She followed Lachlan from the chamber. Being midday, some people milled about the hall. They turned to Lachlan giving greetings and watching her follow him. Their curiosity heightened. The news would spread through the clan before Rowen finished meeting with Sheena.
Rowen stared at the men flanking the door. Her stomach soured. A roar filled her ears. She knew the fear that must live behind those planks of oak banded together by iron. After Eacharn’s death, Rowen had waited for the moment when she would die. She had lived in terror, barely able to catch her breath, or slow her racing heart. She flinched at every sound or movement. Only pretending all was well for Kenny had kept her sane, letting her believe for a brief moment in the lie. She had escaped.
She swept by Lachlan and entered the chamber. The scraping of wood against stone sounded like a final wail. The latch fell down with a metal screech.
Sheena dropped the oilskin back, blocking any light and halted the gust of wind through the narrow slit. The men accused her of murdering the auld laird. She had never met him, but she had heard the tales—he was a tall man, thick with muscle and not a pinch of fat. It was said that no woman could wrap her hand around his arms or, if men spoke, it centered on his manhood. Rowen always wondered at these women’s statures but this one—well, the only thing big on her was her belly.
“Good day. I am Rowen Murray.” Was that a cringe in her tone?
“Sheena MacAdam.”
Rowen felt the wall she had erected. “Have you been fed?”
She looked at the platter with cheese and bread.
“You haven’t bathed. Would you care for one?” Mud clumped in her hair. Her long locks hung stringy from her face, stretching out the curls. Peeks of roan hued hair appeared between the blackened streaks. Her leine must have been saffron-yellow once, but now appeared to be covered in dirt, along with her crusty feet peeking out from the edge.
She reluctantly dipped her head in agreement. Rowen banged on the door. She hadn’t lowered her hand when it opened. She ordered the bath. With that seen to, she settled before the hearth.
“It will be some time. I imagine, though, you will be grateful for it no matter the time that passes. I arrived here ill, raging with fever and once well, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted food or a bath. Since you have eaten, I can guess what you desire most. May I ask how many months you are?”
Rowen ignored the distrust in Sheena’s green gaze. Sheena was young, her face still possessed youthfulness as well as hardness.
“Near to eight months, now.” Her voice was light but strong.
“Oh, I recall that time. I felt my son rolling about within me, stretching me out. My back hurt, I never got far from the privy, and I couldn’t close my hands since my fingers were thrice their size.” Rowen held up her hand. “I swore I could not grow any larger, but I was wrong.”
Her mouth twitched.
“These three years…almost four…I just want to keep him close to me. He shall be Laird one day, so I shall not. You have probably heard him, raising the spirits with his screams.”
“Is he the Laird’s offspring?”
Rowen laughed. “Why do you think such a thought?”
“I had seen the Laird with a lad I had never seen before.”
“The children do like Lachlan very much.” Rowen made a point by using his name.
Sheena stepped to the table. She ripped a chunk of bread, took a bite, and put the rest down. “So he won’t kill me until I birth this one?”
“Did you kill the laird?”
Sheena ambled toward the hearth. “Does it matter? That question has been put to me and my answer has not changed, yet no one believes me. But nay.”
“Why do you think he was murdered?”
“How would I ken such things?”
“Sheena, I am not a man, so don’t play the helpless female with me.”
Sheena grinned and sat. “I don’t want to die, but I canna see how I can live.”
Rowen grabbed her hand. “There may be a way. Tell all you know so Lachlan can learn the truth or he will base his judgment on the lies.”
Lachlan…instead of laird…that revealed an intimacy that Sheena understood. Rowen Murray was an ethereal beauty the kind that would turn a Gordon man’s head. Much like Ewan, the auld laird, his son liked women.
“Verra weel,” Sheena said. She had to put her trust in someone and Rowen proved to be a powerful ally. “He seemed much changed in his last days. He spoke to himself and most cruel to those around him. He raged. One night, he almost killed Jonty. The lairdess stopped him. He struck her and aimed his sword at her neck. After that, everyone spoke of a fairy taking him.”
“Fairy,” Rowen repeated.
Her face remained fixed. Yet, Sheena sensed a change within her. She heard the tales of the MacKenzie banshee and how she had killed her husband.
“Why did the laird attack Jonty?”
“Why he hadna before? Ye have to ken him to understand. Jonty is a fleckless, spoiled man who likes his drink more than most mon. He can be cruel with his words and actions. He can wield a sword skillfully, but canna lead men. That night, Jonty spoke of Lachlan.” She raised a shoulder without revealing her turmoil.
“What had he said?”
“He called him a bastard who bore no ties to the Gordons. The laird dinna care for his words. Ye might expect him to bellow, but his voice was low. I had to strain to hear his words. He told Jonty that bastard was the only of his bairns to show true Gordon blood. That Lachlan from a by-blow, he rose to be a tacksmen and trusted man of Black Duncan as well as his father. He also spoke of Lachlan’s skill with the ladies, a true sign of Gordon blood.”
Rowen chuckled low in her throat. “Aye, he has never lacked a woman’s company.”
“Then he resembles his father verra much. Ewan said that he dinna have any bastards so he mustna be verra virile. He made a vulgar motion.” Sheena lifted her hand with her small finger up straight and curled it at the joints. “Ewan took offense at that. He drew his claymore. The keen tip pricked his skin. Then he pronounced before his tacksmen, servants and Semias,”—her mouth flood with sourness from speaking his name— “Lachlan was his tanist.”
“And when the vote was put, Lachlan won.” Rowen aimed those misty eyes that seemed to see beyond this world and into a netherworld. Sheena felt a cold in her chest, even her bairn ceased tumbling about.
“How did you come to the attention of the laird?”
“You mean how did I come to be in his bed?” She tilted her head to the side.
Rowen lifted her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Both stories started with an introduction.”
“Aye, my parents died and I had three younger sisters to care for. I couldn’t depend on my neighbors to help me indefinitely and rents must be paid, so I came to the castle to beg the laird to get me a husband.”
“You are a bonny woman, so I imagine his desire was different than yours.”
Sheena laughed. “He saw my sisters wed, me fed and clothed, and even arranged a marriage.”
A guard held open the door, letting in two male servants carrying a tub as well as servants with pails of water.
Sheena leaned forward and in a false whisper said, “The men are afraid I will escape, but I canna even walk properly, let alone run. I am surprised I am permitted to bathe, I may drown myself.”
The guard glared at her.
“I shall leave you to clean up.” Rowen stood.
“Will ye come back?” She hated hearing the quiver in her voice.
“Aye, I shall and if you need anything send word to me or the laird.”
Sheena watched her depart. Since the day of the arrest, she had felt hollow and did not care for anything. Yet with Rowen’s appearance, she felt herself once more. She laid her hand on her belly. “We may get what we want thanks to her.”
* * * *
Rowen left the chamber, mulling over the time spent with Sheena. At this moment, she had to find her son. Kenny neve
r sat still unless a platter of food sat before him, and even then he squirmed. She first checked the kitchen. Mistress Cullen bellowed orders to kitchen servants, calling out to the kitchen boys to turn the meat.
“Has my son been here?”
“Och, aye, fairly ate out the stores an’ ended up wit’ most food on his face. He ran away before I could wash him up.”
Rowen thanked her on her way out. She decided to check outdoors. She found Lachlan first. “Is it raining?”
“Of course, ’tis Scotland however, most of this”—he waved a hand to his wet plaid—“is from your son.”
“Where is he?”
“One can hope not getting dirty again. He should be in the Laird’s Chamber as I ordered him to stay. I do not think that boy can ever get clean. There is not enough water in Scotland to do that.”
“Isn’t that what boys do? Besides, I remember as a lass, I always found a bit of mischief that always led to filthiness and a good scrubbing by my mother.”
Lachlan snorted. “I found a piece of bread in his ear.”
“His ear?” she repeated, her tone hitching up a notch.
“I asked him how it got there and he told me he did not know. It must have happened when he was eating.”
“How does that happen?”
“I cannot even begin to imagine. But it was from this morn because everything sounded far away. I must say though, he is entertaining.”
“You two have developed a friendship.” Whether her words were an accusation or question, she couldn’t determine. She risked much by coming to Lachlan, but she had been desperate and with no other options.
Lachlan took it for a question. “Aye, I guess not being around Connor…”
“You miss them.”
“It isn’t as if I’ll never see them.”
Rowen let his non-reply stand. There was a time when he would have laid out his feeling to her. He trusted her, he had told her and perhaps compared to the others around him, she was the only one he could present that to, but the trust and bond they both shared had vanished.
Lachlan bid her to enter the chamber first. Kenny sat in the chair.
“Ma.” He leapt to his feet. “Lachlan said I can eat tonight’s meal wit you, but I mustna get dirty or I may have to eat in the barn. I dinna wanna eat there because if I get dirty, I’ll have to wash again.”
Lachlan palmed the top of Kenny’s head. “I want you to go with Barabla. She has two brothers you can play with.”
Kenny raced off, waving at Rowen. “Now, tell me what you have learned.”
She went to the table and poured herself some wine. She offered a cup to Lachlan, who accepted with a nod. “There is much she is not telling me. I do not know whether she has secrets she shall never share or does not want to trust me just yet. However, she is smart.”
“Secrets, it must be then. What else?” He took the cup.
“She has no liking for Semias. She mentioned his name perhaps twice, but the venom was in her words.” She took a long drink. “It seems that your father fell under a fairy.” She stared into the cup as Lachlan inspected her face.
“That bothered you. She has heard of you then. She is smart.” Lachlan stroked his chin.
“I told her to come to me for any of her needs. Perhaps, I can learn more.”
“I do not want you in any danger. If she did kill the laird, she will slip a blade in your back as well, given the chance.” He seemed as if he wanted to touch her, hold her to him to protect her from danger. He stopped himself and Rowen mourned for the moment.
She sat down. “She talked of Jonty.”
“This shall be interesting.” He plopped down in the chair, slumped, and planted his feet flat on the oak floor.
Rowen repeated what Sheena had said. Lachlan interrupted with questions about her tone, the exact word choice, her expression, and even her body language. She had finished her wine, and another glass. She grew tired of repeating the happenings. She glared at Lachlan as he started questioning her again. She wished to rip out his tongue just for a moment of silence. That did not happen and she grew annoyed by her own voice.
Yet, she continued on. This relaxed talk between them was as it had been before her marriage. The feelings rushed through her—that sense that she could breathe deeply and let her guard down. To him she wasn’t a banshee, not here to beguile him. Even with his troubles, Lachlan looked at her with that gleam she hadn’t seen in anyone else. She hadn’t realized how much she hungered to see it. It filled her as if she had eaten a boar by herself and was now satiated to sleep.
“Do you think she could be allying with my dear, sweet cousin?” He rolled the cup between his hands. Lachlan appeared at ease. But then again, he was good at showing the world the carefree side of himself.
“It may be so.”
Lachlan nodded absentmindedly. “Let us fill our bellies. I can smell bread and fish from here. Semias shall be there.”
“He bothers you more than the others.”
The corner of his mouth twitched before a smile spread across his face. “I do not care for this bond he has for me. He knows things I don’t. That gives him power and he will not give it up. I think he plans to use me to acquire more.”
Lachlan led the way from the chamber. The castle folk had gathered before the trestle tables. He stepped onto the dais. As her position dictated, she joined him. The guests stared up at her. Those in the back craned their necks around the others to glimpse her clearly. She was accustomed to the stares. That did not mean she wasn’t annoyed by them. Kenny came to her side. He had yet to realize why she was stared at. He thought it was a part of her life due to her station. She fought to keep him thinking such an innocent thought. Here though, missing his father’s protection, he would discover the stories. She looked longingly at the castle stairs. She ought to have taken her meal up in her chamber.
Lachlan sat and she followed. With him commanding the hall, she did not doubt that he deserved to be called Laird. With him so near, she smelled wool, peat smoke, and his own musky, male scent that made her weak with one whiff. The murmur of conversations whirred through the hall after someone glanced her way.
She watched the man who must be Semias step up and take his seat at Lachlan’s right. On MacKenzie land there was an ancient tree with a wizened face within the trunk formed through the ages. Semias reminded her of it. She never liked the tree and felt the same way toward the man.
She inclined her head when Lachlan presented him to her.
“I am glad you have recovered, Mistress Murray.” He stressed her surname for the benefit of those gathered for the meal.
“Me as well. I am not one to enjoy a sickbed, and I do all I can to avoid it.”
“It is the MacKenzie blood,” Lachlan said. “They cannot abide weakness of any kind.”
“Neither do you, Lachlan. Though I know you enjoy a bed.”
“It depends upon the company.” The wicked gleam twinkled in his honeyed eyes.
“I dinna like bed,” Kenny grumbled. “Ma makes me go, but I wanna play.”
“I like to play and do it in bed as well.”
Rowen dug her nails into his thigh. Kenny scrunched his brows down in concentration.
“How do you play in bed by yourself?”
Lachlan choked at his question. He coughed. His neck strained and his face turned red. Rowen cocked a brow. “Are you well, Laird? Perhaps you should go to bed.”
“You can play with yourself,” Kenny added to be helpful.
Lachlan nodded, having no reply. Rowen gawked. She had never known him not to have a witty retort.
Semias had remained silent. His cloudy eyes shifted with deliberate slowness between Kenny and Lachlan. He took in the color of their hair, its straight texture, the shape of their eyes, the slope of their noses, and even their hands. Rowen saw him brush away the present and shield himself in memories. The hairs on her arms rose from the energy coursing through her. Her fingers twitched. Her foot bounced up
and down. Tap. Tap. Ta-ta-ta-tap.
He shifted his unctuous regard upon her. She met it, not betraying herself through either a lowering of her eyes or a shift of her head. He looked away first.
“Semias, what is this talk of the laird and fairies?”
“The murderess must have told Mistress Murray about that. But aye, that is the talk. Mistress Murray understands such talk with her being called a banshee.”
He expected her to be riled.
“Rowen is more a glaistig than a banshee.”
“At least I am part of humanity instead of the fairy race; however, I do not possess a fairy nature at all.”
“Fairies do come to a home at night,” Semias said.
“Further proof, for I arrived here during the day.”
“Though you were wan and gray,” Semais retorted with a falsely humorous tone.
“I rather thought I was fervid and blue.” Rowen pierced the fish and fed Kenny. She gripped her dirk’s edge when she wished to bury its blade to the hilt in Semias’s chest.
Lachlan twisted toward the man standing behind him, guarding him. “Domhnall, go find a seat, some food and drink, and perhaps a lass. You are breathing on my food.”
Domhnall nodded. He stepped off the dais and vanished to the rear of the tables.
“Do you believe in fairies, Semias? Because I do not.”
Semias understood what Lachlan was not saying. “Nay, foolishness I think yet others believe. ’Tis the reason for the talk. The folk are searching to understand. Some worry she may come back.”
“Then it’s your duty to see that they do not think such nonsense now.”
The fierce determination darkened Lachlan’s eyes. She felt a nagging unease rushing through her that she was ready to flee. But was the fear for her or Lachlan?
* * * *
With Kenny abed, Lachlan escorted Rowen to the battlements. Darkness blanketed the earth, and even the snowy white tops of the mountains appeared to have vanished. It seemed as if the world had faded away and stars dotted the sky so one could know heaven from earth. Moonlight danced like melted silver on the river’s surface. The mellow running waters sounded from the right. It was enough to soothe away the day’s burdens. Whereas others curled in their beds, Lachlan waited for the sinister beings to peel away from their shadows and reveal themselves.
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