by Katy Baker
Chapter 9
“Is that it?” Sophie said suddenly, pointing into the distance.
Callum pulled up the horse and gazed out. They were high up on one side of a valley with a river meandering along the bottom. At the far end of the valley the river banks became a steep gorge, and atop one side of the gorge sat a castle. Even from here Callum could see the pennants flapping in the wind.
“Aye, that’s it,” he replied. “Dun Saith. My home.”
A strange mix of feelings swirled through him. Relief at being home, certainly, but something else as well. Once he rode through those gates, the responsibilities of his position would close around him again. Even though their journey had been fraught with challenges, Callum had enjoyed the freedom and being alone with Sophie.
He watched her silently. She seemed to have no memory of what had happened last night yet it plagued Callum. What had possessed her to go wandering like that in the middle of the night? And in such a storm? When he’d found her she’d been babbling about a circle of people, a secret meeting and a voice that had promised to guide her. She’d not been able to tell him what that voice was, but the thought of it made Callum decidedly uneasy.
Pushing away his worries, he nudged Tiny down the road at a steady walk, and they soon began passing through the fields that filled the valley sides. His people were busy at work finishing the spring planting and waging their never-ending battle against weeds and pests.
“Good day, my lord!” an old man leaning on his hoe shouted as they passed.
Callum raised his hand in greeting, giving the man a broad smile. He’d missed these people. His people.
They reached the road that led up to the castle and found it thick with people wanting admittance. A murmur passed through the crowd as word of his arrival spread. The crowd peeled back to let him pass, forming a kind of honor guard on either side of the road. They called benedictions and greetings as he rode by, asking where he’d been, what news he brought with him, and casting more than one inquisitive glance in Sophie’s direction.
Callum responded with warm greetings but didn’t answer any of their questions. He didn’t want any more gossip than necessary circulating in the village.
He and Sophie reached the gates and the guards stood aside to let him pass, giving him nods of respect. He guided Tiny into the bailey beyond and pulled him to a stop.
His retainers came hurrying from all directions. Old Andrew, the stable master reached them first, hobbling out of the stable and taking hold of Tiny’s bridle.
“Well met, my lord,” he said, flicking a glance at Sophie. “I’m glad to see ye’ve brought Tiny back fit and well. Ye havenae been giving him too many treats, I hope?”
Callum swung down and clapped Andrew on the shoulder. “I wouldnae dare, my old friend. Not when I knew I’d have to answer to ye when I got back.”
He turned to help Sophie dismount then introduced her to the stable master.
“Andrew, might I present Lady Sophie MacCullough. She will be staying with us for a while.”
Questions crowded Andrew’s eyes but he was too polite to give them voice. He gave Sophie a creaky bow. “Mighty pleased to meet ye, my lady. Any guest of Laird Sutherland is most welcome.”
Sophie’s eyes widened in surprise at Callum’s title. “Pleased...pleased to meet you too,” she stammered at Andrew.
“Ah, here come the squawking hens,” Andrew said with an amused smile, glancing beyond Callum to the group of people hurrying across the bailey towards them. “With yer leave, my lord, I’ll take Tiny and make my escape before they begin their pecking.”
Callum nodded and the stable master led the horse away. Taking a deep breath, Callum turned to face the tide about to engulf him.
“My laird!” boomed Baldir, the master armorer, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “The garrison is on the training field if ye’d like to come inspect them.”
“Why did ye not send word?” demanded Agatha, his housekeeper, looking him over with her hawk’s eyes. “And bringing a guest as well? The guest suite is in disarray! The carpenter hasnae finished repairing the floor!”
“It’s timely ye’ve returned, my laird,” said James, the steward. “A delegation came in from the western holdings this morning talking of trouble in their district. I’ve taken their reports but was hesitant to send anyone to investigate whilst ye were away.”
Callum let all this wash over him. Then he nodded. “Baldir, tell the warriors I’ll be there presently for an inspection. James, prepare those reports and have them sent up to my solar. I’ll review them after I’ve inspected the garrison.” As the two men bowed and walked off, he turned to his housekeeper. “Agatha, this is Lady Sophie MacCullough. See that she is taken care of—and the second guest suite will do just fine.”
Agatha—a woman well into her golden years who had worked for Callum’s family his entire life—gave Sophie a curtsey fit for a noblewoman at any lord’s court.
“Delighted!” she said warmly, clapping her hands together. “If ye would come this way, my lady, I’ll see ye are made comfortable.”
Sophie glanced at Callum who nodded. “Go with Agatha. She will take care of ye.”
Questions filled Sophie’s eyes but he did not have time to answer them now. As he had expected, there was suddenly a host of things clamoring for his attention. He wanted to say more. He wanted to step close, look down into her eyes and tell her he’d see her later. But he could not. Agatha was watching and probably half the castle as well.
So he gave Sophie a formal bow and then strode in the direction of the training field. He reached a corner and could not help looking back, hoping to find Sophie staring after him. But she had already turned away, following Agatha into the castle.
With a sigh, he made his way to the training fields.
ANY FRIEND OF LAIRD Sutherland is welcome here.
Those were the words the stableman had said. The thought kept going round and round in Sophie’s head as Agatha led her into the castle.
Callum was a laird! He wasn’t just a member of the Sutherland clan, he was the chief! Why hadn’t he told her?
There’s lots he’s not told you, she thought. Like who the Disinherited are and how he knows the Fae. Why should one more secret make any difference?
She’d thought she was beginning to know him yet the moment they’d ridden through those gates he’d become a different man entirely, one who was serious and a little intimidating. One who issued commands and expected them to be obeyed. One who strode away from her without a backward glanced, despite how she gazed after him.
She sighed and followed Agatha inside. Dun Saith was built in the same style as Dun Garnon, but it had more of a martial air about it than Murdoch and Elspeth’s home. There were armed warriors everywhere and it had less of the home comforts. Nonetheless, as Agatha led Sophie into the great hall, she couldn’t help but be impressed.
Here, at least, somebody had made an attempt to make it more comfortable. A huge fire roared in the fireplace, giving it a pleasant warmth and what had once been small, thin windows looked like they’d been enlarged at some point so now they flooded the place with light. Rafters crisscrossed the vaulted ceiling with bunches of lavender and other herbs dangling from them.
Agatha ushered her over to a seat by the fireplace and Sophie was more than grateful to sink down onto the bench, stretch her frozen toes out towards the fire and accept the mug of hot broth that Agatha pressed into her hand and the warm blanket she threw around her shoulders.
“Second guest suite?” the woman muttered, scowling at the door before turning to Sophie. “If my laird thinks I’m putting ye in there, he has another think coming! The last person to stay in that room was the Lord of Argyle and it still stinks of the garlic he chews like it’s pudding!” She lowered herself onto the bench by Sophie’s side. “Nay, my dear, I’ll have the main guest suite fixed up in no time—if ye dinna mind waiting that is?”
Agatha was, Sophie realized,
one of those people who rarely paused for breath or stopped moving for more than a minute. Before Sophie could even drum up a reply, the woman had shot to her feet and was scowling at a warrior who’d just sat down on the opposite side of the hall.
“Ye get those boots off my table, Mal Sutherland! That’s just been freshly scrubbed!”
The man in question quickly removed his boots, giving Agatha a sheepish look. “My apologies, mistress.”
Sophie stifled a smile. Callum might be the laird but it was clear who really ran the castle. Agatha turned her attention back to her new charge.
“How is yer broth, my dear?”
Sophie took another sip, enjoying the feeling of the warm liquid trickling down her throat and into her stomach, thawing her out a little.
“It’s delicious,” she replied, staring at the empty mug wistfully. “I don’t suppose there’s any more?”
Agatha laughed, reached for the kettle that sat on a tripod in the fireplace and poured Sophie another mug. “Ha! That’s what I like to see, a lass who eats heartily rather than poking her food around like some of these noblewomen do.” She coughed suddenly, looking embarrassed. “That is, my lady, I didnae mean any offense, ye being a noblewoman and all.”
“It’s all right,” Sophie laughed. “I’m not a noblewoman and you’ve not offended me. Quite the opposite in fact.” She set her mug down on the table and held out her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Agatha looked at Sophie’s hand skeptically, as though unsure what she was expected to do with it. Then she reached out slowly and shook Sophie’s hand. “Agatha Sutherland at yer service, my lady. And I’m delighted to meet ye too.”
“Callum said you are his housekeeper,” Sophie said, picking up her mug and taking another sip. “But I can see you’re much more than that. It looks to me as though you run this place.”
A faint blush came to Agatha’s cheeks at the compliment. “Aye, I suppose I do. I’ve been housekeeper here for...how long? My, it must be nigh on twenty years. Lord, where does all the time go? Of course, it was easier back then, when Lady Sutherland was alive. Since her passing, well, let’s just say that Laird Callum doesnae take the greatest of interest in domestic affairs.”
Sophie smiled. “No, I imagine not.”
“It would be different if he married, of course,” Agatha went on, staring wistfully at the door where Callum had gone. “Then the lady would run the castle and I could retire, but my laird seems to have no intention of doing that.”
Sophie said nothing. In this time it was strange indeed for a man of Callum’s age to be unmarried. Especially a man of his station. Yet she couldn’t help the stab of selfish satisfaction to hear no woman shared his life. Well, except for Agatha of course.
Agatha looked at her sidelong. “If I might be so bold, my lady, may I ask how ye and the laird know each other?”
“We met on the road,” Sophie replied. “I’m in Scotland looking for...my kin...but I got lost and stranded in a storm. Callum came to my aid.”
Agatha nodded. “Aye, that sounds like our Callum.” She patted Sophie on the knee then climbed creakily to her feet. “I must get on and see that yer room is made ready but I’ll find someone to show ye around so ye can get yer bearings.”
At that moment a great commotion sounded from outside: a cacophony of barking and angry shouting. The door suddenly burst open and a small black dog came hurtling into the hall, a string of sausages dangling from its mouth. It shot across the floor and took refuge right under Sophie’s bench. A moment later, an angry looking man burst in after it.
“Where is that damned hound?” he shouted. “He’s stolen my sausages again! I’ll wring his scrawny little neck!”
Two children—a boy and a girl around ten years old—came running in after the man, skidding to a stop on the floor. The boy looked around anxiously whilst the girl grabbed the man’s hand pleadingly.
“He didnae mean to!” she cried. “He’s a good boy, honest! Oh, please dinna hurt him!”
“Wolfie!” the boy shouted. “Where are ye, boy?”
The dog whined and thumped his tail at the sound of the boy’s voice. He crept slowly out from beneath Sophie’s seat but at the sight of the angry man bearing down on him, yelped and jumped straight up into Sophie’s lap. She gave a cry of surprise and then instinctively wrapped her arms around the trembling little body.
“There he is, the little thief!” the man cried. “What am I supposed to prepare for the laird’s supper now? Give him here, it’s about time the beast was dealt with!”
The boy and girl cried out and threw themselves in front of Sophie, blocking the man’s approach.
“He willnae do it again!” the girl cried.
“We’ll keep him away from the kitchen!” the boy added.
The man did not seem mollified. He took a few angry steps forward but Agatha stepped smoothly in front of him. “I’m sure all this excitement over a few moldy sausages isnae seemly, Cook,” she said. “Especially not in front of a guest.” She tipped her head at Sophie.
“Moldy?” the cook said indignantly. “They were prime sausages brought in this morning! I only turned my back for a moment before the little beast took off with them!”
“Be that as it may, there’s naught to be done about it now. Those sausages are long gone and I’m sure the laird willnae mind something else for his supper. Mayhap ye should return to the kitchen?”
The cook hesitated. He looked from Agatha to the children and then to Sophie clutching the little dog. He let out a sigh. “Aye,” he said. “Nay use crying over spilled milk as my old ma used to say.” He wagged a meaty finger at the children. “But ye keep that creature out of my kitchen in future, ye hear?”
The children both promised they would and the cook turned and stomped from the great hall. The children waited until the door had closed behind him then turned and clustered around Sophie.
“Thank ye for keeping him safe, mistress,” the boy said.
“I don’t think he gave me much choice!” Sophie said with a laugh. The dog, safe now the drama was over, began wriggling in her lap, wagging his stubby tail and laying dog-kisses all over her face.
“Joan, Fergus, what have I told ye about letting that dog run riot?” Agatha asked them sternly.
“Sorry, Agatha,” Fergus replied in a contrite voice. “We didnae mean to let him get away but he was so quick we couldnae stop him.” His gaze turned pensive. “Cook wouldnae really drown him would he?”
“Of course not!” Agatha reassured the lad, ruffling his hair. “Cook likes to shout and bluster but he wouldnae hurt a fly. All the same, I suggest ye keep Wolfie out of his sight for a while.”
“Here,” Sophie said, handing the squirming Wolfie to Joan. “Best take him before he licks me to death.”
“He likes ye, mistress,” Joan said. “He knows ye are his friend.”
“It’s Lady Sophie, not mistress,” Agatha corrected the girl. “She is a guest in this house and ye must remember to mind yer manners. Come on. I’ll find someone to take ye home.”
“I’ll do it,” Sophie said suddenly.
“Ye? But...but ye are a guest!” Agatha seemed scandalized by the very idea of Sophie leaving her care.
“You said yourself you were going to get somebody to show me around—well, I’m sure these two terrors could do just as well. And then I can escort them safely home.”
“Yes please!” cried Fergus. “We’ll show Lady Sophie around!”
Agatha sighed, seeing she wasn’t going to win this argument. “Very well. But ye remember what I said! Keep that dog of yers under control!”
Sophie rose to her feet, gave Agatha’s arm a squeeze, and then allowed Fergus to lead her from the hall. Joan clung onto her hand and Wolfie raced ahead, barking excitedly.
Once outside, the children began pointing out a hundred different things at once, taking their duty as guides very seriously indeed. Sophie soon knew the best spot for fishing near the c
astle walls, a place by the kitchen garden where you could lie in wait for cook to take his morning break and then nip inside and steal some pastries, which houses in the village had roofs strong enough that you could climb on them to watch the laird’s patrols riding in and out, and a whole host of other things that children considered important. As they led her around, Sophie couldn’t help looking for Callum but she saw no sign of him.
The children escorted her down the path that led into the village. Wolfie, barking excitedly, got into an altercation with a cat that ended up with the cat on a roof and Wolfie with a scratch down his nose that made him whine piteously.
All the while the children kept up an endless stream of chatter and in their company, Sophie found that the locals didn’t give her a second glance, but greeted her warmly, as though she was one of them.
To her surprise, she found herself beginning to relax, and even took the time to look around her. The village was a little chaotic, with people hurrying about, gaggles of geese that wandered serenely around as though they owned the place, chickens that pecked in the dirt, goats tethered in kitchen gardens that bleated as Sophie and the children walked past, as well as the obligatory dogs and cats roaming the streets.
It was so different to what she was used to that Sophie got the feeling she was walking through some stage set, some carefully choreographed reconstruction to please tourists. But this was no reconstruction. This was real. She was really here, really watching these people go about their lives.
Joan and Fergus led her through the village and then onto a narrow track that led up to a farmhouse clinging to the side of the valley. The rain had abated—for the moment—but the track was muddy and the heavy gray clouds promised another downpour at any moment.
“This is where you live?” Sophie asked.
“Aye,” Fergus replied in a subdued voice.
Sophie couldn’t help but notice that the closer they came to home, the quieter the children seemed to become. They reached a gate in the willow-screen fencing around the small croft and Sophie was just about to open it when a man came around the corner with a large sack thrown over his shoulder. He lowered this to the ground when he spotted the three of them.