She said nothing, though she looked a little scared as her back pressed against the door, and he stood over her there. He could almost hear her heart racing in her chest…and that just make him angrier.
That she’d look at me so scared, after everythin’…did she even ever ken me at a’? Did she even really want to?
Abruptly, he took a step back. “Get out o’ me study, Miss O’Donnel.”
She blinked at him, tears in her eyes. “Nay, Alexander, Me Laird, ye’re right, I—”
“Get out, I said,” he commanded loudly.
With one more pale, wide-eyed look, she turned and scampered away.
Alexander walked back to his desk, the blind fury making it difficult to see and causing a pulsing headache just above his brow. He sank into his chair, and the world around him suddenly looked bleak.
His elbows propped on the table, he sunk his head into his hands. He wasn’t sure yet, but it felt like his heart had just shattered. And he wasn’t certain it would ever be repaired.
Chapter 20
Errare Humanum Est
To Err is Human
Cicilia had regretted her accusations almost immediately, of course, but as soon as they left her lips, it was too late. She went to sleep that night, unable to forget the hurt on his face, and for the three days following, she barely had a chance to do anything about it. Every time she would have normally been alone with the Laird, he found an excuse to be elsewhere.
How am I supposed to fix this if he will nae talk to me?!
She’d tried speaking to Nathair, but although he was polite, it was very clear that he was annoyed with her, too. Alexander must have told him what she’d said. Meanwhile, Jeanie could offer an ear, but not much in the way of advice. And so, on the fourth day, she decided to do something about it.
Cicilia bundled up the twins, forgoing the offered guard and walking them down to the village alone. The castle village was much like Wauton, though the shops were bigger, and the discrepancies in the homes between the rich side and poor side of town significantly more apparent.
She started at the baker, knowing that the twins would be easier to manage if she bribed them with some sweets. The baker and his wife were both behind the counter, bickering about something, when Cicilia and the twins walked in.
“An’ I’m just sayin’, Ron, that if ye want to make money, ye service the castle! Honestly, would I have had to deal wi’ this pigheadedness if I’d have married yer brother like I was supposed to?” the young woman demanded.
Her significantly older husband sighed in frustration. “It’s me business, Susan, an’ if I dinnae want to cater for the poncy Laird an’ his stuck up accomptant, then—”
They both stopped when Annys ran forward and exclaimed, “Good day to ye! Can I have three sweet buns, please?”
“Annys!” Cicilia called, mortified. “I’m sorry, good friends, me sister sometimes forgets herself.”
Both the baker and his wife looked up at her, then to Annys, then to Jamie, who was clutching Cicilia’s hand. She saw the calculation in their eyes, so she wasn’t surprised when the wife, Susan, asked, “Are ye O’Donnel’s bairns?”
Cicilia sighed. She’d been hoping to have some time to prepare herself before the first confrontation, but she supposed this was as good a time as any. “Aye,” she said. “Me name is Cicilia O’Donnel. These are me siblings, Annys an’ Jamie. Say yer greetin’s, the two o’ ye.”
“Fair greetin’s to ye,” Annys and Jamie said at the same time, exceedingly politely. As well she’d known they would—their sweets were on the line, after all.
Susan nodded and smiled, but the baker was watching Cicilia warily. “Pleasure, Miss O’Donnel,” Susan told her. “An’ the young miss an’ master. Me name is Susan, and this is me husband, Ronald Jacobs. What brings ye to our humble bakery?”
“Sweets!” Jamie said excitedly. “Cicilia said that since we’ve been right good, we can have some sweets! Do ye have some for us? Please, bonny lady?”
Susan blinked in surprise, then chuckled. “For such a charmin’ young man? Aye, I’m certain I have some buns somewhere.”
Cicilia smiled as her siblings charmed the baker’s wife, but she could still feel Ronald’s eyes staring at her with suspicion. She was still surprised at his abruptness, though, when Ronald said roughly, “Is yer da deid?”
“Ron!” Susan admonished angrily, but her husband ignored her.
Annys and Jamie looked at each other uncertainly, obviously nervous. Of course they were—for the last year, they’d been allowed to speak of their father’s death to nobody. And now everyone seemed to know.
Poor bairns. It must be so confusin’ for them.
“Aye,” Cicilia said tiredly. There was no point in keeping the secret anymore, not now. Word was out, somehow, and all that was left was to control it before it caused any real damage. Perhaps, if she was honest, she could help save Alexander’s reputation, too. “Aye, me faither died o’ a fever last year.”
Triumph crossed Ronald’s face, and he gave his wife a look before saying, “Oh aye? And who’s been runnin’ the farm, then? Certainly nae this wee lad.”
“Nay,” Cicilia replied, standing up a little straighter. “I’ve been doin’ it meself.”
Both of the bakers looked at each other once more, then Ronald said, “The books? The wages? What about the heavy liftin’? I have nae heard o’ any new major hires since last year, except for the usual seasonal staff. What’s yer secret?”
“Nae secret,” Cicilia shrugged. “I’ve taken over me faither’s work by meself. It’s been a lot, but it’s work I’m happy to do. He’d have wanted me to keep things runnin’ smoothly, an’ until recently, I was managin’ tolerably well.”
“More than tolerably!” Annys piped up.
“Aye! Cil is the best farmer ever!” Jamie agreed.
She hushed them, but couldn’t help but smile at their sweet words.
“But ye’re a lassie, and nae more than five-an’-twenty,” Ronald said in disbelief. “An’ nae husband that I’ve heard o’.”
“An’ what o’ it?” Susan snapped, suddenly looking irritated. “Eh? What’s wrong wi’ her bein’ a lassie? She’s clearly got brains if she’s been runnin’ the place since her faither died. She’s older than I was when I was wed to ye, ye old grouch. That’s harder work than yonder farm, let me tell ye!”
The twins looked delighted, and Cicilia covered her mouth, knowing that it would be a bad idea to let the bakers see her surprised laughter.
“Away wi’ ye, woman,” Ronald grumped. “It’s nae proper for a lass o’ her wealth an’ status to be muckin’ about in pig filth.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but if it was good enough for me Mither, it’s good enough for me,” Cicilia said.
Ronald still looked distrustful. “Aye? An’ tell me, Miss Cicilia, why is it ye are nae wed?”
“Because she has common sense, I reckon,” Susan muttered, ignoring the baleful glare her husband gave her in response.
Cicilia bit her lip to prevent the smile again, then said, “I’ve nae had the fortune to find love, I suppose.”
“Ye love—” Jamie started, but Annys kicked his shin.
“Shh,” the little girl whispered. “Dinnae be so daft!”
Ronald folded his arms. “Aye? An’ I suppose ye’ve heard the rumors that are circlin’ about ye by now?”
Cicilia smiled thinly. “Some, but I’m nae naïve enough to dream that I’ve heard them all. A lassie movin’ into a castle, especially one in a position o’ wealth, is gonnae have rumors followin’ close behind. To which are ye referrin’?”
“The one where ye’re usin’ yer womanly ways to manipulate our selfish Laird,” Ronald replied in a hard, unapologetic voice. “I ken he’s never cared much for his people, but it’s beyond the pale that he’d favor a lass just because—”
“Gallagher came to me farm to check out discrepancies between the money we made an’ the trade we report
ed,” Cicilia interrupted.
She was furious now. The accusation itself hadn’t made her angry—she had expected to be accused of a meretricious role or worse—but she was outraged that this man would say such things about Alexander.
“Aye, an’ then?” Ronald asked, folding his arms.
“Ron, leave it,” Susan said. The woman was only a few years older than Cicilia, she guessed, and pretty enough—blonde hair, dark eyes, and a pleasantly plump figure. Her husband must be older by at least fifteen years, probably more if his graying hair was any indication. “The lass came into the shop to make a purchase.”
“I’m simply askin’ a question,” Ronald protested. “If she has nae got anythin’ to hide, she will nae have any problem answerin’.”
“I dinnae like him,” Annys said in a loud whisper.
“Dinnae be rude,” Cicilia said in a composed tone. “What happened next, Mr. Jacobs? Well, Me Laird arrived an’ discovered the death o’ me faither. He then considered takin’ me property from me, but before we could even discuss it, we faced yet another tragedy.”
“They killed our pet pig. His name was Bacon,” Jamie said sadly.
“Who killed yer pig?” Susan asked him.
Cicilia shook her head. “We dinnae ken. It was nae just the twins’ pet, all the sheep an’ pigs an’ goats went the same way. An’ then nae long after, our home—me faither’s home—burnt to the ground. We were left wi’ nothin’, and His Lairdship graciously stepped in to house us until the renovations are complete.”
“An’ in exchange…?” Ronald pressed.
“Ye’re a dirty old man!” Susan chided him. “Is it so far-fetched to ye that a man would help a woman an’ bairns in need without demandin’ into her bed?”
Cicilia shot the woman a grateful look. It was true that she had been sleeping with Alexander, yes, but it had nothing to do with how he’d acted. She liked him, and she was certain he liked her, too—or that he had, before her blunder the other day. He had never, not once, done anything that might be perceived as taking advantage of her or her situation.
“Aye, when the man is Alexander MacKinnon. His faither might have been generous, but he—” Ronald started.
“He bought us animals for our farm. He saved me siblings’ lives. He also funded yer kirk bein’ rebuilt after the lightnin’ storm a few years back, but he dinnae want anyone to ken about it,” Cicilia snapped.
“He rebuilt the kirk?” Susan asked, impressed. “Me da is the minister, an’ he’s been searchin’ for whoever left a’ that money this whole time.”
“Aye,” Cicilia said. “An’ nae just that. He’s the anonymous donor who keeps givin’ money to the orphanage. He’s the one who keeps the poorhouse in the next village stocked wi’ food. Ye can say whatever ye like about me, Mr. Jacobs. Think me the worst kind o’ slattern if ye will. But I will nae hear any more o’ this slander against the Laird, do ye hear me?”
Ronald looked stunned, but he narrowed his eyes again. “An’ if he’s done a’ these things, why is it I’m only now hearin’ o’ them, eh?”
She threw her hands in the air angrily. “Because he’s a good Laird, an’ a better man! He dinnae do any o’ this for fame or glory! He dinnae do it to buy yer love! He cares for his people, each an’ every single one o’ us, an’ it’s bafflin’ to me that ye let the insecurities o’ a lad o’ ten-and-six, who had just lost his parents, cloud the image ye have o’ him as a man fully grown.”
Ronald folded his arms, saying nothing, his lips pursed.
Frustrated, Cicilia turned on her heel. “Come on,” she said to the twins, and they scurried to her side without argument, clearly recognizing how angry she was.
If this was the first, how bad are the rest o’ the villagers gonnae be? This might be an impossible task that I’ve set meself.
But she had to try anyway. She strode out of the bakery, one twin in each hand, her head held high.
She’d only gone a few steps when she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Susan following close behind. “Cicilia!” the woman called.
“Susan,” Cicilia replied, surprised. “What—?”
“I brought these for the bairns,” Susan said, taking a couple of sweet buns from her apron and handing one each to the children.
“Thank ye!” both twins chorused.
“An’ one for ye,” Susan added, handing it over.
Cicilia took it. “Thank ye kindly,” she said. “How much—”
“Dinnae worry about it,” Susan interrupted, waving a hand in the air. “Me husband deserves to suck up the cost o’ a few pithy buns. May I speak freely?”
Cicilia nodded, curious at what this woman could possibly have to say.
“I believe ye,” Susan said softly. “Now, I’m just a woman, an’ me opinion doesn’ae have as much sway wi’ me husband as I’d like, but what ye said makes a lot o’ sense an’ answers some discrepancies we’ve been noticin’ in this clan for years. Me husband’s an old fool. I was supposed to wed his younger brother, ye ken, before the poor lad died in the fightin’. Me faither had already paid me dowry, so I went to the older lad instead. I ken it doesn’ae mean much, but I—”
“It means the world,” Cicilia assured her. “Alexander—the Laird is a good man, an’ every person, man or woman, should ken it. I ken that there’s unrest in the village, an’ I pray it doesn’ae turn into anythin’ worse. I need people to ken that the faults they complain o’ are either the fault o’ circumstance or me own error. He’s done nothin’ to deserve any o’ this.”
“I will nae be able to persuade many,” Susan replied. “But I believe ye. I can tell me friends, though. I’ll do what I can to help ye.” She smiled. “He’s lucky to have a lass like ye as his sweetheart.”
Cicilia felt that familiar blush forming under her cheeks. “I’m nae his—”
“Whatever ye say,” Susan said with a wink. “I’d better get back to me old grump. Good luck on whatever ye’ve come to do.”
“Thank ye, Susan,” Cicilia said earnestly. She watched the woman as she walked away, then beckoned to the twins to continue.
As the three O’Donnel children ate their buns, Cicilia thought about what Susan had said.
Well, one down. Just a whole clan worth o’ doubters to go.
Chapter 21
Ex Amicitia Pax
From Friendship, Peace
On the fifth day following his argument with Cicilia, Alexander had expected that his mood would lighten a little. Unfortunately, he woke up feeling as though a heavy lead weight was placed on his chest, and it would not go away, no matter what he did. In fact, it only got worse the more he tried to ignore it.
He knew that he’d have to speak to her eventually, but he dreaded the moment. They’d avoided each other as much as possible—and as far as Alexander was aware, she hadn’t even been in the Castle the last three days.
Is she so desperate to get away from me? Aye, well, maybe she is, now I ken what she really thinks o’ me.
He knew she’d tried to apologize for her accusations against him, but he was not ready or able to accept it just yet. After all, no matter how scared she was or how hurt by the accusations, she must have known him better than that? Surely, after all of this—after everything—her first instinct shouldn’t have been to blame him?
These were the thoughts that spiraled around his head over and over again, darkening his mind and heart and making it very hard to concentrate on anything hopeful whatsoever. Which was why he now sat in his study, lost in a cloud of black thoughts, barely able to focus on the pages in front of him.
The door opened, and Nathair walked in, as usual not bothering to knock. “Are ye still mopin’ in here, Sandy?” he asked with a loud sigh.
Alexander ran his hands down his own face and then looked up at his friend. He was looking…tidier than usual. His mane of hair was tied back, his clothing pristine. Had Alexander not had other things occupying his mind, he’d find the image rather satisfying
.
As it was, though, he just gave Nathair a tired look and then returned to stare blankly at his papers. A few minutes later, he could still feel the big man looming over him, waiting for him to respond.
“Och, what is it ye want?” Alexander finally asked impatiently. “I’m busy.”
“Ye are nae busy. Ye’re avoidin’ the world because ye got into a tiff wi’ yer sweetheart,” Nathair told him in an extremely calm voice, folding his arms across his chest. “An’ frankly, me an’ Jeanie both are sick o’ it. I ken that Cicilia was out o’ line, but it was near a week ago an’ this cannae go on.”
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