by K. E. Saxon
PART FIVE
The Horse Marshal
“If it will feed nothing else it will feed my revenge.”
The Merchant of Venice (Act III, scene i)
“The iron bit he crushes ‘tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.”
Venus and Adonis (274-81)
CHAPTER 15
Jesslyn walked with Callum up to the keep. A sennight had passed since her visit to the waterfall and she was growing anxious to make another journey there. Unfortunately, her betrothed had gotten it in his head to move them to his MacGregor kin’s holding and he would not let go of the notion. He’d visited her several times each day with some new enticement to change her mind, making it impossible to leave the village without raising questions of her whereabouts. Jesslyn tried once more to reason with him. “I think it not a good idea to move Alleck again so soon. He’s only just settled in here at the Maclean holding and he adores your grandmother. And I’m not ready to make such a change this early, either.”
“My sweet, can you not see that our presence is unnecessary here? That I am needed urgently at the MacGregor holding, as evidenced by the missive I received this morn from my uncle—stepfather—begging my assistance? There are duties that the MacGregors need me to perform for them and I should hasten to answer that request. I feel duty-bound to do so.”
Jesslyn worried her bottom lip with her teeth. This was Callum’s newest ploy, and ‘twas a good one. She was having trouble finding good reasons to convince him to avoid his duty to his father’s clan. In all honesty, Jesslyn had begun to doubt her decision to wed him. Even tho’ he had become a dear friend to her, and Alleck was slowly warming to him, the passionless kiss they’d shared a few days past concerned her greatly. Especially when compared to the heated embrace she’d shared in the wood with the black-haired warrior—who, she was ashamed to admit, had been invading her thoughts, and swaying her purpose as well. Jesslyn came to an abrupt halt.
Callum broke stride and turned, giving her a questioning look.
Taking both of his hands in her own, she straightened her spine and forced the words past her lips. “Callum, I have thought on this these past days and I have decided to break our betrothal.”
Callum’s eyes widened. “What?” He tried to pull his hands free.
She would not let them go. “‘Tis truth, we love each other not, so this cannot be so very painful for you.”
“Nay, I’m more stunned than hurt. Why have you changed your mind? Is it the prospect of leaving this place?”
“Aye—but ‘tis not the full of it. You know this is not working—for either one of us. You should go to the MacGregor holding, as you have said you must, but you must do it without Alleck and me.”
*
Callum turned and walked a few paces away, his thoughts in turmoil. After a moment, a sense of relief filled him. Jesslyn had had the courage to admit their mistake, where he had not. For the past days had been very revealing to him. Tho’ he liked and admired Jesslyn, he’d only recently begun to realize that they were not well matched in temperament. Why, only a few days past, he’d tried deepening one of the rather chaste kisses he’d given her and she’d grown cold and rigid in his arms. That had worried him. For, tho’ they might not love each other, he was a man like any other. He had needs that he expected his wife to fulfill, with passion, if not love. Besides, he wanted a houseful of bairns. How was he to accomplish that, if there was no enjoyment in the making of them? He turned back to her then and, nodding his head, he at last replied, “Aye, you are right. ‘Tis for the best that we break the betrothal.” He moved toward her. Placing a hand on her cheek, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the other. “My thanks to you for your wisdom and your courage to say what I would not.”
As he began to straighten, Jesslyn turned her head and kissed his cheek as well, a relieved smile on her face matching his own. “We are friends? Say we are still friends.”
“Aye, we are still friends, fair Jesslyn.”
*
Callum departed for the MacGregor holding the next day, heart-sore for Maryn but looking toward the future. For ‘twas time and past for him to find his place in the world and, tho’ it had been hard to say farewell to the Maclean clan and especially his beloved grandmother, he knew his destiny lay with his MacGregor kin.
*
“‘Tis for the best, Lady Maclean.” Jesslyn nervously fidgeted with the small strip of linen that Maryn had so graciously tied around her needle-punctured finger as she watched the older woman make a knot at the end of a length of thread. “It became clear the longer we knew each other that we were suited more as friends than as a wedded pair.” Lady Maclean and Maryn had finally allowed Jesslyn a reprieve from the task of sewing shirts for the babe after she’d bloodied one of them to a point where it now was in the rag pile.
Not looking up from her rapidly moving fingers, Lady Maclean replied, “Aye, I wondered when you would come to that conclusion. I worried for a time that ‘twould be after you’d wed before you realized the mismatch. Tho’, in looks, the two of you were quite well together.”
Maryn folded another of the finished garments and placed it in the basket at her feet. “I’d just gotten used to the idea of the two of you as a couple and now ‘tis done with, and Callum has left for good. My head spins with all these sudden changes.”
Lifting her gaze to the window, Jesslyn looked out at the position of the sun and decided she should get back to her chores if she was going to complete them by the time her son came home. “I’m glad you understand and support my decision to break the betrothal. ‘Twould not please me to cause you grief or vexation.” Rising to her feet, she said, “I must fly. I’ve work to do before my son returns.”
At the door, she turned back to the two ladies. “My apologies for ruining the fine cloth, Maryn. Mayhap I can repay you with a raspberry tart? I could bring it to you this eve, if you like—and for you as well, Lady Maclean.”
“Aye, we’d enjoy that,” Maryn said.
*
After the door closed behind Jesslyn, Lady Maclean spoke. “Callum took the glad tidings of your coming babe very hard. He has had tender feelings for you for almost as long as he’s known you, and he was already hurt by your father’s rejection of his suit to you and then your subsequent marriage to his cousin.”
Biting her lip and repositioning herself on her stool, Maryn replied, “I had no idea his feelings ran so deeply for me. Even when he tried the blackmail scheme with my papa. Oh, he did confess once to care for me, but, ‘tis truth, he’s always been so extravagant in his attentions to all the ladies that I could not take him seriously. Besides, he was rather sotted on uisge beatha at the time.”
Lady Maclean nodded her head. “Aye, but he truly did want to wed you, even tho’ his means of attaining his ends were not noble.” She sighed as she closed off the final stitch in one portion of the piece of linen. “He was spoiled by us all as he grew. He’s always been such a fine-looking lad and the lasses always did swarm around him. He’s had very little experience with rejection and he’s had more than his share in these past moons. Rejected both by his clan and his secret love.”
“Oh, Grandmother Maclean, when you put it in those words, I feel so sorry for my part in his despair. I counted him as a friend for many years, at least until I became so vexed with his careless attitude regarding his duties here. But I believed we’d mended our friendship these past sennights.” Maryn sighed, recalling her words to him by Fia’s stall that day he’d shown her the cave. “Tho’ I was a bit cruel to him when he first arrived back, I think.” Maryn rested the unfinished shirt she was working on in her lap and looked at her mentor.
“He is not completely blameless in his sorrow, my dear. As you said, he tried to force a marriage on you through blackmail. Foolish and spoiled, he was, to try and attempt such a thing.” Lifting the linen up to the beam of light coming through the window behind her, Lady Maclean continued working
as she talked. “Nay, this was a good lesson for him; he’ll grow stronger for it. He’s already shown much more maturity in the past moons since your father thwarted his scheme by finding a different course to take.”
Worrying her lower lip, Maryn asked, “Think you that Daniel is aware of Callum’s regard for me? I know my husband’s feelings for his cousin are mixed. He certainly admires his skill on the training field, but he thinks him shallow and irresponsible. ‘Tis the reason he forced the six-moon betrothal.”
“Which turned out to be a very wise move, you must admit. I think Daniel has his suspicions about Callum’s feelings for you, but I believe he has no certitude,” Lady Maclean replied.
Maryn sighed, worried now about Callum and his bruised heart and hoping he’d find someone perfect for him, just as Daniel was perfect for her. Placing her hand over her stomach, she turned the subject. “When will I feel my babe move? Will it be soon?”
“I’d say you should feel your babe quicken in just a few more sennights, mayhap only a fortnight. How are your morning miseries? Do you still suffer a great deal?”
“Aye, tho’ the ginger Daniel gives me works well to counter them.”
“You’ll feel better after the babe quickens. You’ll have more energy as well. That should also be near to a moon prior to your father’s visit.” Lady Maclean smiled. “I’m going to enjoy watching him strut around here; he’ll be such a proud grandpapa.”
Maryn laughed at the image Lady Maclean gave her. “Aye, that he will certainly be.” Lifting the shirt from her lap, Maryn began sewing again.
*
Clyde Ramsey looked around, searching the vicinity for any who might unknowingly have invaded his camp. Seeing that the area was deserted, he hid his oil-cloth blanket and rations behind the juniper bush growing against the partially tumbled-down limestone and mortar wall of the ancient Roman outpost he slept in each night. The roof was long a thing of the past, as well as the door, but there were three good walls still fully intact. ‘Twas not very large; his head and toes almost reached the walls when he was lying on his back and he could touch the stone on either side when he stretched his arms out wide. There was no floor, only overgrown earth, which he’d beaten down with his weight. He’d been using the lodge since his banishment, though none knew of his presence but his sister.
The outpost was positioned on the edge of a crop of pine and juniper a good hour’s walk from the village and Maclean keep, on the west side of the loch. He’d chosen the outpost as his temporary sanctuary because it was a largely forgotten area of the Maclean holding, most times deserted, which allowed him shelter while he formulated his plan. The starkness of his accommodations was wearing on him, however; he was forced to use his oil-cloth blanket much too often to protect himself from the rain and now his food supply was running low, with no new supply available.
His sister, who lived in the village with her husband and son, had met him for the last time a few days past with food and a small crock of ale in a cave not far from the village. She’d been meeting him there every few days since he’d received his orders to leave the holding, but had refused to continue the duty at their last meeting.
Clyde fumed over their quarrel as he made his daily quarter-hour trek toward the loch to get more water. She’d balked at continuing her deception and had refused to meet him again. Aye, and then she’d started in with her carping that he should leave this place and try to find work at a stable farther south—someplace where he was not known and could begin again. She’d even said he might go as far south as Locarbaidh!
Why should he have to leave his home just because some rich laird’s daughter decided he was not doing his job correctly and made a fuss over it? What did she know about all the responsibilities that were piled on him? She’d no doubt never done a day’s labor in all her days. He’d done the best he could with the time and coin allowed to him, and she had ruined everything.
So he’d used a few of those coins to buy ale for himself; he could see no harm in that. Hellfire, he worked hard and he got little in return for his labor. He’d just thought to even the balance a bit, ‘twas all. If the horses were not re-shoed as often as was customary and if their stalls were not cleaned every day, there was no harm in that, either. The beasts were in no danger of dying. Besides, ‘twas the stablemen who had become much too relaxed in their duty. They knew what they were hired to do and they should have done it whether he was there to watch over them or not.
He pounded his fist against his thigh. Maryn Donald had humiliated him. When he’d been told that it had not been strapping young lads who’d overcome his struggles and tied him up, but weak little lasses, he’d been the subject of every jest on the holding for a sennight. Aye, even his stablemen had had a good laugh, and they’d boldly done it in front of him; a thing they never would have done prior to the horse theft. Besides, if he had not just come back from his neighbor’s alehouse and been a bit jolly from drink, he could never have been laid so low by two wee lasses.
As he approached the loch, he surveyed the area around him to see if an early fisher had arrived here before him. Seeing no sign of anyone, he made his way to a shallow inlet to gather his water and wash his face.
The sun was just over the horizon now, allowing him to see his reflection in the shallow water as he bent down over it. Anger filled his breast as he saw the unkempt mess he’d become. His once neatly shorn dark brown hair hung in a scraggly tangle around his unshaven face—a face that until a few moons past had been much rounder, but now had grown thin from the dearth of available food. His brown eyes were red-rimmed and his lips, cracked from exposure to the wind. Tho’ he had always been a bit stout for his five-and-a-half foot height, he’d always taken great care with his appearance, keeping himself well-shaven and his hair neatly trimmed. He’d been popular with the lasses, too. Now if they saw what he’d become, they’d no doubt run off screaming to their mamas.
Cupping his shaking palms together, he brought some of the cold water up to his face and rinsed off the grime. He was out of ale and he had a need for more. He may have to find a way to steal some from the village tonight after dark. There were several ale-wives there, and one of them was bound to have a fresh batch made.
Wiping his wet whiskers on the sleeve of his woolen tunic, he was reminded again of how far he’d sunk since he’d been tossed from his position as stable marshal. ‘Tis all the red-haired witch’s fault. The Macleans had liked him just fine until she came and stirred the pot. She would pay for ruining his life with her meddling; he’d see to that soon enough. And ‘twould have to be soon. He had no choice but to put his plan into action forthwith. His sister had seen to that when she’d refused to aid him any longer.
As he firmed up his plan, he realized that his change in appearance would work to his advantage. He could use his natural disguise to get back inside the keep. There should be some traveling players in the area soon and he would pretend to be one of them. After that, the rest of his plan should be easy to complete.
*
Daniel was just coming around the corner of the keep when he saw Maryn stealthily looking in either direction before entering the tower where their larder was stored. Wondering at her purpose, and a bit suspicious, he followed. She was not in the ground-level chamber, he quickly discovered. At least she was not attempting to haul a heavy sack of grain back to the keep. She was perfectly capable of attempting such a thing, he knew from recent experience. He’d caught her carrying two heavy buckets of water only two days past and they’d crossed swords over it for quite a few minutes before he was able to take them from her. He walked to the base of the winding stair and with silent tread made his way up the steps to the upper chamber. The same room Jesslyn had led him to that fateful day. What mischief could his wife be up to now? Knowing Maryn as he did, ‘twas no doubt something for which he’d have little liking.
Resigned now to another round of arguments and convinced he would be displeased with whatever endeavor he found
her occupied in, Daniel threw the door open, letting it bang against the wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he thundered.
*
Maryn screamed, her mouth full of raspberry tart and her two hands full of the same. Coughing and choking a bit, she quickly swallowed as much of the confection as she was able before turning her fuming gaze on her husband. “Am I allowed no privacy, then? Must you always be two steps behind me? Aye, I was stealing a bit more tart—will you throw me in the dungeon and toss the key in the loch for my crime?”
She saw him struggling to swallow his laughter as he relaxed against the doorframe with his arms crossed, and her face flamed hotter. But his voice was gentle when he said, “’Tis glad I am to see you feeling better these past few days since our babe quickened. But, pray, why do you hide away up here to eat? You are lady of this keep; you own every morsel of food in it—how can you steal something you already own?”
Discomfited at being discovered with both hands full of food, Maryn quickly consumed the last bite of the treat from the hand which had frozen in midair when her meddling husband had burst in upon her covert gorge, then licked the sticky juice from her fingers. She didn’t miss the tender smile this produced on her husband’s mouth and her mortification grew. “I know what you say to be truth, but my hunger has grown so much that I prefer a bit of solitude when I eat between mealtimes.”
Although she knew her babe needed nourishment, she felt uneasy asking the cook for snacks as often as she had been lately. And the sidelong glances and knowing winks going on between the staff each time they saw her with another tidbit embarrassed her as well. She knew they were pleased by her condition and meant no harm, but she’d always been sensitive about her large appetite, and now the condition had doubled in size.