In truth, he was not sure what he felt. ’Twas an odd blend of admiration, pity, and quite truthfully, awe. It baffled him how this wee, tiny woman, who had gone through all she had gone through these past years, had managed not to lose her mind. Aggie had a strong sense of duty to her brother Ailrig and Rose. He suspected that if it weren’t for Ailrig needing her so much and Rose’s friendship, Aggie would have given up long ago. There was a strong chance that she wouldn’t be alive today.
“Aggie,” he began. “I ken about ye goin’ away.”
She turned her head so quickly that she felt woozy. Frederick detected her anger before it gave way to embarrassment.
Soothingly, he did his best to put her at ease. “’Tis nothin’ to be ashamed of, wife. I reckon it be the only way ye could manage all that’s happened to ye.”
Sensing that his words weren’t as comforting as he hoped, he took a deep breath and took her hands in his. “Warriors are verra good at blockin’ out the world around them, Aggie. Ye’ve learned a survival skill that many a warrior uses. Yer a warrior, wife.”
The look on her face said she did not believe a word he was saying. “’Tis true. Ye be a warrior. I ken many a man who would no’ have been able to live through what ye have. Ye be a strong woman, Aggie.”
Aggie rolled her eyes in disbelief. “If I be so strong, then why d-do p-people think so p-poorly of me? Why d-do they act as though I’m n-no better than a d-dog’s d-droppins?”
Her blunt statement made his heart constrict. There was truth to what she said, but it was something he intended to rectify. “I ken these people have treated ye poorly. But I think they did so because they feared yer da and losin’ their homes or their lives. People react differently to fear. People react differently to the mistreatment of others. I make no excuses fer their behavior, Aggie. I find them all weak and their behavior repulsive.”
Aggie shrugged as if his opinion of her people didn’t change a thing. Nothing she could do or say would ever change how her father or her people looked at her.
“Aggie, I believe that if yer people could see ye as I see ye, they’d begin to treat ye with the respect ye deserve,” he said pointedly.
“Ye b-be a b-bigger fool than m-me if ye think p-people will treat me with respect,” she maintained.
It irked him that she thought so little of herself. “They’ll give ye respect if ye demand it!”
“What? Ye think I should g-go around yellin’ respect m-me! I b-be Aggie Mackintosh and ye shall kneel b-before m-me!” Aggie shouted back at him.
It wasn’t the fact that she yelled at him that shocked him to his bones. Nay, he was thrilled that she felt comfortable enough with him to yell. What nearly made him fall off the edge of the bed was the fact that she referred to herself as Aggie Mackintosh. Most Scottish women kept their last names. In fact, he could not think of many who hadn’t.
He sat dumbfounded for a moment. He’d bring up the matter of her last name later. For now, he needed to focus on the serious matter at hand. “Nay, ye needn’t go about shoutin’ it, Aggie. There be times when ye can gain more attention speakin’ softly than ye can by shoutin’.”
She harrumphed indignantly. “I’ve b-been quiet fer four long years. How m-much quieter d-do I need to b-be?”
He let loose a long, heavy breath. “That be the problem, Aggie, ye’ve taken quiet too far. Ye do no’ speak at all. When ye walk, ye shrink yerself so ye canna be seen. Ye go around people, ye avoid them. Ye do no’ talk to anyone. Ye’ve done everythin’ ye can to make yerself invisible. Ye never make people take notice of ye. Mayhap if ye were to stand taller and speak firmly yet gently, people will see just how strong ye be.” He took another steadying breath. “I want ye to speak yer mind, Aggie. No’ just with me, but with everyone.”
“I d-do no’ like anyone’s attention on m-me,” Aggie whispered. “When p-p-people look at me, they d-do no’ see a p-person. They see a s-scarred, defective and d-damaged woman. They see an eejit who c-canna sp-speak proper.”
Frederick brushed a loose strand of hair away from Aggie’s cheek. “Do ye ken what I see when I look at ye?”
Aggie gave a shake of her head.
“I see a bonny lass with a givin’ heart. I see a woman who has walked through much darkness in her life, yet she still shines. I see a beautiful woman with a tremendous sense of honor, a woman of good character. And when ye speak? I hear a beautiful voice.”
Aggie smiled wanly. “I thought y-ye p-promised to always b-be honest? Ye d-do no’ have t-to t-tell me lies, Frederick.”
“I do no’ lie to ye lass. ’Tis the truth I speak.”
Aggie’s brow furrowed. “Surely y-ye can see th-the scars.”
“Yer scars tell a story, Aggie, of where ye’ve been. They do no’ have to determine where yer goin’.”
Seventeen
MORE THAN A fortnight had passed since Frederick and Aggie had exchanged vows. Although much had happened since that bright summer day, one wouldn’t know it by looking around the keep. As hard as he and his men were working to improve the keep and the mood of the McLaren Clan, it felt as though he were making little progress.
Mermadak’s men, some fifty men of varying ages, sizes and backgrounds, refused to even acknowledge the presence of Frederick or his men, let alone help with any improvements or repairs around their keep. They chose instead to spend most of their days stuffed into Mermadak’s study, doing heaven only knew what.
Mermadak’s men also refused to train alongside Frederick’s, and from what Frederick could see, they refused to train at all. If the keep ever came under attack, Frederick felt certain Mermadak and his men would run away like cowards and leave the fighting to him. The only loyalty the McLaren men had was to Mermadak. It was quite apparent that they didn’t care what happened to the keep or to its inhabitants.
It was Frederick’s men who fixed the roof on the keep and the roofs of nearly every other building within eyesight. The first fortnight was spent repairing one roof after another. From the keep to the stables and everything in between.
Of all the buildings in need of repair, the granary was by far, the worst. Not only was it far too small to begin with, there wasn’t enough grain in it to feed the large family of rats that had taken up residence within let alone the people of the clan. If he weren’t worried about the surrounding buildings catching fire, he would have thrown a torch to the roof and happily watched it burn to the ground.
It seemed to him that the only people who cared about the condition of the keep were Frederick and his men and only a few of the McLarens. While his wife insisted she was perfectly capable and willing to help put the keep back to rights, Frederick wouldn’t allow it. His wee wife was not going to climb up and down ladders or walk around roofs of questionable soundness. Instead, he had Rose keeping Aggie busy with learning to sew more than patches and straight stitches.
Frederick was growing weary, as were his men. While they worked sunup to sunset and did their best with the limited supplies they had, it didn’t seem to be enough. Everywhere he turned, it seemed a new need arose. His patience was stretching as thin as his supplies.
He had done his best to avoid having any contact with Mermadak since the day he had knocked the man on his arse and sent him flying across his desk. Frederick knew he couldn’t avoid the man forever, though he wished that he could.
It wasn’t pride he swallowed, but the disgust and hatred he felt toward Mermadak McLaren. When Frederick realized they were out of lumber and stone—and dangerously low on grain, he knew the time had come to have a talk with Mermadak.
Frederick sent Ailrig to guard Aggie knowing the boy was terrified of the McLaren. Guarding Aggie would not only keep the boy out of harm’s way, but would help save some of the lad’s pride. The boy followed Ian, Findal and Frederick around day and night, observing each of them. Though the lad had many questions, Frederick found his level of intelligence far surpassed most boys Ailrig’s age.
Frederick stood
with Ian and Findal outside the door to Mermadak’s study. Raucous laughter could be heard coming from the other side. It grated on Frederick’s nerves that the men within saw fit to drink and laugh the day away while the rest of the clan worked.
Shaking his head, he looked first to Ian then Findal before knocking on the door. He waited some time before knocking again. When he knocked a third time, rattling the hinges and loosening a nail or two, someone finally opened the door.
A barrel chested man with stringy, oily hair of indistinguishable color—somewhere between mud and horse manure—opened the door. The noxious smell of rank body odor blended with bad ale nearly knocked Frederick over. The barrel stared up at the three men, his one good eye looking them up and down while the other eye tried frantically to keep pace.
“Wha’ do ye want?” he slurred as he barred their entry by clinging to the door with one hand, and the door jamb with the other.
’Twas all Frederick could do not to wave away the pungent odor. Breathing through his mouth, he answered. “I’m here to see the McLaren.”
The man gave one curt nod before slamming the door shut. Frederick cast a bewildered look at Ian.
“That be Bad Eye John,” Ian explained.
Frederick thought the name suited. As he waited impatiently, Frederick came up with a few names that would also have suited the man just as well. Odiferous John, or One-who-hasn’t-bathed-in-a-score-of-years John. Odd John.
The room beyond finally quieted. He knew Mermadak was purposefully taking his time in granting Frederick an audience, but knowing such did not keep his patience from stretching to the width of a strand of spider web. Long moments passed before they heard another round of laughter erupt.
The door opened again. A lanky man, with a pockmarked face and bald head presented himself.
“The McLaren be busy,” he sneered, showing three missing teeth. “Come back on the morrow.” He shut the door before Frederick could make any demand for an immediate audience.
With his ire raised, he turned to face Ian and Findal. “I’ve had about enough of Mermadak McLaren,” he fumed as he started down the corridor.
“Do ye wish me to creep into his room this night and slice the bloody bastard’s throat while he sleeps?” Findal asked with a most serious and hopeful tone.
Frederick gave weight to his friend’s offer. As tempted as he was, slicing a man’s throat while he slept was not the most honorable way to solve his problem. “Nay,” he said as he took a right turn to head out of doors. “No’ yet anyway.”
Ian and Findal smiled at each other. “If it comes to that, brother,” Ian said, speaking to Frederick’s back, “I’ll be more than happy to help.”
Frederick imagined there would be a long list of men, mayhap even a few women, who would be more than happy to volunteer for such a mission. Out of respect for his wife, however, he would not give in to such temptations. At least not yet.
THE FOLLOWING THREE days were a true test of Frederick’s patience. Each morn he would appear at Mermadak McLaren’s study, with Ian and Findal at his side. His requests to speak with Mermadak were denied each time.
’Twas on the fourth day that they were finally given entry. “Persistence pays,” Frederick whispered to Ian as they walked into the room. Ian said nothing, not necessarily agreeing with his brother’s perception. Ian was far less patient than his brother. All he could think was that it was about bloody damned time.
Mermadak sat behind his desk in an ornately carved and expensive looking chair showing as much interest in Frederick as he would watching a pot of water boil. Five of Mermadak’s men, including Donnel, either sat or stood about the room, looking similarly disinterested.
While Frederick went to stand before Mermadak’s desk, Ian and Findal kept to the wall nearest the door in order to keep a watchful eye on the other men in the room. Who knew what Mermadak McLaren was capable of?
“Thank ye fer seein’ me, McLaren,” Frederick nearly choked on his own words. Diplomacy wasn’t always an easy track to take.
Mermadak scowled up from his seat. Frederick took note of Mermadak’s bloodshot eyes, hands that shook and his audible wheezing. The auld man looked ill and hung over. Not a good combination.
“What do ye want?” Mermadak huffed.
“I’d like to discuss gettin’ more supplies fer repairin’ the keep as well as stockin’ the larder fer winter.”
“Bah!” Mermadak said disinterestedly. He waved his hands at Frederick as if he were shooing a fly away. “I’ll not be puttin’ any of me money into this place! It’s no’ worth it. The keep can keep,” he said, laughing loudly at his own jest.
Frederick found no humor in it. If the roof on the keep held through one more winter, it would be a miracle. If they didn’t freeze to death, they’d certainly starve if Mermadak didn’t loosen his purse strings for food supplies.
“What of the larder, then?” Frederick asked. “We’ve barely enough grain to get us through the next two months, let alone winter.”
Mermadak sat back in his chair and shook his head. “We’ve gone far longer with far less.”
It was baffling how one man could care so little about his own people. Frederick had met and known many clan chiefs over the years. Most were good men who put the needs of their clan ahead of their own. There were some who were greedy, lecherous fools, but even they made sure their people were fed. Even the poorest of clan chiefs saw to it that their people were fed, even if they had to resort to stealing.
This was Frederick’s first encounter with a chief who cared so little for his people that the prospect of them starving to death was of no importance. Mermadak McLaren was beyond contemptible.
“I be sure it has no’ escaped yer notice, but our numbers have increased of late,” Frederick reminded him. Frederick had brought close to fifty men with him more than a month ago, when he came to marry Aggie.
Mermadak chuckled snidely. “I can assure ye that nothin’ escapes me notice.”
As much as Frederick wanted to wipe the smirk from Mermadak’s face, he knew attacking the auld man would achieve nothing. He stared down at the man as he crossed his arms over his chest.
What started out as an arrogant laugh, ended up in a coughing spasm. Beads of sweat broke out on Mermadak’s forehead. He coughed up a wad of phlegm and spat at the floor near his feet. Using the sleeve of his tunic, he wiped his forehead then his mouth before turning his attention back to Frederick.
“Are ye sure yer a Mackintosh?” Mermadak asked.
Frederick hid his surprise behind a blank stare. He found it an odd question. “Aye,” he answered cautiously. “I be a Mackintosh.”
Mermadak huffed. “I do no’ believe ye. Mackintoshes are cruel, heartless whoresons. Ye be a weak-minded fool!”
Frederick’s brow furrowed with further confusion for he had no idea where the McLaren was leading. His people were not cruel or heartless. Aye, they were relentless on the battlefield, fierce warriors who could be merciless. Clarity suddenly dawned in Frederick’s mind.
The Mackintoshes were infamous for their fighting skills. “On the battlefield, we are relentless. Some might even say merciless,” Frederick said. “But how we behave on the battlefield is no’ how we behave otherwise.”
“Bah!” Mermadak shouted as he slammed a fist down on the desk. “I should never have let ye marry Aggie! If I had known ye’d be so soft and such a coward, I’d no’ have agreed to the marriage!” Bits of spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted. His pale face burned red with anger.
Large knots of unease began to form in Frederick’s gut. He knew where the disgusting auld man was heading and he didn’t like it.
Mermadak shook his head, appearing disgusted with his new son-in-law. “Ye can pack yer things now, Mackintosh. I plan on havin’ this farce of a marriage annulled. I be callin’ foul. Ye were no’ who ye put yerself out to be.”
Frederick cocked his head to one side as he masked his own anger. “Foul? I canna help if ye m
ade assumptions, McLaren. I never held meself out to be a heartless, cruel bastard,” Frederick countered. “Besides, it be too late.”
Mermadak’s scowl deepened. Frederick could almost see the awareness dawn in the auld man’s thick head as he grasped the meaning behind too late.
“Bah! Ye lie!” Mermadak spat. “Do ye take me fer a fool?”
Frederick crossed his arms over his chest. A fool? Aye. And a dangerous one. He kept his opinion of the man to himself and remained quiet.
Tense silence filled the room while the two men stared at each other.
“Did ye ken,” Mermadak began confidently. “Each morn after ye leave yer bed chamber, a maid visits yer room lookin’ fer signs ye’ve finally bed Aggie?”
Aye, Frederick knew about the maid.
“And she’s yet to bring me any evidence?” Mermadak’s sneer returned. “No bloody sheets.” He looked rather victorious.
“Ian,” Frederick said without taking his eyes from Mermadak. “Go to me room and retrieve the sheets from me trunk.”
With a nod, Ian left rather quickly, to do his brother’s bidding.
Mermadak’s triumphant expression rapidly fell away.
“The sheets ye’ve been lookin’ fer have been safely hidden away, McLaren. I did no’ want them fallin’ into the wrong hands.”
Mermadak shot to his feet, the vein in his neck throbbing angrily whilst his face once again burned with rage. Frederick wondered briefly how the man had not suffered some form of apoplexy, what with the way he would go from calm to furious in the matter of a few heartbeats.
Mermadak stammered as he struggled to shout without losing his breath. “Ye expect me to believe ye’ve finally consummated yer marriage?”
’Twas more of a hope and a prayer rather than expectation. After learning the reason behind Mermadak’s merciless beating of his only daughter, Frederick was determined to guard his wife against future attacks. The beating had proven beyond any reasonable doubt that Mermadak McLaren was capable of anything. Including calling foul and demanding the marriage be annulled.
Frederick's Queen: The Clan Graham Series Page 18