“We will take care of them,” Malcolm Dunbar said firmly. “No one starves on our estate.”
Malle was astonished. She had always thought of the Dunbars as merciless criminals, but it seemed that they cared about their workers just as much as the MacEwans did.
Craig was reluctantly impressed by Malle; he had never seen a woman with so much fire and spirit, coupled with so much beauty. She should have looked like a little girl with her small stature and neat features, but the flame inside her was what defined her as a real and passionate woman. He had tried to lie to himself, but he found her deeply attractive, and he was extremely conscious of her nearness as they set off back to the Cut.
Despite her dislike of him, Malle was finding it hard not to look at Craig. He was a handsome, imposing man, and she could see why he had a reputation as a seducer of women. He had defended the indefensible the day before, but Malle had to admit to herself that she might have done the same with one of her own loyal workers. She wondered briefly what it would be like to be held in his powerful arms and have his lips caressing hers, his beard tickling her face.
However, his remark about women’s stupidity was utterly inexcusable, and completely washed any good opinion that she might have developed about him in the future. There were some things that simply could not be forgiven.
When they reached the burn Malcolm, Kenneth, Craig, and Malle dismounted and went to the water to look at the body.
“Is that the sword that killed him, do you think?” Malle asked, pointing to the shining shape on the stream bed.
“How could we possibly know that?” Craig asked, as if she were a simpleton. “We will have to fetch it out and see.” Without another word, he plunged into the water and retrieved the sword, then tossed it out onto the bank. He was soaked from head to the middle of his chest and his shirt was clinging to his body, clearly defining every plane and contour of the muscles of his torso. When he lifted Fergus’s body out of the water, she saw his arm muscles bulge as he strained to heft the dead weight onto the bank.
It was a clear spring morning, the water was freezing, and Craig shivered uncontrollably as he heaved himself out of the stream. One of the guards came and threw a cloak over him
He knelt down to close the staring eyes of the corpse, just as Malle did the same. Their hands touched and she jumped back as if she had been stung.
“Was this not what you wanted, MacEwan?” he asked softly, so that he could not be overheard. “If you are convinced that he was a criminal, then your land and everything on it are safe now. Or maybe you had him killed for revenge!”
She looked at him in absolute disbelief, and was unable to speak for a moment. “Are you quite mad?” she asked, her voice high with indignation. “Why should anyone value the life of livestock over that of men? You are the most...”—she struggled to find the word—“...the most despicable man I ever met!”
He looked down into her raging eyes and felt a shaft of desire shoot through him. Why was it that the angrier she became the more he wanted her?
“Clearly murder sits easily on your conscience, Dunbar,” she growled. “Well I am not at ease with it. The thought of roasting in hell for eternity is not one that appeals to me. For all I know, even you could have killed this man for some twisted reason of your own. Maybe as a punishment or even because you wanted to accuse me for doing so after our argument!”
4
Dunbar Estate
They glared at each other for what seemed like ages, and she saw his fists clench and his eyes darken with rage. “If you were a man I would strike you down for that!”
“Why do you not strike me anyway?” She was taunting him deliberately now, daring him to do his worst. “You don’t have a very high opinion of women anyway!”
He caught her wrists and held her while he scowled at her. She knew she had gone too far, but it was too late to back out now; she could not release herself from his grip so she stared back angrily into his eyes without flinching.
She had no idea what might have happened next if she had not seen a sudden softening of his expression, and he let her go just as both Lairds came to separate them.
I am not going to cry, she said to herself. I will not give him the satisfaction of seeing me weep.
Laird Dunbar came up to him and introduced himself. “I heard some of your conversation, Mistress MacEwan,” he informed her, “and I assure you that the Dunbar family had nothing to do with this, but I think I know who did. However, before we jump to conclusions, we must take this body back and examine it. This man is well known to me and my son, and if someone is murdering my workers I want to know who it is. You should too, Laird MacEwan, for they may visit you next. We will go to my castle, if it is acceptable to you.”
Kenneth answered that it was, and they began to ride through the unfamiliar grounds of the Dunbar estate. Malle looked around her keenly, fascinated at the landscape, which had always been so close to her, yet so far away that it might as well have been on the moon. It was much like their own, but it was much less open, with many more fir and pine trees growing there.
There were sheep dotted around, all Scottish Blackfaces with their distinctive dark legs and faces, and the grass was cropped short where they had passed over it. Lambs had begun to appear in the last month, each one gamboling around with their fellows or happily nursing from their mothers.
They were adorable, Malle thought, thinking of the time when she was a little girl of seven when she had been allowed to hand-rear one of her own until it was six months old. She had felt so important, and so loved as she thought that the little creature depended on her entirely. Looking back now, she knew that the farm hands had done much of the work, but she still felt warm inside when she thought of it.
Presently, she began to pass barley and rye fields, both shining patches of gold in the flat white hazy light, and the bright emerald green of oats. Malle gazed at it all contentedly. If it had not been for the events of the morning it would have been serenely lovely, but finding a dead man in the river was the stuff of nightmares, something that she would dream about for weeks to come, if not forever. She shuddered, but when she let the peace of the day soak into her soul she knew that the tranquility of life would go on after this; it was a bump in the road, that was all.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting the brisk breeze from the mountains wash over her. Ridge upon ridge they stood, blue-gray and forbidding, like a row of sharp teeth against the sky. Malle knew that when the storm clouds came down they would all but disappear and be nothing but a gray smudge, but even then they would be grimly beautiful.
She had only been to the Lowlands once, but had missed the bleak loveliness of the Highland moors, the black pine and fir trees and the gray rocks protruding from the grass as if the very bones of the earth were showing through. All those same trees grew there too, but they looked tidy.
Even that part of Scotland was pretty, though. She often wondered if foreign people felt the same passionate love for their home countries as she did for Scotland—the strange, fierce little kingdom that clung tenaciously to the edge of Europe. She could never leave it, because she could simply not imagine living anywhere else, so passionately did she love this fearsome little place.
It was at that moment that she felt someone watching her, and she turned her head sideways to look into Craig’s angry eyes. She frowned at him.
“Dunbar?” she asked haughtily.
“MacEwan?” he replied in the same tone.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, tilting her head and looking down her nose at him in a condescending manner.
“It might have something to do with the fact that you have just insinuated that I am a murderer,” he growled. “Which I am not!”
“If it is not true, then why are you upset about it?” she asked. “It is probably just the ravings of a stupid woman, after all.”
“Aaah, I see!” He laughed. “Well, if it is not true th
at women are stupid, then why are you so upset about it?” He smirked. “You see, MacEwan, two can play at that game!”
Having neatly turned the tables on her, he spurred his horse on to ride beside his father, and Malle was left looking at the back of his head, silently seething with anger. She was also annoyed with herself, because despite her best efforts to stop it from happening, she was beginning to find Craig Dunbar more and more desirable.
They reached Dunbar Castle a short time later, and Malle was impressed by its size. It was circular, with four rings of walls, one inside the other, ascending to one slim central tower in the middle which was higher than the rest of the castle. From here the Scottish flag, a white diagonal St Andrew’s cross on a blue background, fluttered in the breeze, and Malle felt a surge of pride. She would always feel safe where the Saltire flew, and the love of their country was the only thing that the Dunbars and MacEwans could agree on.
They entered through the main gate, and if the stable hands were surprised to see a young woman amongst all the men, they did not say so.
Craig had been shivering all the way home, and now he needed to wash and change, suddenly aware of how decrepit he must look in Malle’s eyes. He caught himself up short at that.
Why do I care what Malle MacEwan thinks? he thought savagely. She means nothing to me!
He scrubbed himself down with a piece of pumice and a rough bar of soap that was made at the local monastery, then he dressed in a fresh linen shirt and his second best kilt. He was not dressed for a ceilidh, but he looked a great deal better than he had before. He refused to admit to himself that he wanted to impress Malle, even though she was the only woman he had ever met who attracted him in so many different ways.
He looked at his beard and decided that it needed a trim, but there was no time now, so he contented himself with running a wooden comb through his hair before going downstairs.
When she saw him, Malle wanted to stare at him for as long as she could, for he was magnificent. She could see that he was not dressed up, but he looked clean and comfortable, with every beautiful line of his body enhanced by his crisp white shirt that also showed just a hint of rust-colored chest hair.
Malle realized she was staring and abruptly looked away, blushing. If Craig noticed, he made no sign of it. He held out a glass of wine to her, his eyebrows raised questioningly, and she took it gratefully, mumbling her thanks.
Laird Dunbar sat everyone down at the dining room table, having sent all but two of the guards away. His eyes, as dark gray as Craig’s, looked around the table.
“Laird MacEwan,” he began, “it has been some time since your family and mine saw eye to eye, but now we have a problem here that affects both of us. Fergus had been a loyal worker of mine for many years, as had his father before him, but lately he seemed to change.” He shook his head, baffled.
“At first we thought it was you who was causing trouble on our estate,” Craig put in, “but we found some evidence that points to outsiders. There is a cave near the edge of the other boundary of the estate where we found clothes, blankets, cooking materials, and a few other basics for living very simply. It looks as if three people were staying there, but there may be others we do not know about.” He paused for a moment. “Our families are not friendly, and have not been for a very long time. However, even though I am not yet the Laird proper, I thought this might be a first step to heal the breach between us. In this situation, what affects us affects you, and what affects you affects us.”
Kenneth MacEwan looked at Craig with astonishment in his eyes. “You mean—end our feud?”
“I did not say that,” he replied, shaking his head. “I meant a cautious truce.”
The MacEwans finished their wine and stood up, then Craig bowed to Malle in farewell. He did not kiss her hand, but she curtsied to him anyway.
As she turned away, a strand of hair escaped from the knot on top of her head and dropped down her back, and Craig could see that it reached down to her waist. He loved long hair, and the longer the better. He only just stopped himself from reaching out to touch it.
Malle could feel his eyes on her back, but she did not turn around.
As they stood at the main entrance to the castle watching them ride away, Malcolm smiled. “Beautiful girl,” he remarked.
“Then you get to know her, Father,” Craig said grimly.
They rode back faster and more cautiously, and both of them scanned the countryside around them continuously to see if there were any signs of suspicious activity of any sort. Once across the river they felt a little safer, and Malle felt free to speak.
“Have you heard about these people, Paw?” she asked, troubled. “I mean—what do they really want?”
“I have,” he replied. His face was grim, and he looked uncomfortable. “I think it has something to do with the feud between our families, but I do not know exactly what, and I had no idea they were so close. It is very worrying.”
That evening at bedtime Malle stood at her window staring down at the estate below her. Their land was relatively flat and treeless for the most part, so on a moonlit night she could often see for miles. However, tonight there was only starlight, and the darkness down below was almost total.
She fancied that she could see shapes like dark insects creeping under the shadows of the trees—could it be the troublemakers coming to pay a visit? She thought about going out to search, but then admitted to herself that she might really be hoping that Craig was one of them. She had no need to go out looking anyway. Even if there were bandits outside, there were twenty guards with swords and pikes between them, so she had no reason to worry. She was being fanciful. Wasn’t she?
She had given up all hope of trying not to think about Craig today. Despite her dislike of him, she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. When he had come downstairs and she saw him in his kilt and white shirt with the triangle of red hair at his throat, his hair and beard the color of autumn leaves glinting in the daylight, she had felt herself go weak at the knees. How could a man who was the person she disliked most in the whole world be the most attractive?
She drank a cup of Valerian tea and crushed lavender leaves on her pillow, then fell asleep straight away, but her last thought before sleep claimed her was of Craig.
5
The Secret Room
When she woke the next morning Malle looked out the window and groaned. It was not just raining, it was coming down so hard that nothing was visible for more than twenty yards. There would be no riding, walking, or picnicking today. It was on days like this that Malle loved to bury herself in a book, but there was nothing in the library that took her fancy that day, and she did not want to sit with her mother; all she ever talked about was who was getting married, what her dress was like, and when was it going to be Malle’s turn?
Although she loved her mother dearly, the thought of listening to that drivel all day made her feel quite sick. Malle’s agile mind needed constant stimulation, and she had recently discovered one part of the castle that she was certain no one else knew about.
She had found it a few months previously when she was browsing for something to read. Having pulled out a perfectly ordinary looking book, she was astounded when all of a sudden a whole section of the bookcase swiveled out, almost knocking her down. She had a brief, tantalizing glimpse of an impenetrably dark space, but unfortunately her mother had come in, and she had not had a proper chance to explore it since. Not until now.
Now she pulled the book out and the door opened as it had before. She had a candelabra with six candles to illuminate her way, so she had more than enough light to see by. The walls of the passage were made of big blocks of sandstone, and the air was stuffy and smelled musty, with cobwebs decorating the corners of the roof and brushing against Malle’s face. About ten yards past the entrance she saw a stout wooden door on her left, and wondered what was inside. She was half expecting to see a pile of skeletons, but the only things in the room were shelves and shelve
s of rolled parchment. Little did Malle know then that she had stumbled on a treasure trove.
She pulled out a few documents from the shelves randomly then sat on the floor with her back against the wall to read them. They were all dated, so she had a vague idea of the generation she was dealing with. She decided to try to put them into some sort of order when she had time, and for once she was hoping that the rain would bucket down for days.
She picked up a document dated about fifty years before and began to read. The letter was obviously the answer to a man who had written to his father complaining about the price of wool falling so much that soon he would be bankrupt, and Malle quickly put that one down.
Perhaps I should keep it, she thought, in case I cannot sleep and run out of Valerian tea. She chuckled at the thought.
She went through many more such letters before she came to something a bit more interesting.
There were many letters from different members of the family, all addressed to Laird Hugh MacEwan, Malle’s great-great grandfather, and they all had one thing in common: the Dunbars, who were the wealthiest family in the area at that time and thought they could lord it over everyone else.
They treated their neighbors with great disrespect, grazing animals on their land and taking fields beyond their boundaries, but they were too powerful to oppose. The MacEwans were protected to a certain extent by the fact that a stream ran on the border between their two estates, and they had friendly relations with all of their neighbors, even the Dunbars, although they kept a watchful eye on them. Other lairds with smaller estates looked to the MacEwans for support, but without fomenting war, little could be done.
She went on until she found a big leather-bound book with hundreds of pages in it. The volume was so old that their edges had been eaten into tatters by moths. Hmmm… she thought, this may be the start of my journey.
Highlander's Ancient Vengeance (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 3