Legacy of Luck

by Christy Nicholas

  The kitchen was empty, though she saw evidence of activity. Saddlebags were piled on the table, and a couple were partially unpacked. A half loaf of wheaten bread lay on the counter.

  The study on the other side of the main room had about two dozen volumes on one wall. A few were bound with leather and a couple with wood. A couple scrolls lay in one cubbyhole, and a massive oak desk dominated the center of the room.

  Taking the opportunity to explore, she went back up the stairs. There were three bedrooms beside the one she’d slept in, each one leading into the next in a circle. One bedroom was full of large, sturdy furniture. This must have been their father’s room. The other two were sparsely furnished and showed signs of neglect. She guessed they were Lochlann’s and Donald’s rooms when they were at home.

  Perhaps the men had gone out? She checked outside and glimpsed movement near one of the outbuildings. Steadying her gaze, she saw Donald currying a horse. Beside the stable, she saw a henhouse with no hens, a pigpen with no pigs, a malting shed from the smell of it, and a modest grain shed.

  At one point, this must have been a decent bustle of a farm but left to decay and rot. It had real glass in the windows, but some of the panes were broken. Someone had leather tacked up to keep the gusts of icy Scottish wind at bay, but no other repairs had been done. Stones in the outbuildings were crumbling, and the pigpen lay open.

  Did the neglect date to Lochlann’s mother’s death? She peered around the room she had slept in to get more clues of her dead mother-in-law.

  She must have loved frilly things. Lacy curtains, a lace doily on the vanity, and dresses in the wardrobe spoke of someone who liked to dress pretty. She must have been tall, too. Katie would trip over the hems of the dresses. Most of the personal items were carefully arranged, and Katie was loath to move them. A horsehair brush and matching mirror set lay on the vanity, silver inlaid with pearls. A couple of bottles of long-dissipated scent and dusty pieces of sponge lay in one drawer, but little else.

  What had she looked like? Did she have Lochlann’s fair, flyaway hair? Or darker and thick like Donald’s? She might have had their dark eyes. Had she been a kind woman?

  A sound behind her made her whirl, as if ashamed. She saw Donald in the doorway. He had hay sticking out of his sleeve and smelled of horses.

  “So, you’ve finally decided to get up and face the day, have you? And what a day it is! A fine day for a honeymoon, is it not?” He closed the door behind him.

  He advanced a couple steps, heavy boots clomping on the wooden floor. She backed up involuntarily but found herself against the tall press.

  “Hmmm. I’d forgotten how pretty you look when you try. You were beginning to look like a muddy rag doll. This…this is much better.” He traced his finger along her jawline. It tickled and burned.

  “And whose fault is that, then? You’re the one who forced me into such a state!” She spat at him. He reared, startled at her vehemence.

  “Forced you? I haven’t forced you into anything. You just be careful, aye? Or I’ll show you just how forceful I can be!” He raised his hand as if to hit her, but she cowered and closed her eyes. This must have satisfied him, as a blow never came. She risked a peek and saw he had lowered his hand, but leered at her in an appraising way.

  “Yes, definitely looking more presentable now. And acting it.” He took one of the curls which had fallen from her bun and curled it around his finger. She didn’t dare move and worked hard to keep her breathing even, despite her hammering heart.

  “Too bad Lochlann’s got first call on that, really. He won’t appreciate it nearly as much as I could.” His finger moved to her shoulder and then slowly down her jacket. It stopped above her breast for a moment. He traced the curve of her breast, and around to where her nipple hid under the wool.

  He paused at the top button of her jacket. It was her good jacket, one which had seven round, bone buttons carved into flowers. He flipped the top one open, exposing her stays and shift.

  “Where… where’s Lochlann?” She stalled.

  “He’s gone to the village for supplies. He won’t be back for several hours, at least.”

  She caught her breath. Donald stood between her and the door. She couldn’t get past him. She had to try another tack. Maybe if she were ill—

  She coughed and bent over to the side, hacking up as much disgusting phlegm as she could muster. Her throat was still dry, and she faked a good facsimile of a morbid sore throat.

  Donald backed up in mock horror. “What did you do, swallow a cat?”

  She shook her head and went towards the ale bottle, still half full from earlier. Katie sipped and coughed some more. She didn’t dare sit on the bed.

  “If you will excuse me, I must go outside. The dust in here—” She rushed past him to the door and managed to get it open. Flying down the stairs and outside, she stood, panting, back against the solid stone wall of the stable. That wall was a good, strong, and cool fortress between her and Donald MacCrimmon.

  Donald remained upstairs, looking down at her through the window. She coughed a couple times into her hand and moved around to the back of the house. She didn’t want to be seen. At least, not by that man.

  She went into the malting shed, hoping for shelter from prying eyes. The aromatic ghost of whiskey mash lingered in the wood of the building. Perhaps he wasn’t watching her. Still, she was safer hidden from sight. Would he have done it? Would he have taken his own brother’s wife? She saw nothing in his manner to date which would indicate he was above such a thing. That sort simply took what they wanted, and cared little for propriety. She imagined once he might have restraint where his brother was concerned, but he proved her wrong at the inn that night. Donald had struck his own brother for speaking up for her. She trembled at the memory, despite the rising heat of the day.

  Katie still didn’t know how long she had slept. It must late morning now, but when had they arrived? Time remained a muzzy haze in her mind. It might have been evening or morning. If it were evening, she likely had slept the night. If it were morning, had she slept the whole day and night? Or only a few hours? Surely the former. She felt better rested than only a few hours would account for.

  The horses whickered in the stables, and she heard Clarence the mule sound off. Someone must be approaching. Hoping to catch sight of the visitor, she peered out from the doorway of the malting shed.

  Lochlann came up the path, and her heart leapt with joy. She would be safe once again. But for how long? And was she really safe? She would have to make sure Lochlann stayed on her side, for protection from Donald.

  Katie walked out to meet her husband. His eyes lit up.

  “Ah, what a lovely sight you are, my wife. You soothe my soul.”

  “And is your soul troubled, Lochlann?” She wanted to take back the words as soon as they came out. Of course, he would be troubled if his father had died.

  Nodding, he took her hand. He did nothing with it but held it for a while in both of his. She had no idea what to do next. Deirdre flirted, not her. Looking up, she saw him staring at her.

  “You do look wonderful, Katie. Did you sleep well? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”

  With a weak smile, she waved off his solicitous offers. “No, no, I’m grand. I… I woke up about an hour ago, and no one around. Then Donald came in—” She broke off. Should she tell Lochlann his brother acted such a blackguard?

  “Did Donald pester you? Well, I’m back now. You’re safe.”

  Such a simple statement. As if he protected her from all the evils in the world, up to and including his own brother. Despite herself, it made her warm and happy inside. She’d never truly experienced such a trust before. Her father had never been protection. Her time with Éamonn had been so short, she hadn’t yet developed such a bond. Lochlann, though… not a strong man, but she believed him when he said he would do his best to keep her safe.

  “Thank you… husband.”

  Smiling wanly, she squeezed his han
d once, and they walked into the house.

  He carried a large pack filled with provisions he had secured in the village, down the road about a mile or so. He brought eggs, a side of ham, candles, fresh milk, apples, a large cheese, and loaves of bread.

  “There! That should stock the larder nicely, at least for the nonce. Did you say Donald is upstairs?”

  He climbed the stairs while she put items away in various cupboards. She found a souterrain built into the earth near one wall. It would be the best place to keep things cool. Was it time for a midday meal? Having eaten when she woke, she wasn’t yet hungry, but she had no idea how long the men had been up.

  Slicing a couple of pieces of ham and cheese, she arranged them with a loaf on a platter. Searching for spices, she found salt in a cabinet. It would have to do. Would Lochlann allow her further shopping? If she were in charge of a household, she’d need more leeway in the kitchen provisions. Her mother had never been able to afford much, but a few good spices did wonders with plain food.

  What would her role be here? Would Lochlann live here only during the winters, and travel the rest of the year? Would she be with him, or stay here alone? Katie shuddered to consider of spending the whole summer alone in such a strange place, though better alone than with Donald. Not that the place didn’t have its charms. The house was solid and strong, if in need of some tender care. But she would crave human companionship.

  These were all things Katie would have to work out with her husband. She might convince him to take her with him on trades.

  Unless Donald took charge of those expeditions. Ice crawled up her spine. Perhaps she would be better off rattling about in this big house alone.

  She heard the brothers talking upstairs, too muffled for her to make out the words, but she imagined they were arguing. About her? About their father? She couldn’t tell. The sound of far off thunder distracted her.

  Needing a task, she cleaned. There were clean rags in one kitchen cabinet. She used these to wipe the crumbs off the table and the dust from the shelves. About to start in on the main room, she heard heavy footsteps down the stairs. Donald.

  Halting at the bottom of the stairs, he saw her in the doorway and advanced on her with purpose. She shrank back into the kitchen and scooted behind the enormous woodblock table. With rolled eyes and a sigh of exasperation, he came around to her.

  “Come on, girl. It’s time to do your duty at long last.” He grabbed her arm, but she shuffled away.

  “But it isn’t night!” Raindrops sounded on the roof.

  “What in the name of the Cailleach does that matter? You’re awake, you’re rested, you’ve no father to meet, and our mother’s long dead. You’ve run out of time and excuses, missy. Get yourself upstairs, or I’ll take you. And I might not take you directly there!”

  She quailed at that idea and darted out the kitchen door and to the stairs.

  Hesitating at the stairway, she glanced up. Up there lay a new chapter to her life. She couldn’t go back once she did this. With a long, hopeless look at the door as if expecting Éamonn to burst through at the last minute, she put her foot on the first step. Then Donald appeared in the kitchen doorway, and she went upstairs with alacrity.

  Lochlann sat on the bed in the room she had slept in the night before. His mother’s room. Was that odd? She guessed it would be the best room, patently a woman’s room. The other suitable room—their father’s room—would surely become Donald’s now their father had passed. She did not want to lose her maidenhead in a bed Donald had slept in. Steeling her nerve, she walked in and shut the door firmly behind her.

  Keeping hold of the door handle, she examined Lochlann. His eyes shifted and he was sweating. This couldn’t be his first time, could it? The idea hit her like an epiphany. He acted so meek. Perhaps it would be the first time he had ever been with a woman. She couldn’t ask. They didn’t have that level of friendship, much less intimacy. A state which must change quickly. The implied threat that Donald would take over if she didn’t go willingly to Lochlann spurred her to walk to the bed and sit next to her husband.

  He took her hand, and they both stared down.

  Her throat locked, and she gulped. Lochlann hastened to the press and brought her the ale pot. He had refreshed the viands as well. There were several apples, cheese and honeycomb for a treat. She smiled at his thoughtfulness and drank deeply. Oh, how she wished it were night. It felt wicked to be doing this in the daylight.

  With a deep breath, she put down the ale and took both his hands in her own and glanced at him. His dark eyes appeared hopeful and frightened at the same time.

  “Lochlann, you know I didn’t choose this match. But I do promise you, I shall do my best to make it work. You’re a kind man, and I’d much rather be matched to you than… well, than other men who are less than kind. Oh dear… I’m making a mess of this.” Flushed, she dropped her gaze. She tried to drop his hands, but he held onto them and squeezed.

  “I know that well, Katie. And I promise to take care of you and protect you as well as I can. I’ve not been great at that in the past, but… well, I will from now on. I’ve never been good with words. Believe it or not, Donald is the poet in the family.”

  Katie looked up. “Donald? Poetry? You have got to be jesting.”

  “No, really! He composes music for the bagpipes, too. You should listen to him play. It’s haunting and lovely.” The ice had cracked, if not yet broken.

  “I don’t know if I can reconcile that… that image with the Donald I’ve have come to know and hate these past weeks.”

  They were at an impasse again, their brief connection formed and dropped. What should she do now? If she waited for him, it would be three weeks before they did this. The tension was so thick she could have died from suffocation.

  She had to say something. “Well, I suppose we should get… get started, shouldn’t we?”

  “Yes, well… yes.” He stood and pulled her up by the hand. They stood too close for a couple moments before he bent to unbutton her jacket. She smelled the ale on his breath. He began at the top, with the same button which Donald had flipped open so casually earlier and with such malice. Trembling, she waited as Lochlann fumbled with two more of the strange buttons before she helped him.

  Shrugging off the jacket, she turned around to let him untie the stays. They weren’t tied tight. Since she had no sister to help, she’d tied them herself. Still, it made it easier for him to untie the bow and unlace them. He unlaced each one, but she turned around before he finished half.

  “You don’t have to do each one, Lochlann. Just loosen them, and I can slip out of the stays.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

  He had to be a virgin still.

  Standing in her shift, she scrutinized her husband. He’d dressed neatly in breeks and a wool jacket which came past his hips. Both were dark green in color, and he had a cream-colored shirt under the jacket. The jacket remained unbuttoned, so she pulled it off one shoulder, and then the other. He blushed as much as—if not more—than she did.

  “Lochlann—”

  “Katie?”

  “Is this… I mean, have you done this before?”

  “Undress? Of course, I have!”

  “No, I mean… this.” She gestured at the bed and then herself. Would he make her say it?

  “Oh. That. Well, not precisely—

  She put her hands on her hips. “Not precisely? What in Brid’s name does that mean?”

  “Well, I’ve kissed, of course, and… well, some other things. But no, I’ve not lain with a woman. Not like you mean.”

  Curious about what the ‘other things’ might be, she narrowed her eyes. Even a shy man might hire a whore. Or maybe Donald had hired one for him. After all, Lochlann must be at least twenty years old. Surely he’d spent his need before this. She’d heard men’s needs were so strong they often couldn’t control them.

  Katie wanted to laugh at the idea of soft, timid Lochlann with a pox-rid
den old whore, but she clamped down on the image. She certainly hoped he hadn’t been with too many of those. He didn’t look poxed, but it didn’t always show.

  Instead, she untied the laces at his wrists and helped him take his shirt off.

  His chest was smooth. No hair at all, except for a few dark blond hairs around his nipples. They were crinkled and small against the cold, and gooseflesh prickled his arms. The storm had cooled the air in the house considerably.

  She tried to untie his breeks, but he beat her to it. He loosened his belt, stepped out of his breeks, and stood in the center of the room.

  His torso was thick, in contrast to slim arms and legs. He wasn’t ill-favored, but oddly shaped. Not that she had ever seen other men naked. Clothes hid many things. He had blond, fuzzy hair on his legs and between them. Blushing, she turned away and pulled her shift off over her head. Her hair fell from the bun, crackling in a cloud as the fabric brushed it. Turnabout was fair play.

  She stood with her shoulders back, while he looked her up and down. Her husband took a couple steps closer, and she involuntarily took one back, only to be stopped by the bed. Hesitating, he reached out to her to caress her cheek. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the soft feather touch. His hand moved, gently, to her shoulder and then her arm. His other hand touched her waist, and she giggled at the ticklish sensation.

  He now had his arms around her, kissing her lips and hugging her body close to his. Bare skin against skin was hot in the chilly room. She enjoyed the kiss more than she had imagined she would. He opened his mouth and tasted her lips. Moving his hand to her buttocks, he squeezed, and she chuckled again. Then he eased her onto the bed, and they crawled under the blankets.

  “Can we take this slow, Lochlann?”