by Aileen Adams
Donnan’s friendly expression darkened. “Aye. ‘Tis good ye came upon them when ye did. And what of the guards?”
Boyd glanced Olivia’s way, then muttered something in reply. Donnan grunted before spitting on the ground, which she could only imagine was hardly a sign of him appreciating what he’d heard.
“It matters not,” Ann called out, winding her arm around Olivia’s. “We have ye here with us, lassie, and I wish to know everything there is to know of my Ava’s bairn.”
Olivia chuckled, more than a bit overwhelmed by this open show of welcome and friendship. “I am hardly a bairn any longer,” she reminded Ann.
“Ye are to me, my dear. Ye canna be more than… twenty, I would wager?” She led Olivia into the keep while one of the maids came out to take in the saddlebags filled with her most cherished possessions.
“Yes, I am. Exactly twenty.”
“Twenty years. Goodness me. I can hardly believe it has been so long since last I set eyes upon your dear, sweet mam. As I said, she meant as much to me as a sister. Our fathers were twins, did she ever tell ye?”
She shook her head, still struck half-speechless by how quickly she’d been taken into the home and the hearts of those inside. Never would a visitor be treated with such an abundance of affection, not even one distantly related.
Straw-covered stone floors stretched out in both directions, with torches lining the walls. They turned to the right, stepping into a large, high-ceilinged hall. The smell of food hung in the air and made Olivia’s mouth water—until she took note of the number of people making beds upon the floor. So this was where meals were taken, and where most members of the household spent the night.
What a delight, knowing there were chambers held aside for her use. A delight and a relief.
“I hope ye dinna mind taking supper in the kitchen,” Ann murmured. “We have already—”
“Not at all,” Olivia assured her. “I would not displace these people.” Not for anything, as they eyed her with great suspicion when she passed. It was a relief to enter the kitchen, hot and smoke-filled as it was. Anything was better than being stared at.
How would she explain herself to them?
Ann sensed her worries before she had the chance to voice them. “Dinna ye fret,” she assured her, rubbing her arm before sitting her down at a small table. “They dinna often see new faces here, but ye will be part of the household in little time. I promise.”
“Did anyone know I was coming to you?” she asked, looking around the room. A large hearth covered nearly an entire wall. Bushels of potatoes and turnips sat beside a basin where she supposed they were rinsed before being cut up. Sacks of grain sat along the wall beside the rear door, outside of which a garden was barely visible in the moonlight.
“Nay, we didna think it wise to announce ye, but it is of no matter. Ye will not speak to half of them, I’m certain. Donnan’s guard and the like, ye ken, and the men camping outside who are other members of the clan who dinna make their home with us.”
She moved about the kitchen all the while, lighting a fire in the hearth and setting a pot of stew over it. Rarely had Olivia ever observed the goings on in a kitchen and found herself staring in wonder at how efficiently and expertly Ann managed things.
“Do you do the cooking?” she asked.
Ann laughed, though not unkindly. “Och, nay! There is far too much be done for only one person to manage it all. We have a great many cooks, maids and the like. I watch over them, if ye ken, but rarely turn my hands to their work.” She winked. “Heating stew is hardly beyond my ken.”
“I did not mean to ask too many questions,” Olivia whispered, suddenly ashamed at what must have seemed quite foolish. “I only—”
“Dinna bother yourself!” Ann insisted. “I suspect ye did not do much cooking or the like in your home, then. The few letters I received from your dear mam spoke of quite a grand life.”
Again, this shamed her, and she could not say why. This woman was a stranger, or as good as, yet had shown her such warmth and kindness in little more than a few minutes. She already spoke to Olivia as if they were old friends.
Yet had Ann appeared on the threshold of her father’s home, any of the maids inside would have spat upon her and told her to be gone. For she was Scottish, and very clearly so in her manner of dress and of speaking.
While Edward Smythe was a fair man and very decent, his household was in every way befitting a man of his stature. Never could she imagine a foreign stranger being brought in and shown such kindness.
“I have been kept away from such matters, yes,” she explained, trying hard not to sound as if she placed herself above this woman or any in her household. “Though I would very much like to learn and be of service.”
Ann merely waved a hand as she placed a bowl before Olivia, along with roughly half a loaf of bread. “Nonsense. Ye are a guest here, and family. I will not have ye behaving as a maid or a cook. Mercy’s sake, your mam would haunt me the rest of my days.” She turned, then, brushing back errant strands of hair with a sigh. “And where is that man? I told him to join us, that I would have supper for him.”
“Boyd?” Olivia asked, the name sticking in her throat. She made a point of staring down into her bowl and putting on what she hoped was an unaffected air. “Is he a good friend of the MacNairs?”
“Och, I should say so. Laird of Clan MacPherson, ye ken, and a fierce warrior. Donnan is quite fond of him.”
Laird? He was the leader of his clan? While this meant little to an Englishwoman, she knew it meant a great deal to the Scots—especially the Highlanders.
“How did ye happen to meet with him?” Ann asked, turning away to attend to some new task. It was as if she feared coming to a stop. She simply had to remain in motion.
“He found me and my guard while we were about to be robbed.” Even now, a day later, it was not easy to speak of the event.
“He never did!” Ann gasped. “And he dispatched them quickly, I would wager.”
“That he did,” Olivia murmured, remembering how easily he’d sent them on their way. “He knew them by sight.”
“Aye, well, that is his way. He spends a great deal of his time riding out, ye ken, especially now with the threat of war hanging over all of us. He speaks with neighboring clans, makes it known that thievery and such will not be tolerated so long as he has breath in his body. He believes the only way for all of us to survive this new fight is if we stand united.”
She caught Olivia’s eye. Her mouth snapped shut.
“Do not feel you have to hold your tongue for my sake,” Olivia assured her. “I understand little of it. My father wished to keep me away from it, which was why he sent me to be with you. Perhaps he feels the outcome of this war will be the same as the last, and Scotland will be victorious. It is safer for me to be on the winning side.”
“Just the same, it canna be easy to hear such things spoken about your people.”
“You are my people, as well,” she smiled. It was strange, knowing she came from the same stock as the busy, large-hearted woman before her.
“Perhaps ye will decide to make your home here, then,” Ann suggested with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, I’m afraid that will not be possible.” She picked at a piece of bread, suddenly without appetite. That was always the way of it when her thoughts turned to the man who’d been chosen for her husband.
The man she’d left behind in England.
The man to whom she would one day return.
4
“Och, there he is! How was your night?” Donnan asked when Boyd joined him in his study the morning after his arrival.
“Far better than one spent in the mud,” he chuckled, “though I tell ye, I could have easily slept in the hall with the others.”
“As if I would be letting a laird such as yourself share the floor with the household,” he snorted with a heavy roll of his eyes. “Ye must remember yourself, man. Ye are laird now, not the son of the
laird, and even the laird’s son deserves spent treatment.”
Boyd disagreed but saw no purpose in continuing to argue. “And how is your guest? I didna see her again last night.”
“Nay, Ann took her to her chambers and has been busy showing her about the place all morning,” Donnan explained. “She seems a bonny sort, does she not?”
Did she? Boyd held his tongue as he sat, pouring himself a cup of ale without reply. “She was prepared to fight the men who stopped her on the road,” he mused with admiration. “She is not the sort to swoon or faint.”
“Nay, and she takes after her mother if that is the case,” Donnan replied, fondness touching his voice. “Ava was a fierce one, to be sure. I once saw her knock out the two front teeth of a lad who tried to take liberties with her. One single blow.” He mimicked the act of driving a fist against his mouth.
Boyd chuckled. “I see where she gets it from, then.” But she was far too English for him to have any fondness for her. That was the trouble, and it was something he could not bring himself to voice to his friend. Not if the man already thought of her so warmly.
He nodded toward the window, instead, thinking of the clansmen who’d made camp outside the walls. They spoke of this, of the attitude and spirits Boyd had found among the men and women he’d met during his long journey south before coming about and turning north again. “It seems everyone is prepared to fight anew, or preparing to do so.”
“And how do ye feel about that, knowin’ yourself to be laird now?” Donnan fixed him with one squinted, knowing eye.
“Ye mean, knowing others will do my fighting for me?” he asked, more than slightly bitter.
“Ye must be present to lead your clan, man,” Donnan reminded him. “Ye canna ride off to fight as ye did during the last war. Too many people depend upon ye, such as the women and bairns left behind, ye ken. Someone must oversee them while their men fight.”
He might as well be a woman himself if he was expected to sit still and watch while other men—lesser men, in some instances—rode off to fight. Even thinking on it now turned his heart to ice, and the war had not yet begun.
“Ye did well,” Donnan reminded him. “Ye fought bravely and secured our freedom.”
“For a handful of years,” Boyd snorted.
“Aye, and the men who fight now will secure it once again. It will take time, but those English bastards will step down once we’ve killed enough of them.”
There was a clatter outside the door, and Boyd got up to see what the matter was, while Donnan’s old injury prevented him from moving quickly enough to be of help.
A great lake of ale soaked into the straw covering the stone, and Olivia’s wide, grey eyes met his over top of the mess. Her cheeks flamed bright red, and her hands trembled as she fetched the dropped jug from the floor.
“I—was bringing fresh ale. Ann asked me—” She looked down at the jug as if to examine it for cracks.
His heart sank for her. Clearly, she’d heard what Donnan said about the English being killed and, of course, had thought of her father. What was to be said? He could not apologize for the words of another man. Aside from that, nobility did not fight, just as lairds did not. There were always reasons for a man with responsibilities to avoid getting blood on his tunic.
After a few heavy moments, however, he knew he could not let the matter rest without saying something. “He didna mean your father,” he murmured. “Nor any in your family.”
She let out a tiny squeak, eyes still downcast. He supposed that was as close to a response as he was going to receive.
Donnan joined them, clearing his throat. “Aye, lassie, a good morning to ye. I was about to invite Boyd out on a hunt. Would ye care to join us?”
Boyd’s eyes went nearly as wide as Olivia’s. A woman on a hunt? He’d never seen such a thing. Yes, women could prepare snares, but hunting or even witnessing a hunt was another matter.
“Come,” he urged. “Boyd tells me ye handled yourself well against those cutpurses on the road. He said ye have a fine, hearty way about ye, not like some women who swoon at the sight of blood. I would like to know ye better.”
He felt sorry for what she had overheard and longed to make the matter better for her. It was just like him, and Boyd noted with appreciation the faint smile which tugged at the corners of her rosebud mouth when Donnan praised her.
“I suppose I could. Ann has forbidden me from helping in the kitchen, and you see what happened when I tried to bring you fresh ale.” She kicked the soaked straw aside and moved fresh, clean straw over the floor in its place.
Donnan waved his hands entreatingly. “Dinna worry yourself with that, lass. I shall have your mare saddled for ye. With any luck, we shall bring home something for tonight’s supper.”
* * *
The day was clear, the sun warm. It hardened the mud, making riding that much easier an endeavor. “This is better, is it not?” he asked Olivia with a smile.
Yet she did not return his smile. Instead, she appeared to be shocked.
“What is it?” he asked, uncomfortable with the way she stared.
She blinked, shaking herself a bit as they walked their horses behind Donnan’s. “You had not yet smiled at me,” she informed him. “And your face…” She touched her cheeks, gesturing to him.
“I shaved it,” he explained, running a hand over the smooth planes of his cheeks. “Dinna ye care for it?”
She turned away, but not before he caught sight of her blush. It was charming. Surprisingly so. “No. I mean, yes. Rather, it was a surprise. And your hair is not black, as I believed it to be.”
“Nay, in the sun—when cleaned, ye ken—‘tis closer to brown. Not so striking as your own.” Indeed, he had never seen hair as hers before, streaked with bits of gold in places which only made the red that much more shocking.
“It is nice,” she whispered, then tapped her mare’s flanks with her heels and hurried ahead to meet Donnan.
He ran his hand over his cheeks again. Nice, eh? He would not have expected that from her. Perhaps overhearing Donnan’s words had chastened her, though he would rather she bite and kick and curse him than overpraise him.
Donnan pointed ahead. “To the tree line, then all the way across, just before the woods.”
“That is all MacNair land?” she asked, marveling. “My heavens, it seems quite a lot.”
The men chuckled. “Dinna pay us mind, lassie,” Donnan explained when she looked troubled at their laughter. “Ours is perhaps the smallest holding of all the clans. But we are proud of it, just the same.”
“I’m afraid there is so much for me to learn,” she admitted with a sigh. “It would likely be best if I remained silent. I had feared as much along the way—that I ought to say as little as possible so as to not give myself away.”
She spoke well. Her father had educated her. Little good it would do a lass, but some people believed women ought to know how to read and write just as well as a man. He had never seen much sense in it, though he’d never given it much thought until now.
“Dinna worry yer head about it,” Donnan assured her. “Ye are among friends, and we shall keep ye safe and return ye to your father once the difficulties are over.”
When would that be?
Olivia turned her face from Donnan’s, looking over the valley to her left, and from his position behind her, Boyd noted the trouble on her face. Her furrowed brow, the narrowing of her eyes. The thoughtful downward turn of her mouth. Yes, she was a smart lass; smart enough that she could not easily be fooled by soft words.
The difficulties would not be over for some time. This was not a mere dust-up between neighboring clans.
She knew it. It troubled her greatly.
“Och, lass. Look.” Donnan’s voice had dropped to little more than a whisper. He dismounted with difficulty. Truly, he ought not to spend so much time in the saddle after the injury he’d suffered when Boyd was little more than a lad, when a spooked horse had trampled his left
leg and nearly resulted in Donnan’s losing it entirely.
Boyd dismounted as well, and kept Olivia close to him while Donnan prepared his bow. A family of deer had emerged from the woods, all of them looking to water at the stream which cut through MacNair land from the east to the west.
“Do you not wish to try to… hit one?” she whispered to him while Donnan took careful aim. He merely shook his head. Let Donnan have his glory.
A good man was Donnan MacNair. And one with a great deal of pride which could be easily wounded.
The largest of all, a proud and magnificent buck, lifted his head and surveyed the landscape. Boyd held his breath. Then flinched in surprise when Olivia’s hand touched his. She was either thrilled or frightened.
He had no time to react before Donnan loosed the bolt, sending it straight across the wide expanse and striking the buck in its chest. It dropped, while the rest of the group fled to the safety of the woods.
“Ah-ha!” Donnan cried out, beaming at his kill.
“Your eye is as sharp as ever,” Boyd observed with a smile. “And your aim as true.”
He turned to Olivia, whose hand was still clasped in his. “What do ye think, lass?”
What did she think?
Her eyelids fluttered just before she sank against him, collapsing into his arms.
“Och, lass,” he muttered, holding up her weight with ease. She hardly weighed a thing.
Donnan laughed. “Och, it seems we found something the lass swoons over,” he observed. “Poor lamb. I suppose her English father never allowed her on the hunt.”
“I suppose nae,” Boyd observed, wishing he would not speak so of the man. No, she could not hear him in her state, but he’d already upset her earlier in the day.
Though why he should bother himself with the concerns of an English lady he could not say.