True to the Highlander (The Novels of Loch Moigh)

by Longley, Barbara

  A knowing look passed between father and son.

  “I don’t know how you wish to be addressed,” she said, turning to Malcolm’s father. Though slightly shorter than his son, he appeared to be every bit as powerful. Their resemblance was striking. His hair, now streaked with silver, had once been the same tawny gold as Malcolm’s. The older man’s eyes were the same brilliant blue.

  “My given name is William. It is the custom here to address me as Laird. You say you were in your own country when this happened. What country might that be, lass?”

  “I’m from a land far away across the Atlantic Ocean.”

  “The Continent.” Malcolm nodded.

  “Well, a continent, but not the one you’re thinking. My land is not commonly known, though there have been Europeans who’ve traveled to our shores. Not long before William the Conqueror came to England, Norwegians came to my land. Erik the Red, and then later his son, Lief. Have you heard the tales?”

  “Aye, we’ve heard rumblings of faraway lands, but we gave it no credence. Did the Norse conquer your land as William did England?” Malcolm asked.

  “Hardly.” She snorted. “They were few against many, and our men are excellent warriors.” She boasted her way down the murky road of embellishment.

  Malcolm’s eyes lit with interest. “Your land must lie near the edge. Have you seen it?”

  “The edge?” Her brow rose in question.

  “Aye, the edge of the world.”

  “Um…no.”

  “How is it you speak English?” William asked.

  “Priests. They seem to find their way to all corners of the world.” Lord, forgive me for my sins. The more details she could give them, the more believable her story would seem. “If you have something for me to write on, I could draw you a map, a rough one anyway.”

  Malcolm went across the room and returned with a rolled piece of parchment, a quill and an inkwell. He set them down before her and gathered stones to keep the parchment flat. Alethia picked the quill up uncertainly and dipped it into the ink. Her first try at drawing made a big blob of black on the parchment. The second time went better, and soon she was tracing a rough outline of the continents they would already know.

  “Could you tell me the date?” She looked up from her task. “And the year?” If they thought her request odd, they gave no hint. She’d been too afraid to ask before—afraid and overwhelmed with everything that had happened.

  “’Tis early autumn, in the year of our Lord 1423.”

  Her mouth went dry, and the quill slipped through her fingers.

  “I take it some time has passed since you visited the fair?” Malcolm asked.

  She swallowed. “You could say that.”

  “Continue.” William gestured toward her map.

  She retrieved the quill and leaned over her drawing. “This is Scotland and Britain.” Both men leaned forward to watch with interest as she labeled each continent. “Here is Ireland, Europe, the Orient, and Africa. This island is called Iceland. This one is Greenland, and here is my continent.” She sketched North America with the Great Lakes in the center. “Here in the center we have five very large freshwater lakes. On the tip of this one is where my homeland starts. It’s called Minnesota.” She moved to the side of the parchment and drew a separate outline of her state. This is the Red River, here is the Minnesota River, this one is the Mississippi, and here’s the St. Croix.” She labeled each one.

  “Our land is north of the Minnesota River and bordered by the other two.” Satisfied with her rendition, she sat back. For the first time she noticed the stunned expressions worn by father and son. “My people also have clans, though they aren’t like yours.” She continued, warming to the subject. “Our communities are made up of members of all the different clans. In my culture, clan identity has to do with one’s role in society.”

  “How so?” Malcolm asked.

  “Well, for instance, we have the leadership and warrior clans. There are clans for hunting, learning, medicine, and just about everything. Each village must have members from a variety of clans to be whole. Our villages are each governed by a council of elders who are led by a chieftain. All the villages are governed by a greater council led by our president.”

  “A president?” William asked.

  “The closest I could come to it in your culture is a king.”

  “What is your clan, Alethia?” Malcolm asked.

  “I am Chejauk, the Crane, which is one of the leadership clans. My father was our president until his death.”

  The laird’s head came up with sudden interest. “How did he die?”

  “He and my mother both perished when their, um…keep caught fire.”

  Malcolm and his father exchanged another look.

  “Where were you at the time, lass?” William’s voice took on a grave tone.

  “I was staying with my uncle’s family. I have cousins about my age, and I often stayed with them. I’m an only child.”

  “This is enough for now. You may take your leave,” William said.

  She rose. “I would like to earn my keep while I’m here. I have talents you might find useful.”

  “Besides the making of extraordinary music?” William smiled.

  She nodded. “I’m able to commit to memory anything I study, and I can tell whether a person is lying or telling the truth.”

  “It seems you are an aptly named young woman, Alethia. I shall put you to work on the morrow. ’Tis the day I hold court for our people.”

  “She does no’ speak our language,” Malcolm pointed out. “And most of our villagers dinna speak English.” He turned to her. “Gàidhlig is our native language. Our crofters and villagers have no use for the Sassenach words.”

  “Gaelic? Well, it doesn’t matter.” Alethia shook her head. “It’s not the words I listen to.”

  “’Tis settled. I will expect you in the great hall at first light.”

  “There is one more thing, Laird.” She gripped the back of the chair she’d been sitting in. “The young deaf boy who stays in the great hall at night—who does he belong to?”

  “The lad is an orphan.” William continued to study her map. “His mother married outside our clan. Her husband disappeared while she was with child, and she returned to live here with her widowed mother. A few years past, both mother and child took ill. The lad’s mother died, and the fever took his hearing. He lived with his grandmother until she passed, and now he stays in the great hall.”

  Her heart broke for the little boy. He’d already suffered so much loss, and he couldn’t be more than four or five years old. “I would like to take care of him, if it would be all right. I can teach him to communicate. My people have a language for the deaf.”

  “I have no objections to your caring for the lad.” William rolled her map up and set it aside. “Will you play for us this eve, lass?”

  “Of course.”

  “One more thing, Alethia.” Malcolm glanced from his father to her. “For the time being, you are to remain within the curtain wall.”

  “Why?” Her heart leaped to her throat. Did they intend to imprison her? How would she find her way home if she couldn’t leave the island?

  “Until we are certain Hugh has no allies here to cause you harm, ’twould be wise to remain where there are guards we trust close at hand. Hugh is a vengeful man.”

  “Oh.” Relief washed through her. “OK.”

  After she’d closed the door behind her, Malcolm began to pace. “She is the daughter of a king.”

  “So it would seem, and likely the victim of treachery many times over.” His father leaned back in his chair. “’Tis possible her parents were murdered in their beds and their keep burned down around them to hide the evidence. Lady Alethia’s guardians may have sent her away to keep her safe. We did the same with our King James after his uncle murdered his older brother. ’Tis just as likely an enemy banished her. She is of age. Mayhap a marriage had been arranged that displeased one fa
ction or the other.”

  “Aye, ’tis possible.” Malcolm continued to pace. “But—”

  “Sit, Malcolm.” His father gestured toward the chair. “You’re wearing a groove into my floor with your pacing.”

  “There’s something odd about all of this.” Malcolm took a seat and looked to his father. “The fortune-teller she spoke of, I know her.”

  “You believe Alethia was sent here to us specifically?”

  “Aye.”

  “For what purpose, Malcolm?”

  “That I canna say, but I intend to find out.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  For as long as he could remember, Malcolm had taken his place by his father’s side as disputes between their clansmen were heard and settled. Neither needed a truth-sayer to judge fairly. Alethia’s talents would be of use when dealing with outsiders, aye. But he saw no need of her talents now, other than indulging her need to prove herself. He shifted his stance to stand behind her as each of the men presented their side.

  She leaned toward his father and whispered what they both already knew. “Both believe they are telling the truth, Laird.”

  Keeping half an ear on the proceedings, the better part of Malcolm’s thoughts dwelt upon the revelations from the day before. What once he thought a flight of fancy no longer seemed fanciful at all. Alethia had been left by the side of the road for him to find. How else to explain her presence on their path the very day they passed? How else to explain Giselle’s hand in sending her to him?

  It hardly seemed credible. Madame Giselle had been ancient a decade ago. Was it possible she still lived? The words the old woman had spoken bounced around in his head. Truth will save you. Keep her close by your side. Was Alethia’s presence the harbinger of some coming danger? Mayhap her life was in danger as well.

  One thing was certain—he could not allow her to place herself in harm’s way for his sake. He’d take extra measures to ensure her safety and his. He’d train harder in the lists and assign himself extra guards in battle, should the need arise. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she graced him with a shy smile. Every protective instinct within him surged. Aye, no matter the cost, he’d keep her safe.

  A single horn blast sounded from the village on the mainland. Court came to an unexpected end. More curious to see who had arrived than in having their disputes settled, his people followed the lure of the horn, eager to hear any news the visitors might bring.

  Alethia rose to follow, and Malcolm held her back. “Nay, Lady Alethia. I’m taking you to my mother’s solar.”

  “But—”

  “Do as my son bids, lass.” William clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. “I’ll greet the ferry as it lands.”

  “What does the horn mean?” she asked, her gaze trailing after his father.

  “One tone tells us someone of importance has arrived. Two means our own have returned, and three blasts means danger.” Malcolm guided her toward the stairs. “No matter the number, you will remain inside.” She rolled her eyes. “’Tis for your own safety.” He raised one brow and gave her a stern look. “One more thing—should you need anything, anything at all, you are to come to me.” They reached the solar door. Malcolm knocked and waited for his mother to bid him enter.

  Ushering her through the door, he nodded his greeting. “I’ve brought Lady Alethia to join you.”

  His mother smiled. “We are most happy to receive her.”

  Content that she was in good hands, Malcolm bowed his farewell and headed for the ferry landing after his father.

  “Have you some handiwork?” Lydia asked. “We are pleased you have joined us. We had hoped you would for the past se’nnight.”

  She surveyed her surroundings and the three women, all working on various projects. “I didn’t know.”

  “Our apologies, Lady Alethia,” Elaine said.

  “It seemed you preferred to stay in your chamber, and we didn’t wish to intrude,” Rosemary added.

  More like hiding out in her rabbit hole, but they didn’t need to know that. “I’m happy to be here now.” The square room faced south, with three tall windows letting in plenty of daylight. A wooden bench ran along the wall under the windows. She walked over to study the glass panes.

  “My son is responsible for making our keep one of the most modern in Scotia,” Lydia remarked with pride. “He has traveled extensively and brought back many innovations from faraway places.”

  “Oh.” Alethia reached out to touch an air bubble captured in the greenish rippled glass. She turned back to study the rest of the room. A cozy hearth took up one wall, and cushioned seats were arranged around it. Elaine sat before a wooden frame holding a tapestry in progress. Rosemary and Lydia both embroidered. “Would you mind if I practiced my music here? I’m working on a few pieces I think might be good for dancing.”

  “That would be pleasant indeed.” Rosemary’s eyes lit up. “Mayhap we can persuade one of my sons to accompany you with the bodhran and pipes.”

  “You’d think after a week I’d know my way around, but I don’t think I can find the way to my room and back again.”

  Elaine rose from her place. “I’ll take you. ’Twould be good to stretch my legs.” Taking Alethia by the arm, she led her back into the labyrinth of halls to her chamber. “’Tis grand to have another young woman in the keep. I do hope we will become close friends.” Elaine gave her arm a squeeze. Elaine radiated goodness. Her soft brown hair resembled Lydia’s, and her eyes were the same brilliant blue as Malcolm’s.

  She liked her immediately. “I hope so too. I could use a friend.”

  “I am sorry that none thought to bring you to the solar before today.”

  “It’s all right.” They’d reached her door, and Alethia opened it.

  Elaine gasped as she entered. “What have you done?” She laughed as she picked up one of the rush baskets Alethia had made to pass the time.

  “I was bored. No one to talk to and only my own company to keep.”

  “Again, I apologize for what must seem to you a lack of hospitality on our part.”

  “No, it’s my fault.” Alethia shook her head. “I didn’t ask, and I have stayed hidden away in this chamber. How could you have known?” She picked up one of the baskets and turned it around in her hands. “I can do better with black ash. If you like them, take one.”

  “Truly?” Elaine chose a round container with a lid. “They are so finely made. I would no’ have thought common floor rushes could be turned into such works of art.”

  Alethia opened the trunk and fished around for sheet music. “I’m glad you like them.” She picked up the basket holding her peasant blouse. She’d cut it down to fit the deaf child, and only the hemming remained to be done. Stashing the sheet music with the sewing, she lifted her violin case from the peg and turned to go. “Do you know how I could get my hands on a piece of wool to make a garment for a little boy? I’ve tried to speak to the weavers myself, but none of them understand English.”

  “For a boy?” Elaine gave her a questioning look. “To clothe the lad, a feileadh breacan do you mean?”

  “Is that what you call a kilt in your native language? It’s what the men wear, right? Your father gave me permission to care for the deaf boy who stays in the hall at night.”

  “Aye, though I’ve no’ heard it called thus before. Leave it to me,” she said, crossing to the door.

  “Will you teach me to speak your language, Elaine?”

  “Of course. We can begin your lessons anon.” Holding the door to her chamber, Elaine told her, “dorus,” and pointing to her bed she continued, “leabaigh. Wait here, and I’ll come back for you.”

  Alethia paced and checked things off her mental to-do list while waiting for Elaine’s return. Once she had something clean to put on the child, he’d need a bath and a haircut. She shuddered at the thought of what vermin might be living in his matted hair.

  She knew what it meant to be orphaned and to lose the people who were the center of your univ
erse. What would’ve happened to her if she hadn’t had such a large extended family? It wasn’t in her nature to stand by and let this deaf child fend for himself. He’d been reduced to begging, isolated and unable to communicate, and she could not turn her back on him.

  “’Tis done. Let us return to the solar,” Elaine said from the corridor.

  Spending the morning in the women’s solar had been a joy. Alethia hadn’t realized how lonely she’d been until she had company again. Reciting all the words Elaine had taught her, she made her way back to her room, surprised to find the door open.

  “Milady, I’ve been waitin’ for ye.” Beth sat in the chair by the hearth, a pile of mending in her lap. “I brought the wee basket with your soaps back. One of the lads found it by the loch.”

  “Oh.” Two bolts of cloth lay on her bed. One was a muted plaid like the kilts Malcolm and his men had worn the day they’d found her, and the other a fine linen. “Where did these come from? All I asked for was a bit of wool to make a child’s garment.” She ran the linen through her fingers, savoring the texture. Visions of a new gown and chemise more in the billowing style worn by the MacKintosh women formed in her mind.

  “Lady Elaine asked one of our weavers for them.” Beth rose from the chair, setting her mending aside. “Their youngest lad has taken ill with a’ghearrach.”

  Alethia gave her a puzzled look.

  “Och. I dinna ken the word. Whatever the lad eats or drinks runs right through him. He suffers cramps. Lady Elaine has been visiting the family and helping as much as she can, but he’s very ill.”

  He had dysentery. She thought of her emergency supplies. “There’s no healer in your village?”

  “Nay. No’ for a year past.”

  “I’m not a healer, but my grandfather was. I might have something that will help, and I have a book of remedies. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

  “Och, the family would welcome any help, milady.”