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“Good morning to you.” Bridget waltzed into the room in seeming good cheer, or better than I’d seen since Ian’s arrival. She set a bowl on the table near the fireplace and went to the window to pull back the curtains and open the shutters.
Squinting against the sunlight, I turned my head away and saw with relief that Ian was gone. How long? Had he even stayed the night here with me? I vaguely remembered him sitting on the bed beside me, after my minute of comfort had turned into a half hour. And then?
The quilt he’d warmed near the fire was still wrapped around me, my sleeping gown entirely intact beneath. I pondered my curious good fortune at having survived the night unscathed, as well as not having to face him this morning. Maybe he really would be true to the promise given Alistair.
Bridget bustled about the room, filling my basin and laying out clothes.
“Thank you,” I said, not wishing to seem ungrateful. “But I would prefer to sleep longer. Would you mind coming back in a few hours to help me dress?”
“I wouldn’t mind, but I daresay the MacDonald would.”
“Oh?” I followed her with my eyes as she laid out stockings and a sensible pair of shoes I’d not seen before. “Has he other duties for you?”
“Not me.” Bridget arrived at the side of the bed and looked curiously at the quilt rolled around me. “That’s one way to keep a man out, though I’d not count on it to work for long. I hear there was a fair amount of wailing coming from this room late last night.”
“You hear?” Had she, or someone else, been eavesdropping in the hall outside my door?
“Not me, personally, but—” She pressed her lips together. “Never mind. Isn’t any of my business.”
It wasn’t, and though I was fond of Bridget, I didn’t feel the need to confide any of what had and had not happened last night. Ian the monster hadn’t swallowed me whole or murdered me in my sleep. That much was apparent. What wasn’t, and what I wisely deemed no one else should know, was Ian’s temporary show of compassion. For both his reputation and mine, that would remain our secret.
“He wants you up and about now. You’ve been assigned to help in the shearing shed.”
“What?” I cringed as she helped me sit up and unwrap myself from the quilt.
“Everyone has been assigned a task,” she explained. “Yours is to carry the wool from the shearing to those who will be washing it. When you’ve finished that in a week or so, you’ll be carrying it from the wash room to those who are carding. And when that is done, you’re to bring the carded wool to the castle for spinning.” She helped me out of my nightgown. “Everyone’s to have a task— the MacDonald’s orders.”
“I don’t suppose there is one involving a paintbrush,” I asked, my voice muffled as I pulled a clean shift over my head.
“What?” Bridget helped me into a petticoat.
“Nothing.” I hadn’t painted in so long I worried I had forgotten how. My arm wasn’t healed enough yet. What if I never had the chance again?
“The wool should be fine for you,” Bridget said, as she fastened my simple frock. “You’re mending well and look a fair sight better than your man.”
“He isn’t my man.” Collin is— was.
“Aye, well, think what you like, but after last night, he most assuredly is. And if you set yourself to one task in the coming weeks, it ought to be keepin’ him content. I’ve a feeling much depends upon that.”
It wasn’t the speech I wanted to hear first thing in the morning, but I held my peace, knowing Bridget was probably right. I wandered over to the table, feeling more of an appetite than I had in days. Maybe all that crying had done a little good.
“Did you bring him oatmeal as well?” I asked, scrunching my nose in distaste as I noted the contents of the bowl.
“That I did. Beginning today, a half dipper of oats is the ration for breakfast— man, woman, or child. Unless you’re carrying a bairn, then you get a bit more. Are you?” Bridget asked casually. “If so, I’ll have another portion sent up.”
“I most certainly am not.” I spoke as though offended at the suggestion, but the truth was that I would have been happy to be carrying Collin’s child, to have something of him to continue with me.
“Not yet, anyway.” Bridget said, with a sideways glance.
It was so near to what Eithne had said about Collin the day we had visited and helped with the soap that I felt like I’d been struck. I stepped backward and sank heavily into the nearest chair. To have that day back again. I would willingly suffer what I had since all over again, if only to have one day more, another hour even, with Collin.
As if one poignant reminder was not enough this morning, the singular aroma of steaming oatmeal wafted toward me, an assault on my already struggling senses. The scent spoke of Collin and his infernal supply of raw oats. Memories of our days spent alone in the Highlands, struggling to stay alive, enjoying the pleasures of budding friendship and becoming acquainted with one another, filled my mind and tore at the raw wound on my heart. My eyes responded with their usual course, flooding with their seemingly endless reserve of tears. I pushed the bowl across the table.
“Take it away, please. I can’t eat it.”
“Are you certain you’re not with child?” Bridget’s speculative gaze roved over me. “It could be too early to tell proper.”
I shook my head angrily and angled my body away. “Leave me.”
Bridget did as I asked, taking the offensive oatmeal with her. As soon as the door had closed behind her, I fell apart, allowing the tears to fall freely, head held in my hand as my not-so-silent sobs filled the otherwise quiet room.
My respite did not last long. Bridget’s voice returned, accompanied by Ian’s.
Tattletale, I thought crossly.
Their footsteps stopped outside my door, and a hushed conversation I could not decipher ensued. I briefly considered rising to secure the bar but desisted. Angering Ian first thing probably wasn’t the best idea.
The door opened a few seconds later, and he entered, bowl in hand. I stared past him, at the dying fire, until he pulled the other chair opposite me, sat, and blocked my view.
“Is starving yourself your next course of action?” His tone was neither angry nor amused, but a forced calm I sensed would not last long.
“I have an aversion to oats. I can’t eat them without being ill.”
“Bridget believes you might be with child. Is that possible? Were you telling me the truth when we spoke about Brann?”
I finally looked at him. “Why should that matter to you?”
“Because he would have— will have?” Ian’s voice slipped “—taken something from you that was not his to take.”
Because it’s yours now? “There is no child. It is impossible. No man has touched me.” I admitted to him what I’d feared would come to light last night. I feared it, not only for what Ian might do, but because I felt he would take some absurd delight in the fact that it would be he, not Collin, who had the privilege.
Ian leaned back, hand moving across the stubble along his chin as he considered me.
Debating whether I’ve told the truth?
“Thank you for telling me,” he said at last. “We’ll not speak of it again. Now, then.” He scooted the chair closer and took a spoon from the table. “I’ve tasks aplenty to do this morning, but if you’ll not eat on your own, I’ll see that you do.”
“I’ll have something else,” I said. “One of Bridget’s bannocks or—”
“Flour is precious. It is no longer to be used for breakfast, but for a ration of bread with our main meal. If we are not wise with our resources, they’ll not last the winter.” He held a spoonful of oats out to me. “Parritch is a fine breakfast. It will stick to your ribs, and yours could use some paste, aye?” A corner of his mouth lifted. Mine remained closed tight.
He changed tactics. “Would your grandfather want you starving yourself? Would Collin?”
Would Collin want me to be here, with his pirate brother? I glanced briefly at Ian, the brow of his visible eye arched in a question I didn’t want to answer.
I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine. Marriage vows Collin had taken seriously, though it had been the first cup of spring water and the first bite of fish— or oats— for most of our brief marriage. He had kept me safe, and then given his life.
I gave a sigh of defeat, closed my eyes, and reached for the spoon. Ian handed it over. I closed my eyes and parted my lips. The texture and flavor of cooked oats transported me back to a forest glen as I knew they would, and it was with some difficulty that I swallowed.
Ian handed me a cup of water, which washed the taste away, though not the memory.
“There’s a good lass,” he said, treating me as a child.
I held my hand out for the spoon. “I can feed myself.”
“Promise that you will?” He placed it in my hand but did not let go.
“Yes.”
With that he stood and left the room. I ate my ration quickly, trying to be grateful for it, guessing I would need my strength for the day to come.
* * *
“Ian is having me watched?” I faced off with a man I’d never seen before who stepped in beside me in the upstairs corridor after giving the brief explanation that he was to accompany me wherever I went today.
“Not watched so much, as watching out for those who would do you harm.”
Like many of the other MacDonalds I’d seen, this man’s eyes were hollow, his frame gaunt. He stared at me with as wary a look as I likely cast at him. He appeared to be near Earnan’s age, which I had guessed to be close to my own.
“Name’s Gordon.” He stuck his left hand out. I had only my right hand, my good one, to offer in return, which made a handshake impossible. Gordon covered the awkward moment by taking my hand and bending over it with a brief kiss. He released me and stepped immediately back, to my vast relief.
“I’ll see to it that no harm comes to you, my lady.”
“Oh, good,” I said with false cheerfulness. You’ll keep me safe from Ian then. Ignoring my unwanted escort as best I could, I swept toward the stairs while taking in the room below where a great deal of activity was already underway. The tables had all been pushed to the side, and several women were vigorously scrubbing the floor. Buckets and barrels were lined up on the benches, and children carrying baskets overflowing with vegetables came in through the front doors and headed toward the kitchen. An elderly woman marched up the stairs, her arms laden with bedding.
She stopped before us and sank into a curtsy. “My lady.” Beneath her burden her gnarled hand reached out to mine, grasping it briefly. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”
“You’re welcome?” I said, bewildered at her greeting.
With a nod she continued up the stairs.
“Your grandfather’s rooms and most of the rest have been taken o’er by the MacDonald widows,” Gordon explained. “More bedding is being brought up for them.”
“That woman— she’s a MacDonald then?”
“Aye,” he said. “One of many whose husbands died in the Uprising.”
“And she’s— grateful to me for the use of Grandfather’s rooms?” If I considered that Ian might have stayed there instead of with me, it was a sacrifice.
My escort moved ahead of me on the stairs. “I am sure she is, but that wasn’t why she thanked you just now. She’s one of the women— the whole lot of them— who are grateful to you for being willing to join with their laird, temperamental man that he is. They think it’ll go better for them, now that you’re warming his bed.”
I grasped the railing, appalled that the whole of the castle, apparently, believed Ian and I had been intimate. “Are you suggesting that before now he, Ian— made use of the widows
for—” I couldn’t even say it.
“Entertainment?”
I nodded, feeling worse than I had a minute ago.
“It’s not that,” Gordon said. “Ian MacDonald is known, among other things, for his rare temper. In the past he’s been volatile and unpredictable toward everyone.”
The past? As in yesterday?
“Somewhat the opposite of his brother,” Gordon continued. “It often took Collin to rein him in.”
I remembered as much from our journey here.
“We weren’t certain what to expect when Collin married you and Ian became laird. A short while ago he didn’t seem capable of leading a hunting party, let alone an entire clan, and even more, joining them with another.”
“It’s unprecedented,” I said. If he succeeds. I still didn’t know if Ian truly wanted this coexistence to endure long, or if he was just using the Campbells to bring in the harvest.
“His behavior is what’s unprecedented,” Gordon continued. “Since Collin’s death Ian’s been rational and just, and focused, for once, on the good of the clan and making this mad idea of his work. A lot of people think you’re at the root of this change, that you’ve influenced him toward becoming the leader Collin was.”
It was more credit than I deserved or wanted the burden of. “It wasn’t me,” I said quietly. “But losing Collin. If Ian is truly changed, it is because of his brother’s death.”
Two more women passed us, each curtsying as the first had. I responded in kind, feeling more unsettled by the minute. Save for a handful of people, my own clan had barely acknowledged my return.
“I’m to help with the wool,” I reminded Gordon. “Will you take me where I’m to go, please?” Engaging in work of some sort, in any ordinary task, held sudden appeal.
We crossed the busy hall while Gordon explained that Ian had asked for an accounting of everything from the dishes to the sheets. “He has all but the youngest children working in the gardens and fields, harvesting every last root and stem.”
So he’ll have plenty to eat, and know what the Campbells have of value? I still couldn’t trust that Ian intended to spend the next several months living peaceably with us. Last night, speaking in front of everyone, he’d sounded genuine, but in the light of day I imagined his words were merely meant to appease us into submission.
Just like Brann. It seemed so clear to me, I wondered how it could not be to the others, especially to those like Alistair, who’d known Ian before. I couldn’t be the only one feeling this way. And if I wasn’t, what were we to do about it? What would Collin have done?
I thought back to that morning at the inn when I’d upset Ian. Collin had spent the following two days cooling his brother’s temper and keeping him away from me. Perhaps that was the only approach I could take right now— to keep Ian’s temper under control, and to cooperate and encourage others to do so as well, while somehow, secretly, we would need to plan for the eventuality of his betrayal.
Gordon led me through the courtyard, as bustling with activity as the hall had been. A cartload of timber was being wheeled in the direction of the burned distillery, and the sounds of saws and hammers alike filled the air.
We passed the stables and left the main yard, coming upon a grouping of sheds I’d not seen before, just inside the east wall.
Gordon pointed to them. “They’re shearing in that first one, so the women will be nearby, collecting the wool for washing and carding. Someone there will tell you what to do. I’ll be there as well, helping with the shearing.”
“Thank you— I think.” I regretted my initial rudeness already. He was only doing Ian’s bidding, and having someone around to talk to me might prove a nice distraction from my melancholy.
In the distance I saw the millhouse wheel churning— the first time I’d seen it going since my arrival. A cleared path, free of mud and debris, led between the castle and the various outbuildings. How had so much been accomplished in little over a week?
Halfway to the sheds I paused, staying back to avoid a collision with a dozen MacDonald men walking toward the gate. Each wore a bulging pouch, and the two bringing up the rear were on horseback, pulling carts behind them. I watched as they exited the courtyard, heading in the opposite direction that Collin and I had gone the night of Liusaidh’s fire.
The last time we had gone anywhere together.
“They’re off to see to the barley we left behind.” As he had in the hall last night, and in my room, Ian appeared suddenly. “We cannot risk losing it.”
“Of course not.” I hugged my arms to myself, in attempt to ward off the lingering chill in the air. “Whoever heard of surviving a winter without whisky?”
“No one in Scotland.” Ian’s tone was light, jesting almost at my intended barb. “But it’s about more than having it ourselves. It’ll fetch a high price and provide a good barter for some of what we’re in need of.”
“Which is?” I turned to look at him, expecting him to struggle with an answer as I caught him in the elaborate lie he was building. Instead his mouth turned down, and his forehead wrinkled.
“Nearly everything.” He began ticking items off on his fingers. “More grain. It’s our greatest deficiency. Neither clan planted enough. As it stands now, we’ll run out in January. We’ll need meat as well, though we can hunt that ourselves, into winter if need be.” He held up a third finger. “Shelter. Not everyone fits in the castle, and I’m worried for those who live far from it. They’re easy pickings for Brann. I’ll feel better if, once the harvest is complete, we can move everyone in close, so at least they’re safe, though we’ve not near enough food to see either clan through the winter. I think it was Brann’s intention to starve those he’d not burned out already.
“Then there is the matter of care for those who’ve been living in the wild since Brann took their homes. They’ve need of a place to stay and clothing and shoes as well. Half the bairns have scarce of either. If they don’t starve to death they’ll surely freeze.” Ian ran a hand across his stubbled chin. For a second his troubled expression almost convinced me that he truly cared. He tugged at the cap covering his bald head, and a worried sigh escaped his slightly parted lips.
I stared at his mouth, so like Collin’s, a second longer than necessary, and Ian took notice. His eye met mine briefly, and I tensed, waiting for some false accusation or coarse remark, but thankfully he let the moment pass.
“The Campbells are hardly better off than the MacDonalds,” Gordon said, reminding me that we were not alone. “I’d not expected that, given the land and resources you have.”
“Then why not leave us and simply worry about providing for you own?” I addressed the question to Ian.
A corner of his mouth rose. “And would you be coming with me, if I did go?”
“Of course not.”
“There you have it,” Ian said smugly. “I cannot leave you. My brother’s suffering won’t be for naught. I’ll be staying here to look after MacDonalds and Campbells alike— particularly one Campbell.”