A soft rap at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he called out. Straightening from the basin, he reached for an old leine and tunic to toss over his head.
Niall stepped inside, sealing the door behind him, and leaned his back against the wooden timbers. Lines of exhaustion wore heavy in the man’s stern features.
At once, guilt prodded at Aaron for the request he’d made of his friend.
“Did you manage to get a speck of sleep?” he queried with a lift of his brows.
“Aye, a bit.” Niall scrubbed a hand over his scruffy cheeks and shorn red hair. “I thought you’d wish to know MacGregor along with his small party attempted the pass.”
For a suspended moment, Aaron sucked in a lungful of air, hesitant of what else Niall might add. He may not care for MacGregor, but he did not harbor any ill will toward Mairi’s kin. When Niall did not speak soon enough, Aaron urged him with a wave of his hand.
“And? What happened?”
The big man speared him with a wry stare. “So, you do care.”
Aye, well, he’d rather not explain to Mairi her brother fell off the side of a cliff. With a roll of his eyes, he huffed out a grunt. “Saints, man. Speak.”
“From the looks of things, they made it up the bluff to a certain point. From what I can tell, he and his men successfully made it back down to safety as well.”
Bemused, Aaron frowned. If they’d made it up, then why retreat?
Niall responded to his unspoken question. “Seems a large chunk of the passage midway up the trail crumbled and fell away. Until most of the ice and snow melts, ’tis not safe to attempt travel.”
Hell, ’twas not the tidings he wished to hear.
“Are you certain? ’Tis no other way?” Though, he knew the answer before Niall muttered a sound.
He’d spent his life living on the bluff side near the Scottish shore. Though the summers were breathtaking, winter never ceased to pose problems. The damp sea air and freezing conditions, coupled with the climbing, rocky terrain, never boded safe travels during the winter months, even without the benefit of a storm. More often than not, both trails remained near impassable until the frigid weather subsided and the earth began to thaw.
Blasted hell, that meant Mairi, most assuredly, would remain in residence for at least a fortnight, if not longer. For Christ’s sake, the disconcertingly complicated situation worsened, crossing over into disastrous territory.
“Your stricken features tell me you’ve deduced the answer for yourself,” Niall said with a slight lift of his lips.
Aaron clung to the fraying thread of his remaining reason. Otherwise, he might’ve hurled the basin across the chamber in frustration. He stalked to the edge of the bed and plopped down before emitting a harsh curse that resounded from the stone walls.
“What in the hell am I to do with her now?”
Niall shoved away from the entrance and crossed the chamber to sit in a chair in front of the hearth. Facing the fire, he warmed his hands and cast a glimpse at Aaron.
“I’m afraid you have little choice in the matter. Besides, what’s so horrid with her being here? I thought you cared for the woman.”
“Saints, you’ve been speaking to Connor too damned much,” Aaron muttered.
Niall shrugged. “She seems an affable sort.”
’Twas the problem.
Affable was too tame a word to describe Mairi. The lass was caring and kind. Not to mention, bold and spirited, comely and passionate—everything to ensnare the hollowed organ in Aaron’s chest. Saints alive, could he survive a fortnight in such close proximity to the woman?
“She means naught to me.” The faithless words tumbled from his mouth in a garbled rush. Even he scarcely believed them himself.
In truth, he’d no notion why he bothered speaking them in the first place. Without lifting his gaze, he could feel the weight of Niall’s stare burning into him.
“Then, I suppose you shall have no trouble explaining to her that the bluff’s impassable and she has no choice but to remain.”
Aaron’s head snapped upright to gawk at his friend. “What? Nay. Connor brought her here. Let him deal with her wrath.”
Niall’s red brows lowered in disapproval. “You’re laird, not Connor. Whether you wish to claim the position or not.”
“You know damned well I’m no laird. I never will be,” he asserted with a growl. “’Tis best you and everyone else around here figures that out.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Aaron.” Shaking his head, Niall pushed upright and stalked toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to rather than listening to your nonsense.”
Without waiting for a response, Niall exited the chamber, banging the door shut behind him with a jarring slam.
Irritated, Aaron flopped back on the bed with his arms spread wide. First Connor, now Niall. The relentless pair never ceased with their ridiculous drivel.
’Twas a mercy he had another long day of work to keep him occupied and far away from Mairi MacGregor. The less he saw of the woman, the better for both of them.
Chapter Eight
Seated at the high table in the great hall alongside Connor, Mairi struggled to swallow her first bite of porridge. The foul concoction hung in her throat. She coughed to clear the sticky obstruction. How the devil could anyone ruin fare as simple as cooked oats?
Appalled, she darted a glance at Connor, who downed the warmed muck with no complaints. On her other side, Kate dined with a bit less enthusiasm. Nonetheless, the young woman ate the wretched mess. Glancing around at the trestle tables at a few loaves of bread and tankards of weakened ale, Mairi suspected there was little room to balk at the offering.
Throughout the hall, men, women, and children seated along the worn benches and trestle tables broke their fast in relative silence, shoveling in bite after bite of the pig’s swill, as if it might be their last meal. The unkind thought gave her pause. In truth, ’twas a strong possibility.
’Twas no secret the MacRaes were not a wealthy clan by any means. No doubt, the members toiled hard to carve out a meager existence from day to day. Especially after years under the neglectful thumb of their old laird along with their misfortunes the prior year with Geoffrey Longford.
Mairi had witnessed the keep’s state of disrepair the year prior. From the crumbling outer walls to the foul odors and soured rushes in the hall, the previous Laird MacRae had disregarded the welfare of his people and home. As she surveyed the chamber, taking in the sparse spread of fare, the bare stone walls and floors, and the MacRaes’ worn clothing, ’twas obvious the small clan struggled to survive.
The banquet room lacked many of the comforts found in her brother’s hall such as rich tapestries and banners, piled trenchers overflowing with meats, fruits and cheeses, and the sweet scent of herb rushes scattered over the floors. She counted herself fortunate that Calum had somehow found a way to build the MacGregor coffers and provide ample food, clothing and shelter for their clan. Her brother made certain she’d never lacked for a thing.
However, Mairi admitted the state of the MacRae Keep had improved since the last time she was in residence. The cloying odors of rotting food and soured bodies no longer blanketed the air. Despite the absence of rushes, the floors and walls had been scrubbed and scoured clean of the filth that had once littered the hall. A warm fire blazed in the massive hearth near the entrance to the kitchens, chasing away the damp chill in the air.
Alas, what drew her notice more than anything else was the level of melancholy and, mayhap, the air of resignation that dotted every solemn face in the hall. With their heads folded toward their bowls, hardly anyone spoke aloud except for a few quiet murmurs.
Their downtrodden dispositions disheartened Mairi. In truth, she could not bear the sight for long. ’Twas a mercy she would not have to. Soon, she would leave the somber place once and for all.
With a sigh, she frowned at her bowl of inedible
fare. Any thought of setting out on a full belly was out of the question. Not with the tasteless dish of mush in front of her. Shoving away the bowl, she transferred her attention to Gertie seated across the trestle table.
The old healer rummaged through a leather pouch along her side and retrieved a wee, earthen jar from inside. Uncorking the container, Gertie dipped her spoon inside and placed a dark, syrupy substance in her porridge, stirring in the unknown mixture.
Intrigued, Mairi leaned closer as the old woman licked the remnants from her spoon with a hum of satisfaction. Gertie glanced at her and a broad, toothless grin spread over her ruddy cheeks. She extended the jar to Mairi.
“Try a wee bit,” the other woman urged.
Uncertain, Mairi narrowed her gaze. “What is it?”
“Just try a taste.” The healer pushed the jar at her.
Accepting Gertie’s offering, Mairi raised the earthen container to her nose and a rich, sweetened aroma wafted up her nose. Her curiosity piqued, she ran the tip of her finger along the top inside of the jar and lifted her finger to her tongue. ’Twas a tangy-flavored honey which nearly tugged a contented sigh from her.
Amazed, she met Gertie’s amused gaze. “By the Saints, ’tis good.”
“You’d do well to listen to old Gertie.” The healer winked.
Using her spoon, she followed Gertie’s suggestion and dipped a spoonful in her porridge. With a bit of reluctance, Mairi returned the jar. Though, she had half a mind to keep the honeyed blend for herself.
“What’s the flavor? I cannot place it.”
Gertie corked the container and stashed her prized goods in her pouch. “’Tis a mixture of honey, heather, cloudberries, and ginger.”
Sampling a spoonful of porridge, Mairi nodded her approval. In truth, the fare was not half-bad with the sweet addition. “You’re right. ’Tis much improved. Why does the clan’s cook not use such ingredients?”
’Twas what Agnes, the MacGregors’ cook, had done for years. At times, the simplest of spices and seasonings wholly enhanced the flavor of dishes, giving them an altogether different taste.” Rolling her eyes, Gertie swallowed her mouthful. “’Tis Glinda for you. The old fool’s as obstinate as the sea is long. There’s no reasoning with the blasted woman.”
Connor chuckled. “’Tis not very gracious of you, Gertie.”
The healer snorted. “Aye, well, ’tis truth and you know it.”
Mairi glanced between the pair.
“Glinda’s our cook,” Connor explained. “She and Gertie are always at each other’s necks.”
“Ah.” Speaking of at each other’s necks, she craned hers to peer at Connor. “I’m not speaking to you, if you’ll remember. I’m still wroth with you.”
With a sheepish grin, he held his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough, my lady. Though, I thought I might show you around the keep, since it appears you shall have no choice but to extend your stay with us a bit longer.”
For several moments, his words reverberated in her mind before she grasped the meaning.
“What?” she blurted in a near shout that drew everyone’s attention in the quiet hall. Heads snapped up from their wretched fare to stare at her. “I’ve no intention of remaining any longer than I must, Connor. We’ve discussed this already. I shall be on my way this morn if the snow has eased.”
“Well, about that…” Not quite meeting her gaze, Connor fidgeted with his spoon, shoving his remaining porridge from one side of the dish to the other.
“Spit it out, Connor.” She shifted in her seat to face him directly.
If anything, the young man squirmed under her scrutiny.
Coughing in his hand, he cleared his throat. “I spoke with Aaron this morn. Niall says the bluff’s…well, ’tis impassible.”
Her mouth flapped open. Surely, ’twas a jest. “There must be another way down.”
There had to be.
His dark gaze met hers and glaring honesty shone in his eyes, which prompted her heart to lurch and plummet to the floor at her feet.
“Truly, there is no other way.” Licking his lips, he hesitated before adding, “Much of the snow and ice must thaw before you can attempt the pass with any degree of safety.” He placed a hand to his chest. “’Tis the God’s honest truth, Lady Mairi.”
“You mean to say, when the winters are harsh, everyone is merely stuck here for days, if not sennights?” Alarm heightened the pitch of her voice.
“Aye,” he asserted with an exaggerated nod.
“He speaks the truth, lass,” Gertie added in a quiet murmur that Mairi ignored.
Her sprinting mind floundered to comprehend. Nay, ’twas another falsehood. It had to be.
There was no way she was stranded there. Nor could she withstand such nearness to Aaron MacRae. And what of her kin? How was she to get word to them? Too many questions crowded her overwrought mind. The notion of an imposed stay soured her partially empty stomach.
“I do not believe you.” Had he not boldly lied to her before? She could not fathom remaining there a moment longer. “I wish to speak to your brother.”
Connor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “He’s occupied with other matters this morn. He’s asked me to look after you.”
Oh, had he?
With her threadbare composure close to snapping, she slammed her palm flat on the wooden trestle table. The resounding strike filtered through the hush in the hall. Mairi bounded to her feet and loomed over Connor. “I do not give a damn what he’s told you. Take me to your arse of a brother, now!”
Several muted gasps rose from the hall, but she scarcely heeded anyone else in the chamber but the shocked young man in front of her.
Snapping his head back to peer at her, Connor blinked in surprise. “Saints, you’re a mean-spirited woman when you do not get your way.”
Holy Mother spare her. She resisted grabbing the lad by the nape and hauling him upright. She’d never met anyone she yearned to throttle more than her cousin, Liam.
Until now, that is.
When the devil had the meek youth she remembered grown into such a wry, deceptive young man?
Rolling his eyes, he expelled a gusty sigh and hoisted himself to his feet, careful to lean far away from her grasp. ’Twas insightful, since the urge to shake him pressed at Mairi.
He warned, “’Tis not my fault if he’s in a foul mood.”
She did snort at that. “Cannot be any worse than my own.” She jabbed him in the arm. “Now, lead the blasted way.”
*
“Do not look at me like that. ’Tis all I have for now.” Aaron rubbed behind the gray cat’s ears, earning him a contented purr. Allowing a grin, he shooed the cat from the top of the bench he wished to finish. “Seek your bed while I work.”
Mewing in agreement, the plump beast jumped from the seat and sauntered to the pallet he’d fashioned out of worn pelts near the hearth for her.
Why he’d taken a shine to the wee animal was anyone’s best guess. In truth, he was not entirely certain where she’d come from in the first place. One day, she happened to appear while he gathered fish along the shore a few months ago.
At first, he’d tried to run her off. Then, he’d attempted to simply ignore her presence. But day after day, she returned, practically fur and bones, begging him for food and attention until he relented. Somehow, the gray tabby had charmed its way into his life.
Of course, with the freezing weather and snow, he refused to leave her out of doors. Late one eve, he’d snuck her into the keep and left her in the solar away from the prying eyes of his clan.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he picked up the stalks of shave grass he’d clipped along the shore and returned to smoothing the wooden bench he’d constructed the day before. Using the coarse, dried seagrass, he shaved away the splinters from the timber planks, leveling the surface of the wood.
Since the winter weather forced him indoors and away from repairs around the holding, he’d chosen to replace many of the worn
benches and chairs throughout the great hall. Alas, many had been broken or simply worn thin from years of use. As his woodworking abilities left a bit to be desired, ’twas a rather daunting task at times. Nonetheless, working with his hands and building new pieces of furniture soothed him. For a change of pace, his restless mind found a small measure of peace while he toiled away with the planks of timber.
A loud banging rattled the solar entrance on its hinges, causing Aaron to flinch.
“Aaron.”
Connor’s shout beckoned from the opposite side of the door, shattering Aaron’s focus and stealing his wee slice of tranquility altogether. He hung his head in defeat before chucking the stalks of grass atop the bench. His brother would not cease until he answered. ’Twas a vexing habit of Connor’s that had worsened since their father’s death.
Straightening to his feet, Aaron clucked his tongue and motioned for the cat to scatter while he strode to the door. Thankfully, the animal heeded his instruction and darted for cover. Mayhap, ’twas foolish but he’d no wish to explain the cat to Connor, or anyone else, for that matter.
Cracking the door wide enough to peer outside, he nearly groaned aloud at the sight of his brother’s flustered features and Mairi’s fuming countenance. Any hopes of steering clear of the woman were fleeting from the looks of things. For a flicker of a moment, he considered slamming the door in their faces and barring himself inside.
Ignoring Mairi’s fiery beauty, he focused on his brother. “Aye?”
“Lady Mairi—”
“Connor says the passage is blocked,” the lass interrupted without as much as batting an eyelash. The rigid set of her jaw and shoulders spoke of her annoyance. And damned if her snarling stare did not heat his blood.
She demanded, “Does he speak the truth?”
Christ, one simple task he’d asked of his brother. Of course, he should’ve known Mairi would overwhelm Connor. Hell, the lass never ceased to overwhelm him.
Pasting on a harsh scowl, Aaron narrowed his gaze on her. For a moment, he’d stumbled to find his words. “Aye, he speaks the truth.”
Reckless Scotland Page 128