by Jackie Ivie
She wasn’t left on her own again, but the Lord had decided to grant her numbness. That was a relief. She didn’t need to posture for anyone, like Monteith had ordered her to, because she didn’t even feel them about her.
The seamstresses were efficient. They only needed her to stand, lift her arms occasionally, and then sit. Then, they wanted her to stand again, lift her arms, and repeat. Lisle watched the fire they’d built for her, burning behind the white and maroon grill, and wondered why she hadn’t tried to find this state before. It was almost as pleasant as drinking the wedding wine had been, making everything muted and dull, slow and indistinct, and very numb.
At one point, she asked her own personal servant, Mary MacGreggor, if she could have some wool to card, thinking maybe if she had something in her hands, she’d be able to feel something. What she got instead was two younger servant women, to sit and card wool for her. Lisle watched them with a sense of detachment, and wondered if she asked Mary for a muckle wheel with which to spin it into thread, which girl was going to get that chore, and further, which one would have to knit for her, too.
Both girls looked adept at either, but Lisle could have outdone them with her eyes closed. At one point, she put her head back and sighed, which got her the attention of not one, but four of them, who decided amongst themselves that she needed a restorative, such as tea. They didn’t ask her if she wanted it, they asked Mary MacGreggor. Lisle watched that, and decided it was amusing, but just barely that.
If this was her future, she would just as soon face it numb, since it felt like she wasn’t living anything, just sitting on the edges and watching it get lived.
“I understand His Lordship had the Highland garrison visiting with him today. Early. I understand they’re preparing for another visit from Cumberland. I doona’ ken how His Lordship can abide having that man in the same room with him,” one of the seamstresses said, as they were serving tea.
“Not that I’ve leanings that way, but I do find him rather handsome.”
“Butcher Cumberland? Dear me! I’ll have to see your eyes looked at yet, Maggie. The man’s as fat as an ale barrel, and half as smart!”
There was a bit of giggling after the outburst, and then the first one clarified her meaning, by stating that she found Captain Barton handsome, and didn’t they all recollect that he was still unwed and available?
“But he doesn’t like Highland lasses, Maggie.”
“Actually I’ve heard he likes the lasses fine, just not as well as the lads,” another snickered.
That had them all shrieking with laughter and then they were pointing at where Lisle sat, in little more than her chemise and stockings, and they were calming their noise the moment they did. The numbness was a blessing. Otherwise she’d have been screaming. The Duke of Cumberland was known as Butcher Willie, and he was the man who’d caused all of this poverty and discontent, and aura of defeat…and the laird of Monteith was going to be hosting him? Which meant, by marriage, she was going to be his hostess?
That was the only time that entire day that her numbness was in danger of dispersing. Lisle had to concentrate on the fire with every fiber of her being, in order to stave any such thing off. She wasn’t going to be ill. She wasn’t going to faint. She was going to endure and make certain her body never gave another sign to Monteith that he was anything other than a base, lying traitor.
“They won’t stay at Monteith Castle. From all accounts, they doona’ think it grand enough. His Lordship never allows them beyond the front four rooms. I don’t know what ploy he uses. Probably the crowded rooms.”
“He has to say such. Otherwise, they’d probably want him to give them the castle to garrison in. You know how the Sassenach are.”
“That’s right. They take what they want, and torch what they doona’ want, so nae one will want it, either.”
“I hear the duke is going to stay with Captain Barton, over at MacCullough Hall.”
“That would be your chance, Maggie,” one of the ladies teased.
“I already told you, I just find him a bit handsome. I always find that about a man in uniform.”
“They’re only handsome in their plaide. That’s the only way I want to see a man. ’Tis a pure shame it’s outlawed. A man always looked more like a man when he was in his kilt. Isn’t that right, ladies?”
Lisle shut her eyes, saw Langston as easily as if he were standing in front of her, looking extremely manly in his, and caught her breath at the immediate ache. Then, she opened them on the sight of a dozen gossipy women, with cups of tea at their sides, and needles, knives, pins, fabric, and trimmings everywhere else.
“I believe His Lordship is even paying for renovations to make the auld MacCullough stronghold a fitting abode for a visit from any son of King George. It’s costing a fortune, too!”
“Everything he does costs a fortune,” one of the women said archly.
“It’s also putting meals on tables all through the glens. Remember that, ladies, when you gossip about it. His Lordship is hiring craftsmen from throughout the Highlands to do the work.”
“It’s a double-edged thing, that is. They’re being paid good wages to do work that will bring comfort to the man who brought all the pain and anguish to them in the first place. I doona’ envy how that must feel.”
“About like this does,” one of them whispered.
There were several gasps, as most of them looked her way, and then there was a collective sigh as they went back to work. Her numbness was a blessing and Lisle silently thanked God for it again.
Chapter Nine
The long, low, moaning note from the pipe woke her, floating into the chamber again, just like it had yesterday morning. Lisle stretched in her bed, heard a tear as one of the seams in one of the shoulders of one of her new nightgowns tore at the movement, and twisted her lips at it. She was going to have to find a needle and thread and resew it, the way it should have been sewn in the first place. It wasn’t the women’s fault. Mary MacGreggor had made them hasten to get at least three nightgowns finished, and one daydress before they finished for the day and could return to their own hearths, in their own crofts.
They were even given carriage rides to the gate, to save them the walk. Laird Monteith would have taken them all the way to their doors, but only one of them took up the offer. Lisle knew why the others didn’t. The same reason she’d stomped out of here less than a week ago. They didn’t want to be seen associating with a Monteith.
Her lip curled with distaste at their actions, and that was strange enough to have her wrinkling her brow. She wasn’t supposed to care.
The note came again, and then, if she wasn’t mistaken, came the faint sound of drums. That was incredible. There wasn’t an army allowed on Highland soil, unless it was the Highland Regiment, and there was no drumming of drums or playing of pipes or wearing of kilts or…
Lisle was out of bed and tearing open the maroon drape before another imaginative thought came, breathless as to what it might be. The frustration of staring at diamond-paned glass had her snarling at it. She wondered if he’d designed it that way on purpose. To let in light, but not allow anyone to see through it. She tried another window, and then another, going beyond the rooms that Mary MacGreggor had shown her, and all that she found was another diamond-paned window, and then more of the same.
She turned back around and retraced her steps, stopping near the privy room as another long horn blast came, followed by what her mind told her was a perfect cadence of chanting. It hadn’t been drums after all. It was the sound of thousands of feet marching with a drumlike rhythm. It had to be. Her eyes went wide and she looked up, and then her gaze was following the ceiling beams from each of their little windows to where they were positioned, starting at the wall that framed the four-story Great Hall.
If she wasn’t mistaken, she could access one of those windows, and her instinct told her there was clear glass in them that she could see through.
Lisle ran to her h
eadboard. The white canopy made an excellent handhold as she scaled the smoothed wooden sides of her ceiling-high headboard. Luck was with her, too, since he’d had cornice pieces carved onto the structure, and they made excellent footholds for this sort of thing. Then, she was straddling a beam, and listening to even more of her nightgown tearing.
The beams were sturdy. They were just right for supporting a man, and Mabel Beamans had a fault, after all. There was dust up here. Lisle looked across at the other beams, all leading to a window that she could tell had a latched pane of clear glass covering it, and noticed that all the beams were covered with a fine film of dust.
She was going to have to take that up with the head housekeeper—allowing dust in His Lordship’s house! Lisle giggled before she could help it, and started scooting along the beam before giving it up and going to her knees. Then she was balancing on her toes, in a crouch, because it felt safer, and then she was upright and looking down on the room that wasn’t just white and maroon. It was immense-looking and a very long way down.
She dropped back to her heels, holding the beam while she shook with the reaction. Fright wasn’t going to get her to the window, and there hadn’t been another pipe note played in so long, she was beginning to doubt her sanity. She stood again, although she stayed bent at the knees, and she didn’t look down this time. The beam held her weight easily. It could have been designed to hold a man of fighting size…or an archer…or even a marksman with a musket.
She instantly knew that was the reason for all the beams, and the placement of the windows, and all the positioning of all the rooms. Castle Monteith was beautiful, and it had a secret. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was being built to defend a siege from an army the size of Cumberland’s.
Lisle nearly gave sound to the cry when she reached the window opening and couldn’t do more than flail her arm toward the latch. Whoever was supposed to be accessing these windows must be bigger than she was, and have longer arms. There was no help for it. She was going to have to crawl into one of the alcovelike spaces, and it looked like there was even more dust in there.
Mabel Beamans was safe from any censure over her housekeeping abilities at the moment, because no one was going to hear of such a thing from her. Lisle jumped slightly, putting her upper body into the space, and then she had to pull herself up, using the window latch for an anchor. The window’s size was deceptive, for once she was seated in it, there was room to sit upright, ith crossed legs, and more.
Lisle’s hands were shaking almost too much to turn the latch. She didn’t know if it was the excitement at what she knew she’d see, or if it was the exertion of what she’d just done, but the window opened without a hint of protest, and she peeked out and swallowed the disappointment.
There wasn’t anything except an enormous span of green grass that didn’t have the slightest dent to show a footprint had just been walking across it, let along marching on it. There wasn’t anything except a perfectly groomed lawn, acres of forest land beyond that, and she could see, over the tops of the trees, what was going to be a cloud-strewn day dawning. Lisle sat and watched the sun rise, tinting the clouds rose and yellow. She looked down at the grime on her new, muslin nightgown, and rubbed her palms on it, making it worse, but getting most of it off her hands. It was just as well. All she’d managed to prove was that she possessed an overactive imagination, and that was already well documented from school.
When the sun was up, reaching the tops of the trees, and from there the green lawn that hadn’t a blade disturbed on it, she pulled the glass back in and relatched it. Then she peeked over the side at where her bedroom looked very small and very far away. It hadn’t seemed stupid when she’d first done it, but it certainly felt that way now. She had no idea how she was supposed to get down, and to ask for help was going to have everyone referring to her as a lady who was touched in the head. No lady of the house climbed among the rafters.
She could always say she was inspecting for dust. That would set Mabel Beamans’s smug confidence back a bit.
The door opened, looking like it was also a long way down, and Lisle watched as Mary MacGreggor came in, leading just one servant woman bearing one silver-plated tray, rather than the number of them she’d brought yesterday. Lisle knew why. She’d already given her order for breakfast, and knew what was beneath the cover before it was placed on her table and lifted.
“My lady?”
Mary MacGreggor’s voice floated eerily up to where she still sat in one of the window ledges. She wasn’t going to be easy to spot. That was comforting, for the moment. Lisle was going to worry about what to do next when she got her privacy back.
“My lady?”
Mary MacGreggor was starting to sound frantic as she opened door after door, and then came back. Lisle watched as she went into the dressing chamber, and even tried the connecting door to the laird’s rooms, rattling the locked doorknob.
“Dear me! We’ve lost Her Ladyship! Alert His Lordship. She’s loose. I doona’ know for how long. Now, go! Go!”
She was pushing the serving girl in front of her, and moving faster than her bulk looked like it could move. All of which was interesting enough to give it some thought when, and if, she got down from her perch, and had scrubbed off the worst of the grime, had another nightgown on, and was ensconced back in that bed. She grinned. She could hardly wait to see Mary MacGreggor’s face when that happened. She got back onto her knees. The door opened again.
“You see?”
“Calm yourself, Mary, and tell me what you saw again.”
It was Langston, and he was dressed as she’d almost always seen him, exactly like a Highland laird would be when he was denied use of his ancestral wardrobe. He was in tight, form-fitting English slacks, which had the added advantage of showing everyone exactly how strong his legs were. He also had on a white shirt with button-down front, and the size of his starched cuffs showed they were the kind that had to be put on separately, and required a valet to assist. He didn’t look remotely like he could be the same damp and intense man that she’d seen wearing a green and gold kilt with little else, and kissing her within an inch of her sanity before sending her away into numbness yestermorn.
“Did you lock the chamber last night?”
“I always lock the chamber at night, my lord.”
“Then, where could she have gone?”
“She was here last night, although she was na’ saying much.”
“She was na’?”
“Nae. In fact, I dinna’ hear her say a word all day. Nor even all eve. Na’ even when I wished her a good night.”
“Is that normal?”
“I doona’ know the lass that well, my lord.”
“I mean, is that normal for a lass that’s just been wed?”
Lisle was afraid she was going to giggle, giving away her vantage point, and she wasn’t going to do that for anything. She’d been locked in? She’d suspected it was a prison, but to find it was true was worse.
“I would na’ know, my lord. It’s been a powerful long time since I was wed, and well…my spouse was na’ Your Lordship, you ken?”
Now, that statement was going to give her the giggles, if nothing else did. Lisle had to put a hand to her mouth to stop them.
“I want her found, and I want her found now. Start the search in the house, with this floor. Keep it quiet. Nae alarm. Alert the staff and report to me. I’ll be in my study.”
He was angry, if the way he shut the door was any indication. The sound of it traveled upward, in a thundering sort of way. Lisle wondered why he was so angered. He wouldn’t think his bride had run away from him, would he? And if he did, that was priceless. She already had the gold, the MacHughs already had their dowries, and he had what? A wife that had deserted him, and he hadn’t even gotten a consummation out of the deal. As the man betraying everything, it was priceless if he thought a portion of that. She might just keep her mouth quiet, and let him.
Her legs were beginning to ach
e from how she had them scrunched, or maybe it was the exertion she’d just put them through, of actually climbing her own headboard. Lisle looked back down at her bed, and gulped. She wondered if she dared walk out onto the center of the beam, put her arms out, and then just leap outward, and hope she’d bounce on the mattress. She didn’t know that much about it, but that sounded like a logical way to go about it. She could also go back the way she’d come up. The canopy material was still firmly attached to the wall above the bed, and she could just hang onto that and slide down onto the bed. She might even be able to do it without ripping the material…too much.
There was no use for any of these beams, save as holding the walls together, and maybe for stringing excess furniture from, as he’d done in the lower rooms. They certainly weren’t for supporting an army of archers, or marksmen, as they protected the castle from an invasion. Lisle didn’t know where she got her ideas from, but she was going to curb them in the future.
Just look where this one had gotten her. Sitting high in the rafters, covered in grime and dust, and wondering how the devil she was supposed to get back down without breaking her neck.
She ran her eyes along the beam she’d used, looking for where it connected with the perpendicular ones that made up the lattice frame. Then, she followed where her beam connected to the one closest to her dressing room, following it to the one running back to the main wall. That’s when she saw the way the beam narrowed before meeting the fireplace wall. Beyond that, it disappeared into the wall from which it had come, where it probably became one of the beams laced above the Great Hall.
Lisle narrowed her eyes as a shadow caught what could be a groove. She leaned forward a bit to look better and saw that it actually was a groove, indented into the wall with such a perfect precision, it was impossible to spot unless the sun had lightened it for her. She followed the six, shelf-looking things that were molded into the walls, until they met the side of her fireplace. Then, it was easy to spot the way the rocks were put together, by such a master crafter of mortar, it looked like the shaping of the rocks.