by Wine, Mary
“I’m going to see the Arch Bishop,” Vychan replied. “It’s one thing to wed me mother on yer land. Another thing altogether if we want the other clans to recognize me as yer son. For that, we’ll need the blessing of the church. The Makenzie might release Rhedyn if they hear we have the church on our side as well, but I have to be acknowledged as yer son and heir before I can stand in front of Buchanan and tell him to hand over me sister. As a bastard, I do nae have much respect. The other clans will no’ likely stand with me if the church does nae accept yer union.”
“Aye, aye,” Colum grumbled as he accepted a mug of ale from a servant. “I’ve done ye wrong in this life son, and it would seem I am still no better at making judgements using me brain instead of me emotions. The Mackenzies will no’ give up Rhedyn easily.”
Vychan watched Colum settled into a large chair near a hearth. A fire was just beginning to get going, crackling and cutting through the chill in the room.
His father.
Vychan had spent more than a few hours thinking about the moment when he’d be in the same room as Colum Lindsey. The shameful truth was that most of those times he’d enjoyed the idea of what insults he’d unleash on the man who had left him bastard born and his mother shamed by her lack of husband.
Reality was surprisingly better than his dark ideas.
For now, he faced a future with his father. It was the honest truth he’d never thought such a thing was possible until he’d found his mother’s letters.
There really were always two sides to an issue.
Vychan felt that knowledge sober him. He’d longed for a future with his father. Been envious of other boys who had fathers in their lives when he was called bastard for something he’d had no control over. But he’d still fought and bled when one of those boys had called his mother a lightskirt. Even when he knew he’d go home to her bleeding.
She was all he’d ever had until now. It was hard to understand why she’d chosen a life as a shamed woman over going to a man who loved her.
Pride was a burden.
But Vychan acknowledged he had it in spades. Why else would he fight against the truth being spoken? He was born bastard. Maybe he should be thankful, for he’d grown up strong and knowing what it was like to have naught but the people in his family.
Buchanan Mackenzie had unwittingly made himself Vychan’s enemy. For Rhedyn was his sister. She was family. And Vychan would always fight for his blood.
*
Makenzie land…
Time crept by.
Rhedyn found the days growing longer and longer. Tyree came only once a day. She was grateful for his visit, and yet mortified to have him carrying away her chamber pot.
Still, the Butler was her only source of companionship. Sometimes he brought her something new. Such as a bucket of water and a sliver of soap. She found herself excited as she approached the bucket, peeking over the chipped edge to see what wonders it held.
By the end of the week, though, she suddenly realized the sound of the chain slipping through the slats was truly beginning to wear away at her sanity.
She covered her ears to block it out, backing away from the bucket.
Turning around, she opened one of the sets of shutters. A gust of evening air blew in. It raised goosebumps along her limbs, but she sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She was not dead! And she wouldn’t accept that she would never be free again.
She could smell the heather beginning to bloom.
And there was the scent of newly-turned earth.
And…a hint of the smell of horses.
The wind gusted again, and she drew in a deeper breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing her sense of smell to take over. The candle blew out, but she didn’t care, she sunk down and lay on the floor where she might look up at the stars. Pulling the blanket close, she huddled inside it as she returned to trying to identify the scents on the wind.
But the sound of the chain came again. She turned to stare at the door.
Tyree opened it and looked at the bucket where he’d left it. He held another candle in his hand. Lowering it toward the one he’d left by the bucket, he relit it.
“Best close the shutters,” he instructed. “I felt the chill all the way in the kitchens.”
A gust of wind blew in and went down the stairs. It made a whistling sound but drew more scents from the outside world. Rhedyn turned toward the open window and smiled. She wouldn’t be deprived of her only link with life, for it was her only way to hold onto her sanity.
“It’s fine and fair and suits me well,” she told Tyree before ignoring him in favor of discovering what other scents the next gust might deliver to her.
The air chilled her nose, but she liked it. At least with her eyes closed and her mind keenly focused on deciphering scents, she wasn’t aware of time creeping by.
“Why are ye not eating?”
Rhedyn jumped. Somehow, Buchanan had appeared. She rolled onto her back and came to rest on her bottom. Her legs were sticking out from her tangled skirt as she blinked.
“Mistress, I will have an answer from ye,” he demanded after she remained silent.
Her temper suddenly flickered. Rhedyn enjoyed the surge of anger because it burned through the melancholy which had taken hold of her. She got to her feet, suddenly realizing that her head only came to Buchanan’s shoulder.
He was a brute. His eyes narrowed as she remained silent. He pointed at the bucket.
“Me Butler took the time to see to yer needs, and yet ye leave it there? Do ye expect Tyree to cater to yer likes and dislikes, then?”
The Mackenzie laird’s frustration struck her as amusing. But in that way that a good fit of temper found things entertaining. His arrogance certainly knew no bounds! Was it the captive’s place to please the brute who had locked her abovestairs for too many days to count?
Ha. He’d grow impatient waiting for her to voice such a thing.
He grunted and braced his hands on his hips. “Let’s hear it, madam,” he pressed. “What is it ye are expecting?”
“Naught,” she replied tightly.
He raised an eyebrow at her tartness.
“Naught,” she repeated more firmly. “I expect nothing from ye. Certainly no’ this display of concern over me missing a meal. Leave if all ye seek is me crying to ye, for I won’t be asking anything of ye, Laird Mackenzie.”
Aye, it was her pride leading her, but she refused to look to him for affection.
But Buchanan remained where he was. Contemplating her.
“Since it is the only meal ye have been afforded this day, it is necessary for ye to consume it.”
Her lips twitched, and she didn’t quell the urge to smile. The look of confusion on Buchanan’s face was certainly worth having her feelings seen by him.
“Sitting in this room all day simply does nae build an appetite, Laird Mackenzie.”
Her circumstance could be worse, but she wouldn’t crumple at his feet like some dog.
Instead, she stared straight at him, noting the warm, brown color of his eyes. They went well with his dark blonde hair, she supposed. If she were of the mind to find anything about him favorable.
“Ye’re being stubborn, woman.”
“I do nae deny it,” Rhedyn confirmed. “How else am I to survive this visit to the Mackenzie stronghold? As ye’ve threatened me with me sister’s well-being, it seems I need to gather my strength lest I be responsible for Bree falling into yer keeping.”
Buchanan slowly nodded. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. She should have been more wary of it, of prodding him. But she simply wasn’t, for time was a far crueler adversary.
So, she stared back at him, even when she suspected meekness might have been the wiser choice of action. Buchanan Mackenzie wasn’t a man who refused to take a challenge, and the way his eyes narrowed, warned her he was plotting to win the battle she had started.
She’d not back down.
“No appetite is it
?” he asked softly.
His tone was menacing really, but her pride refused to allow her to bend. The man already hated her. Perhaps when she had first arrived, she feared being put to the sword, but after endless days of being locked away, she realized a quick death really was a mercy.
“I see, lass.” There was a hint of enjoyment in his tone now, the sort a man used on a mare he was intent on slipping a bridle onto.
A sense of foreboding tingled through her. A moment later, Buchanan reached out and clasped her upper arm. He was turning her toward the open door as Tyree cleared out of the way. Buchanan pulled her down the stairs quickly, before she had time to realize what he was doing. She barely got a look at the kitchens while he tugged her across their length. And then there was another passageway before she heard the buzz of conversation and they entered the great hall. He spun her free.
“Dance.”
Rhedyn skidded to a stop. Her skirts kept going before falling back down to cover her legs. The hall was full of Mackenzie Retainers enjoying the last meal of the day. Long tables filled the space, and they were piled with bread, cheese, and meat. Men stopped talking, turning to glare at her, like a rat had suddenly crawled up and onto the supper table. In their eyes, she could see them contemplating the best method to dispatch her and rid their home of vermin.
Rhedyn straightened her back. She’d not shirk. They might call her many things, but she refused to allow them to turn her into a coward. If they didn’t like her being there, well, they could bloody well take the matter to their laird. He was the one who had drug her into their midst.
“Is there something wrong with yer hearing? Build yer appetite,” Buchanan demanded. He’d left her standing on the main floor while he climbed up several steps to a raised platform at the end of the great hall. He sat down and contemplated her like a rabbit he was toying with before he snapped its neck.
But it suited her mood. She was drunk on her own temper. Ready to dig her heels in and defy him, for the sake of opposing him. The flare of temper warmed her insides.
There was a rumble of amusement from his men. Her eyes narrowed as she caught more than one of them leering at her. Her temper flared and she crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.
“I’ll dance with you.”
The men had started to clap and stomp their feet in a crude rhythm. The young voice was hard to separate from the men who wanted to make a mockery of her. But a girl came through the tables, looking at Rhedyn. She wasn’t overly young, but she wore an expression that suggested she was still innocent. Whatever the truth of her age, the Mackenzies froze, suddenly mindful of their jeering. A few even looked away, as though shamed by their behavior.
“We’re unmarried,” the girl continued as she took the time to lower herself in a practiced motion. There was a hint of mocking in her motions though. In that way in which a respectable daughter showed up and her kin were none too pleased to have her see them doing things they had forbidden her to do.
“So, we can dance together.” Her voice bounced between the walls of the hall which had gone as silent as a tavern when the priest arrived unexpectedly.
“Cora…”
Rhedyn turned toward the high ground. It seemed Buchanan did in fact have a tone of voice other than mocking. He was sitting forward now, his eyes narrowed.
Wonders truly never ceased…
Rhedyn wanted to enjoy the gray pallor which had taken over his face, but shame suddenly rose up to smother her temper. The girl was clearly his sister.
His younger sister.
And he cared how Cora saw him behaving.
So, he did have decency buried down inside him…
“Are we to dance, brother?” Cora asked. She turned and sent a look toward the high ground. “Did I mishear yer command?”
Off to the side of the platform where the laird’s table stood were four musicians. One of them lifted his instrument and began to play in response. The melody was joined by the other three as Cora smiled and began to dance.
Rhedyn discovered herself loath to continue acting like a shrew. In a way, it was a moment of happiness to discover a Mackenzie who didn’t hate her. Cora had a sweet smile on her lips, but there was also a glitter of something in her eyes, which hinted at the girl knowing she was taunting the intent of her clansmen.
Rhedyn clapped her hands and smiled back at Cora. They kept time with one another until a small flood of other Mackenzie women separated them. They surrounded her, pushing in so that Rhedyn could no longer see her.
The music kept playing as Rhedyn was shoved back to where the passageway joined the kitchens to the great hall. She went willingly enough, for the harsh looks were like sword points, pricking her and reminding her that she was no longer in her father’s house. Cora might toy with her brother, but she was a Mackenzie.
But Rhedyn smiled anyway. Her victory was small but hers none the less.
“My sister shamed me. And rightfully so.”
Rhedyn turned to see Buchanan standing nearby. He had a grim look on his face. Seeing it should have pleased her, yet Rhedyn suddenly had no stomach for hate.
“And me as well. I am past the age of having temper fits in public, no matter the provocation,” Rhedyn muttered. Perhaps she shouldn’t have confessed to him. For certain, her father’s Retainers would likely remind her that Mackenzies were the enemy and must always be treated with disdain.
It felt so very pointless at that moment.
“Yer sister is wise,” Rhedyn said.
“Wiser than myself?” he asked. “Is that what ye want me to notice, Rhedyn Lindsey?”
His expression had hardened as he faced off with her. Behind him, there was a jingle as Tyree moved closer in response to his laird’s voice.
“Ye seem to have taken little enough notice of me since ye insisted on bringing me here, Laird Mackenzie,” Rhedyn said. “It suits me quite well. As for yer sister, well, she seems to think humiliating me for sport is no decent behavior. Me own kin taught me the same. However, go and correct her if ye disagree. Ye are laird here.”
She lowered herself in reverence before she turned and marched straight past the Butler. At least that was her intention. But Tyree stuck his arm out before she made it past him. Unshed tears born of frustration burned her eyes. She fought against them before turning around.
“Tell yer man to let me leave.”
“Ye prefer the tower room?” Buchanan asked.
“Aye!” Rhedyn declared. “Ye brought me down here to make a mockery of me for the sake of yer pride.”
Something crossed his face. Later, she might even realize it was shame, but Rhedyn forbid herself to do anything but turn her back on him. The shutters in the storeroom must still be open, for the wind whistled down the stairs as she climbed up them.
It kept the tears from falling from her eyes.
She heard Tyree following her, his keys jingling to announce each of his steps. So, she closed the door and left the bucket nearby as she went over to sit beneath the open shutters.
She’d not be worried about displeasing Buchanan Mackenzie.
On the other side of the door, the chain rattled and the key turned in the lock. The wind gusted, making her rise to close the shutters because she didn’t need to suffer the night chill.
At least her memory offered up the sound of music. Alone in the dark room, she heard every note just as crisp and bold as it had been played while she danced with Cora. It followed her into her slumber as she huddled beneath the blanket.
*
Buchanan remained in place for a long time.
“Ye brought me down here to make a mockery of me for the sake of yer pride.”
It was a solid truth. One which shamed him. And left him staring at a dark stairwell long after Rhedyn had disappeared into the shadows. She was helpless and yet, not without the means to stop him in his tracks. A formidable woman to be sure.
Ye needed to be stopped laddie…
His childhood was full
of times when his father had tried to impress the importance of controlling his impulses. A laird had to always be mindful of his actions. Those around him would act upon what they perceived as the lairds will. He also had to be the voice of reason.
His men would kill Rhedyn if he gave them any hint that he’d consider it fitting. Her fate was completely in his hands.
*
Innis knew how to go unnoticed.
Highlanders liked to believe they were great warriors, and she wasn’t arguing that the men of the Mackenzie clan were anything less than the best.
But they knew it, and along with confidence went arrogance.
Buchanan was no different.
The new laird had a frame thick with muscle and a fine, educated mind. Still, he was a man who forgot from time to time that the castle housed a great many women. Innis watched the way he stood at the base of the back stairs. The look on his face was unguarded, showing her plainly that he was fighting the urge to follow Rhedyn Lindsey.
Innis couldn’t allow him to do something like that. Oh, she was no fool when it came to men’s natures. For a girl such as herself, she had to make her own opportunities. Fenella would parade the prettiest kitchen maids past the new laird until one of them caught his eye. The Head-of-House was only thinking to advance her own reputation by getting the laird what he fancied.
Which was why Innis had to look out for her own interests.
Buchanan was looking up the stairs. She could see the indecision on his face. What she mustn’t allow to happen was for the laird to go abovestairs where his pity would lead him straight into Rhedyn’s embrace.
Lindsey women couldn’t be so very different from Mackenzie women after all. Being born female meant you’d better be clever enough to trap a man before another woman succeeded. That was the way to ensuring a good place in life. It was just as deadly as any fight between men with swords. Innis contemplated Buchannan. She intended to have him as her prize.