by Tarah Scott
“We are not going back to Raghnall.” Lennox sipped his wine.
“Oh?” Julianna lifted her goblet, drank a bit. “Where are you heading, then?”
Frustration flickered in his gaze “That is none of your concern.”
“You would not by chance be meaning to visit Reay Abbey?”
Lennox narrowed his eyes. “You have been talking with my men.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.” The corner of Cailean’s mouth twitched in obvious amusement, but she pretended not to notice. “What do you hope to find at the abbey?”
“That is none of—”
“My concern. So you say. But why is it yours?”
“Julianna—”
“Lennox,” Cailean broke in, “ye might as well give in. She can follow us there just as easily she did here.” He glanced at her. “Does your mother know you left the castle, my lady?”
So, the man reminded her that they’d met on a night when she’d slipped away without her mother’s knowledge. She smiled sweetly. He might be reminding her that she disobeyed her mother, but he hadn’t told on her.
“It is she who insisted I take a dozen guards.”
“And she was right,” Cailean said.
“Julianna will return home, if our father commands it.” Lennox looked at their father.
She smiled at her father and covered his hand with hers. “Why would he do that?”
“Father—” Lennox began.
“Lad,” her father cut him off, “the monastery is a short journey through thick woods. Thereafter is a two-hour ride back to Raghnall. From what you tell me of Cailean’s skill with the sword, she is safer with the two of you than without you.”
On that point, Julianna knew Lennox wouldn’t argue. He might be peeved with her—he was indeed—but her safety came first.
She turned to him now. “Why are you going to the monastery?”
Lennox blew out a breath. “Cailean hopes to find information about his family.”
Julianna’s eyes snapped onto her father.
He nodded. “I know he is a Ross.”
She grimaced. “Then you know more than our mother does.”
Her father lifted a brow. “Who does she think he is?”
Julianna looked at him through her lashes. “Cailean Mackay.”
His mouth quirked upward. “I wouldnae want to be you when you tell her the truth.”
*
An hour later, Julianna walked alongside Cailean as they left the Monk’s Elbow and started out for a cottage just outside the village. “It is kind of ye to come with me.” She glanced at him. “I didnae realize Barbara had given birth already. The babe is three weeks early.”
He laughed. “A man doesnae refuse a request from Baron Ravenstone.”
Not exactly a declaration of love, but she would get him there.
“I am sure my father would understand if you have other business to attend. I could get David to accompany me.”
His eyes lit with amusement. “I wouldn’t hear of it. I am happy to escort you.”
He was clearly teasing her, but she wondered if he wasn’t just doing as her father had requested and cared little for her company.
They walked on and she found she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “‘Tis an unusually warm day for spring.” God help her, she was an idiot.
“It is a beautiful day,” he replied, and she bit back a laugh. Perhaps he felt as nervous as did she.
She hitched her skirts and stepped around a puddle in the road. “What information concerning your family do ye hope to find at the monastery?”
He looked down at her. “You are a curious one, aren’t you?”
“I feel certain ye know the answer to that.”
He laughed. She liked his laugh, carefree and sincere.
“You and Lennox told me that a priest by the name of Father Andrew came to Heatheredge and brought the townfolk to redemption for their part in the attack on Lady Elizabeth,” he said.
Of all the things she imagined he would say, that hadn’t been one of them.
Julianna nodded. “I remember.”
“I was taught that Valdar Ross returned to Heatheredge as a monk.” He took her elbow, steadying her as they navigated several long wooden planks set across a particularly muddy section of road. “I grew up believing he was the area’s greatest hero.”
“Do ye have any idea why you were told such untruths?”
He answered after they stepped off the planks. “Who knows? Stories have a way of changing over time.”
“But usually the changes are written by victors, singing the praises of their own. It is strange—”
“What did you say?” He stopped short.
“I said, it is strange.”
He shook his head. “Nae, before that. You said the changes are written by victors. That they laud their own.”
“Aye, and they do. Like your clan claiming it was us who attacked the wedding party when, in truth, James Ross used the betrothal between his daughter and Patrick to enter Heatheredge and destroy us. Why does it matter who returned to Heatheredge and brought them to redemption for their part in poor Elizabeth’s fate?”
He didn’t speak for a long moment and she thought perhaps he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, “I’m not sure. I only know it is important.”
She thought about that, about how his clan had taught him many falsehoods about the past in Heatheredge, and understood. He needed answers. What better place to search for them than with God?
“What brought ye to Heatheredge?” She touched his arm, lightly.
“A boyhood dream,” he said, as if speaking to himself.
“I dinnae understand.”
“It’s funny, when you think about it. I came here looking for the past, and that’s exactly what I found.”
“Yet things are no’ what you expected, are they?”
He grunted. “No.”
Was that good or bad? She started to ask, then thought better of it.
She touched his arm again, this time letting her fingers linger a bit. “I havnae yet thanked ye for what you did the night I met you…or the day you rescued me from Hugh.”
His expression darkened. “It’s a shame we didn’t run into the bastard.”
A shiver raced down her back. He looked as if he would have killed Hugh.
“My father will deal with him.”
“I pray you are right, my lady.”
She frowned. “Of course I am. Do ye think my father will allow my abduction to go unanswered?”
He smiled gently. “Of course no’. I wouldn’t want to be Hugh when your father tracks him down.”
He sounded sincere. So what had he meant by the words “I pray you are right”? She recalled him referring to her father in the past tense as if he were—
“What have ye seen concerning my father’s future?”
“What?”
Her heart began to pound. “Ye know something about him.” She was sure of it. That is why he’d come with Lennox to see him. Julianna grasped his elbow and brought them to a halt. “Some ill will befall him?”
“Nae. As you can see, he is fine.”
“What about tomorrow or the next day?” The memory of Lennox telling their father that he couldn’t leave for a week hit. “What will happen in a sennight?”
Cailean frowned. “Seven days?”
“Lennox told my father not to return home for another week.”
Something flickered across Cailean’s face.
“There.” Tears pricked. “I see it in your eyes.”
He laughed softly. “The only thing you see is amusement.”
“I know amusement when I see it, sir.”
He lifted a brow.
She narrowed her eyes. “I see amusement now, but earlier—”
“Earlier, nothing, my lady. Is it so hard to believe a man finds you delightful?”
“Delightful? Bah!” She tossed her head. “Why did you accompany Lennox to see my father?”
“Meeting your father was a fortunate happenstance. Lennox agreed to take me to Reay Abbey. He wanted to tell your father what happened with Hugh.”
“What did he mean when he told my father not to return before a week?” She set her jaw, not budging.
“You are thrawn, lass. Stubborn.” Cailean shook his head. “You will have to ask Lennox. He can answer you. I dinnae know.”
Julianna realized she still gripped his arm. She released him. “So no ill will come to my father?”
“No’ that I know of.”
She stared for two heartbeats, then started forward.
He fell in alongside her. “You have nothing more to say?”
Julianna shrugged. “What more should I say?” He’d said she was delightful. No man had ever said that about her. Wind whipped past and she rubbed her arms to warm the gooseflesh that rose. Another gust raced past and her cloak snapped behind her.
“You’re cold, my lady,” Cailean said.
“It is a cool spring day,” she said. “Not so bad.”
He lifted a brow.
She frowned. “What?”
“Ye are shivering.”
She turned her gaze ahead.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re thick-headed, my lady?”
“Nae.” She chuckled. They wouldn’t dare. “But…” She drew her cloak tighter, tried to hide a smile. “You did just call me thrawn. ‘Tis almost as bad.”
“So it is.” He flashed a smile of his own, but it faded as he looked ahead again, his gaze fixed on Barbara’s home up ahead. “Dear God.” He slowed.
“They do no’ have much,” Julianna quickly explained. “But Barbara keeps her floor swept and her table well-scrubbed.”
“I am sure, sweet.” He spoke to her, but his gaze remained locked on the low stone cottage with its turf roof, the stack of peat leaning against a side wall nearly as large as the tiny cottage. “At least they have a good supply of peat.”
“Of course they do.” She looked at him, startled by his observation. “The peat banks hereabouts are plentiful. Our people could cut peat bricks for a thousand years or more and no’ drain the bogs. They can gather wood from Reay Forest, as well. My father has given them leave to take any wood they need, cut or fallen branches. But most villagers willnae touch trees in a lord’s wood. Besides,” she released a breath, “the monastery is so close, right in the heart of the forest. The monks have much use of the wood. Folk prefer to leave it to them.”
“Aye.” He nodded, but his brow remained furrowed.
She angled her head. “Is it so different where you come from?”
He shot her a sharp glance. “Where I come from?”
“Aye. Cumyrnald? In the south, I think? No’ Durness where everyone at Raghnall thinks you hail from.”
“So it is, lass. Cumber—er, Cumyrnald is almost a different world than your bonnie hills.”
“Then what bothers you so about Barbara’s cottage?” she pressed. “It is no’ that different from most, just a bit smaller and more humble.”
“It is just…” He shook his head. “A turf roof? Why not thatch? Most of the cottages hereabouts are—”
“A thatched roof costs more coin than Barbara’s husband can afford.” Her heart constricted, not for the first time wishing the man was not so proud. “Every year, he refuses my father’s offer to build them a better house. He willnae allow us to have their roof thatched.”
“Dear God,” Cailean said again, his stare now on the cottage’s half-opened door where smoke drifted out.
The glow of a small fire could be seen in the middle of the dim room. The family’s only ‘hearth’ was a circle of river stones in the middle of the floor. But at least it was peat smoke, the smell sweet and earthy, homey and warm.
As they neared the cottage, she laid a hand on Cailean’s arm, worried by his deepening frown. “Barbara will no’ appreciate your sympathy. She is almost as proud as her man.”
As she should be, to survive such a hard life.
Juliana shot him a look, uncertain if she’d heard his words or if she’d imagined his answer.
They reached the cottage and young Lucy Mackay appeared in the doorway. “My lady.” Her gaze flicked to Cailean then back to her. “We were no’ expecting you.”
“Dinnae worry, Lucy,” Julianna replied. “I came unexpectedly to visit my father and he told me that Barbara had the baby.”
“Aye, the lad was born just yesterday.” Her eyes again shifted to Cailean.
“This is Cailean Mackay,” Julianna said. “He is a friend from Durness, in the far north.”
“Welcome, sir.” The girl’s cheeks tinged pink. “Come in, my lady.”
She stepped aside and Julianna ducked under the low stone lintel, Cailean following close behind her. In the far right hand corner, Barbara sat up in a recess bed, the babe suckling at her breast.
Julianna hurried toward her while Cailean—she couldn’t help noticing with a laugh—hung back like most men who encountered the presence of a newborn baby.
Barbara started to struggle from the bed, but it was built deep into the wall, posing a difficult scramble. Julianna reached her in time to put out a staying hand, and eased the new mother back into the comfort of her cushioned bed. “Nae, Barbara, stay there, please. I only wanted to come and see the wee bairn.”
The child was Barbara’s first and the young woman smiled a shy smile. “He is a lusty eater.”
“I am glad to hear it.” Julianna beamed down at the babe. “He will someday be as strapping as his da.”
“That would please us.” Barbara peered at the lad, her eyes misting. “We are blessed.”
“You are indeed.” Julianna made a silent note to herself to arrange for Farmer Muir to send baskets of food and a cartload of peat to the cottage. She’d instruct him to say that the supplies were a bonus for Barbara’s husband’s hard work in the Muirhead fields.
“Ye may sit at the table, if ye like, Cailean,” Lucy said.
Julianna sat down on a low three-legged stool beside Barbara’s bed, while Cailean seemed very happy to sit at the table near the hearth where the peat bricks burned red hot. The babe suckled contentedly, as he stared up at his mother. “He is a bonnie lad.” Julianna laughed. “What have ye named him?”
Barbara looked at her, her eyes lighting. “Daniel, after Matthew’s father.”
“A fine name.” Julianna reached to touch his cheek. “He is beautiful.”
Barbara fussed with the blanket tucked around his arms, but Julianna could see the girl was pleased with the compliment.
“Would ye and Cailean like some wine, my lady?” Lucy asked.
Julianna glanced at Cailean.
“Aye.” He nodded. “That is kind of ye.”
Julianna hid a smile. Despite his obvious discomfort, he had manners and wouldn’t insult the ladies by refusing their hospitality.
Lucy took two tin cups and a jug from a shelf, then went to the table and filled the cups with wine. She set a cup in front of Cailean, then hurried to Julianna with hers. Julianna sipped the wine.
“This is very good.” Cailean glanced at his wine, then drank more.
“Barbara makes the wine.” Julianna smiled.
“It’s the best I’ve ever had.” Cailean finished his cup with a flourish.
“I thank you, sir.” Barbara shifted inside her recess bed. Even in the shadows of its cupboard-like confines, Julianna saw the pleasure in her eyes. “But I cannae take full credit. The wine comes from Farmer Muir. He brings us a supply, generous as he is.”
“And you make it even better,” Julianna finished for her, knowing Barbara wouldn’t mention praise herself. Turning back to Cailean, she explained, “Barbara is a master at adding herbs and spices to wine, so creating her own specialties. She will tell you her honeyed wine is her best, but I am fond of this wine. It is spiced with violet petals. Could you tell?” She smiled. “Violet wine.”
He grinned and lifted the
cup to his nose, sniffing. “Aye, I can now.” His eyes shifted past Julianna to Barbara. “Brilliant.”
Barbara blinked. “Brill-e-ant?”
Julianna hid a frown at the strange word. “He means you are very clever to make such good wines.”
Barbara smiled. “Oh, thank ye.”
“Would ye like more?” Lucy reached for Cailean’s cup.
He smiled and she blushed again. “Just a little more,” he said.
Before she took his cup, she glanced over her shoulder at the row of earthenware jugs lining the shelf. “Would you like to try the rose petal wine?”
“Another day, lass.” He gave her his cup. “I’d love more of the violet, now that I ken its secret ingredient.”
“As you wish.” She filled his glass—Julianna was sure to near overflowing—and he nodded thanks, then took a drink. The peat bricks popped. Lucy set the jug on the table.
She brushed at her skirts, then started toward the door. “I had better fetch more peat.”
Cailean stood. “I’ll do it.”
She hesitated, then said, “Ye are kind, sir.”
“Nae bother, lass.” Cailean strode from the room. Barbara’s nipple slipped from the baby’s mouth as his eyes closed. She pulled her bodice up over her breast. “Lucy,” she called.
“May I take him?” Julianna asked.
“If ye like.” Barbara cradled the baby in her arms and lifted him slightly.
Julianna slid an arm beneath him and pulled him flush against her body, then lifted him. His head lolled against her breast. She gently tightened her hold, then eased the blanket down from around his face and peered at him. An unexpected ache tightened her heart. Had she ever seen any babe more beautiful? She hadn’t given Walter children. Some nights, she’d lain awake, afraid the fault was hers. But daylight brought clarity and the logic that her husband’s age was the likely culprit. Sir Lawren was young and strong—as her mother had pointed out a dozen times. He could give her children and care for them. Was she a fool to cast aside that sure opportunity?
The door opened and Cailean entered, carrying a pail laden with peat bricks. His eyes locked onto her, then flicked to the baby. A smile ticked his mouth upward as he crossed to the central hearth. He knelt on one knee and placed the peats in a basket against the wall. Julianna’s attention caught on the muscled calf visible between his boot and kilt. He pushed upward and she turned to the cradle beside the bed and lowered Daniel onto the soft heather-stuffed mattress.