“Is it all like this?” he asked Wallace, thinking that winter could prove to be very harsh if they did not get in some supplies.
“Aye,” replied Wallace as he looked around. “'Tisnae as bad as I thought it would be in truth. Seen it worse. Henry wasnae here much after the spring rains ended, ye ken, for he was off plotting with those others. I think the people here must have used his absence to get some work done. But, Henry did take a lot of men from the fields to train them for his war. He was also fond of large feasts.
He would have his friends round, snatch a few lasses, and do naught but eat, drink, and wench for days.”
“Weel, we shall have to think of some way to build up the supplies or it shall be a dangerously lean winter. Now, do ye think Henry’s guard is still here?”
“Nay, for the gates to the keep are open.”
“It could be a trap,” said Malcolm, and drew his sword, Kenneth and Ruari quickly doing the same. “If Henry’s guard was loyal to him I wouldnae trust them as far as I can spit.”
“They were loyal enough,” said Wallace, “for they got all the food and wenches they wanted when he was here.”
“Wallace, am I going to find a keep full of Henry’s bastards and poor abused lassies who cower at every shadow?” asked Simon.
“I fear there are some bastards. Henry didnae pay much attention unless they were the children of his wives and I fear the poor lassies he bred didnae live long. There are some, as I said, and all are lassies. So ye dinnae need to worry that there will be anyone challenging ye for the laird’s seat.”
“I wasnae worried about that so much as I was worried that Henry didnae take care of the children he bred.”
“He didnae but those ones were luckier than the ones bred under his own roof.”
Simon shook his head as they cautiously rode into the inner bailey. All that waited for them were a few women and children and a half dozen soldiers who showed no sign of attacking them. Simon got the bad feeling that Henry had stripped the place bare in his quest to be a king.
He turned to ask Wallace to introduce him only to see that man leaping from his mount and running toward a slender red-haired girl with a plump baby in her arms. Most of the other men from Lochancorrie were doing the same and the bailey was filled with the glad cries of welcome. Simon experienced a distinct stab of envy.
He dismounted and climbed up the steps to the front door. Turning, with his brothers flanking him, he called for the attention of those gathered in the bailey. The moment they were all looking at him with a mix of anticipation, hope, and resignation, he struggled to think of what he needed to say.
“Your laird, Henry Innes, is dead. He was executed last week for the crime of treason against the crown.” Someone cheered and Simon ignored it. “I am Simon Innes, the new laird of Lochancorrie, and these are my brothers.” He introduced his brothers in order of their age and noticed how the curiosity of the people began to overcome the wariness. “We need to get to work. From what I have seen, we have a lot of hard work ahead of us if we dinnae all want to starve this winter.
“I will take an hour now to clean up and eat and then I want anyone who has something to say to come to me in the great hall. That should also give ye time to tell the others, such as the people in the village. We shall all have to work together if we are to make this place what it was in my grandfather’s time. While I am certain some of the tales of the bounty and beauty of this place at that time are just that–tales–I suspect that with some efforts we can do it or come close. Go and spread the word about the meeting and think of what is important to ye that ye feel must be attended to.”
“Weel, at least they havenae run screaming from the keep at the thought of four Innes men here,” murmured Malcolm.
“They were a wee bit wary to start but I think the return of their men, hale and weel fed, helped ease things,” Simon said as he opened the door to the keep and came face-to-face with a plump woman of about thirty years holding the hand of a pretty dark-haired girl. “May I help ye?”
“Aye, I be Annie. I do most of the ordering of the household. The laird thought this child to be mine.”
“And she isnae?”
“Nay, m’laird, she is yours.”
Simon looked at the little girl again. There was no question she was of Innes blood with her thick black hair and clear gray eyes, but he could see nothing to tell him she was his child. He looked back at Annie. “Are ye certain?”
“She be born of Mary, the laird’s third wife, nine months after ye were beaten nigh unto death. Mary didnae want her"–Annie kissed the child on the cheek–"and we all ken what the laird did to his girl babies, so I took over the whole care of her.”
“But he said he had killed my child.”
“He thought he had. There was another bairn born that night, another wee lass, but I kenned that one wouldnae be living for long. The breathing was all wrong, ye ken, and the skin was yellow. I switched the bairns. When the other poor lass died, I claimed the bairn everyone thought was Mary’s and have raised her. She is yours, laird. Nay question of it.”
He looked at the little girl. “What is your name, loving?”
“Marion.”
“A fine name. Weel, when I have bathed and eaten, ye may sit with me in the hall if ye wish. There is going to be a meeting and we are all going to talk about what needs to be done here to make it a better place.”
“May I think of some things, too, and speak?”
“Aye, ye may. Now, we shall meet in the hall in an hour.” He held out his hand to her. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Marion shook his hand.
Annie suddenly smiled at him, revealing that she had been a very pretty young woman at some time. “Ye will do, laddie. Ye will do.”
“I suppose that was a compliment,” said Kenneth as they all gathered in the laird’s bedchamber while several serving girls ran back and forth with water to help the men bathe.
“I think so,” Simon murmured, and found himself wondering what Ilsabeth would think of his child.
“Do we wish to ken how it is ye had a child with Mary?” asked Malcolm, and there was a thread of anger in his voice.
“In a moment.” Seeing that the tub was full as was the washbasin, he ordered the serving girls away and shut the door behind them. “ ‘Tis a long and sordid tale. I was eighteen and a wee bit naïve when it came to women,” he began, undressing as he spoke.
He had reached the part where he had heard Henry and Mary discussing him as if he were a stud bull and then took off his shirt. The looks of horrified shock on their faces made him wince a little. He had become accustomed to the feel of the scars and Ilsabeth’s acceptance of them had made him forget how they looked.
“Why are ye nay dead?” asked Ruari.
“My foster father said he decided I was too stubborn to succumb to it or the fevers that wracked me for days afterward. This is what I was still all too painfully aware of, despite the fact that it was healed, when I arrived to rescue a bitch who didnae need rescuing.”
“Has Ilsabeth seen those?”
“Aye,” Simon replied with a hint of wariness behind his reply.
“And she stayed. Weel, until ye threw her away.”
Simon gave his youngest brother a scowl and then climbed into the tub. “I believed, and still do, that she deserved better than the brother of a mad-mon and a traitor, or the laird of a keep that will need years of work and a lot of money to see life improve here. Now, let us speak of any ideas ye might have for making this land one that can be lived off, and lived off weel.”
By the time Simon went down to the hall to start the meeting, his mind was swimming with ideas. He took little Marion by the hand and seated her in the chair at his right hand. A grin from Malcolm told him his brother was not insulted, willingly giving up his rightful seat to the little girl. To his amusement he noticed that Marion held a small chalkboard with several things listed on it.
The meeting began cautiously
, all those who had gathered to say their piece doing so with some trepidation. Simon could only imagine how Henry would have taken some farmer or cottager trying to give him a suggestion. As he listened and responded with quiet, thoughtful answers, people began to relax and he knew he was now hearing the true concerns of Lochancorrie’s people. And then Marion raised her hand.
“What is it, loving?” he asked her.
“I think we need to mend the stables and keep them nice and clean so that, if I get a new pony, it will have a nice home.”
Simon noticed that he was not the only one who had to bite back a laugh over that very clever way of asking for a pony. “Ye need a pony, do ye?” He frowned when her bottom lip wobbled in a way he recognized from Elen.
“I had a pony but the laird saw me playing with it and he hit it because it wouldnae let him near and that made him mad and he decided he needed meat for the table and he killed my pony and had Cook make a stew and he made me eat some.”
Simon pulled her into his arms and sat her on his lap, rubbing her back as she sniffled into his shirt. “Then we shall fix the stables and get a pony. Now, dinnae we need a fine place for our horses, too?” He felt her nod against his chest. “It was a fine suggestion. I can see that Malcolm has already added it to his list of what must be done.”
She leaned back and looked at him as she wiped her tears away on her sleeve. “I have another one.”
Simon was terrified to ask what it was, but he forced himself to smile. “Tell us then.” He was a little startled when she gave him what he could only describe as a mean look. “Marion?”
“I want a rule saying that men cannae hit ladies and make them cry.”
“Done,” said Malcolm before Simon could find the words to answer what was yet another horrifying insight to the life this child had led.
It was late before everyone left and Malcolm had several sheets of suggestions before him. Simon sipped at his ale and stared around the great hall. There was little left of the grandeur that had once existed. Between his father and Henry, it had been stripped of all its fine tapestries and carpets as well as many of the old weapons.
“When Marion said that about her pony,” began Ruari, and then he just shook his head. “I think we will be hearing of our brother’s cruelty for a long time.”
“ ‘Tis astonishing that she is still such a sweet lass.” Malcolm suddenly grinned. “Weel, maybe nay so sweet for that was one mean look she gave ye when she wanted that rule about hitting ladies.”
“Aye, it was. Reminded me of the one wee Elen gets on her angelic wee face when she is ready to bellow in temper.”
He suddenly heard that last bellow, the one that had echoed in the dungeons. There had been more than anger in that sound. There had been a lot of hurt.
“Ye, brother, are an idiot,” said Ruari.
“Why do ye keep prying at me about it?” snapped Simon. “Look at this place. We will be lucky to find clean linen and a blanket for the nights when it is cold.”
“That isnae why ye walked away. Ye think ye might go mad like Henry.”
“And what is wrong with worrying about that?”
“Because he is the only one who went mad. Nay, he was born mad. I am not, neither are Malcolm or
Kenneth. Neither are ye. Father was a brutal bastard but he wasnae mad. It doesnae always run in the blood. I think sometimes it is something wrong in the head. It was there in Henry from the moment he first opened his eyes. We all ken the tale of how he butchered a poor cat when he was but four years old. That isnae right. Henry was ne’er right.”
Simon rubbed at his temples. “I ken it, yet, how can one be certain that fault willnae show up again? In a child? In a grandchild?”
“Ye cannae. Just as ye cannae be sure a child ye breed doesnae come out with its breathing wrong and all yellow, barely living long enough to cry the once to say it is alive.”
That made so much sense that Simon felt like punching his youngest brother in the mouth. As the days had passed, filled with dealing with Henry’s trial and execution, and then the ride to Lochancorrie, Simon had mulled over the matter of Henry’s madness so often that he had wondered if he could go mad just from thinking about it so much. He had begun to waver in his fear. It was strong one day, such as when he heard Marion’s story of her ill-fated pony, and then it would fade and he would feel a fool for allowing that fear to rule him.
He was afraid that he would let his need for Ilsabeth make him cast aside all good sense and just reach out for her. He would wake up in the night and reach for her, then groan from the weight of the loss when he found his bed empty. Simon was beginning to think he should have heeded Morainn’s words more carefully, however. He had made the painful choice and it certainly felt as if it was the wrong one.
“I will take some time to work on bettering this place and promise to think on the matter,” he finally said, as much to himself as to his brothers.
“Weel, dinnae ponder it too long. A lass like that doesnae need to sit about waiting for a fool.”
Ilsabeth wiped the sweat from her brow and looked about the bedchamber with a sense of satisfaction. It was finally clean. The soldiers had been swine in their habits and she wondered if she was insulting the swine. Everyone was working day and night to clean up Aigballa. The only good news was that the men had not stolen anything. They had the coin to make up for the loss in supplies and some of the linens and things that would never be good for anything but rags now.
She flopped down on the clean bed and breathed in the crisp scent of clean linen. As always, the moment she stopped working, her thoughts went to Simon. It had been almost two months since she had seen him and there had not been any word from him either. Ilsabeth knew she had to accept the fact that he had left her.
Placing a hand over her still flat belly, she grimaced. Her mother was too busy to notice yet, but Ilsabeth was sure that soon her mother would know that her daughter was with child. The problem she faced now was whether she should tell Simon.
And just how did one do that? she wondered. Send a polite letter? Send her brothers to beat him into the mud and then, while he lay there bleeding and groaning, congratulate him on his upcoming fatherhood? Maybe she should just wait until her belly was huge and then ride out to Lochancorrie. That might be entertaining if only to see his face when he caught sight of her belly.
“Moping again?” asked her sister Finella as she walked in and sat on the bed by Ilsabeth’s feet.
“I am nay moping,” protested Ilsabeth.
“Oh, aye, ye are, Two.”
“Ilsabeth,” she said through tightly gritted teeth. “I was but thinking for a wee while ere I go and start to clean another room.”
“Ye shouldnae do so much heavy work.”
“Why not?” Ilsabeth slowly sat up and eyed her sister with a touch of apprehension.
“Ye could hurt the bairn.” Finella grinned.
“There is no bairn. Ye are just imagining things.”
Finella made a rude noise that would have gotten her soundly rebuked if their mother had been near. “Ye are with bairn. I cannae say how I ken it, but I do. I can see it in women who have only that night conceived. Ye are going to have to tell Maman and Papa soon.”
“Why, are they planning to conceive tonight?” She grinned when Finella blushed for, at sixteen, she still refused to accept that their parents made love.
“Ilsabeth, it was Simon Innes, wasnae it?”
She sighed and flopped back down on the bed. “Aye. I love him although I am trying verra hard to make that I loved him.”
“But, if he wished to bed ye, why didnae he ask ye to marry him?”
“I think it was because his brother was utterly mad, viciously mad, and now he fears that will happen to him. He always said it wasnae something one could catch and he didnae believe it could run in the blood, nay for all madness leastwise, but then he watched Henry rant and rave and a fear set in his heart.”
“Oh, and he feared he
would go mad and didnae want ye to be with him when he did.”
“That is what I think and, if I am right, there is naught I can do. The cure for that fear must come from him.”
“Elen still misses him. So does Reid, I think, but he is already such a little mon, he hides it.”
Ilsabeth nodded. She had seen Reid up on the walls at times, just staring out into the distance. She knew he was hoping to see Simon ride up. What Reid did not know was that, if that happened now after two months with no word, she would have the doors locked against him. A simple change of his mind was not enough to make up for the pain he had caused her and the utter silence she had endured for two months.
“Ah, there are my girls,” said Elspeth as she hurried into the room with some flowers in a jug. “Something to sweeten the air.”
“But, it doesnae need sweetening. I just cleaned in here,” protested Ilsabeth.
“Aye, but it takes a wee bit more to fully get rid of the scent of a woman getting sick every morning.”
It took Ilsabeth a full minute to understand what her mother had just said. “Oh, bollocks.” She was certain she heard her mother laugh, but the face the woman turned toward her was an utterly serious one. “It was something I ate.” She frowned in confusion. Had her mother just said lucky Simon?
Elspeth sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Ilsabeth’s tangled hair. “Ye need to cease working so hard. Whate’er else happens or is said, there is one thing that must concern ye above all others–the health of the bairn ye carry. It was Simon Innes, wasnae it?”
“Aye.” There was no point in lying to her mother. “I love him. He might love me, but he fears he will go raving mad just like his brother.”
“Are ye sure he is the one?”
“I was sure the moment I saw him and felt the fire in my blood. He was trying to brush cat hair off himself. He has a cat he hasnae named yet. A stray he fed who refuses to leave the house. I thought that was a good sign although a better one would be if he named the poor beastie. He also had no trouble taking in Elen and Reid.
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