by Quinn, Paula
“Go find Enid, lad, and be quick about it.”
The boy jumped up, glanced at the handle of the spit and back at his master uncertainly.
“It’ll be fine, I willna let it burn. Now go!” He smiled as the child scampered off, making a wide berth around the deerhound.
Looking about the kitchen, he spied the oblong loaves on the long trestle table. Yanking off the cloth covering them, he grabbed one, bit into the end, and tore off a chunk. He closed his eyes as he chewed and gave a tired sigh. A familiar reprimand interrupted his chewing.
“I’ll have ye hung by yer toes and whipped soundly, Calum MacNaughton. Leave my bread alone. It’s for the evening meal.” Enid the cook bustled in, her plump form filling the space between Calum and the crackling fire. “And if ye think those big blue eyes will change my mind—”
She gaped at the sleeping man crumpled on the bench next to the hearth. Deep brown curls plastered against his skin made his pallor almost alabaster.
“Sweet Jesus, what have ye dragged home now? Is he dead?”
“Now why would I bring home a corpse, my lovely Enid?” He pinched her rosy cheek and chuckled as she slapped his hand.
“I’m no’ one of yer giggling lasses who melts under yer poor excuse for charm. No matter how tall, dark, and handsome ye may be,” she scolded, but her eyes did not move from the body slumped in her kitchen.
“I thought ye were husband hunting. He’ll be an easy one to catch.”
He ducked as Enid grabbed the loaf of bread from his hand, reached up on her tiptoes, and smacked him on top of the head. A chunk of the bread fell to the floor, and Angus snatched it up, his wiry gray tail wagging as he sniffed the stone floor for more.
“I’m as lithe on my feet as I was at twenty. Now ye better start explaining before I call the MacNaughton in here.” She handed him back the bread and put her fists on her ample hips, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together.
Calum’s smirk disappeared. “I’m only teasing, and I wouldna be telling anyone about our visitor. He’s a Craigg.”
She gasped. “Why in heaven would ye bring one of those devils here?”
“Well, I didna ken when I pulled him from the loch. After that…” He shrugged. “Well, I couldna just leave him to die. Craigg or no.”
She nodded and blew at a red curl that had escaped her kertch. “Well, get him into my room or the entire clan will ken he’s here. Strip him down while I find a dry shirt.”
Calum gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I kent I could count on ye, Enid.”
Pink stained her cheeks as she waved him away. Calum stuffed another hunk of bread into his mouth and then tossed the man over his shoulder again.
*
“Ye saved my life. Considering our clans’ shared history, I doubt if my family would have been as welcoming.” Malachi Craigg shook his head. “My horse is young and he spooked at something in the wood. By the time I reined him in, I realized we were offshore.”
“Why did ye no’ grab on to the horse? He made it to land.” Calum settled onto the chair next to the bed. Black Angus sprawled out next to him, his head on his master’s foot.
The older man pursed his lips, red creeping up his neck. “When the ice cracked, the beast panicked and reared, slipping on the ice and falling backward. I’ve never learned to swim. By the time I wallowed my way to the broken edge, I had no more strength left to pull myself out. I tell ye, I watched my life passing before me, and it wasna pretty.”
“I dinna doubt it. Enid and I wondered if ye’d make it through the sweating.”
His fever had taken three days to break. With Enid’s healing hands, he began to regain some color and strength. After a week, he still looked peaked and unfit for travel. But Calum wouldn’t interfere with another man’s decisions, though that rumbly cough concerned him. Another surprise. He was lucky his great-grandfather didn’t reach down from the heavens to strike him smartly for caring about the life of a Craigg.
But he found he liked Malachi. Each time Calum had stopped in to check on the patient, they’d gotten lost in conversation. Both men were well read and shared similar political views concerning the future of Scotland. It was a shame their clans were at odds.
“To be truthful, my family has no idea ye are here. I thought it best to keep yer arrival quiet.” Calum smiled. “I respect my da, but I disagree with holding a grudge from generations past. He’d have tried to ransom ye or something as foolish, I’m sure.”
“My brothers are also tired of the feuding. We’ve tried to reason with our father but he willna listen.” Malachi sat up and swung his legs over the bed. “It is good to hear ye feel the same.”
“Feelings matter little when it comes to clan disputes. The fact is, most disputes we’ve had in the past fifty years have been started by yer side.” Calum eyed him suspiciously. “Yet here we are, talking peace. Why now?”
“The Craigg Clan has lost so many families since the noblemen began clearing the farmland for livestock. When the old English earl was given our lands by the Crown, he was fair for a Sassenach. He left things as they were and allowed the barter system to continue.” Malachi shook his head. “But his son, as ye ken, had progressive ideas. He turned the entire estate into grazing pastures and demanded cash for rent and the privilege of milking the livestock. Most families couldna afford to stay and resettled on the coast, others left for Edinburgh or sailed for America.”
“Aye, and I’m sorry for it. Ye’re no’ the only Scots booted from their land.” He did not add the MacNaughtons owned enough property to avoid being dictated to by the English. “I heard Lord Fulton offered yer family the role of estate manager but the Craigg refused.”
“The Craigg is a proud man with a long memory. Lord Fulton looked down his nose at Da, and got his hackles up. He spoke to Da as if he were a servant rather than the Chieftain of the Craiggs. He refused to work for the bloody welp, as he still calls him, and vowed that any clan member who did would be dead to him.”
“Pride willna fill a man’s belly in the winter.”
“Agreed. Our clan holds no vast amount of property as yer family does, and our resources are growing sparse. In another year, we willna be able to support more than our immediate kin. My oldest brother, Archibald, believes ye could help us.”
“I’ll agree the MacNaughtons are luckier than most. My younger brothers are in Virginia, trying their luck with tobacco. It’s been verra lucrative and allowed us to buy more looms and put our tenants to work spinning yarn and weaving cloth.” From wool yer English earl sends us. Calum rubbed his jaw, thinking how his da had cackled at turning a profit from the Craiggs’ misfortune. “So what were yer brothers thinking?”
“Our keep is crumbling around us, and those who settled on the coast have written they want to come home. We were no’ born fishermen. We must find a way to survive and help those clan members who are depending on us. The constant fighting between us benefits no one.” He held out a hand to indicate their surroundings. “If ye could put us to work here. It may be the only way to survive these times.”
Calum snorted. “I’m sure that advice was as welcome as the ice water bath I pulled ye from.”
“Da turned a deaf ear.” He studied Calum for a long moment. “So we thought a marriage between the clans might work instead. If we are joined by blood…”
“Marriage? A Craigg lass wed to a MacNaughton?”
He nodded. “These are desperate times. I admit I had my doubts, but yer actions at the loch have convinced me it’s possible.”
“So that was the reason ye were on our land? To see if ye could arrange a marriage between our families?” Calum guffawed. “The Craigg and my da would both be vying for yer hide. It might be the one thing they’d agree upon.”
“I was only to find out if ye were open to the possibility.” Malachi gave a sheepish grin. “Do ye wish ye let me drown now?”
“Och, no, mon. Anything that ends this ancient feud would be worth the trouble.”
Calum gripped the man’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “When that day comes, I will be happy to discuss a union between the clans. I believe Da could be persuaded to see reason under those circumstances. If we can live with Sassenach, we should be able to make peace with our own neighbors.”
“I will look forward to that day.” He ran a hand through his brown waves, locks sticking up here and there. “And I swear I will find a way to repay ye before this year is out.”
“Black Angus saved the day. And he’s much easier to please.”
“Thank ye, Calum. I’ll be taking my leave tomorrow. My daughter will be worried sick.”
“What about yer wife?”
“She was taken by fever seven years back. My daughter has been taking care of her brothers and me since she was thirteen.” He grinned. “It’s made her a bit overbearing, but no one makes a black pudding or sweet meat like my Peigi. She can charm the crankiest of men if they only sit down to our table.”
The next day, Calum shook hands with his newfound friend. “Safe travels and Godspeed.”
“I promise I will find a way to settle this debt. Ye havena seen the last of me.”
He watched Malachi ride out behind the stable. With a satisfied smile, he gave a final wave. A good deed with a good outcome and no harm done.
Tomorrow night there was a ceilidh in the village. Food and whisky flowing freely, bonnie lasses flushed with drink and dancing. He rubbed his hands in anticipation and turned back toward the castle, intending to put Malachi and the Craiggs from his mind.
A large hand gripped his shoulder. Calum winced at the strength emanating from the grip.
“And just who in the bloody hell was that?” The harsh voice of his father bellowed in his ear.
Saints and sinners, he’d been so close.
Chapter Two
A Preposterous Proposal
Mid-December 1777
Castle Craigg
“Have ye completely lost yer wits, or do ye think I’m ready for Bedlam myself?” Peigi stood with her hands on her hips, challenging the men in front her. “I willna be yer sacrificial lamb.”
Her uncle and father exchanged looks, one of anger and the other regret. Oh, she knew the next chapters to this book. First cajoling, wheedling, attempt at guilt, and then the anger and commands. With a deep breath, she crossed her arms and stood firm.
Uncle Archibald, the clan’s new chieftain, stepped forward with his arms open and a placating smile on his face. “Now, Peigi, my sweet lass, just hear us out.”
“I heard ye just fine. The earl is willing to hire the lot of ye on—if I agree to be his mistress.”
“Nay, he agreed to a handfasting,” he added. “It would all be fine and proper.”
“But no’ legal. Our bairns would be considered bastards in England and unable to inherit.” She turned to her father, heat rising in her face as she clenched her fists. “And ye agreed to this?”
Malachi shook his head. “Och, no, Daughter. No’ unless ye were willing. But the mince pies ye baked softened him to our cause, and we are desperate…”
Lord Fulton, the English earl who owned most of the surrounding property, had wanted the Craiggs to oversee his estate. Since he didn’t wish to spend much time at his newly inherited property, Fulton preferred to employ the chieftain as steward. But Archibald Craigg had eliminated that possibility after his first tirade directed at the younger nobleman. It seemed the son didn’t like being compared to his father. Her uncle had tried unsuccessfully to placate both men. But Fulton’s pride had been hurt, and the older Craigg would not see reason. Instead, the earl had employed the MacNaughtons and had no desire to cancel the arrangement just because the elder Craigg was dead.
“It was more than the pies, lass. He thinks ye’re quite bonnie and—”
“Do ye hear yerself, Uncle? My poor mother is scratching yer name on her list.” She looked up at her mother’s portrait that so resembled her. The auburn-haired beauty looked down on them with smiling green eyes. “Ma, do ye hear what they want yer only daughter to do?”
“Ye wouldna be the first lass to have an arranged marriage for the sake of the clan. And if ye were a Sassenach, there would be no argument when yer father told ye what to do.” Uncle Enoch’s wide chin stuck out from his broad, ruddy face. He’d always thought her father had indulged her. Archibald then said, “As the chieftain of this clan, I demand ye marry the man.”
“This is no’ an arranged marriage. Ye’re asking me to be a whore, and I willna do it.” She stomped her foot, catching her heel on a stray thread from the worn and faded rug. She kicked it off, frustrated. “Now, I have work to do in the kitchen.”
With that, she picked up her skirts and stomped from the room. At twenty, she was well aware it was time to find a husband. But by the saints, she would be a wife not a kept woman.
“Peigi, wait.” Her father’s pleading voice stopped her halfway down the hall. “I am so verra sorry.”
She turned, blinked back the tears, and rubbed her arms against the chill. Her skin warmed but her heart remained cold. “Ye betrayed me in there, Da. How could ye do it?”
“I told them ye wouldna agree to the bargain, but they wanted ye to make up yer own mind. They love ye, Peigi, but our situation is desolate, and they are grasping at any sign of hope.”
“But to be so reckless with yer own kin.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The worry in his eyes softened her anger. “So ye are no’ asking me to do this?”
“Of course no’. I promised yer mother I wouldna make ye marry—or otherwise—against yer will. But they had to present the earl’s offer.” He paused. “What if it had been a genuine offer of marriage? Would that have made a difference?”
She paused and gave his question due thought. Lord Fulton was not an ugly man. He had that pale refined English look, medium height, and too thin for her taste. She could be stuck with much worse or much older, and he had been attentive. “Perhaps, is all I can say. No’ that it matters, for it isna what he offered.” Peigi would do anything to help her family and her clan. But giving herself up, her virginity, her self-esteem, nay. It was not fair to ask this of her.
“No’ to worry, my sweet. I have another idea that might work just as well.” He patted her cheek, gave her a wink, and walked away.
Peigi slid the dough into one of the baking ovens on the side of the kitchen fireplace. A rich brown gravy bubbled in a cast iron pot hung over glowing embers. She rubbed her sweaty cheek against her shoulder then wiped the remaining flour from her hands onto her apron. Grabbing the brush from the bucket, she set to work scrubbing the table. Thoughts turned to the coming holiday—Hogmanay and the new year’s celebration.
It had been her mother’s favorite time of year. Guests dropping in, special sweet treats prepared, and music and dancing. It had always been a hectic time, preparing the food and decorating the hall. But Ma had rarely spent time in the kitchen except to give instructions. The Craiggs had been prosperous then.
“Mistress Peigi, give me that brush. I leave for barely quarter of an hour and look at ye! Yer hands will redden from the soap and the bristles.” Mairi clucked her disapproval then gave her a sad smile, showing a front gap in her teeth. “It’s a sorrowful day when the old Craigg’s granddaughter must work in the kitchen.” She began to scrub the faded and scarred ashwood, her cheeks quivering with the brisk motion.
Peigi turned back to the kettle and inhaled the civet of hare that she stewed with rosemary and garlic filling her nostrils as she gave it a stir. She and the cook had danced a little jig when her father caught the animal. Hares were a red meat, unlike rabbits, and red meat was rare in the winter for the Craiggs. She reached for a ladle from a hook next to the hearth and stirred the onions, kale, turnips, and potatoes that had s
unk to the bottom.
The menfolk had been in the study all afternoon. According to Mairi, there had been shouts and curses coming from the room earlier. A familiar scene since her grandfather’s death last month. Guilt niggled at her as she thought of how she’d thwarted her father and uncle’s attempt to make peace with the Earl of Fulton. From the constant squabbling between them, they had not found another alternative.
“Miss Peigi, here are more turnips and tatties from the root cellar.” A small boy entered the room. His freckled face was pink from running. “And yer father wants to speak with ye.”
“Thank ye, Charles.” She collected the vegetables in her apron. “Tell Da I’ll come as soon as I’ve finished. Mairi, could ye add these to the stew?”
Satisfied, she picked up her skirts and headed up the stone stairs. Peigi didn’t mind hard work. It filled her days and gave her purpose. Da and her uncles had a heavy burden, and she wanted to do her share. Why pay someone to do tasks she could easily assume? Her mother had insisted Peigi be accomplished in reading, writing, and needlework. Those skills were useful to a degree but did little to put a meal on the table or herbs in the apothecary. So she’d educated herself in more practical skills with the help of Mairi. The woman was a library of knowledge on anything that had roots, leaves, or berries.
After changing into a deep brown skirt and matching bodice, she checked her reflection, tucked a few stray locks under her cap, and headed for the study. As she approached the door, angry voices penetrated the thick wood.
“Are ye sure there is no other way?”
Och, she was tired of the arguments between them. Why couldn’t men discuss things calmly like the women? She gave a hard rap on the door and pushed it open.
“Weel, here we are again. My apologies, my lovely niece, for the last meeting. Ye ken how much we care about ye. I swear ye are the image of my dear departed sister.” He held out his arms. “Can ye forgive a cantankerous old man?”