There was, Penny found, a strange sort of pleasure to be had in barring him from her room. For the first two nights, she was drunk on it. She’d ordered him not to come the first night. She’d locked the door the second. He’d tried it. Once.
She could practically feel his outraged pride through the heavy wood and she’d gloried in it. She didn’t lock it the next night because she’d been hoping he might come through that door and she’d have an excuse to turn him away directly again.
Because all those nights he had come to her room while they had been traveling to the Highlands she had surrendered herself. All the pleasure that he had added to her body he had taken away again when he left.
When he finished and simply fell asleep.
Then it cost her when he took that small gesture, that beacon of hope represented in her jewellery box, and crushed it so callously.
The distance felt like a reclamation.
It was difficult for her to get the women in the household to warm up to her. She did not experience open hostility, but the frosty nature of her interactions with Rona, the housekeeper, made it clear that she was not welcome as the lady of the house.
The kitchen maids, Margaret and Flora, were marginally better. Her personal maid, Isla, was quiet, but didn’t seem to have any ill will towards her.
But she had heard whispers about Lachlan. The staff might ignore her, but there was an advantage to that. They often didn’t notice when she was around and she was accomplished at listening in on other people’s conversations. It was the only method of gleaning information that was as good as asking.
They said it was suspected he was no different than his father and that his English bride was evidence of this. Of his obsession with their oppressors.
Penny knew that wasn’t true. Her husband was far from obsessed with her. In fact, he seemed quite happy to ignore her.
But she had concerns about the fact that his marriage to her was causing him trouble.
She gritted her teeth. She shouldn’t care.
Except... This was her home. This was her home, whether she had chosen it or not. And she didn’t want to spend her years here as an outsider. She could understand why they hated her. Her people had disrupted their way of life. While Lachlan might have a hope of restoring his clan, so much of the Highlands had been scarred beyond repair. The way of the clans was becoming near extinct and she did not expect that they would welcome her with open arms easily.
She had also heard that Lachlan had brought terror into the village. That a man had expressed his concerns about his return and Lachlan had drawn his sword.
She knew that he wasn’t going to be violent without cause, but the fact he was trying to rule with iron over a people who were already inclined to distrust him... It wasn’t going to work.
She had been victim of his remoteness. She already knew the way those green eyes could make a person feel.
Small.
He was not going to earn allegiance by terrifying everybody, by turning this place into an army, where he acted as captain as he had done during the war.
She was forming an idea, a plan. But she was going to need help.
It was not enough to simply plan menus. She was the lady of the castle and she was going to make that matter. But she had reached her limit here within the castle walls. She needed to get out. She hated the silence, the stillness.
She’d already taken a large chunk out of the library. She’d walked every bit of the gardens contained within the castle grounds. She’d retrieved her needlepoint supplies and had worked at stitching little flowers for hours on end. She’d begun inserting herself into the kitchen, learning to cook certain meals even though the maid protested. Gradually, in those things, she’d been reminded of who she was. It was like coming up out of a fog.
This life was still hers, even if Lachlan had put himself in position as Laird over her.
She could make the connections she craved. She could create a life she enjoyed out of what she had here. Lachlan didn’t get to decide.
‘Isla,’ she said to her maid one day. ‘I think I should like to meet more of the people. Lachlan spends his days working the land, working to restore his relationship to the people. It seems that as his wife I should do something.’
‘The MacKenzie hasn’t left any orders for you.’
The MacKenzie, she had learned, was what a man in his position was called. Like the King, but the highest of his clan. The most singular.
‘I don’t await his orders for everything,’ she said. ‘He thinks that he has full control, but he does not.’
‘He must not be a cruel man, then.’ Penny was surprised when Isla continued the conversation. Surprised and pleased. Her interactions with her maid had grown more cordial recently, but they still hadn’t had much conversation. She was eager to get to know her better. They spent so much time near each other...why couldn’t they be friends?
Penny frowned. ‘No. Why do you say that, though?’
‘Because it sounds to me that he hasn’t got control of you simply because he won’t exercise the right. And that means something stops him. A limit to his cruelty.’
Penny leaned towards Isla. ‘Did the previous chief... The MacKenzie...did he not have a limit to his cruelty?’
‘No. He wanted land. And he wanted money. He wanted to be part of the English peerage. It was a gift when he began spending so much time away from the Highlands.’
‘I know as much from my husband.’
‘His temper was a beast and one all the more easily roused when he was in his cups. He had many mistresses and beat them all.’
‘He beat them?’ Not even her father had ever sunk so low.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘One so badly she died.’
‘He killed a woman?’ She tried to imagine Lachlan losing his temper, tried to imagine him raging on her with his fists. She couldn’t. And she had felt supremely wounded by the fact he had not fetched that jewellery box for her out of the kindness of his heart.
But he had been raised by a man who truly would harm a woman if he was of a mind to do so.
She had never felt protected. She had been sheltered in many ways. The cruelty she’d been exposed to had been a particular kind of neglect. It had shielded her from many of the other atrocities in the world. That a man could beat his lover to death...
‘That’s why he thinks there is something wrong with his blood,’ she whispered.
‘It’s a silly thing,’ Isla said. ‘He’s not a bad man.’
‘You don’t think so? I have... I’ve heard some of the household whispering. They think what he did in the village was a sign he might be violent.’
Isla shook her head. ‘He didn’t kill anyone.’
‘That is a low standard for behaviour.’ She paused. ‘They also think...they also think his marrying me shows he’s like his father. That he likes... English things. I don’t know if they’ll ever accept me.’
Isla made a tsking sound. ‘You didn’t personally slaughter our people. I understand the distrust. I don’t fear you.’
‘Well, I’m not very frightening. Lachlan, though...’
‘If he were a bad man, you would know already. They would know already. Evil men don’t take long to show it.’
‘Don’t they?’
‘It’s not been my experience. A drink or two and the alcohol ignites the temper on some brutes.’
Her maid could not be any older than she was. To think that she already had such experiences made Penny’s heart squeeze.
‘I hope you have a good man now,’ Penny said.
Isla blushed. ‘Aye. Though I know I shouldn’t speak of it.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Penny said. ‘I’ve been very lonely. For...for ever. And I would like a friend.’
‘I don’t know if that’s allowed.’
‘Aren’t I the lady of the manor?’
‘I suppose you are.’
‘Then it seems that I should get to make some rules. And I say that we should be allowed to be friends. But that isn’t an order,’ Penny said. ‘You can’t order someone to be your friend.’
‘I will be your friend,’ Isla said. ‘It can be lonely in this house.’
‘Then you’ll come down to the village with me?’
‘Yes,’ Isla said. ‘What is it you wish to do?’
‘We can bring bread.’ Penny brightened. ‘We can bring bread and we can meet everyone. And you can show me who I should speak to.’
‘I can do that.’
‘Good.’
Perhaps she could help Lachlan find his place here. If she could balance his hardness with some of her softness.
As silly as it was, Penny felt triumphant because she truly felt that if she could make a difference here, if she could carve out a space for herself, then perhaps it might feel more like her life. And not simply a sentence that had been handed down to her by her father and his failures.
How strange. She had not thought of her father for some time. She didn’t miss him or regret leaving home in the least.
For so many years her life had been consumed with him. And he hadn’t loved her. He might not have used his fists on her the way that Lachlan’s father used his fists, but his coldness had been an arrow through the heart.
The way that she had spent her life cut off, the way that she had spent it so lonely...
It ended here.
Her life was not where she had planned for it to be.
But she had been set on being a duchess. And there would’ve been responsibilities that went with that. There would’ve been this. This community of people that she bore responsibility for, and that she could have. She could make a full life.
With a heavy cloak settled over her shoulders, she and Isla ventured out into the village. Round rock houses were surrounded on all sides by sweeping mountains with sharp angles and curves that protected the dwellings from the harsh, cold winds. Grey stone broke through the blankets of green lichen, the only contrast to the deep colour, so vivid it nearly overwhelmed her vision.
It was wild, this place. The sky somehow higher here than in England. But great clouds reached down to touch the earth, wreath the mountains in mist.
Great meadows unfolded and rolled down towards the loch, while behind the village was a dark, imposing forest.
It was so vast it nearly overwhelmed her. This was adventure. Lachlan had spoken of adventure. And it was here. In this great monster of a place that felt as though it could consume her as easily as it could bring her to freedom.
She turned her focus back to the houses. Some were well kept, others in shambles.
Some had crops growing nearby, others looked as though they had a blight. When Penny knocked and offered food, some were kind. Some welcomed her and spoke of their hope for the future.
Others treated her with disdain.
Still more treated her less with open hostility and more with wary distrust. She was a reminder to them of why they struggled, of why they suffered.
But Penny was certain that kindness, softness, would help win the day here.
The path continued on down the hill and Penny charged in that direction, while Isla slowed.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s bad down there,’ Isla said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dugan McLaren and his wife. Their children... He’s a drunk, and he spends all they have on alcohol.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well, don’t you think they’ll need bread?’
‘He’s mean.’ She hesitated. ‘He’s the man who spoke openly against The MacKenzie.’
A ripple of disquiet moved through Penny. ‘Oh.’
‘He will not welcome you.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Penny said, taking a sharp breath, ‘but my husband is strong. Not cruel, as you said, and I don’t think Lachlan would take kindly to knowing that there was a man in his clan buying drink rather than caring for his family.’
‘It won’t matter what The MacKenzie thinks if McLaren takes his fists to you now.’
‘If he takes his fists to me, my husband will have him... Well, I don’t know, but it would be something violent. I assume this man is well aware of that.’
She felt determined now. She carried on the path and then came to the most ramshackle of homes that she had encountered on this journey. The smell that emanated from it was rotted food, despair and drink. Filth.
She steeled herself, grateful they had quite a bit of bread left because she had a feeling that the children in this place would need it most of all.
Lachlan’s father had been cruel. Her own father neglectful. And while it might not be the same as it was in this place, she knew what it was to have your life and your future dictated by the shortcomings of the man who had fathered you.
It wasn’t fair. Not in any of those circumstances.
She went to the door and knocked. It opened a crack and a woman’s face appeared. She was drawn and pale, exhausted looking. ‘Hello,’ Penny said. ‘I’m Lady Penelope Bain. I’m the wife of the... The MacKenzie.’
‘You’re his fancy English lady?’ The woman asked.
‘Not fancy. But regrettably English.’ She tried to smile, but the woman did not return it. ‘I brought bread.’
‘We are not beggars,’ the woman said. ‘And your husband has already terrorised my house.’
A high-pitched wail came from inside the house and she heard a chorus of small voices after.
‘But maybe the children are hungry?’ she asked.
A flash of something, not softness but not quite so brittle, came over the woman’s face. ‘If you have to force your charity on us, do it quickly and then be gone.’
The woman was stooped before her time, the house itself a hovel. The smell inside was nearly overwhelming.
‘How many children are there?’ Penny asked.
‘Twelve living,’ the woman said, her tone bitter.
‘Oh, my,’ Penny responded. ‘Well, I doubt this will be enough bread.’
‘They aren’t all here. The Father knows where my whore of a daughter has gone off to.’
Penny drew back, shocked by the woman’s words.
‘If she’s going to spread her legs so freely she ought to do it for pay. At least then we might eat better.’
‘I...’ Penny could not think past the intimacy of what the woman had said. She knew how overwhelming the act was. How wrecked she felt after. The other woman spoke of her daughter doing it as easily as breathing. ‘There is bread.’
‘Don’t think we allow it,’ the woman said. ‘But if her father ever discovered it... He’d beat her to death.’
For the first time, Penny realised that the woman’s face wasn’t just haggard with lines of exhaustion. There were scars there.
‘And does he...? Would he lay his hands on you?’
‘I’ve made my bed. But if your Laird is anything like his father, you’ll know the bite of his fists soon enough. Don’t think your pretty manners will save you from it. Men are the beasts, they are.’
Penny didn’t see the point in arguing with the woman. She didn’t see the point of much of anything in the face of so much despair.
She had never seen anything like this. There were so many children. So much squalor, so little of anything that might help.
Yet again she was struck by how she had been protected even in her loneliness.
For her virtue had been shielded. She had always been full. Her father had never beaten her.
The world was such a harsh and unyielding place. And she had felt so hard done by in it.
But this... This was hardship.
She was angry about being lonely. Angry about the way her father had isolated her. But there wasn’t a space to turn around in this house that didn’t contain another person. At least back at her father’s house she had had a place to escape. At least she had been safe.
‘If ever you find yourself in danger...’ Penny said. ‘If you are ever in danger...come to the castle. He will not turn you away. If he knew of your husband’s cruelty...’
‘He’s just a husband,’ the woman said.
‘Surely it doesn’t have to be like this,’ Penny said.
‘Aye,’ the woman said. ‘But it does. I’m sure that women like yourself are treated like fine pieces. And in England I’m sure your rank and title protected you from all manner of things. But don’t make the mistake of thinking it will be like that here in the Highlands. He is The MacKenzie and what he says is the law. If he decides to take his liquor and his rage out on you, then he will. And there will be nothing to stop him.’
Penny couldn’t imagine why a woman she was bringing kindness to would speak to her in such a fashion. But that was when she realised: shame. Because nobody wanted to be in a position of pity.
And this woman was surely to be pitied. Penny spent some quiet moments talking to the children, and Isla joined in. They broke pieces of bread off and gave it to the wee bairns, as Isla called them.
When they left, her maid looked grim.
‘It’s a hell growing up that way.’
‘You know?’
‘It was a blessing to get work at the castle,’ Isla said. ‘Being in my father’s house... But he drank himself to death.’ Isla didn’t sound regretful.
‘A gift, surely,’ Penny agreed.
‘Aye,’ Isla said. ‘Until there wasn’t money any more. Until my mother had to sell her own body to try to feed all the bairns. My wages weren’t enough.’
‘Where is your mother now?’
‘Long dead,’ Isla said. ‘Women like her...women like my mother...they’re not afforded a long life.’
‘Your brothers and sisters?’
‘Went to other family. Went to find work.’
They rounded to the back of the old house and there was a figure, cloaked in muddy brown, just walking up through the fields. She was a young girl. Maybe thirteen.
And when she shifted, moving the cloak to the side, something became very clear to Penny.
‘She’s got one in the basket,’ Isla said, horror in her tone.
‘Is that Mrs McLaren’s daughter?’ The girl was with child. It was clear from a distance. ‘It must be. How she’s hiding it... Her father must be more than a bit drunk to not have noticed.’
‘She probably stays away. Stays hidden until he’s too drunk to notice either way.’
‘We will have to come and check on her,’ Penny said.
She was suddenly overwhelmed by a strange sort of gratitude for life that she had never felt before.
She had long had the sense that her life was tragic. But it was nothing compared to a girl who was little more than a child herself, ready to bring a baby into the world, with no food, no money and a father who would no doubt harm her and the baby if he was in a black enough mood.
‘That we will,’ Isla said.