by Deb Kemper
“Make way for The Mackintosh!” A man bellowed, before them, and opened the path to the platform.
Garth slapped a hard hand on the man’s shoulder and grinned. “Ta, Ben, appreciate the help.” Ye meddlin’ old buzzard. I enjoyed the feel of the lass in front o’ me.
The trio was able to walk, unhindered, the remainder of the way.
The minstrels and their instruments occupied the corner of the hall nearest the high table. The resonance of the lute became a haunting melody joined by the harp and the dulcimer. Hush fell over the crowd. The drummer struck his instrument with a mallet, its timbre piercing hearts. Amalie closed her eyes and felt the music wash over her before the laird led her up the steps to the dais.
Garth seated her on the right side of the table next to him and Mallow opposite, taking his place at the head, between them. “So, ye went to the fields today?”
Mallow beamed. “Aye, Da, it’s been so much fun. I don’t remember havin’ such a grand Martinmas before.”
“Ye’re old enough to participate now. I daresay ye’ll enjoy tonight. Have yer friends promised dances?”
“Aye, I was asked three times while pickin’ barley fer wreaths. Oh, and Quentin made a wreath of barley and oats for Jessica’s bed.”
“Did he now?” Garth wished he’d seated Amalie beside his daughter, so that he might gauge her reaction to his cousin’s name. He found her knee beneath the table and rested his against it.
“And he made Miss Amalie promise him dances.” Mallow glowed as she teased.
Amalie blushed and shook her head, when the laird glanced her direction. She shifted and he lost contact with her.
“So, are ye engaged for the entire evenin’ or have ye one or two to spare me?” He winked when she met his eyes and blushed again.
“Aye, milord. If that’s what you wish.” She twisted away from his intense regard.
A server appeared with a tray of covered dishes to set before them while another arrived with mugs of wine. They laid the table with linen napkins and simple silverware as the laird and his guests regarded the animation of the hall.
“Oh, Da, she’s here!” Mallow moaned as a buxom blonde approached, having slogged through the masses with the air of royalty visiting a sewer. The woman stopped short of the steps and smoothed the front of her pale blue gown.
Garth followed his daughter’s line of sight and spotted the subject. “Ah, so she is. Don’t let it spoil yer evenin’, pet.”
He rose, as the woman advanced across the platform. She curtsied low enough to have seen her navel through the gap in her gown, had he looked.
“Milord, how are ye this blessed Martinmas?” Her severely arched painted eyebrows lent her a look of surprise. She shuffled her vast crinoline around her feet to occupy the maximum amount of space.
“Verra well, Lady Cameron, and yerself?” He smiled with amusement.
“Splendid, sir.”
An awkward silence deepened as he waited for her to explain her visit to the high table, without a summons, in the midst of supper.
“Ye remember my daughter, Mallow?” He took the lead, as she did not.
Lady Cameron smiled at Mallow, who rose and dropped a proper curtsy. “Milady.” She took her seat again, studying the woman discreetly.
“And this is Amalie Sullivan.” Garth gestured his hand toward her in introduction.
Amalie nodded. “Milady.”
A cunning smile passed over Lady Cameron’s face. Icy pale eyes met Amalie’s dark warm ones with a warning.
The lady spun back to Garth, her tone honeyed. “I wonder, sir, if I mi’ have a word? Just a few minutes of yer valuable time?” A pained expression pulled her alarmed look into a pout.
Garth peered at Amalie, Mallow, and his plate. “Ah, well, for a short tick, perhaps.” He offered his arm and led her to the room behind them where the council conferred. He closed the door on their entry, noticing his daughter’s eyes followed him.
Shortly after, they emerged from the room. Lady Cameron wiped the corners of her mouth as though its paint may have smeared. “Thank ye so much, milord. I’m eternally grateful for yer protection.” She cooed and laid her hand on his thick forearm.
Garth nodded with detached interest. “I’ll see to it personally.”
He watched her leave the dais and shook his head. His stride carried him to the companions he left behind to find his cousin in his chair. He leaned over to get Quentin’s attention, focused on Amalie. “If I might have my chair back, yer welcome to join us.”
“My apologies, sir. Mallow told me where ye were and I thought ye occupied fer the evenin’.” He peeked at Mallow and winked.
“Out!” Garth tipped the chair as Quentin rose. He drew it round and sat to fill his plate with supper, growling, “Ye may sit beside Amalie, if ye must.”
Quentin pulled out the chair by her and dropped in it with a grin.
“I’ve an errand fer ye.” Garth set his plate in order.
“What’s that?” Quentin dragged his eyes away from Amalie.
“A week or two at the Cameron estate. The lady says she’s losing livestock to reivers. I told her I’d see it done, personally, and yer my official agent. Don’t embarrass me.” He glared at the younger man, engaged in watching Amalie who followed the conversation. “Take Gordon wi’ ye. He’s young and needs experience.” He sighed. “Are ye hearin’ me?”
“Aye, I’ll not embarrass ye.” Quentin placed a hand on Amalie’s arm. “I believe this is our dance.” He stood, held her chair, and led her to the dance floor.
Garth and Mallow kept watch on the dancers for a moment before a tall, lanky youth appeared. “Laird,” he bowed his head, “might yer daughter be allowed to dance with me?”
Garth looked Benji Mayhew over from his well-combed dark hair to his shiny brogues and nodded. “As long as ye stay in view.” He squinted at his daughter and gestured to the young man with a nod.
She broke a tense smile. “Ta, Da.” She offered her hand and Benji led her down the steps.
Nearby Garth heard the laughter of the Cameron woman and feared for a moment she might join him again. “God, save me from that!” He muttered as a chair scraped behind him. He turned to find his taxman, John MacGregor.
“Laird.” The big, burly man nodded his gray head and sat.
“John, is there somethin’ ye need?”
“Nay.” He paused. “Yer alone.” MacGregor took in a bushel of air. “Came to join ye.” He studied the crowd of merrymakers. “Saw ye with Lady Cameron earlier.”
“Aye. Her cattle’re bein’ stolen. Looks like we may have reivers comin’ north with their thievin’ ways.”
The older gentleman nodded. “Ye tendin’ to it?”
“Sendin’ Quentin to check on the grounds and post guards.”
“Is there anything personal between ye?” MacGregor’s cheeks flamed but his expression remained somber.
“Well, Quentin’s my cousin and sometimes I love him like a brother, others not as much.” He bit back the grin that threatened.
“I mean the widder, sir.” MacGregor lost nerve and glanced away.
“Oh, no. Ye have my blessin’, John.” And my sympathy.
Late in the evening, Garth held Amalie’s hand, as they entered the dance. His eyes consumed the details of the well-fitted emerald green silk dress she wore. A hint of cleavage teased him and her full hips curved nicely below her narrow waist. A touch of ecru lace adorned the neckline and edges of three-quarter sleeves. Her auburn hair hung almost to her waist in glossy waves, catching the candlelight as she moved.
What a magnificent woman ye are. I long to share my heart and my bed with ye, but not yet. Ye’re too skittish, by halves. I need time to romance ye before Quentin steals ye away.
She held his gaze with a sublime smile. Their hands joined as they circled each other. Garth’s thumb massaged her palm. They passed on return; his hand found her waist and slid to her hip. He failed to notice anyone else in the ro
om.
Chapter 7
“Ye’ll not marry her, will ye, Da?”
“Don’t concern yerself with what’s not yer business. I’ll do what I please, without a child’s council.”
Amalie paused at the door to the laird’s study. He’d not closed it completely. She felt guilty eavesdropping on his conversation with Mallow but not so much she’d stop.
“If ye could’ve seen how she looked at Miss Amalie.... Da, I’m just worried fer ye stubborn ways, that’s all!” Mallow left her chair and stomped out.
Amalie stepped back to the foyer and adjusted her cloak on a hook as Mallow burst through the door, slamming it behind her. She ran up the stairs without seeing Amalie in the hallway.
Garth flung the door open and stepped into her as she passed, catching her in his arms. “Ah, Amalie! I’m sorry…ye’re a few minutes early.”
“I’d just come in and was going to the kitchen for a drink.” She felt the blush on her cheeks at the lie.
He still held her. “Oh, well then, I’ll come with ye.” He wove her arm through his and started to the back of the castle, past his sleeping dogs. “Mallow jest left me in a fit o’ rage.”
“I saw her, sir. All is not well between you?” She enjoyed his strong hold pulling her close, as he matched her steps.
One of Garth’s two collies snored loudly from his spot near the stairs. The other kept a keen eye on them.
“She’s becoming willful. I suppose I should’ve expected that, she is my daughter.” He chuckled and ran his hand through his dark blonde hair. “Still, we rarely disagree, or so I thought.”
“Perhaps she needs time to adjust to her changing world.”
Garth stopped and looked into her eyes. She felt her deepest secrets bare to him, in that moment. “I think she’s a bit jealous. There’s no reason for her to be concerned with what is my personal business.” They turned back to their mission.
“But would your personal business not affect Jessica and Mallow?”
“I’ll marry whom I please. They’ll grow accustomed to it, over time.”
“Your daughter may see your impending nuptials like a boulder dropped into the loch. She’ll feel swamped in the beginning but ride the waves, for the rest of her life.” Amalie’s voice became quiet as she swallowed the ache the conversation stirred.
He opened the kitchen door and ushered her through. “Ye may be right, but there’s no help fer it. I must marry soon and produce another bairn or two. There’s much to teach a son, if I have one, a lifetime of knowledge, generations of wisdom. Our traditions must be passed on.”
Amalie felt her belly burn. Oh, to give you sons…. She placed her hand over her midriff for a breath. It’s you, my laird, my heart. If only you felt the same….
“Amalie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are ye feeling poorly?”
She met his eyes again and shook her head with a smile. “No, I’m fine, just feeling the waves of the boulder myself, for a moment.”
He reached for her face, laid his hand on her cheek, and gazed into her depths. She held his consideration for a blink and then looked away.
“I need to speak with you about my time here. It’s drawin’ to a close soon.” She turned away, dipped water from a pail by the sink, filled her mug, and lifted it to her lips. She drank deeply to avoid his eyes.
“Ye’re leavin’ me?” He blanched with shock.
“Sir, we agreed on three months.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and poured a mug of ale. “Aye, we did in the beginning. I hoped ye’d like it here. Was I wrong, then?”
“Nay, I do. I love your girls and…but I need to go home to my people.”
Garth paced the length of the room three times.
Amalie watched him peripherally and tried to swallow the dread of his ire. Please, God, give me strength to stand my ground with this man.
He returned to her. “Come!” His tone curt, he took her arm and hurried back to his study. “Sit!” He pointed to the chair Mallow just left. He sat opposite her. “Now, explain to me why ye wanna leave me.”
“Our agreement was for three months.” Her voice weakened. “You’ve not brought it up. I assumed we were of one accord: that I’d leave at the end of the term.”
“Amalie, I welcome ye to stay as long as ye will. Mallow and Jessica need yer instruction. Millie needs yer help, as chatelaine. I need…ye to be here. I’ll pay ye whatever ye want. Please?” He leaned his massive arms on his knees and rested his chin on his fist to watch her squirm.
She tried to avoid his frowning regard to no avail. “Papa reserved a ticket to sail two days after our agreement ends. I think I must go home, laird.”
He dropped to his knees in front of her and lifted her chin to face him. “Please don’t go, Amalie. I canna bear it.”
She locked eyes with him and sighed. “I can hardly stand the thought myself but…I’d best be gettin’ on with life, sir.”
“I understand the yearnin’ in yer heart fer yer own family but give us a little more time, please.” He studied her face as though it was the last time he’d see it. “I don’t beg for what I want. I demand it. Ye’ve broken me—jest a wee slip of a lass.” He ventured a smile.
“I know you can make it difficult for me to leave should you choose.” Concern kept her brow knit.
“Ye’re correct to assume that’d be my next move.” His jaw flexed.
“How much time?” Until you marry the lady in perpetual awe?
“Promise me three more months and we’ll revisit the agreement, if necessary, though I pray not.” He extended his hand as he’d done on their first meeting.
She accepted, but her feelings were very different than when she first came to him. “Aye, three months more, sir.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, closed his eyes, and kissed her fingertips. She withdrew her hand and clutched it in her lap. You make it impossible to say no.
Chapter 8
Mallow and Amalie entered the hall for the evening meal. Jessica slept under nurse’s watchful eye.
When they walked into the cool stone building, the smell of meat roasting scented the air, the musicians provided lively tunes.
“I love harvest time, Miss Amalie. I’m finally old enough to stay up late and be part of village life.” Mallow skipped beside Amalie toward the hall’s kitchen.
Garth noted their entrance and left his conversation with a chieftain to catch up to them. “Ladies!”
Mallow glowed at being included in his greeting. She whirled and curtsied. “At yer service, sire.”
Garth bowed, in turn. “Ye’ve forgiven me, then?”
“For now.” She hugged him. “It’s hard to stay mad at ye, Da. Yer so bloody charmin’.”
“Hey, no cursin’. That’s not ladylike atall.” He scolded her with a smile and blush high on his cheeks.
“I don’t think it fair that men can and ladies canna.”
“No, but it’s the rule of this house.” He glanced at Amalie. “The younger sleeps?”
She nodded with a smile. “Aye, we wear her out as best we can.”
“Will ye join me for supper?” He maintained her gaze.
“Oh, well…if that’s what you wish.” She scanned the hall.
“He’s not returned but sent a messenger.” Garth answered her unspoken question.
She looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, did you mean Quentin?”
He grinned. “Aye. If ye need a dancin’ partner for ceilidh, I’ll have to do.” He closed his hand over hers. “Come with me, lassies.” He took Mallow in the other hand to seat them at the high table.
“I’m lookin’ for my friend, Ceidra.” Amalie responded on the way.
He cut a sidelong look into her dark eyes. “Were ye, then?”
“I don’t lie, sir.” She locked eyes with him, tugging against his grasp.
“At least not well.” He winked and tightened his hold.
She blushed and looked a
way.
****
On return to the keep, Mallow left them for bed. “I’ll see ye tomorrow, Da?”
“Nay, darlin’ I leave at dawn and I’ll be away a few days.” He kissed her forehead. “Off with ye now and look after Jessie.”
“I will.” She ran up the stairs and bounced down the hallway.
Garth took Amalie’s hand in his again. He nodded to his study. “Come along with me fer awhile?”
“If you wish.”
“I do, Amalie, very much.” He opened the door for her and followed, securing it. “Have a seat.”
She sat in her usual chair. Though it seemed closer to his, she didn’t comment.
He sat next to her. “Quentin asked that I give ye his best regards. I considered not tellin’ ye, but that woulda been awkward on his return.”
“Why would you not give me a message from him, laird?” She frowned.
“Have my reasons. Are ye fond of him?” He tapped tobacco into the bowl of a short stemmed pipe.
“He’s good company and he amuses me.” Her head tilted to the right as she studied her employer.
He grinned. “That’s fine then. I see what it takes to impress ye.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “There’s more.”
He relished the sound of her merriment. “Be thorough, miss.”
“A man must ride well, be fearless in battle, and somewhat of a bard.”
“Ye think you could love a poet?” He devoured her delight with a smile.
“Or a minstrel, as long as he rode well and was fearless in battle.” She enjoyed the game.
“Well, that makes it more of a challenge.” He scrubbed his chin with a knuckle. “I’m tryin’ to think if I know a man who’s a poet and warrior. Ah, only the Jewish king, David.”
“He was phenomenal, but surely not the only man God made so.” Her head propped on the wing of the chair, her hand rested on the arm.
“Lassies and their fancies. Let me see, I fail to think of one man in my command who’d suit ye.” He studied her reaction.
She became entranced with the fire. “Perhaps I’m not so sure I’d love a poet.”