‘Come in, Brice. I’m sure Mother will be pleased to see you.’ She added in a whisper. ‘You’ve no idea how your arrival here has invigorated her. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her this lively.’
‘Then I’m glad,’ he replied.
He had always liked Ailsa, although as a young boy he’d never quite understood why she was always so melancholy. His own mother was full of life and usually happy and smiling. The contrast between the two women couldn’t have been more defined if they’d tried. Despite her air of sadness, however, Ailsa had treated him with kindness and it was therefore no hardship to pay her a visit and sit with her for a while. His father had also explained to him about Ailsa’s marriage to Killian’s cousin Farquhar, which had been far from happy and possibly violent. It was understandable this should have left a mark on such a gentle woman.
‘Ah, dear boy, how lovely to see you,’ Ailsa said, her face lighting up. He bent to kiss her translucent cheek and was assailed by the familiar scent of roses which enveloped her constantly. Kirsty was sitting by the window and he greeted her as well.
‘And you. I trust I find you well?’ he said to Ailsa.
‘Never better. Your homecoming yesterday was so enjoyable. I don’t remember when I last had such an entertaining evening. I’ve been waiting for you to come and claim your birthright for a long time and now you’re finally here.’ Ailsa sighed happily.
Brice wasn’t sure he’d agree with her that the previous night’s supper had been entertaining, at least not in the way she meant, but decided not to comment on her remark. Instead he said, ‘Well, I have to admit that I haven’t. Been waiting, that is,’ he clarified when she looked confused. ‘My father never mentioned my inheritance until a few weeks ago. I’m not quite sure why.’
‘I’m certain he had his reasons. Killian was always a shrewd one. Unlike my late husband …’ Ailsa trailed off and the despondency seemed to come over her again, but soon after she shook her head and smiled at him. ‘But we mustn’t dwell on the past. It’s all over now.’
‘Indeed, although I sense some people around here are having a hard time forgetting certain things that have happened.’ Brice didn’t want to upset Ailsa, but he needed some answers and he knew she was cannier than she let on. He’d discovered that early on.
‘I take it you mean our factor, am I right?’ Ailsa queried, her mouth tightening a little.
‘Yes, exactly. Do you know … did something happen to him personally to make him take against the English so? I mean, I know all about his family losing their holdings, my father told me, but surely there’s more to it than that?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s just that some people, Mr Seton included, are very proud of their heritage and consider themselves terribly hard done by. To be fair, his brother was the only one who declared himself a Jacobite openly, so I think Seton expected to take charge of Bailliebroch after Culloden. Sadly it didn’t happen and he’s a man who holds a grudge, is our Mr Seton.’
‘I can well believe it.’
‘Are you having problems dealing with him?’ Ailsa asked. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had as little to do with him as I possibly could.’ A shadow crossed her features.
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ Brice decided to change the subject. He didn’t want to distress Ailsa and it was clear she didn’t like Seton. ‘Now let’s discuss more important matters – your wardrobe.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Ailsa stared in astonishment and Brice laughed.
‘I just meant, your clothing, or possible lack thereof. I took the liberty of buying some lengths of material for you in Edinburgh, but I’m not sure I chose the right colours. Also, there may not be enough since I didn’t know my cousins would still be here too. I’ll have it brought up, but will you promise to tell me if you’d like any of it returned or exchanged? You too.’ He smiled at Flora and Kirsty, especially the latter whose eyes were shining with excitement.
‘How thoughtful! Thank you. It’s been a while since we had new gowns. Any materials will be most welcome, no matter the colour, I assure you.’
‘Good. Then perhaps you can also use some silks? I brought some back from my last journey to China and thought you might like to have a length each.’ He tried not to think about the fact that he’d originally bought them for Elisabet. They didn’t need to know that.
‘Really, it’s too much. You didn’t have to bring us anything.’ Ailsa looked almost overcome.
‘Don’t you dare refuse, Mama,’ Kirsty laughed. ‘I haven’t had a decent gown for years and I for one will gladly accept. There is just one thing though, cousin …’
‘Yes?’ Brice saw her eyes twinkle with mischief suddenly and wondered what was coming.
‘Would there be enough for our other sister too?’
It was Brice’s turn to be surprised and he stared at Kirsty, then frowned. ‘Forgive me, but I was told Mairie passed away. Is that not so? I was sure Father said she caught the smallpox …’ He almost added that he’d guessed Flora had insisted on nursing her younger sister, then caught the disease herself, which would account for the marks on her face.
‘Oh, I wasn’t talking about Mairie, but Marsaili.’
‘What? You’ve lost me now.’
‘Kirsty,’ Ailsa admonished quietly, but there was no force behind the word so Kirsty ignored her mother and told Brice the story of how the minister had come to tell them about their half-sister.
‘How extraordinary,’ Brice said when she’d finished. ‘I was under the impression your father … that is to say, I’m surprised he’d care so much about any illegitimate child he’d sired.’
Ailsa’s mouth tightened again. ‘To be sure, he never did with any of the others.’ At Brice’s startled look, she smiled wryly. ‘Oh, I’m not blind, Brice, nor deaf. Farquhar left quite a few children in these parts, but they were all girls, so he didn’t bother to acknowledge them. It seems he was still hopeful of having a son, however, which is why he wrote that letter and spoke to the minister before he left on his last journey. And I, for one, am glad.’
‘You are?’ Brice reflected that this quiet woman continued to astound him. There was a steely core underneath the soft exterior which most people underestimated. ‘How so?’
Ailsa smiled. ‘Marsaili is a sweet girl and since she’d lost her mother and I a daughter of the same age – with a similar name even – it seemed like fate threw us together. Besides, she belongs here, she’s kin.’
‘Indeed. But what about the others?’
‘None have come forward with a claim of kinship.’ Ailsa shrugged. ‘If they had, I would have done what I could for them.’
Kirsty interrupted. ‘So is that a yes, then? Can she have some of the silk?’
Brice laughed at her enthusiasm. ‘Of course, I can always buy more.’
Ailsa’s expression became instantly more sombre. ‘But there isn’t the wherewithal to fund such purchases. We don’t want to be a burden to you.’
‘Don’t worry about that. Now I’d best go and fetch the material for you so you can make a start on your sewing if you wish. I’ll be right back.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Marsaili, come quickly. There’s something you must see.’
Kirsty came rushing into the kitchen, where Marsaili was still checking on the supplies in their unusually full larder. She turned to see her half-sister almost bouncing up and down, excitement staining her cheeks pink. At least she didn’t look as though the ‘something’ was bad news.
‘Can it wait? I’m a little busy here.’
‘No, it can’t. Come on.’ Kirsty grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door.
Marsaili shook her head and laughed. ‘Very well. What is it?’
‘Wait and see.’ Kirsty’s eyes sparkled and Marsaili wondered what on earth she was up to.
She followed her up to Ailsa’s rooms where the door stood open already. Marsaili stopped dead on the threshold, her eyes opening wide. It looked as if an entire draper
’s shop had suddenly been transferred to Ailsa’s sitting room. There were bolts of striped cotton leaning against the wall, some basic bleached linen and several different shades of serviceable dark woollen material. What caught her eye
the most, however, were the lengths of shimmering silk draped across Ailsa’s knees and the nearby table and chairs. Marsaili put a hand up to cover her mouth, which had fallen open.
‘How beautiful!’ she exclaimed, then noticed that apart from the women, the room also contained Brice. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t see you there, my lord.’
He smiled and held up a hand. ‘Please, don’t mind me. I’m just a bystander.’
‘Liar,’ Kirsty said to him with a laugh. ‘This is all his doing,’ she told Marsaili. ‘He bought every one of these. Are they not splendid?’
‘Indeed.’ Yet again, Marsaili was surprised at his thoughtfulness, but perhaps his mother had had a hand in this. Or his sisters. Her gaze returned to the sumptuous silks. She’d never seen their like and couldn’t take her eyes off them.
‘Which colour do you like best?’ Kirsty asked, lifting them up one by one to hold them in the light. ‘I like this blue one, it’s like a summer sky, and Flora is very taken with the lilac one.’
‘No, the green is the loveliest,’ Marsaili said without thinking. The stunning emerald seemed to shift to a much lighter mint every time Kirsty touched it and Marsaili thought she’d never seen anything so exquisite.
‘Then you must have that one,’ Ailsa said. ‘For my part, the silvery grey is more to my taste.’
‘Have it? What do you mean? These are yours, surely?’ Marsaili came out of her trance and blinked at Ailsa.
‘There is one for each of you,’ Brice said, and added the word, ‘cousin,’ with a grin.
‘But I … no, I can’t … it’s not seemly. I mean …’
Ailsa held up a hand and spoke in a much firmer tone than usual. ‘My dear, we’ve had this conversation before and you know my views on the matter. Brice is the head of the family now and he agrees with me. You are a daughter of this house and you have a right to be treated as such. Please accept this generous gift from your cousin.’
‘Second cousin,’ Brice winked at her. ‘But who’s counting? Apart from Iain.’ He ducked with a laugh as Kirsty aimed a punch at his arm.
Marsaili was torn. She’d never been offered anything so fine in her life and it was extremely tempting, but it would make her beholden to Brice. What would he expect from her?
As if he’d read her mind, however, he smiled and said, ‘If you all wish to give me something in return, then please make me a new cover for my bed. Every time I look at the one that’s there, it reminds me of great-grandfather and I feel as though I’m trespassing.’
Ailsa laughed. ‘Now that I can understand. The old curmudgeon is probably watching you and begrudging your use of his bedchamber.’
‘Well, he wanted me to inherit this house, so he’ll have to put up with it,’ Brice said. ‘But he can take his fusty old cover any time.’
They all laughed at this and somehow Marsaili didn’t get a chance to protest any further about accepting the green silk and if she was perfectly honest, she didn’t want to.
It was the finest gift she’d ever received.
Marsaili was one of the last people to enter the great hall for supper that evening. She knew the laird had issued another open invitation to everyone and this time the room seemed more crowded. There were at least fifty faces around the table, including the men, women and children who’d been helping with the haymaking. She headed for her usual place, but Brice’s voice halted her in her tracks.
‘Cousin Marsaili, you’re to sit here from now on.’ He pointed at the seat next to Flora, which was right opposite Seton.
‘I don’t think …’ she began, but to her surprise Ailsa interrupted her.
‘No arguing, my dear. It’s only right,’ the older woman said, her voice firm. She’d declared she would take all her meals downstairs from now on, which was a small miracle in itself.
Marsaili wasn’t at all convinced this was proper and neither was Seton if the look on his face was anything to go by. He glanced suspiciously between her and Brice, as if he thought there was some conspiracy going on. Or worse, maybe he thought she’d slept with the man to earn this favour? Marsaili felt her cheeks flood with colour. She didn’t want to go against a direct command from Ailsa, however, so decided she had no choice.
‘Oh, very well,’ she said and went to sit down. No one else seemed to think there was anything wrong with this arrangement, but she couldn’t help but feel awkward.
Flora, kind as always, whispered, ‘Be glad you’re not a boy. You’d have been envying Brice his position as the heir because you’re born a month before him.’
‘Am I?’ Marsaili was momentarily distracted by this piece of news. She hadn’t known how old he was exactly.
Flora nodded and added, ‘Now think no more about it, please. You belong here with us.’
Marsaili tried to concentrate on her food and didn’t contribute to the conversation. She smiled occasionally though because of the banter going on between Brice and his cousins. He teased them about how they’d attract all the eligible gentlemen in the Highlands once their new dresses were ready. Flora and Kirsty both answered back and Marsaili realised they treated each other like siblings. Neither of her half-sisters seemed to notice Brice as a man, although how they could fail to do so was a mystery. Perhaps because they were both older than him? Either way, for some reason she was happy about that, although why it should matter, she had no idea.
When she looked up at one point, she caught Seton staring at her with a thoughtful expression in his eyes. It was almost as if he was evaluating her anew and it made a shiver hiss down her spine. What was he up to now? She was very much afraid he’d thought of some new way of forcing his way into her bed. But what?
She turned pointedly away and swore under her breath. She mustn’t forget to be on her guard. The wretched man could strike at any time.
Brice found he was actually enjoying the evening, greatly helped by his cousins who both seemed determined not to let the conversation flag. Some of the other people followed their lead, and when he threw a question at Sandy Mor, the man answered with equanimity.
‘Coinneach Kinross? You don’t remember the tales about him? Well, there’s someone here who’d be only too happy to refresh your memory. Mungo? Did you hear that? You’ve actually got an attentive audience for once.’
He laughed and most of the others present joined in. It seemed to ease the tension in the room considerably and Brice was grateful. He smiled at Sandy, then nodded at the elderly man who stood up at Sandy’s bidding. With skin dark and wrinkled by smoke and sparse hair which stood up in tufts from his domed skull, Old Mungo reminded Brice of a goblin. But there was nothing wrong with either his memory or his lungs, as they all soon found out. He obviously wasn’t accounted the clan bard for nothing.
Mungo banged his hand on the table and called for silence. ‘Listen all, fer I have a tale tae tell ye. A tale o’ times gone by when the heid o’ the Kinross clan was the first Coinneach and our ancestors fought by his side fer wha’ was right. This is wha’ happened and it’s the truth, as weal ye ken …’
Everyone listened to his story of hair-raising exploits, adventures, acts of vengeance on other traitorous clans and the bravery of Kinross clansmen through the ages. To Brice they sounded like a quarrelsome lot who liked to bear a grudge and who never hesitated to take revenge for the slightest provocation. This seemed to involve an awful lot of blood-letting, but not one of Old Mungo’s listeners minded. They were all as spell-bound as if they’d never heard his stories before in their lives and Brice had to admit he enjoyed them too.
He felt the kinship he shared with all these people more strongly with every word. He was MacCoinneach, the direct descendant of the man in the tales, and he owed it to him to take care of the clan. Their honour now
rested with him.
When Old Mungo finished his stories, a couple of the other tenants, who were not to be outdone, fetched their instruments and regaled their new chief with further endless dirges about the heroic deeds of his ancestors. Marsaili had to admit the man bore it with fortitude, managing to keep his face straight even when the singer proved to be sadly out of tune as he’d had very little practice of late.
She found herself wondering if, some time in the future, such tales would be told of the present master. He certainly looked the part of a hero, his golden good looks emphasised by the glow of the candles. But did he have what it took on the inside?
That remained to be seen.
Marsaili was just about to take a tray of food to the estate office the following day, when a gaggle of children burst into the kitchen, all talking at once and looking very agitated. Greine had to shout ‘Whisht!’ and point her finger at one of them in order to make sense of what they were saying. ‘You, Roy, take a deep breath and tell me what’s the matter,’ she said.
Young Roy did as he was told, then the words came tumbling out of him in Gaelic. ‘We were playing over by the woods, Mrs Murray, and we were climbing up onto some of the branches of that really big tree and then Archie said as how he could climb the highest and no one would dare go as high up as him and we said he was just a braggart and wouldn’t do it, but he did and now he’s stuck and can’t get down again and what are we going to do?’
Roy finally ran out of breath at the end of his long sentence and Greine got a word in edgewise. ‘Are you telling me Archie’s sitting up a tree?’
All the children nodded in unison and started babbling again. Greine turned to look at Marsaili. ‘Lord help us,’ she said. ‘I’d best go see.’
‘Hold on, let me just deliver this to his lordship and I’ll come too.’ Marsaili hurried off and ran into the estate office, forgetting to knock. She more or less dumped the tray in front of a startled Brice and turned for the door, muttering, ‘Sorry, in a hurry.’
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