Turning once more, smoothing the blankets beneath her and tugging the one above back into place, Cat knew she actually should be able to slumber like an innocent. But everyone in the village, and most regrettably Gowan before his death, believed she served the earl’s son as his leman and that woman would never be innocent again.
Munro had left the funeral and did not return to the cottage for three days. Coming back from the keep with Muireall, she’d found him and all of her meagre belongings and clothing in front of his father’s house. Strewn across the path in the dirt, it was everything she called hers and he’d flung it all out of what was now his.
The worst—after tossing a few coins he had called her widow’s portion at her, he’d told her not to return.
Standing mute as the meaning of his words struck her, Catriona searched her thoughts for a plan, a thing to do in reaction, and could find nothing. Munro had every right to do this and she doubted even the earl would force him to do otherwise if she appealed to him. As others began to gather, pointing and whispering at her and the humiliating debacle they witnessed, she gathered up what dignity she had left, picked up her clothing and things and walked away.
The first few minutes of complete confusion and disbelief faded as the reality of it hit her. She was an outcast, not only an outsider, now. With no home, no family, she turned around searching for a place to go. Muireall’s was not a choice, not now that Munro had taken such a public stance on her. So, she hugged everything she had to her chest and dragged herself over to the only place of respite she knew—the church.
Though Father Micheil seemed more accepting and forgiving than the younger priest who’d begun his duties here, she did not expect a welcoming from either of them. Cat just wanted to sit in the quiet of the church and think on what to do. Placing her things on the narrow wooden bench in the back of the small chapel, she sat there and waited for some idea to happen.
Instead it was a some one who happened.
Though she should have known, she would not have expected Muireall to come to her aid in this now. Her husband had made his feelings known and Cat understood his reasons—he did not want his wife in the middle of such a matter as this, which could not end well.
‘You must go,’ she whispered to her friend. ‘You cannot be involved.’ And yet Muireall walked up to her, gathered Cat’s belongings in her arms and nodded with her head at the doorway.
‘Come now, Catriona,’ she whispered back. ‘Hugh’s mother sits with wee Donald and she is not happy about it. Come now.’
Cat began to take back her things, shaking her head. ‘You must not do this. Hugh would not allow you to...help me now.’ Muireall dropped her arms to her side and glared at her then.
‘Hugh was convinced to offer a bit of simple Christian charity,’ her friend whispered with a glimmer inappropriate for a house of God there in her eye. ‘Come. I will tell you the rest when we are home.’
So, she’d followed Muireall and that had been a fortnight ago. Since then, she’d done whatever her friend needed while fending off all sorts of disgusting proposals from various men in the village. And some honourable ones, too. Now, laying on the cold, hard floor and grappling with the facts in her life that would not change, Cat thought she might have to accept one offer or another.
Two men, widower friends of Muireall’s husband and at his urging no doubt, needed wives to manage their motherless children. Another man needed help with his bedridden wife and offered her a place to live in exchange for caring for her. It seemed a fair offer, at least until the leering wink and the pinching grab of her breast as he left told her that much more was expected of her than washing and feeding a sick woman. Her stomach churned now thinking about it. She lay on her back and threw her arm across her forehead with a sigh.
This time there would be no hero to stride in and save her from the dire straits in which she found herself. Not like the last time when Gowan saved her.
This morning continued its sluggish march forward with the storms of last night moving on, leaving the ground wet and the trees dripping reminders of the heavy rains on all who walked the paths and lanes of Lairig Dubh. The wee inhabitants of the cottage woke as slowly as the day had and broke their fast in dozing silence, which suited Cat more than their usual childish enthusiasm. Hugh and Muireall came in from their chamber and sat down to eat the porridge she’d made, kissing each of the small faces as they passed them. Just as everyone settled at the table, a soft knock broke into the silence.
Hugh tugged the door open a bit and nodded to whoever stood there. A few whispered words were exchanged and then Hugh stood back and looked at her.
‘Catriona. Someone to speak to you.’
Hugh would say nothing more, so she went to the door and waited as he opened it. Had Munro had a change of heart? Would he allow her back into Gowan’s...his house to live? Instead, her heart beat faster as she saw Aidan MacLerie standing there. As grim-faced as Hugh when she glanced at him, the earl’s son stood, arms crossed over his chest and not a hint of his purpose there. She would have just refused, but she would make no more trouble for Muireall’s husband. Cat stepped outside into the foggy morning, closed the door and waited for him to speak.
‘Good morrow to you,’ he said, nodding at her. ‘My thanks for speaking to me.’
Confused by his presence and more by his ill-at-ease manner, Cat could not imagine what this was about. Would he finally speak out and tell the truth of it? Could he convince Munro and the others that nothing existed between them?
‘My lord,’ she pressed. ‘Why did you want to speak to me?’
He met her gaze and then looked away, as though searching for someone or something down the lane. His face had the hard angles of masculine beauty that seemed to run in his family. She’d seen the earl close by and the expression then and now in his son were the same.
Intense. Fierce, even. Handsome in a rugged way. Growing into the model his father was even now.
‘I have done you wrong, Catriona. My behavior has led to your disgrace. I tried to speak to Munro,’ he began.
He’d tried? That meant he’d failed.
‘But, he would not hear me out.’
So he had tried to make things better and had stood up for her. Munro was young and had a fiery temper. That temper had led him to attack the earl’s son when he first thought he’d taken Cat as his lover, dishonouring her husband.
‘I cannot change what has happened, but I want to help you through this,’ he said. His arms dropped to his sides and she could not take her attention from the way his hands fisted and relaxed, over and over, until she could almost feel it on her skin. ‘Do you know my cousin? Ciara Robertson?’
Cat blinked several times, not following this conversation.
‘What do you mean? I know who Ciara Robertson is, everyone in Lairig Dubh does.’
Ciara Robertson, stepdaughter to the MacLerie peacemaker, served as his assistant and did what no woman ever had before—carried out negotiations on behalf of the earl and conducted his business at her stepfather’s side.
‘She has asked that you meet her at her house at noon this day. Can you, will you, do that?’
Dozens of questions swirled in her thoughts and when she chose one to ask, he shook his head, cutting off her words.
‘She will explain everything to you then. If you would prefer, ask your friend to accompany you.’ His gaze softened then and he smiled, a sad one that lifted but one corner of his mouth. ‘Leave your questions for now—it will all be clear to you then.’
Cat could only nod at him, agreeing to this strange request and meeting with a woman she’d only seen, but had never spoken to before. He nodded and turned to leave, taking a step towards the lane before stopping. Looking over his shoulder as though he remembered something to say, he faced her in the eerie silence of the fog.
‘And I am sorry about Gowan’s death. I did not...’
He paused then, and though he did not finish that thought and
it seemed like he had more to say about it, he left without saying whatever it was.
Cat stood there, confused and unable to move. Within a dozen paces, he faded into the fog that surrounded the cottages and covered the village in its misty grip. She waited for some moments, standing in the silence and watching the patterns that the growing winds carved into the ghostly air. Then the sounds of children now roused for their day grew louder behind her so she opened the door and went back to the table. From the frown her friend wore on her brow, Cat knew Muireall was bursting to know what had conspired between her and the earl’s son. She also knew Muireall would practise the patience of a mother until they could speak alone to find out what had happened.
Should she bring her along, as Aidan MacLerie suggested? What business did Ciara Robertson have with a person like Catriona?
* * *
Though she had expected the hours to crawl by as she considered all the possibilities in her thoughts, soon the noon hour approached and it was time to go. Muireall walked at her side, not chatting as was her usual custom to do, and in some way it made Cat more nervous than if she chattered away. As they approached the large house, larger than most in the village, the door opened and the young woman walked to greet them.
‘Welcome,’ she said. Her smile was warm and genuine. ‘You must be Catriona MacKenzie?’ The woman nodded at her and then glanced at Muireall.
‘This is my friend, Muireall, my lady.’ For how else did you address someone so much higher in position than you were? Unsure of the woman’s noble blood or not, but certain of her wealth and power, she waited for her reaction.
‘Not a lady,’ she said on a laugh. ‘You may call me Ciara if you’d like? Or Mistress MacLerie if you prefer, though with so many MacLeries about, many will answer to that! And I am acquainted with Gair’s sister. Good day to you both.’
A pretty, vibrant young woman, Ciara Robertson wore her long, blonde hair in a braid, not covered the way most married women did there, but with a veil and circlet instead. Her clothing was of a quality far above a simple ‘mistress’, but she did not put on the attitude of those higher than Cat. Instead, she felt at ease with her immediately.
Before she could say a word or ask anything, a crunching sound on the ground behind her spoke of someone’s approach. Cat prepared herself to face Aidan MacLerie and was surprised when it was, instead, Duncan MacLerie, Ciara’s stepfather and the earl’s peacemaker. She and Muireall sank in curtsies to him.
‘Father!’ she said, as she rose up on her toes and accepted a kiss on the cheek from the tall MacLerie warrior turned peacemaker. ‘May I make known Catriona MacKenzie? I think that our kinswoman, Gair’s sister Muireall, is known to you?’
Duncan MacLerie wore the same grim expression that seemed to be bred into men of the clan...and the same handsomeness. Still, this man had faced down the enemies of the MacLeries and brought most all of them to heel. His reputation was known and respected across the kingdom and it was rumoured that his skills had been used by even the king when needed. And now he stood before her. Why?
Cat found it difficult to breathe. Why had she been sent here? What could these two expect of her? Was she to be exiled now—thrown out of the village? That’s when she felt Muireall slip her hand into hers and squeeze it, reminding and reassuring her in one slight gesture.
‘You must be wondering why you are here?’ the woman asked her.
Trying to gather her wits for whatever was coming her way, Cat nodded and tried to take in a breath, steeling herself for the challenge ahead. These last weeks had worn heavily on her good nature and her confidence that she could find a way of dealing with anything she faced. But now, she must.
‘Aye, my la— Ciara,’ she said, using the woman’s given name.
‘Father?’
‘I am here to confirm that whatever Ciara agrees to in the...matter between you and Aidan MacLerie has the full backing and promise of the laird and she acts on behalf of both of them.’ He stood behind his stepdaughter with his hands on her shoulders, conferring the power of which he spoke to her.
Now she trembled in earnest, her knees threatening to buckle. The laird, the earl, had taken an interest in the gossip, too? Muireall slid her arm under Cat’s to support her just then. Then, after those terribly foreboding words, the peacemaker nodded to her, patted his stepdaughter on the shoulder and walked off, moving in long, lumbering strides back towards the keep.
‘Come now,’ Ciara said, as she slipped her arm around Cat’s other one and tugged. ‘Walk with me and I can ease your mind about our discussion.’
With their support on each side, Cat followed down the road, away from Ciara’s large house, to a lane nearer the stream and away from the hustling noise and activity of the busy village that centred around the well. She’d not been down this way before, neither having errands that brought her here nor knowing anyone who lived in this section of cottages.
Soon, they stood in front of a cottage that was twice the size of Gowan’s. A small enclosed yard sat next to it, clearly a garden, and it had two chimneys, telling her of two hearths. Although Cat wanted to remain there, Ciara released her arm, walked up the path and opened the door. ‘I pray you, come inside.’
Then she realised what this was about. The laird had arranged a new place for her, mayhap to serve the lady of this house? She had no objection to honest, hard work and would prefer to keep busy at tasks and chores than sit and contemplate her recent woes. She walked ahead of Muireall, noting the well-kept look of the cottage and, once inside, the clean, comfortable furnishings, nicely arranged in what looked to be two private chambers and the one larger one that served as both kitchen and common room. No byre to hold cattle or other livestock inside—that must be out behind the house, next to the garden. This was the house of someone higher than the usual villager.
But, the one thing missing was anyone who lived here.
Ciara walked to the table and motioned for Cat and Muireall to join her there. A parchment, a small jar of ink and a quill lay in the centre there. As she sat down, Cat continued to look for any signs of an inhabitant and found none—no clothing, no personal items, nothing.
‘Aidan and the laird asked my father to handle this matter, but he thought it best handled by me. “A woman’s softer touch” or some such nonsense. Since he tends to be a bit more familiar with crop agreements and warriors sworn in service, I thought it would be kinder to you to do as he asked.’
‘Kinder? I do not understand,’ she said, glancing from Ciara’s kind smile to her friend’s worried one.
‘Because of the results of your involvement with the laird’s son, and now with your husband’s death, you are left homeless and destitute. The MacLerie and Aidan wish to give you some assurances that you will be cared for.’
She wanted to argue that there was no involvement, but she could not dispute that the attention of the earl’s son had dragged her good name in the dirt and caused her to become a pariah in the village.
‘This house, yours now, is granted in consideration of serv—your relationship with the earl’s son. A small stipend will be provided for your care and the house’s upkeep. If any bairns result, they will be taken care of accordingly.’
‘I cannot have bairns,’ she blurted out when she should have corrected this woman’s assumptions about what had or had not happened between them.
The smile on Ciara’s face turned even softer then and a sadness entered her eyes. Cat saw that same reaction from any woman who’d had her own children—a mix of understanding, sympathy and utter sadness at what a lack of bairns would mean in their lives. She blinked, knowing that tears gathered and would fall, exposing her true feelings to this stranger, no matter her confidence in discussing such personal issues in the manner of a transaction.
‘To protect you and to give you some assurance that this is a binding agreement, Aidan asked me to prepare this for you.’ Ciara held out the parchment, which lay covered in rows and rows of words Cat could
not read. ‘Muireall, if you would?’
So, the earl’s son either knew or suspected she could not read and had suggested Muireall’s presence for just this situation. Gair’s family had all benefited from his first training and now serving as steward to the MacLerie. Reading and writing had been taught to his brothers and his sister as well.
‘Why not take a look around?’ Ciara suggested as they sat in the still and utter silence, waiting for Muireall to read the document that would determine her future.
She smiled, nodded and rose from the chair on shaking legs. Walking to the furthest place in the cottage, she entered one of the two private chambers.
A bedroom.
A large bed, too, off the ground on a wooden frame that must be rope-strung...and comfortable.
Several trunks and a small table with two stools sat in the corners of the chamber. A good-sized hearth that promised to keep out the cold and dampness shared a wall with the other chamber next to it.
This would be warm and dry and private.
The unavoidable fact that she’d been trying not to think about came crashing down on her—this house was for Aidan MacLerie’s leman. A place where they could meet and where he could spend the night in her bed. With his lover.
With Catriona.
She swallowed deeply against every sort of image and thought that brought up.
And yet, where was the righteous anger that she should feel over this? The man had sent his cousin to barter like the fishmongers she’d seen selling their wares near the river. He’d never asked her. Turning around, seeing the whole of the chamber as it was meant to be, she now understood the strange discussion with Ciara.
‘Catriona?’ She pivoted to find Muireall in the doorway, staring at her with a confused expression.
‘Have you read it? What does it say?’ she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, but unable to hide the shivers that coursed through her body at the thought of spending nights here with a man she did not know.
Terri Brisbin Highlander Bundle Page 71