Mathe decided it was for the best; he hadn’t been intending on hiding his presence, but he desired the chance to find and speak to Lilidh before word traveled to the castle that MacBrennan had returned. He was sure that Laird Arran wouldn’t take kindly to his reappearance, so for now, anonymity was a good thing.
He stroked his beard and walked up to the gate, joining the small line of people waiting to get in. People turned to look at him curiously, and Mathe once again wondered if they would recognise him. Some looked away after a moment while others held their gaze on him for longer. One man looked for a very long time and Mathe shifted uncomfortably, doing his best to ignore them as they shuffled forward slowly towards the gate.
“Halt,” one guard said, stepping in front of him. The man gave no sign of recognition. “State yer business.”
“I’m just passing through,” Mathe replied. “Here to trade and spend my coin.”
The guard’s eyes flickered down to Mathe’s clothing. “Dinnae look like ye have much coin to me. We dinnae tolerate beggars here.”
Mathe paused and bit down an angry retort. It wouldn’t serve him, and he reminded himself that he was trying to be a better man. “I used to live here, and I dinnae remember travellers being questioned at the gates. Is there a problem?”
“Precaution,” the guard replied with narrowed eyes. “On the laird’s orders. Unless ye have a problem?”
Mathe shook his head. “Nay, just curious. What’s the laird worried about?”
The guard shook his head. “Ye're really no' from around here, are ye? War, stranger, that’s what. Now off ye go, but I’ll be keeping my eye out for ye.”
Mathe walked past him and into the town. It truly had changed in the years he was away, growing both out and up, with buildings stretching two, three and even four floors towards the sky. The streets were busy with both shoppers and workers, and more than once Mathe stood to one side to allow long lines of cows through, their long brown hair flashing in the sun.
If he could have hazarded a guess, Mathe would have said the town had nearly doubled in size to what he remembered. Although he was here with a purpose, it was hard to resist the urge to simply walk around and marvel at the changes. It was a curious combination of the familiar with the strange; a corner house he knew so well, now with a second story and a fresh coat of daub.
The West Gate still stood, but it felt to Mathe that it was now in the centre of town rather than the edge; he passed many houses before he reached it. Although he had preferred the Dog Ear in his youth, he’d occasionally spent a long night or two in the West Gate. He was almost pleased to see the outside was as shabby as ever. Not everything was new and shiny in Dun Lagaidh, he supposed.
Inside, the inn was dark and cool as Mathe ducked his tall frame under the door. The common room was quiet and a young man stood behind the counter.
“Ye alright?” he asked in greeting.
“Aye,” Mathe replied. “I’m from out of town and I’m looking for someone. An auld friend, but I dinnae know where she lives.”
The man shrugged. “I havenae lived here long myself, but I’ll do my best.”
“Miss Lilidh MacBrennan?”
“Widow MacBrennan?”
Mathe frowned. “Aye, I suppose.”
“I heard she lives in the cruck shacks on the western wall.”
“Inside the western wall?” Mathe asked.
“Aye,” the man replied. “Just north of the western gate. Do ye know where that is?”
Mathe nodded. “I came in that way. My thanks.”
“Can I get ye a drink?”
“Maybe later,” Mathe said, and stepped back onto the street.
He walked back the way he had come, turning north before he reached the gate, and found himself at the cruck shacks. There was no mistaking them. Mathe narrowed his eyes as he looked down into the small group of houses huddled together in the mud. Unlike the solid stone houses behind him, these were made of wood and poor wood at that; they were all off angles and looked liable to fall over if they weren’t all pushed up hard against the town wall behind.
There must have been a mistake; the Lilidh that he knew wouldn’t have lived in a place such as this. He stepped down onto a makeshift bridge of wooden planks and to the first house, where an old man sat on a small covered porch.
“Lilidh MacBrennan?” Mathe asked without preamble.
The man looked at him for a moment, then lifted one hand slowly to point at the house next door. Mathe gestured to it with a question on his face, and the man nodded and dropped his hand.
Mathe turned to face it and took a deep breath, suddenly wishing that he’d thought more on what he would say, or how he would say it.
No matter. He was here, and there was nothing else to do. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, but before he reached the porch, the front door opened. Mathe paused mid-stride, his heart suddenly hammering.
A boy stepped out.
As Mathe watched, the boy closed the door behind him and lay on his stomach on the wooden floor, leaning over the edge and reaching down with one hand. The boy hadn’t noticed him and so Mathe stood still as he watched him pull rocks out of the mud with a triumphant cry, gathering them together in a pile.
Mathe felt frozen by indecision. Who was this boy? Should he leave and come back later? He stepped backwards slowly.
“Hello?” The boy asked, looking up.
Mathe licked his lips and raised his hand in greeting. “Hello.”
“Are ye here to help me gather rocks?”
“I’m no', lad, but I can help if ye like.”
The boy nodded, as if this was the most reasonable answer in the world. Mathe stepped onto the porch and sat next to him.
“It’s for a crown,” the boy explained. “For mama.”
Mathe nodded and looked at him. His face was clean but his clothes were dirty; old with faded stains. He looked young, but Mathe had little experience with children apart from the old laird’s sons, and couldn’t say how old the boy was before him. His little legs swung in the air as he looked down intently into the mud, searching for rocks.
“What’s yer name, lad?” Mathe asked.
“Fynn,” the boy replied without looking up. “What’s yer name?”
Like he had at the gate, Mathe was overcome with a sudden desire to keep his identity to himself until he had spoken to Lilidh. “Duine,” he answered. It was an old word, meaning man, and was as good as any other name.
“Duine,” Fynn said back, like he was tasting the name, before nodding. “Ye can lie down next to me, if ye like.”
Mathe nodded and lay down next to the boy on his stomach, although he was far too tall, and curled his legs up hard against the side of the house. He looked down into the mud with Fynn and searched for stones.
“Do ye live here with yer mother?” Mathe asked.
“Aye,” the boy replied.
“Do ye know yer mama’s real name?”
“Aye,” Fynn said with a nod. “Mama Lilidh.”
“And what about yer father?”
Fynn shook his head. “Dinnae have one.”
“Everyone has a father, lad.”
“I dinnae have one,” Fynn replied, “and mama says I dinnae need one.”
“So it’s just ye and yer mother?” he asked. “She doesnae have a man?”
“Just us. Mama says I’m the only man she needs.”
As he spoke this, the boy twisted and looked over at Mathe, and from so close it was easy to see Fynn’s bright green eyes. Mathe felt a strange constriction in his chest as he looked over.
They were his eyes.
“How auld are ye, lad?” he asked slowly.
Fynn scrunched his face up. “Six,” he said. “I’ll be seven soon.”
Mathe nodded and tried to remember exactly how long it had been since he left. He knew that he’d grown apart from Lilidh in the months leading up to the old laird’s death, but there was one night, a month before he’
d left, where they had lain together as man and wife, for one last time…
Mathe knew he had let Lilidh down, but was it even worse than he had assumed?
“Is yer mother home?” he asked.
“Nay,” Fynn said with a shake of his head. “Mama is at work today.”
“And where does yer mama work?”
The boy nodded his head in an upward direction. “Mama works in the castle,” he said.
Mathe felt his eyebrow raise. “The castle? What does she do there?”
“She said she scrubs pots. Her hands are always red and sore.”
“I see,” Mathe said. He always remembered Lilidh as being a proud woman. A hard worker, but one who worked for herself. Not a kitchen hand. What had happened in these years to see her in such a position?
“Do ye know mama?” the boy asked.
“A long time ago,” Mathe said. “I’d like to speak with her.”
Fynn nodded and pointed at a small stone out of his reach. “Can ye please get that one?”
Mathe stretched out and plucked it from the mud. “That’s a good one,” he said.
“Aye. Mama comes home at teatime. Or she’s here in the morning before she leaves for work.”
“Perhaps morning might be best,” Mathe said. “I dinnae want to interrupt yer tea time. What are ye eating tonight?”
The boy sighed. “Potatoes. Again.”
“Ye dinnae like potatoes?”
He pouted. “They’re fine, I suppose, just no' every night.”
“I suppose no'.”
The conversation trailed off and Mathe felt suddenly awkward. He'd never been comfortable around children and knew that he used to frighten them; the big and scary MacBrennan, who would kick the door down if they didn’t eat their vegetables. Fynn didn’t seem scared of him though, and once again Mathe reflected just how different he must appear from the man he used to be. Still tall, but lacking all other traits that came to define him so well; the solid build and clean-shaven face. The cold demeanour, kirtle and sword, and arrogant walk.
Now, he was bearded and frail and unassuming. He stood, stretching upwards and feeling the top of his head brush the wooden beams above. Fynn stood next to him and craned his neck up.
“Ye're the biggest person I’ve ever seen,” he said in awe.
Mathe looked down at the boy and attempted a smile. It felt strange, and he figured he just had a face that was unused to smiling. “Aye, it’s likely I am.”
“Ye must bump yer head a lot.”
The boy had such a serious look on his face that Mathe couldn’t help but laugh. It felt as odd as the smile. “I’ve learnt to look twice, and besides, it’s no' all bad. I’m the first person to learn when it rains.”
Fynn nodded, missing the jest as he considered Mathe’s words. “Aye,” he said at last. “That’s well handy.”
“I’ll see ye in the morning, Fynn,” Mathe said.
“Ye’ll help me find more rocks?”
“Aye, after I’ve spoken to yer mother.”
He smiled. “Good.”
Mathe turned and stepped off the porch onto the wooden planks, balancing against the shifting mud underneath.
“Duine?”
He paused and turned back to the boy. “Aye?”
Fynn raised one small hand. “See ye tomorrow.”
3
Lilidh MacBrennan
“Potatoes again, mama?” Fynn asked in a resigned voice, looking up from the floor. His face was smudged with dirt, and Lilidh could see the soles of his feet were black.
She nodded. “Aye, potatoes again.”
Lilidh was standing at the sink, washing them under cold water, while Fynn played on the floor. He had his favourite toy out; a fishing rod with twine, and was pretending to pull fish up out of the floorboards. Each time, he would jerk back with a whoop, fighting an imaginary salmon that thrashed and jerked in angry protest. Whenever she heard his excited cry, she would pause from her task and congratulate him.
After the potatoes were washed, Lilidh set the water to boiling and put in a tiny pinch of salt. She’d been using the same bag for years now. A pinch here, a pinch there, but she couldn’t help but notice how it was running low. She didn’t know if she could afford to buy any more.
“Can we have another meal from the castle?” Fynn asked. “Like last night?”
“Nay, little one,” Lilidh said. “I told ye it was a special meal, and we wouldnae have it again.”
“Never?” he asked in a sad voice.
“Well, maybe one day, but certainly no' for a good long while.”
“I did like the cheese,” he said mournfully. “And those - what do ye call them? Those small things?”
“Some type of nut,” Lilidh explained. “I dinnae know what they were called, but I liked them, too.”
“I liked everything.” He rubbed his stomach at the memory and heaved a rather theatric sigh. Lilidh almost rolled her eyes at him.
“Well, I’m sorry to say that we have potatoes again tonight, and they willnae kill ye.”
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Lilidh boiled the potatoes while the boy continued to play, and then she set two plates out on their rickety table. Boiled potatoes again, without even churned butter to melt onto them. Fynn had a point, but Lilidh simply couldn’t afford anything else. She gave every spare coin back to Margaret to keep in a lock-box in the castle, and that left nothing for indulgences like they'd eaten the night before. Potatoes were hearty fare and cheap besides, and would serve them both well.
Fynn packed away his toys, and they washed their hands in cold water, using only a touch of the soap that Lilidh had made from scavenged wood ash and tallow. It was also running low, wiped away to a thin bar despite her attempts to use it sparingly. She wiped her son’s face with a dishrag and they sat together to eat. He picked at his potatoes sourly.
“Why dinnae ye tell me about yer day?” Lilidh asked. “Did anything exciting happen?”
Fynn looked up. “A man came to see ye.”
Lilidh frowned. “Are ye sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure. I spoke to him and everything.”
“That’s odd,” she said. “I wasnae expecting anyone.” In fact, Lilidh didn’t think she’d had even one guest in her house in the entire time they’d lived there.
“He said he used to know ye,” Fynn explained.
“What did he look like, this man?”
The boy pursed his lips. “Tall,” he said.
“Tall?” she repeated, feeling a strange stuffiness in the room. Nonsense, she told herself firmly. There were plenty of tall men in Dun Lagaidh.
“Aye, he was like a giant. He lay down on the porch with me and he couldnae even lay flat.”
“What on earth was he doing lying on the porch with ye?”
“Helping me find rocks, of course,” Fynn replied. “He could reach the best ones.”
“Of course. What else?”
“What else what?”
“What else did he look like?” Lilidh asked in exasperation.
“Just tall. Oh, and his hands were all bony. He had a beard, as well.”
“Did he have a name, this tall, bearded, and bony man?”
“Oh, aye. Duine.”
Lilidh felt a queer feeling pass over her. Duine. It was an old word with more than one meaning. Depending on the context it could simply mean man, but at other times could mean person, or even husband. She looked down at her potatoes but suddenly found her stomach twisting. Just a coincidence, surely.
“And ye said he used to know me?”
“That’s what he said. I asked him.”
Lilidh didn’t have the faintest idea who the man could be. Nobody spoke to her down here, not even her neighbour, and if it was about castle business, then they would have known she was in the kitchens. Maybe it was a mistake, or someone had the wrong house. She supposed that was likely, and that she would never see or hear of the man again.
“He’s
coming back tomorrow,” Fynn said between mouthfuls.
“He is?” Lilidh asked, feeling the sickness surge back at the thought of seeing this mysterious Duine.
“Aye, in the morning. He didnae want to interrupt our tea. I told him we were only having potatoes again.”
Lilidh shook her head, almost thankful for the distraction. “We dinnae always eat potatoes, Fynn. Sometimes we have carrots and beans and other things.”
Fynn nodded. “Aye. But mostly we have potatoes.”
She gestured down to her son’s empty plate. “Are ye complaining, little one?”
“Nay, mama. Actually...”
“Aye?”
Fynn looked over at Lilidh’s own plate. “I’m still so hungry.”
Lilidh sighed. “Of course ye are. Nobody told me a little lad would eat me out of house and home.”
“May I have some of yer potatoes, mama?”
Her own plate held barely enough for her, but Lilidh nodded and passed across most of her meal. “Of course, my bhobain. How else will ye get big and strong?”
Fynn smiled and lifted his arms up, showing his muscles proudly. Lilidh laughed and gave them a squeeze, letting her eyes widen in amazement.
“I’ll be able to help ye in the castle soon,” he said proudly.
“Oh Fynn,” Lilidh smiled. “I hope ye dinnae ever need to.”
They finished their dinner and cleaned up, and Lilidh carried her son to his bed. It was nothing more than a mattress stuffed with old straw and sitting on the dirty floor. It lay next to her own mattress, and Fynn climbed over it to snuggle under his thin sheet.
“Good night, mama,” he said drowsily. “Will ye tell me a story?”
“Of course,” she replied, and leant down and stroked his hair and whispered a tale of knights and princesses. It was a world where goodness prevailed and love conquered all; a world as far from her own life as she could have ever imagined. As she neared the happy ending, Lilidh looked down to see Fynn’s eyes were closed. She brushed the hair from his forehead and kissed it gently.
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 4