Highland Spitfire

by Mary Wine

  A lot of others wanted to see too. They began spilling out of the buildings as he and Marcus circled each other. People started calling out wagers, but all Bhaic saw was the gleam in his brother’s eye.

  One he was going to smash.

  They collided with a crunch, the crowd groaning. Marcus’s jaw was as hard as a boulder, but Bhaic smashed his fist into it anyway. His brother didn’t give easily but ended up staggering under the force of the second blow Bhaic landed. He came back with a vicious snarl, ramming himself into Bhaic and lifting him off his feet.

  They slammed into the ground, raising a cloud of dust. People surged forward, trying to get a good view. Marcus tried to pin him on his back, and Bhaic strained and tossed him over. He flipped and launched himself at Marcus, the pair of them grabbling, rolling, punching, and doing their best to lock an arm around the other’s neck to choke him into compliance.

  There wasn’t going to be any quarter.

  * * *

  “Mistress…come out of the kitchens…please.”

  Ailis looked up to find Finley dancing from one foot to the other like a little boy on Twelfth Night.

  “We’re missing the fun,” he implored her. “And I can nae go without ye.”

  The head cook made it clear she’d be happy if Ailis went somewhere else.

  “It will be over soon,” Finley said.

  There was something going on in the yard. People were cheering.

  “Very well.”

  At least someone might be pleased with her at last. Finley ran the few steps to the kitchen door and pushed it open for her. The cheering was louder now, along with some sort of snarling and grunting.

  She came up into the yard and blinked as she took in the sight.

  “Whoo…hoo…ye’ve got him now!” Finley roared.

  As far as she could see, there was no way to know who had whom. Bhaic and his brother were a tangle of limbs and snarls. They’d raised a huge cloud of dust, and both of them had blood brightening their shirts. The crowd roared with approval as they tried to kill each other.

  She started forward, but Finley shot his arm out and stopped her. “Stay here now, lassie. That’s no place for a wee thing like yerself.”

  “Ye have to stop them.”

  Finley looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  Well, at least they had something in common.

  “Here now…What’s all this?” Shamus MacPherson suddenly appeared.

  The crowd parted for him but groaned with disappointment. The old laird made his way to the edge of the circle surrounding the two fighting men and scowled.

  “Get up, ye sons of the devil!” he hollered. He turned to his captains. “Haul those dogs off each other.”

  Bhaic got in one final blow with his elbow before Angus dragged him off Marcus.

  “I said enough,” Shamus insisted.

  Marcus and Bhaic both abandoned their spite as they faced their father. For all that the bloodlust had cooled in their expressions, there was no hint of remorse for their actions. Their father shook his head.

  “I’ve a mind to send ye both to the monastery for good penance.” He shook his head. “But ye’re likely both lost causes, since ye’re me sons.”

  Bhaic and Marcus both snickered in response.

  “What’s eating at the pair of ye?” their father demanded. He turned and looked at the crowd. “And is there nae a single better thing the lot of ye might be doing with the daylight?”

  People started scattering. The youths began to train again, the sound of their wooden swords connecting filling the air.

  “Now answer me,” Shamus insisted.

  “He insulted me wife,” Bhaic said plainly. “Harshly so.”

  Marcus wiped blood off his chin with his sleeve. Shamus pegged him with a hard look. “Perhaps I did.”

  Bhaic curled his fingers into a fist.

  “Enough,” Shamus said. “Seems we do nae need the Robertsons to overrun us. All it has taken to set us on our ear is one wee lassie.”

  Everyone suddenly turned to look at her. Shamus followed the direction of the crowd’s attention. He pointed at her.

  “Go on then, see what manner of nursing yer husband needs,” Shamus ordered before looking at Marcus. “And ye sit down and cool yer temper.”

  Helen was suddenly there, with a bowl and a pitcher of water. She pushed Ailis forward, other women from the kitchen arriving. One set a stool down, but Bhaic looked at it with nothing more than a disinterested glance.

  “I do nae need tending.”

  He was glowering down at Ailis, looking as intimidating as she’d always been told he was. Everyone was watching them, seeing if she’d fold beneath his stern glare.

  “The blood wetting yer hair says otherwise. Now sit down before ye and I have to discuss the matter,” Ailis admonished him.

  His eyes lit with enjoyment, a glitter that warned her he was very interested in her attempts to make him bend. She stared straight back at him. He chuckled softly before lowering himself to a stool.

  “Far be it for me to argue about ye wanting to put yer hands on me.”

  Helen grunted and clicked her tongue as she poured the water into the bowl and added a pouch of herbs.

  * * *

  “Ye have an odd way of talking to yer brother.”

  Bhaic started to get up, but Ailis shoved him back down and used her fingers to push his hair back from the cut on his scalp. “Sweet Christ, this needs stitching.”

  Marcus snorted at him, making kissing motions with his lips. Bhaic started to send him an obscene gesture but got distracted by Ailis’s cleavage. She was so busy looking at his head, she hadn’t yet realized his nose was darn near in the valley between her breasts. He slowly grinned and heard his brother snort again.

  “Are ye going to tell me yer brothers are so very different?”

  She was still looking at the cut on his scalp. He was still enjoying the sight of her plump breasts.

  “Well, nae. I suppose ye have a point. Duncan and Bruce are forever at each other’s throats over something or another.”

  She suddenly realized where his attention was. “Bhaic Gordon Matthew MacPherson.”

  “So ye were paying attention during our wedding,” he said smugly.

  “It’s branded into me memory.”

  How could it not be? The thought sobered her, dredging up the dread and uncertainty her wedding had been made of. It certainly had not been a happy moment. By the time she cut the thread on the row of stitches, her mood was gloomy indeed.

  Bhaic stood, looking as though he’d suffered through the stitching only to please her. He was every inch the warrior she’d been raised to fear. Hardened. Savage.

  And ye belong to him…

  They were still the center of attention, with a good number of folks still lingering in doorways and in the yard. Bhaic’s eyes narrowed as he caught her gaze for a moment. Ailis turned, using the excuse of washing her hands. She felt him watching her.

  “I’ll see ye at supper, lass.”

  It was more warning than invitation. She looked up to see him walking away, the longer pleats of his kilt swaying.

  How could it still be before noon? She felt as though the day had been so very much longer.

  * * *

  Her reluctant escort clung to her skirt hem.

  Their patience wore thin as the day went on. Ailis went through the large kitchens, familiarizing herself with how the storerooms were organized and just how the huge number of MacPherson retainers were kept fed.

  Duana wasn’t in a much better mood today. The Head of House was stiff, and a little unwilling to meet Ailis’s direct gaze. But at least her cutting remarks were missing some of their sharpness.

  “Hele
n there can spend time playing nursemaid,” Duana finally said, “since it seems she has a liking for Robertsons.”

  Helen dropped her superior a courtesy, but there was a disapproving set to her lips. Duana ignored it as she went back to supervising the evening meal.

  “I’ll be happy to answer yer questions, mistress.” Helen raised her voice just a bit on the word “mistress.” It sent a ripple through the women working at the long tables and the men set to watching Ailis.

  But a young maid suddenly let out a shriek and dropped a large ceramic pitcher. It smashed into the floor with a loud cracking sound. Cider went splashing over the floor as the girl pointed at Ailis. “She’s wearing a knife, she is. Going to slit our throats with it, no doubt.”

  Ailis looked down at her side, having forgotten about the knife Helen had given her that morning.

  She turned away from the girl but found Finley in her path with his hand out. “Give me the knife.”

  “Sweet Mary and Joseph,” she exclaimed. “As if every woman here does nae have a blade stuck through her garter.”

  “Perhaps so, but they are nae Robertsons.”

  Ailis turned to find Marcus in the doorway, his body blocking out the sun. He surveyed the mess on the floor and grunted before closing the distance between them.

  “Let’s have it, lass.”

  He and Bhaic had a lot in common. It was there in the commanding way they spoke. She tugged the knife free and dropped it on the table instead of his hand. His lips twitched in response.

  “As for that, it’s me brother’s dilemma how to deal with yer nature.”

  She held her chin steady, feeling the weight of everyone watching them. Her pride was chafing.

  “Is this to be the way of it, then?” Ailis gestured toward Finley and Lyel.

  Marcus folded his arms over his chest and spread his feet, making himself look huge and impossible to move. “Aye. I can nae have ye carrying secrets back to yer father and brothers.”

  “I am nae going home.” Even if it was sounding more and more like a necessity.

  Marcus shook his head. “But ye still call it home, now don’t ye, lass?”

  She tried to bring her tone under control. “Surely ye can nae expect me to call MacPherson Castle home when I have been here but a day.”

  “I do nae,” he answered gravely. “Which is why ye’ll be watched.”

  He started to turn his back on her. “Heaven forbid I should feel welcome, like a bride.”

  When he looked back at her, his lips were twisted into what might have been called a grin, but on the War Chief of the MacPherson clan, it looked far more menacing.

  “Ye are exactly that, Mistress Robertson. A bride, no’ a wife. So long as ye leave the matter open for annulment, I will have ye watched. Ye can nae tell me yer brothers would do any less if it were me sister walking freely through Robertson Castle.”

  She wanted to hate him.

  Wanted to curse him.

  But she knew he had a valid point, and no matter now angry or lonely she was, she couldn’t form an argument against it.

  * * *

  “I’m taking a bath, so get ye gone.”

  Finley snorted, but it was Lyel who answered. “We do nae answer to ye.”

  Behind her there was a splash as the last of several buckets was emptied into the tub she’d had brought up the stairs. Two boys hurried out of the room, crossing themselves out of fear.

  Her teeth were ready to break from how hard she was clenching her jaw.

  It wasn’t so much that she needed a bath. What she was needed was a place to hide from the cutting looks and snide comments. For sure, there would be grumbling over her asking to have the tub filled, but she honestly didn’t care anymore. The sun was starting to set, tightening the apprehension that had been brewing in her since Bhaic had issued his command that morning.

  “Here now…” Helen appeared at the top of the steps. Her arms were full of toweling and several bundles. “What are ye two doing inside the mistress’s chambers with her making ready to bathe? Go on, before I set the priest on ye for trying to spy a glance of another man’s wife.”

  She brushed right past them and jerked her head at them. “I told ye…get. And close that door all the way. I’ll tear a strip off yer backs if I hear the hinge creaking.”

  Finley was bending, moving to the other side of the door. “We’ll be right here.” He paused with his hand on the door pull. “And I mean, right here.” He tapped the floor with his foot.

  Helen turned around and sent the door shut with a push from her backside. There was a snort from the other side as it closed.

  “They’re just trying to put ye in yer place…” Helen muttered. “As if either of those great gobs knows a bit about what yer place is.”

  “Well, I would nae want to crush them by telling them that.”

  Helen smiled and offered her a wink. “That’s the way to think about it all. Lord knows ye’ll go daft if ye try to make sense of it.”

  “I’m sure I’m nearly ready for Bedlam now,” Ailis confessed, feeling as tired as she sounded.

  Helen moved over to a long table against one of the walls. She set down her bundles and began opening them. “Aye. I suppose ye are. But it will get easier, when the castle folk get tired of their game. They will.”

  Helen moved over to the hearth and poked at the fire, making sure the two kettles were being heated. When she turned around, she caught Ailis staring at her.

  “Ye’re likely wondering why I’m kind to ye.”

  Ailis shrugged and sat down on a stool to begin taking off her shoes. “In truth, I’m too much of a coward to ask ye, fearing ye’ll realize yer error and turn mean.”

  Helen’s face lit with a smile as laughter spilled out of her. She wasn’t that old. Possibly even the same age as Ailis herself. She had hazel eyes with golden highlights and sable-brown hair. She kept it hidden under a kitchen cap, but wisps of it had escaped to frame her face with tiny ringlets.

  “I was born a Grant.” Helen made her way back to the table and rummaged through the things she’d brought. “Me father had a dispute with some MacPherson retainers. It was sorted out, but they stole me away to make sure me kin would nae retaliate, in the event they were not as satisfied with the settlement as they said they were.”

  “That’s why yer arisaid is no’ a plaid.”

  Helen looked over her shoulder and sent Ailis a satisfied smile. “Indeed. For certain, some will call me stubborn, but I’ll be keeping everyone guessing as to me true thoughts.”

  “Is that why ye called me mistress?”

  Helen shook her head and gave her a disbelieving look. “I called ye what ye are.”

  “Mistress of a castle full of my enemies.”

  Helen sent her a sidelong look. “Ye look fit to take them on. In truth, I believe I am going to enjoy being near ye. It’s been too long since I’ve had a good bit of amusement.”

  Ailis burst out laughing.

  Helen tossed a small cream-colored item up and down as she came back toward Ailis. “Soap. Duana wanted to tell me I could nae have it for ye, but I made sure to ask for it in front of witnesses. For all her spite, she’s not stupid. The young Tanis was fighting for ye today. She’ll no’ risk having him displeased with her over something like a piece of soap.”

  “I suddenly see the merit in this union if there are truly people willing to take spite so far as a lump of soap.”

  “Aye, ’tis a sad state of affairs,” Helen agreed.

  Ailis dropped her shoes and untied her garters. She pushed her stockings down and stood up. Helen helped her untie and unlace until she was in just her skin. One of the kettles started to sputter, the water inside it boiling and sending just enough of it out of the spout to hit the flames.

&
nbsp; Helen went to fetch it. She used her arisaid to protect her hand as she lifted the kettle and brought it over to the tub. The water flowed from the spout in a steaming stream, hissing as it hit the cold water. Helen dunked the empty kettle back into the tub to fill it and set it over the fire. She added the second kettle before using a paddle to stir the water.

  “Come now. We’d best get to it, or we’ll be late to supper table. Yon retainers will likely use any tardiness as an excuse to break down the door.”

  “No doubt,” Ailis agreed.

  Ailis left her hair up, because there wasn’t time to wash it. The hot water had taken the chill off the water in the tub, but it was still only tepid. That didn’t stop her from enjoying it. The soap had lavender oil in it, and she smiled as she rubbed it along her arms and legs.

  A bell started to toll in the distance.

  “Out with ye now. That’s the cook telling everyone she’s beginning to set supper out.”

  Helen had warmed a length of towel in front of the hearth. She wrapped it around Ailis as she stepped out of the tub.

  There was a rap on the door. “Mistress…supper is on the table…”

  Helen smothered a giggle. “Men are simple creatures. They want their hungers satisfied. Remember that, and ye’ll be just fine.”

  She wasn’t likely to forget it.

  “I brought ye a new chemise. I suggest we rinse out yer other one here, for there’s no telling if the laundress will take her spite out on it if we give it to her.”

  “Aye.” Ailis lifted her arms, and Helen helped her into her chemise. It fluttered down her body, but the moment she could see again, she gasped.

  Bhaic was standing inside the open door.

  “Whooo…now that is a fine set of bosoms!” Finley exclaimed.

  “I warned ye.” Helen grabbed the paddle she’d stirred the bath water with and went tearing after Finley.

  Bhaic jumped out of her way as the two retainers stumbled, trying to flee down the stairs.

  “I suppose that’s one way to deal with them,” he said with a chuckle.

  Bhaic kicked the door shut and turned back to face her.

  “Ye might have knocked.” Ailis propped her hands on her hips. “I realize everyone in this castle seems to think they need to know our personal business, but did ye truly need to let that fat, smelly fart see me bare?”