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I could hear the sheep bleating pitifully long before we reached the sheds. Ian had left us again, headed to some other task. He seemed driven, filled with purpose as he’d never been on our journey here. Maybe Collin had been right, and Ian would rise to fill his brother’s role of leadership. Or was I, like most everyone else here— like the MacDonalds at Glencoe had been—being lulled into false security?
We reached the sheds, and Gordon opened the door to the first one for me.
“Isn’t it a bit late in the year for shearing?” I asked.
“Aye,” he said but offered no more. For all his talkative nature earlier, he’d grown silent since Ian’s departure.
“Won’t the sheep freeze without their coats? They can’t grow back that fast, before it’s truly cold, can they?”
“They could freeze,” Gordon said. “But these sheep won’t make it through winter anyhow. Many of the pastures near the castle have been stripped already, and Ian doesn’t feel it wise to be sending shepherds out on the high moors in search of winter grass— too easy for another clan, or your previous laird, to take the sheep and murder those tending them.”
“You mean they’re going to starve?” I paused just inside.
Gordon shook his head. “We’ll slaughter them first, for the meat. As soon as the ground’s too frozen for them to feed well— or sooner if we need them.”
Dismay at the animals’ unjust fate— and ours— filled me. “In the spring the Campbells will have nothing,” I protested.
“But hopefully you’ll all be alive. Without the meat from the sheep, that’s doubtful.”
I let this sink in a moment while Gordon pulled the door shut behind us.
“Thank you for your escort,” I said belatedly. “I’m Katherine, by the way. You may call me that if you’d like.”
“I know who you are,” Gordon said. “Spent the better part of six years listening to Collin tell tales of you.”
“You did— he did?” Gordon had spent years with Collin, while I’d had only weeks.
“Collin spoke of you often. First, as a reminder to my sister that he was spoken for, then later because we would ask him for stories.”
Sister? “What could he possibly have told you? I was a child when we parted.” It would be just like Ian to have me work alongside the other woman who had cared for Collin.
“Aye, but what a lass you were.” Gordon smiled, no doubt remembering some tale of my mischief. “Then later Collin spoke— to me, anyway— of his imaginations of the woman you’d grown into. I do not think he was disappointed.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for this unexpected gift and sorry again for my earlier rudeness. Being around Ian kept me testy and on edge. “Will you tell me sometime?”
“Aye. Though I doubt all that Collin told us was true. Tales about you hanging from the rafters like a ghost...”
“That one is true,” I muttered.
“Well then, we’ll have to talk more sometime. I expect I ought to help now.” He inclined his head toward the far side of the shed and the sheep gathered there, awaiting their turn with the shearer. “My sister will show you what to do.” He looked past me.
I turned around slowly and came face to face with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her hair reminded me of Ian’s when I first met him— long and shiny, black as midnight. What man would not want to run his fingers through it? Had Collin?
In contrast to her dark hair, her eyes were a pale blue, set in a flawless face, with creamy skin that accentuated her other features. I had the brief thought that Collin might have been happy with her, had my grandfather not previously bound him to me. If not for me, Collin might have been both happy and alive.
“My lady.” With simple elegance she held the side of her ragged gown out and sank into a curtsy worthy of greeting the queen.
“Hello.” Mhairi. I returned the gesture, feeling it was I who ought to be falling at her feet, apologizing. Even if she hadn’t loved Collin, he had been her laird, and I had taken him from her. “Please, call me Katherine.” I extended my hand.
She shook it. “Mhairi.”
I followed her to the opposite end of the shed, to an enormous table with women seated around it. Each had a blade in hand as they bent over a pile of wool, cutting out what I gathered must be the impurities, given the bowls in the middle of the table, piled high with bits of hay, burrs, and feces.
“This is Katherine,” Mhairi said. “She is here to help.”
Only two of the women bothered to look up from their work.
“Did the MacDonald do that to ye?” the younger one asked, pointing to my arm in its sling.
“No,” I said. “Of course not.” Though Ian was definitely capable of hurting me, he had not to this point since his arrival. It wouldn’t do to have needless fear and rumors being spread about. “Brann— the former Campbell laird— is the one who hurt me,” I explained. “Ian MacDonald rescued me.”
The truth sounded strange, yet that was exactly what had happened. If not for Ian, I could still be suffering, a captive of Brann or possibly even dead by now.
“Brann’s an evil one, that’s certain,” another woman said. “But the man you’re stuck with now, is he any better?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “He was unkind to me in the past.” A slight understatement for Ian’s attempt on my life. “But since coming here...” I swallowed painfully, this truth even more difficult to speak than the last. “Since my husband’s death— Ian’s brother’s death—” I clarified for those who were not MacDonalds— “he seems changed. I think losing Collin has affected him in ways I wouldn’t have predicted.” My eyes shifted anxiously around the table. I had no idea which women were Campbells and which were MacDonalds and could only hope to offend neither.
“It has affected us all,” Mhairi said, a sadness in her voice I recognized all too well. “Come. I’ll show you what to do.” She retrieved a half dozen baskets from the floor behind the table.
“Fill one at a time with the shorn wool, then bring them to us. Keep a few out for us to put in the pieces we’ve picked through, then take those to be washed. Keep the bowls on the table emptied— they can go right to the fire beneath the kettles.”
“All right.” That didn’t sound too difficult, but the humblest of tasks perhaps. Had Mhairi’s curtsy been mocking? I didn’t think so, but it was difficult to tell. She had every right to hate me. I glanced wistfully at the table and the women seated there. Why wasn’t I to be allowed to work with them?
“The laird was thinking of your arm when he gave you this task,” Mhairi said, as if she’d discerned my thoughts. “It would be difficult for you to use scissors with that arm and near impossible to work the carding brushes.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I took up two of the baskets and made my way toward the bleating, soon-to-be-naked sheep.
A gate separated the animals and shearers from the women’s end of the shed. I opened this and moved inside what was clearly men’s territory, with giant shears snapping in quick succession, shouting, laughter, and Gaelic flying back and forth among them. The smell was stronger here too.
Gordon beckoned me over, pointing to the ground. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to gather the wool off the floor. I’ll toss it to the middle as best I can. Will you be able, with your arm?”
It was tempting to say no, to make my excuses and return to the refuge of my bed chamber. But what would I do then, except to think of Collin? Better to stay here, to listen to the chatter of the women’s gossip and the sheep’s sad bleating. Better to be of use in some small way. Even if it was not what my grandfather had intended.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, to myself as much as to Gordon. Dropping to the floor, I began gathering the wool. I quickly found it all I had expected— dirty, smelly, unpleasant.
Glancing at Mhairi, seated at the table with the others, I felt that I deserved no less.