, his father’s journal open before her. “Ye read it then?” she asked.

  Offering up a thousand thanks she seemed to be making sense, he nodded. “Aye. I dinna ken what to think of it.”

  “’Tis simple. Elgin’s nay yer father’s son.”

  Marshall’s gut tightened as gooseflesh marched up his spine. He had to step carefully. This outrageous assertion could well be another of Moira’s fancies. “Did he ken this?”

  “Pish,” she exclaimed. “Elgin doesna have the…”

  “Nay,” he interrupted, fearing his brain might explode. “My father. Did he ken?”

  She touched the journal. “From this, it seems he may have suspected, though my sister and I did everything we could to convince him the babe was his.”

  He scratched his scalp. “I dinna understand.”

  Moira narrowed her eyes. “’Twas like this, ye see,” she began as if talking to a bairn. “Just before her marriage to yer father, yer mam was raped by a wretch from our own clan who thought he should have been chosen as her husband.”

  Marshall was tempted to cover his ears and bellow a denial. His heart broke for his sweet mother. He’d always sensed a haunted sadness in her eyes, now he knew the reason. “Tell me who he is so I can kill him.”

  She snorted. “Nay need. Our father took care of that, but we couldna tell Clan Robson. The betrothal contract would have been declared null. The alliance was important and, besides, yer mam was in love with yer sire.”

  Marshall closed his eyes, trying to take in this wild account. He blinked them open again when Moira chuckled.

  “I ne’er could understand what she saw in him, but there ye are. No accounting for what draws a woman to a mon.”

  He feared she’d lapsed into reverie when she gazed off into the distance. “So, ye came with her to perpetuate the lie,” he growled.

  She snapped her attention back to him. “I came to support my heartbroken sister, to help her deal with a pregnancy that could get her killed if yer father discovered the truth. The blame always falls on the woman.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “Who’d have predicted Elgin would turn out to be just like his misbegotten father?”

  Marshall could barely draw breath. “I want to marry Teagan, Aunty Moira. We have to make this right.”

  His heart stopped when she slammed the tome shut, sending dust flying. She shook her head. “Nay. I wanted ye to ken the truth but I promised to keep my sister’s secret and I’ll take it to the grave.”

  Standing alone after she flounced out, he stared at the ledger that had turned his life upside down. He attributed the tears welling in his eyes to the cloud of dust hanging in the still air, but couldn’t stop the trembling that threatened to buckle his knees.

  He suddenly had a better understanding of his father. A lifetime of wondering if his firstborn—the bairn destined to be clan chieftain—was truly his son would drive any man to drink and fits of sullen anger.

  He slumped into the chair his aunt had vacated where he spent the rest of the day pondering what action to take and trying to stop the tremor that had taken control of his right leg.

  Revealing the truth would destroy the high regard his clan had for his mother. They still spoke of her with hushed reverence. His aunty was right. It was a sad fact that women always shouldered the blame for rape.

  If Moira denied his claims, he’d lose the respect of his clan. He and Elgin weren’t close, but they would become enemies if he denounced his half-brother. Some people might believe him, but they wouldn’t cross their laird. The clan might even cast him out if Elgin decreed it. The prospect was unthinkable.

  However, he couldn’t live his life alongside Teagan knowing the man she was married to was a bastard. A powerful urge to tell her he was the rightful chieftain rose up in his throat. But what would that serve if no one else believed him? Would she believe him?

  It had been hard enough to stomach losing Teagan to Elgin when he thought the man was entitled to be laird. “She was always meant to be mine,” he shouted to the rafters.

  He had to do something but, as the evening shadows drew in, he still had no idea what action to take.

  *

  “Ye learn fast,” Seth declared as he took back the tiller from Teagan. “Next time, I’ll let ye bring her right into the dock. Now, see to the sail.”

  She basked in the praise of her first attempt to direct the vessel’s course. “I think I got the feel of it.”

  “Aye, ye did,” he confirmed as the oarsmen brought the birlinn into Wick.

  “Thank ye, Brother,” she said as they disembarked. “I couldna have accomplished so much without yer help.”

  He looked into her eyes. “Weel, if Marshall Robson had shown up, ye’d have learned a lot from him, but it looks like he’s lost interest.”

  She averted her eyes lest he see her deep disappointment. “We get along better without him.”

  “Like I said before, Teagan, ye’re a poor liar. But, sorry to say,
he’s probably accepted ’tis best ye canna be anything but friends.”

  She linked her arm with his, grateful for her sibling’s understanding. “Ye’re very wise, dear brother.”

  “So long as ye think so, dear sister.”

  Taking Tea

  Marshall spent the next fortnight in a haze of indecision. He spoke to people when they spoke to him, though he had little idea of the conversation afterwards. He lost his appetite, seemingly unable to stop grinding his teeth. Sleep proved elusive, his dreams haunted by nightmares of Teagan drowning. Try as he might, he could never save her.

  He tried several times to have a reasonable conversation with his aunty, but she had retreated into a world where she’d finally sipped tea and discovered she liked it, and could Marshall please make sure to bring crates of it back from Scandinavia. His rejoinder that Norwegians didn’t export tea failed to penetrate the fog. She giggled like a bairn each time he told her he loved Teagan MacCray and couldn’t bear to lose her to Elgin. He began to wonder if the story of his mother’s ordeal was a fanciful tale she’d made up.

  He fretted about the vessels that had undertaken the voyage to Norway. On the one hand, he burned to see Elgin safely returned so he could reveal the truth of his parentage. On the other, he dreaded the inevitable repercussions of such a confrontation.

  He forced himself up to the battlements every morning, his torment worsened by Teagan’s failure to appear. Waving was a tenuous, fragile gesture but it was all he had to keep him sane. He didn’t blame her for abandoning the daily pursuit she obviously enjoyed. She could have no notion of the reasons for his absence and had likely resigned herself to preparing for her wedding.

  He rode to Cèis to make sure any trace of his clan’s centuries-long presence there had been removed. This was no time to get into an argument with the Sinclairs.

  Responsibility for setting up his clan’s facilities at Wick required he go there. He’d learned from his crews that Teagan and Seth sailed around Wick Bay every afternoon. He rode to the docks early in the morning and left well before Teagan and her brother were due to arrive. He thirsted to tell her of his dilemma, but loyalty to his clan, and to his mother’s memory, rendered that impossible. She’d no doubt learned he went to Wick and assumed he was avoiding her. Which he was! And so it went, around in never-ending circles.

  *

  The afternoons spent sailing with Seth were a lifeline for Teagan. The rest of her days passed in a blur. Bo followed her everywhere, whimpering as if he sensed her turmoil. “Or is it just ye miss our rides along the cliffs?” she asked, rubbing his ears.

  The daily ritual had lost its appeal. If Marshall was atop the battlements, she couldn’t go on waving knowing he timed his visits to Wick in order to avoid her.

  If he wasn’t watching for her…

  She slogged her way through Master Halkirk’s lessons, regurgitating Latin conjugations and historical facts. He’d have been justified in reprimanding her. His failure to do so led her to believe he was aware of her reluctance to wed Elgin Robson.

  She submitted to the daily fittings of her gown. Janie and Katie oohed and aahed over how wonderful she looked. She agreed the dress was a lovely creation, but it brought her no joy.

  Cooper was apparently having preliminary discussions with the castle’s pastor regarding a ceremony, but she couldn’t bring herself to contribute to the exchange. They left the final arrangements until Beathan returned home. She prayed daily for the safe return of her brothers, though the completion of the voyage meant no further delay of the marriage.

  She lost her appetite and spent too much time wandering the halls without purpose, retreating to her chamber after dissolving into tears for no apparent reason.

  She was drying her eyes one morning when Katie came to inform her she had a visitor. “I’m nay in a fit state to see anybody,” she croaked.

  “She claims to be Laird Elgin’s aunt,” her maid replied. “’Twould be impolite to turn her away.”

  Teagan rolled her eyes. She didn’t really want to entertain the odd woman who’d cut Elgin’s hair. “I can scarcely believe she’s ridden from Castle Robson.”

  “She walked.”

  It seemed there was no choice but to receive the woman who must have been walking since daybreak. “I’ll see her in Beathan’s study.”

  Ten minutes later, having washed her face, Teagan forced her lips into a smile and entered the study. “Lady Moira, if I remember correctly,” she breezed, extending a hand to the woman standing by Beathan’s desk.

  “Aye. Forgive my appearance,” Moira replied, struggling in vain to bring order to her windswept gray locks. “’Twas a longer walk than I anticipated. I’d love a cup of tea.”

  Tea wasn’t a beverage served very often in Castle MacCray, but Teagan supposed some could be rustled up. She sent Katie off to the kitchens, then gestured to one of the upholstered armchairs. “Will ye nay sit down?”

  Moira didn’t hesitate before sitting—in the chair behind Beathan’s desk.

  Clenching her jaw, Teagan reminded herself the woman wasn’t always in possession of her wits. How else to explain she’d chosen to sit in the laird’s chair? Beathan would have a fit.

  There was little choice but to remain standing if they were to have a conversation, though she couldn’t imagine what Moira had come to discuss. “Elgin will be home any day now,” she began, trying to sound happy about her fiancé’s return.

  Moira scanned the bookshelves, clearly searching for something. “Aye.”

  Teagan fidgeted with the lace trim on her sleeves. “I’m sure the voyage has gone weel.”

  Moira frowned, as if perplexed that she wasn’t seeing what she sought on the shelves. “Aye,” she sighed.

  Teagan tried again. “Beathan has long wanted to go to Scandinavia.”

  “Aye. Does yer brother keep his laird’s log faithfully?”

  It was a relief to receive more than a one word reply, but Teagan’s hackles rose. “Of course. He takes the responsibility very seriously.”

  Moira nodded. “As I thought. Just like Marshall.”

  Winged creatures fluttered in Teagan’s belly at the mention of Marshall’s name. She willed away the heat flooding her face. “I suppose.”

  “Marshall’s better than his brother at most things,” came the unexpected reply.

  Teagan eyed her visitor, suspecting she was being tested. But for what purpose? She’d already agreed to marry Elgin the Sot. “I wouldna ken aught about that,” she lied.

  “Is yer gown ready?” Moira asked as a maidservant entered with a teapot and cups.

  “It is,” she replied, watching the maid pour tea into one of the cups.

  “What color did ye choose?”

  “Green,” she replied absently, accepting the cup.

  “Marshall’s favorite color,” Moira cackled, slapping her thigh.

  Totally at a loss to understand where the peculiar conversation was headed, Teagan offered Moira the cup of tea.

  “Tea?” she exclaimed, recoiling as if she’d been offered a hissing snake. “Nay. Hate the stuff. Funny, do ye nay think? Tea’s a drink, and yer name’s Teagan.”

  Before Teagan could recover from her bemusement, Moira asked, “Do ye nay have something a wee bit stronger? ’Tis a long walk back.”

  It was too much. “I’m afraid the best I can offer this early in the day is a tankard of watered ale.”

  Moira rose. “I suppose ’twill have to suffice.” She nodded to Katie. “I’ll go to the kitchens with this lass and help myself.”

  Teagan weighed the merits of allowing Moira to wander the halls of Castle MacCray, but Katie had a good head on her shoulders. The prospect of spending another minute with the strange woman was too upsetting. “As ye wish. I’ll arrange for ye to be taken home.”

  “Nay,” Moira replied. “I prefer to walk. ’Tisna far. I’m glad we had this chance to get better acquainted.”

  To Teagan’s amazement, Moira hugged her t
ightly before taking her leave with Katie.

  Lost At Sea

  Satisfied the storage sheds were finally complete after a fortnight of hard work, Marshall was about to leave Wick when Ethan MacCray’s birlinn was sighted entering the bay.

  Excited men from both clans hurried to the docks to welcome the crew home from Scandinavia. Marshall was anxious to hear about the voyage, though it was a blow to his pride that the smaller birlinn had arrived back before his own.

  Ethan and Lachlan were fussed over like conquering heroes by their fellow clansmen and Marshall wasn’t surprised they lapped up the backslapping. It struck him the twins looked more mature, certainly redder in the face. “The wind on the North Sea will do that,” he muttered, jealous he’d been prevented from going to Norway.

  He shook hands with Brosnan as the crewman disembarked. “Congratulations,” he said. “First home.”

  “Aye. The MacCray lads are good mariners,” he declared before lowering his voice. “If a tad full of themselves.”

  Marshall chuckled. “And the trading?”

  Brosnan nodded. “Good. The MacCray laird is a canny negotiator. Did ye ken he speaks Norse? Enough to get by anyway.”

  Brosnan wouldn’t voice direct criticism of his laird, but Marshall suspected Elgin hadn’t been of much use in the bargaining. He scanned the horizon. “Speaking of our birlinn, are they close behind?”

  His clansman’s frown wasn’t reassuring. “Dinna rightly ken. We had to sail further south than planned to avoid a storm in the Skagerrak. I tried to communicate our new course to Laird Elgin, but…”

  Marshall’s gut tightened. “Did they nay follow ye?”

  Brosnan studied his boots. “That’s the thing, ye ken. We encountered a fog bank that stretched for miles, and we had to resort to rowing, so…”

  “Ye dinna ken if they followed ye or nay?”

  “We stopped to wait for them to catch up, but…”

  “So, ye dinna have any idea where they are?”