“Fynn?” she called again, noting the very first touch of hysteria that lay at the edge of her voice. She went back inside again and checked the room once more. She opened all the cupboards even knowing it was silly, then returned to the front. Her heart was beating so hard it rocked her entire body and she looked down to her hands, watching them shake almost uncontrollably.
“Fynn!” she screamed into the air, looking around frantically. And then she spied her neighbour; sitting still in his chair. The old man was so easy to forget, and not just because he blended so well against the house, wrapped in a grey blanket as he was. No, she didn’t think of him because they’d never spoken to each other; not even once in five years. No doubt it was because she was the widow MacBrennan, but she still needed to try. For Fynn’s sake.
“Please,” she asked him. “Have ye seen my son?”
The man looked at her without a word, his expression remaining unchanged apart from a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“Please,” Lilidh said, almost sobbing.
The man continued to regard her, and then slowly nodded. “Aye,” he said in a gravelly voice.
Lilidh nearly collapsed at his proclamation. “Thank ye so much,” she said. “Where did ye see him?”
“Left this morning. With the tall man.”
At his words, Lilidh felt a strange and complex mixture of emotions flood her. The overwhelming feeling was relief, knowing that Fynn was with Mathe and was safe. The second, of course, was anger, because Fynn was with Mathe and was safe.
“The same tall man that was here yesterday?” she asked.
He nodded. “Aye.”
“Thank ye, again,” Lilidh said, and jumped onto the wooden planks. The anger she felt was growing white hot within her, feeling almost too big to contain. Mathe thought he could simply walk back into her life, did he? Thought that he could come over, bold as he pleased, and take Fynn away, like he had a right to the boy? Lilidh shook her head darkly. She thought she’d made herself clear enough last night, but it seemed that Mathe MacBrennan needed a little more help to grasp the nature of the situation.
She pushed the door of the West Gate open and it swung hard into the wall, sending a crack echoing through the common room. There were a few scattered patrons spread out, and they all paused and looked at her. Lilidh felt herself growing red and closed the door gently behind her.
“Can I help ye?” a man behind the counter asked with a frown.
Lilidh walked over. “I’m looking for -” she paused, looked around again, and leant closer. “I’m looking for Mathe MacBrennan.”
The man nodded and gestured behind him. “He’s out in the stables.”
Lilidh nodded and turned, but the man reached out and grasped her arm. “Mind the door next time, lass,” he said.
Lilidh felt her blush return and nodded. “Aye. I’m sorry.”
He grunted and turned away, and Lilidh walked over to a single door. She didn’t want to cause another fuss, so she opened it quietly and slipped into the stables. Inside, the light was dim, but she could see a fire burning at the far end. Silhouetted against it were two shapes; one tall, with his knees drawn up, and the other small and hunched over. Lilidh drew her lips into a thin line and marched over.
“That’s great, Fynn,” Mathe said. “Ye learn fast.”
Lilidh slowed to a stop.
“It was, wasnae it?” the boy asked proudly.
For reasons that she couldn’t even explain, Lilidh fell into a crouch and ducked into the horse stall next to her. It most certainly wasn’t to spy, she told herself, but even in the midst of her anger, she had a sudden curiosity about how Mathe would interact with his son. She sat down in the hay and tilted her head to listen.
“Remember,” Mathe said, “hold the hammer at the base.”
“Like this?”
“That’s too far. See how yer finger is off the end? Ye want that to be sitting flush with the bottom.”
“How’s this?” Fynn asked.
“Much better. Now strike once, with purpose.”
Silence, then the ring of a hammer on a nail.
“Hmm,” Fynn said uncertainly. “No' as good.”
“Nay,” Mathe said, “but that’s why we’re practicing, isnae it? Let’s try again.”
Another sound rang through the stables, followed by more grumbling.
“The nail keeps turning,” Fynn complained.
“Aye, that will happen if ye dinnae hit it squarely, or if it’s no' set properly. Here, let me hold the nail steady.”
“Are ye sure?” the boy asked dubiously.
“Aye, give it another hit.”
The sound this time was definitely not like the others; it was softer, and was followed immediately by a cry of dismay from Fynn, and then the stables were filled with the booming sound of Mathe’s laughter. Lilidh sat back and closed her eyes and listened to it, wondering how long it had been since she heard her husband laugh like that. It was genuine and open and filled with a most curious warmth. Even when he did used to laugh, in the later years, it hadn’t sounded like that; his laughter by that stage was sardonic and tinged with cruelty.
To hear his youthful laugh again now was so strangely unexpected that Lilidh found herself unable to breathe, transported back to a time when she and Mathe had loved and laughed together.
“I suppose I deserved that,” Mathe said after a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Fynn said. “Are ye alright?”
“Fine, fine. At least we know the problem; ye’re hitting to far to one side. My thumb worked that out.”
Fynn giggled, and Lilidh listened as they continued to practice, Mathe offering gentle encouragement and praise. She had an urge to see them, and so she poked her head out of the stall, moving quietly. At the far end, the two of them were illuminated by the light of the fire. They were sitting side by side, hunched over something, Mathe’s large frame towering over her son. They sat close and her husband turned his head and she saw his profile etched against the flames. Yes, he had a beard, and yes, he looked like he needed more than a few good meals, but Lilidh couldn’t help but admit that he was still handsome. He’d always been, even when his open face had gradually closed, and his looks took on a much darker aspect. There had always been something about Mathe that had drawn her to him, and she reluctantly conceded that he hadn’t lost that quality in his absence.
They continued to speak and gesture, and Lilidh pulled her head back into the stall and out of sight. After a while their conversation turned away from the task at hand and onto other matters.
“Mama is away a lot,” Fynn said.
“Aye, she works hard.”
“I miss her.”
“I know, lad, but ye should be verra proud of her. Few women could put a roof over yer head and food on the table, all by herself.”
“She only puts potatoes on the table,” the boy complained.
“She does her best. If that’s potatoes, then it’s potatoes.”
“I suppose.”
“Yer mother loves ye,” Mathe said sternly, “and would do anything for ye. It’s important ye dinnae forget that. None of this is her fault.”
“Who’s fault is it, then?” the boy asked.
Silence for a long moment. “No' hers,” Mathe finally said. “She doesnae deserve the things that have happened to her.”
Lilidh felt suddenly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation and decided she’d spent long enough sulking in the shadows. She stood and crept back to the door, then opened it loudly and let it shut again. At the far end of the stable she could see Mathe lift his head and glance over. At the sight of Lilidh approaching, he stood quickly.
“Ah, Lilidh,” he said. “I didnae expect ye to finish so soon.”
“Clearly,” she responded tartly. “Ye thought ye still had plenty of time to return my son, whom ye deigned to steal away without my permission.”
Mathe nodded slowly. “Aye, I did.” He nodded down. “The lad ha
s been a great help.”
“I dinnae care,” she said, angry once more. “Ye dinnae have the right, Mathe. Do ye ken that?”
Another nod. “Aye, I ken, and I’m sorry. It willnae happen again.”
Fynn cried out in dismay, and Lilidh felt herself torn. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to happen again or not. They both seemed so happy, working together.
“I’m no' saying that, Mathe,” she said. “What I mean is that ye needed to ask.”
His brow furrowed. “I can take the lad again, if I ask?”
“Nay, I dinnae mean that either,” she said, then growled in frustration. “Fynn, come with me, we’re done here.”
The boy protested, but Lilidh took him by the arm and lead him out, feeling Mathe’s eyes on her as she left the stables. A few people looked up with raised eyebrows as she pulled the boy through the common room, and then they were outside.
“I’m sorry I left the house, mama,” Fynn said as they walked.
“It’s no' yer fault, Fynn,” Lilidh said. “I dinnae blame ye.”
“But I had so much fun with Mathe,” he said.
“Aye?”
“Aye. I helped him find nails, and then he showed me how to use a hammer.” The boy frowned. “I wasnae verra good at it, but he showed me anyway. Oh, and mama, ye should have seen it. I hit his thumb with the hammer.” He giggled at the memory. “I thought Mathe would be angry, but he only laughed at me.”
“He’s quite the joker,” Lilidh muttered.
“I helped him fix the chairs, and he said I did a good job.” He spoke the words proudly. “He’s my friend, mama.”
At those words, Lilidh came to a stop on legs suddenly weak. There was something about what he said, or the way he said it, that cut right into the core of her. Fynn had never made friends with boys his own age because their parents kept them away from the widow MacBrennan and her son. She tried to ignore it, and give Fynn everything he needed, but she suddenly realised that she could never give him everything. In fact, there was a gaping hole in his life that she could never fill, no matter how hard she tried.
And the only man that could fill that hole was the very man Lilidh wished to never see again.
“Are ye alright, mama?” he asked, and Lilidh wiped her tears away.
“Fine, bhobain. I’m just happy ye had fun today.”
9
Mathe MacBrennan
Rabby turned the chair over with a frown, inspecting it closely. “This is the last one?” he asked.
Mathe nodded. “Aye, it is.”
“It’s verra good,” he said almost grudgingly. “I admit ye’ve surprised me, Mathe. I doubted ye could do work like this. I remember yer methods being of, ah, the more blunt approach.”
“I doubted myself, to tell ye the truth,” Mathe replied with a thoughtful smile. “I had plenty of experience as a lad, but I didnae know if I would remember any of it.”
“Well, ye certainly seem to have remembered the important bits.” Rabby reached down and pulled out a small purse. “I know we agreed on food and lodging, but in good faith I cannae take all this and no' pay ye for it.”
“Nonsense,” Mathe protested. “Ye took a chance on me, when ye didnae need to.”
“And it paid me back handsomely, and then some,” Rabby said. “I mean it. The cost of food and lodging was a fraction of what I would have paid someone else, so ye can at least take a little something extra for yer time.”
“Ye're sure about this?” Mathe asked.
“Absolutely. And in fact, I have another job for ye, if ye want it.”
Mathe looked around. “Something else to fix?”
“Actually, something new to build.”
“Oh?” Mathe asked, ignoring the flutter in his stomach and remembering his earlier wishes to build and not destroy. To fix chairs was one thing, but to craft something new… well, that was another thing entirely.
“Aye, I need a new table. No' like these round things. I want a nice rectangular table to go in that corner,” he said with a nod. “Something that looks important, even a wee bit fancy. Think ye’re up to that?”
Mathe nodded. “Of course. Only…”
“Aye?”
“I’m up to it, but I dinnae know if the tools are. A table that large would need a few extra bits and pieces, and fanciness will mean chisels and blades and wood hammers.”
Rabby nodded. “I figured as much. Why dinnae ye pop over to the blacksmith and put an order in on my behalf? Only what ye need, mind. I dinnae have much to spare.”
“Are ye sure?”
“Aye, it’s an investment, isnae it?”
“In me, or in the tools?” Mathe asked with a smile.
Rabby shrugged as he walked back behind the counter. “Both,” he said over his shoulder. “The more I think about it, the more I see things I could have ye help with. It’s about time I showed this place a bit of love.”
Mathe nodded and looked down at the coin purse. Inside he could see the dull glint of copper and he bounced it around thoughtfully, then put on his cloak and stepped outside. It was late afternoon, and the day was cold, and he walked with his head down and hands stuffed deep in his pockets, gripping the coin purse. He wasn’t sure if Lilidh would be home yet or not, but figured he could wait if need be.
As he approached, a glance to his right saw a familiar shape coming towards him. He recognised it instantly, and reflected that even after so many years, he would always know his wife and her walk. She had a long stride, purposeful and yet feminine, and he remembered how he’d take any opportunity to walk a few paces behind her to admire the roll of her hips.
Lilidh had her head down, and as she drew closer she glanced up, coming to an abrupt stop as she saw him. He hurried over.
“Lilidh,” he said when he reached her, drinking in the lines of her face once more. He hoped he would dream of her again that night.
“Mathe,” she said warily.
“I wanted to apologise again for yesterday,” he said. “I shouldnae have taken the lad.”
“Why did ye?” she asked.
Mathe looked up to the grey sky overhead. “I just knew he was home alone, that’s all. I thought he might enjoy getting out.”
“He did,” Lilidh admitted.
“Aye?”
“Aye. I couldnae shut him up for the rest of the evening, actually.” She paused. “Or get him to sleep, for that matter.”
Mathe nodded and gave her a quick smile. “I enjoyed it, as well. He’s a sharp lad. Must get it from his mother.”
“Mathe, dinnae,” Lilidh said with a shake of her head.
“Sorry,” he said. “But I have something for ye.”
“I dinnae want anything from ye, Mathe,” she said, even as he pulled the coin purse out and showed it to her.
“I got paid for fixing the chairs. It’s no' much, but I want ye to have it.”
Lilidh stared at it for long moments with a frown, but didn’t reach for it. He bounced it once in his hand, and she started.
“Nay, Mathe,” she said. “Nay, nay, nay.”
“Why no'?” he asked.
“I’m no' taking anything from ye,” she said. “I’m doing this on my own.”
“A bit of help doesnae hurt, surely?”
“I dinnae want a bit of help from ye.”
As Lilidh spoke, she suddenly looked around Mathe’s shoulder. He turned to see Fynn had opened the door and was watching them across the mud. The boy raised his hand, and they both raised their own back in return at the same time. Lilidh glanced at Mathe’s wave with a frown.
“Hi, mama,” Fynn called out.
“Hello, bhobain,” she replied.
“Hi Mathe,” he said.
“Greetings, Fynn,” Mathe replied.
“Mathe and I are going to take a quick walk,” Lilidh called out. “We’ll be back soon.”
“Alright,” Fynn shouted and gave another wave. “Enjoy yerselves!”
Lilidh grasped Mathe’s ar
m and drew him away from the house. They walked together in silence, picking streets seemingly at random. Once again, Mathe felt a most curious sense of being watched, and yet he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. He truly was growing paranoid, he thought, as he waited patiently for Lilidh to say whatever was on her mind.
“Mathe,” she said finally, “ye need to ken where I’m coming from. Fynn is my responsibility and mine only.”
“He doesnae need to be,” Mathe said. “He’s my son.”
Lilidh barked a rough laugh. “And who are ye? The man who walked out on me.”
“Lilidh, I -”
“Abandoned me. Left me with a child and naught else.”
“Aye,” he said softly.
“I cannae trust ye, Mathe,” she said. “No' the way ye left me. Ye've done it once, and ye’ll do it again. I need to do this on my own, because I’m the only person who has our best interests at heart.”
Mathe came to a stop. Lilidh looked at him, and he raised his hand to place it on her shoulder. She brushed it off angrily.
“Lilidh,” he said, “I meant every word I said to ye, two days ago. I’m here to stay, and I’m here to make amends.”
“And just how do ye propose to make amends for everything that ye’ve done? Half the town would happily see ye in yer grave, and properly this time.”
“I cannae make amends with everyone,” Mathe said. “Only those who matter. And I willnae be leaving until I do.”
“I willnae take money from ye.”
He nodded. “Fine. But I willnae be spending it. I’ll keep it tucked away, for when I can change yer mind.”
“It willnae change,” Lilidh said, shaking her head. “And I meant what I said; ye should leave Dun Lagaidh. It will be better for everyone.”
“Better for Fynn?” Mathe asked.
Lilidh didn’t answer, and Mathe realised they had looped back to her house. She glanced over at it and her eyes hardened. “It would have been better for Fynn if ye never came back at all.”
“Maybe,” Mathe conceded as he turned to leave. “But I’m here to stay, and to set things right. Good evening, Lilidh.”
A Price to Be Paid: A Scottish Highlander Romance (Legacy of the Laird Book 2) Page 9