He had just finished giving last minute orders to Kenneth when one of the younger lads entered the gathering room.
“Caelen,” the boy said. He was out of breath and looked pensive. “Yer grandminny sends fer ye. She says it be important.”
Caelen blew out a frustrated breath, thanked the lad and sent him off to tell Burunild he’d be there momentarily.
“Would ye like to go as a witness?” Caelen asked Kenneth.
“Witness to what?”
“Fer when they ask why I strangled the auld woman ye can tell them because she drove me to it.” Caelen replied. “The woman sorely tests me.”
Kenneth chuckled as he rubbed his bearded jaw. “Aye, she can be a trial at times.”
Caelen looked aghast. “At times?” he asked. “The only time she’s no’ testin’ me is when she be asleep.”
Kenneth continued to chuckle, enjoying his cousin’s discomfit. “What? That wee, sweet auld woman? She’s as kind and generous as the day is long, cousin.”
“Then ye go see what she wants. I’d rather do battle against a horde of angry Huns.”
“Nay, ye need to see her. God only kens how much time the woman has left to grace His earth.”
Caelen rolled his eyes and held up his hands in defeat. “So she’s been tellin’ me fer the last thirty years of me life.”
* * *
Burunild made no attempt to hide her disappointment in Caelen. “What do ye mean she’s left? Ye promised I could meet the warrior woman!”
Caelen thought his grandminny was behaving like a spoilt child. He swallowed back the urge to tell her just that. “Grandminny, I ken what I told ye, but she would no’ stay.” He couldn’t bear to tell her the truth, that Fiona had turned down his offer of marriage and left him a broken man.
“But why?” Burunild asked as she banged her walking stick against the stone floor.
Caelen’s head began to ache from lack of sleep, from his broken heart and his frustrating grandminny. Rubbing his temples with his fingers, he tried to find the words to explain without telling her the truth. “She was verra busy and had important things to attend to.”
“Will she come back?” Burunild asked with a furrowed brow, as if she were waiting to catch him in a lie.
“I can only pray that she does,” he murmured.
Burunild sat back in her chair and studied him closely for several long moments.
“Grandminny,” Caelen said, and even he thought his voice sounded tired. “I be leavin’ this morn. I leave Phillip behind. He’ll see to it that yer taken care of in me stead.” He let out a tired breath and stood.
“Ye love her, don’ ye?” Burunild asked.
Caelen stared down at the auld woman. Her concern seemed genuine, but experience told him that his grandminny couldn’t be trusted. She wasn’t truly an evil woman, just an auld woman who didn’t want to be ignored or set aside as if she were too stupid or senile to be of use to anyone. However, she oft used her age to her advantage and there were many times when he was quite certain her goal in life was to make him as miserable as possible. She was a paradox, this auld woman.
“This warrior woman,” Burunild said, craning her neck to look up at her grandson. “Ye love her.”
There was no way around it. The auld woman would hound him to death until he answered. “Aye, Grandminny, I fear I do.”
Something flickered in her aged, watery eyes. Something Caelen could not quite describe. Was it a grandmother’s adoration? Humor? Or something else he thought he should be quite afraid of.
Burunild nodded her head as if everything in the world made sense, placed her hands on the top of her table and stood to look at Caelen. “Well, it be about time.”
Caelen looked heavenward for patience for he knew he was about to be the recipient of one of his grandminny’s lectures.
“I be verra happy fer ye, grandson, that ye’ve finally found true love.”
Uncertain if ’twas a ruse he remained quiet, his brow knotted by puzzlement.
“Fer sixteen years, ye mourned the death of a woman ye did no’ truly love. Aye, ye loved her, but no’ like ye love this woman. I can see it in yer eyes, hear it in yer voice.” She studied him closely for a moment. “Fer the first time in yer life, ye’ve gotten a glimpse at true love, grandson. But I fear ye be on the brink of losin’ it. Ye must fight fer the woman, fer I promise ye, the heartache from losin’ yer first Fiona be only a glimpse at the pain ye’ll endure if ye lose this one.”
A sadness fell over her then. Caelen didn’t think it possible for her to look aulder or more tired, but when her shoulders sagged and the twinkle left her eyes … he knew in that wee moment that his grandminny knew from harsh experience exactly of what she spoke. Just under the surface of her wrinkled, at times severe exterior, lay a broken heart. It nearly buckled his knees to think of his grandminny living through the hell he was now living.
“’Tis a heartache unlike any other, Caelen. One ye might survive but ye never truly heal from. Do no’ let this woman get away from ye, lad. Fer I fear ye won’t live long enough to regret it.”
* * *
With his messengers sent Caelen, Kenneth and twenty of their finest men set off for MacDougall lands just after dawn. Barring any unforeseen problems or bad weather, they would reach the MacDougall keep by nightfall on the following day.
“What do ye hope to gain by visitin’ with the MacDougall?” Kenneth asked as he rode alongside Caelen.
“’Tis more than a visit, Kenneth. I hope to enlist his help in findin’ out who is behind the attacks on Fiona’s people.”
With one curious brow raised, Kenneth said, “So she be Fiona now, aye?”
Caelen shot an angry glance toward his cousin. He was in a foul mood and would not brook any teasing or meddling from anyone, least of all his cousin.
“And what, pray tell, do ye plan to do if we learn who is truly behind the attacks on the McPhersons?”
“I plan on killin’ the bloody bastard.”
That seemed to please Kenneth, for he was almost as bloodthirsty as Caelen. “And if ye do no’ find the answers ye seek with the aid of the MacDougalls?”
“I’ll search this world over, to find out who is tryin’ to make me look like a reiver of sheep and a murderer,” Caelen told him bluntly. He had no qualms in doing just that. Not only was his honor, as well as the clan’s, at stake, Fiona’s life could be in danger as well.
Some time passed, as they rode along the countryside, before Kenneth spoke again. “Tell me, Caelen, what is it about this woman that has ye in such a state?”
Caelen was unaware of being in any ‘state’ other than furious and told Kenneth just that. “The only ‘state’ I be in is angry, fer I do no’ like bein’ tested or made a fool.”
“Be it the bonny Fiona who is testin’ ye? Has she made a fool out of ye?”
Caelen was about three heartbeats away from wiping the smirk from Kenneth’s bearded face.
“Fiona has done nothin’ wrong, Kenneth. And I’ll warn ye to tread lightly on that subject, or avoid it altogether. Fer I’ll no’ think twice about poundin’ yer ugly face into the ground.”
’Twas true that Fiona was not to blame for his current mood. Aye, he was angry that she had refused to even consider his proposal. But he was much more angry about the situation they’d been thrown into by some unknown force.
“She be a bonny woman, Caelen, and right fierce,” Kenneth remarked. “I be only curious as to what it is about this particular woman who has stolen yer heart — a heart that I did no’ know ye even possessed until these past few days.”
Instead of telling Kenneth the truth — that he was just as confused over the entire situation as he — he said, “Shut up, Kenneth.”
His stern look and harsh tone apparently meant nothing to Kenneth.
“I only be curious, Caelen.”
He sounded sincere, but Caelen was not about to share his innermost feelings with Kenneth, at least not as they per
tained to Fiona McPherson.
“Ye’ll get no further warnin’, Kenneth. The next time ye open yer mouth I will shut it fer ye,” Caelen warned him through gritted teeth. Not waiting for a response, Caelen kicked the flanks of his horse and rode to the front of the line, leaving his cousin behind him.
Four
One by one, the chiefs from clans McKenzie, Farquar, McGregor, MacElroy and MacKinnon, began to pour into the McPherson keep. Whilst William and Seamus greeted each man at the gates, Collin met them at the door and led them into the gathering room.
Fiona decided to wait until the last man arrived before making an appearance. She saw no reason to repeat her intentions again and again. ’Twas best to address them all at once.
She was not looking forward to meeting with these men. With her hands clasped behind her back, she paced to and fro, betwixt her hearth and her desk and thought on the events of the past weeks. If she ever got her hands on the man responsible for turning her life into its current unrecognizable state, she’d filet him like a salmon and leave his innards for the scavengers.
The room grew uncomfortably small and hot as she paced back and forth. Her trews, which usually made her feel quite confident and comfortable, itched and scratched against her skin. Her mail which normally felt as light as a feather began to weigh her down, feeling as if ’twere made of stone. Even her boots felt awkward.
“Calm yerself, Fiona McPherson,” she muttered under her breath. “Ye’ve nothin’ to fear this day. Ye be the chief of yer clan no’ some innocent wee bairn.”
Suddenly, she wished her mother and father were here if only to offer sage advice. There was not a day that went by that she didn’t think of them, though in truth, she was much closer to her father than her mother.
’Twasn’t as if she liked one more than the other. Nay, she loved both her parents. They were good, decent people. She simply had more in common with her father. He understood her passion for the blade, for needing to feel capable and strong. Her mum, however, would quietly shake her head in dismay and encourage Fiona to take on more lady-like endeavors.
Fiona was so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard Mairi enter the study. “Fi,” Mairi said as she balanced her seven-month-old son Symon on her hip. “William sends word that the MacKinnon has just entered McPherson lands. He should be here within the hour.”
“Thank ye, Mairi,” Fiona said, smiling when she saw wee Symon. He was chewing ferociously on a long strip of untanned leather while drool ran down his chin. He looked quite happy at the moment, so cherubic and sweet.
“He looks in fine spirits this day,” Fiona remarked as she stepped forward and caressed his cheek.
Mairi nodded as she kissed the top of Symon’s bald head. “Aye, he is,” Mairi said. Looking back at Fiona she said, “Fi, I never thanked ye fer helpin’ us that day, fer lettin’ me and Collin get some sleep after all those nights of Symon no’ sleepin’.”
“Think nothin’ of it, Mairi. ’Twas me pleasure to spend time with me nephew.”
“Ye were right, that he was cuttin’ teeth and no’ spoiled like me mum had convinced me,” Mairi said, looking embarrassed at admitting such a thing.
Fiona decided to be diplomatic by remaining mute on the subject of Mairi’s mum. Instead, she kissed the top of Symon’s head before stepping away.
Mairi remained near the door, looking as though she had something more on her mind but was afraid to speak it.
“Be there somethin’ else, Mairi?”
Mairi started to speak but stopped. Fiona gathered ’twas a difficult subject she needed to discuss.
“Go ahead, Mairi,” Fiona said as she sat in her chair behind her desk. “We’ve known each other a verra long time. Ye can talk to me about anythin’.”
Fiona doubted that the subject Mairi wanted to discuss was as serious as the young woman’s expression indicated. Until Mairi finally spoke.
“Why do ye no’ remarry, Fi? Is it because ye canna have bairns of yer own and ye fear no man would want ye because of it?”
The slightest breeze could have knocked Fiona out of her chair, so stunned was she. While she considered Mairi a good friend, a dear sister-in-law, she’d not been quite as close to the woman as she had been with Bridgett. Still, she had never discussed her barrenness with anyone, not even her long dead husband, James. It was far too difficult to think about, let alone discuss aloud.
“Fi, I did no’ mean to embarrass ye or hurt yer feelin’s,” Mairi began as she took a step toward Fiona. “Ye are such a bonny woman, Fi and ye have so much to offer. I worry over ye, Fi, and ye seem so sad these past few days.”
Fiona cleared the knot from her throat and pretended to not be upset with Mairi’s question. ’Twasn’t anger that she felt, but a deep sense of sadness. For the life of her, she could not figure out why Mairi had asked such a thoroughly personal question.
“Nay, Mairi, I do no’ worry over it. And it be Bridgett’s death that has me so melancholy.” Her answer was half truth, half lie, and incomplete.
Aye, there had been a time when she worried some men would not be interested in marrying her, but not simply because she was barren. There were too many reasons to mention and now, ’twas all moot for there was a man who wanted to marry her. It was also true that Bridgett’s death had a profound effect on her heart.
Mairi looked as though she did not believe Fiona’s answer, but thankfully, let the matter drop.
“I shall have more refreshments taken to the gatherin’ room. I’ll send word when the MacKinnon has reached the gates.”
Fiona managed a nod and murmur of thanks before turning her attention to unimportant scrolls splayed atop her desk. After the door closed, she let loose the breath she’d been holding.
Why had Mairi asked that particular question? And today of all days? Mayhap she was simply reaching out, trying to be a friend and sister now that Bridgett was gone.
Fiona had always held her sisters-in-law at arm’s length. In truth, she did that with all women, save for Bridgett. She was by no means rude or unkind with other women, she simply felt uncomfortable around them, as if she didn’t truly belong amongst them. ’Twould most likely take a lifetime of soul-searching to reason the why of it out. The answer, she believed, probably wasn’t worth the bother.
* * *
Fiona had asked Collin to take the clan chiefs into the war room - the very same room that each of the men had proposed to her at one time or another over the past year. Once she had received word that all the men were assembled, Fiona entered.
The five chiefs sat around the table, along with Collin, Seamus, and Andrew. William and Richard stood as sentries just outside the door. Each of the chiefs had been allowed to bring no more than two men inside for the meeting, to act either as guard or advisor.
As soon as she entered, she wished she had told Collin to throw each man into the loch, along with a jar of soap, before allowing them entry. Apparently, not all of the men were as keen on cleanliness as others. The room smelled of sweat, ale, and smoke as well as an overpowering aroma of sandalwood.
Fiona paused momentarily to assess the demeanor of each man. The McGregor and Farquar looked bored, the McKenzie was half asleep, and the MacElroy looked his usual arrogant self. Only the MacKinnon seemed interested in the proceedings.
She headed toward her place at the head of the table. As she strolled past the men, she discovered the McGregor was the owner of the foul odor that lingered in the air. And MacElroy the Arrogant as she’d come to call him, had apparently bathed in sandalwood and roses, the pungent aroma making her head hurt as she walked past him. Later, she would have to thank Collin for placing those two men furthest away from her seat.
She stood at the head of the table, rested one hand on the hilt of her sword and looked out at the men before her. One, if not more, was an enemy. The person behind the raids. The person responsible for Bridgett’s death.
After giving each man a nod of recognition, Fiona began. “
I thank ye all fer bein’ here this day.”
“Before ye continue, I shall have ye know that I’m no’ here to lend me support in your call to war against the McDunnah.” ’Twas the McGregor who spoke. Moments ago, he looked bored. Now, he looked derisive.
The Farquar nodded in agreement. “Aye, to go against the McDunnah is suicide.”
“I have to agree,” MacElroy the Arrogant chimed in. “Everyone kens that Caelen McDunnah is more than just a wee tetched.”
“Gentlemen,” Fiona said calmly, trying to break through the growing opinions as they pertained to Caelen.
The McGregor chuckled his consensus, and added, “More than just a wee tetched! The man be insane.”
“Gentlemen,” Fiona repeated, a little more loudly this time.
“If I’ve a desire to end me own life,” the Farquar said, “I’ll do it at the end of me own rope, not be slaughtered by those animals.”
By animals, Fiona could only assume he meant the McDunnahs. Weeks ago, she might have agreed with that description. But she had come to know Caelen and some of his people. While they might be a wee rough around the edges, blunt, and lacking in finer social graces, they were good people. Not animals.
Fiona glanced down the table at Collin, Seamus, and Andrew. Andrew shrugged his shoulders as if to say how can ye stop them? Seamus shook his head in disgust at the rude way the men were behaving. Collin raised a brow and started to stand, but Fiona held him off with a raised palm. She needed to be the one to bring this meeting under control.
“One,” she said rather loudly. “Two,” she paused briefly as she caught the MacElroy’s attention. “Three.”
The color drained from the MacElroy’s face. “Are ye countin’?” he asked with an unsteady voice.
“Aye, I am,” she said as she pulled two sgian dubhs from her belt. “Four,” she said as she tested the weight of the small blades in her hands.
Caelen's Wife, Book Two Page 3