by Reece Butler
Ewan nodded solemnly with an “agree with the ogre” expression. “Aye, and ’tis looking like ye’ll be trounced once more. Mayhaps ye might have yer lady wear sommat to cover herself so ye can think.”
Meg kept her lips shut, but he saw that smug look of satisfaction. He’d have to spank her for it later that night. One advantage of being laird was that he was usually right. Even when he was wrong.
“Do ye need me for sommat, Ewan?”
“I kenned we’ll be havin’ visitors.”
His heart jumped. He braced himself. All thought of punishing Meg vanished. He needed to protect her. His usual sense of dread had intensified now he had more to lose.
“Who, why, and when?”
“Nay danger, laird. ’Tis the herald and a few more, from the village, mostly.”
It relieved his sense of urgency but not his curiosity. Why would the herald come here now, and why would villagers arrive with him?
“How can you tell who is coming?” asked Meg.
She’d turned her chair to face Ewan. He scratched the back of his neck, ducking his head. Did Seeing hurt, or was he avoiding looking at Meg? Fearchar leaped off Meg’s lap and trotted over. Ewan’s face cleared of his usual melancholy as he picked up the kitten and cuddled it to his throat.
He’d thought his brother was only affected by strangers being near. As far as he knew none of them had asked Ewan about his Sight, thinking he’d not want to speak of it. As laird he’d had too much else to think on, such as keeping his brothers alive.
“Everything alive has a spark,” explained Ewan. “This wee beastie as well,” he said. A purr, far larger than the kitten should have been able to make, rumbled. “Most who walk on two legs have colors. The herald’s spark burns bright. Yers, my lady, is gold, like yer hair. Somerled and Niall be red, mostly.”
“Does a person’s spark ever change color?”
He nodded. “The laird, he were darker afore ye came. Niall a wee bit also.”
“Is that a good thing, to be lighter?”
“We’re all better with ye here, Lady Meg. And ye have changed since I first saw ye enter MacDougal land. Ye feel like ye belong, aye?”
Her smile lit up the room. Somerled rubbed his chest with his knuckles. He did that a lot when Meg was near. Just the left side.
“Aye, I do. Thank you for telling me of this.”
“Dinna take yer spark fer granted, my lady. It could be snuffed in an instant, like a candle.”
Somerled would have to think on this later. Ewan had said more since Meg arrived than he had in all the years before. He was learning a lot from Meg, not all of it in his favor. Her skill with chess was a surprise. He did not like losing, to anyone.
“I’d best get ready to greet our visitors,” she said.
“There’s nay much to do, Lady Meg. The lads from the village will be comin’ in, but they willna expect much.”
“’Tis near the nooning. I will add more brose to the rabbit pottage and get more ale from the cellars.”
“Ye ken why the herald is here?” asked Somerled.
“After he brought Meg he went to get her widow’s portion. He’s back with it.”
Meg, about to get up, fell back in her chair. “I have a widow’s portion?”
He hadn’t asked Meg about her husband once he realized how miserable she had been. Perhaps that was a mistake.
“Afore he left, Herald Cam said yer first husband wasna pleased with his heir,” said Ewan. “He must leave his nephew the castle and gold but he wished sommat to go to his wife. Not fer yer sake, mind, but to spite the nephew. ’Tis like yer dowry.”
Her eyes widened. “My dowry?”
“Aye, sommat to bring to this marriage. The herald looked, but ye were the only wife he could find, so it comes to ye. And us.”
Meg sat forward, dropping her red face. She twitched and glanced at Somerled, then down again. He shifted in his chair. Something was not right. When a laird died without issue his wife received naught unless a will stated otherwise. It didn’t sound like her husband wished to reward her on his death. Was it the reminder of him that bothered Meg, or something else?
“Do ye ken what he’s bringing?” asked Somerled.
“Nay. I see sparks of life, not things.”
Meg fiddled with the bishop she’d taken from him a few moves back. It was a good size to fit in a man’s hand, and to throw. Dents showed it had been tossed in frustration more than a few times.
“Do ye ken what it might be?” he asked Meg.
Her color darkened. Her fist tightened around the bishop. Would she throw it? He almost wished she would, to break the tension.
“My husband had many nice things, not that I touched any of them,” she said to the table. “Whatever Herald Cam brings will help. We have so little here.”
“We have what we need,” he said in a low growl.
“Aye, of course. ’Twas not meant as a complaint,” replied Meg quickly.
He wished he could give nice things to Meg, but it was more important to rethatch village roofs and buy more sheep, pigs, cattle, and chickens. She’d been so delighted when he said she could pick out a kitten. She’d said it was her first true gift, given to her alone. It made him realize his brothers hadn’t received gifts either, unless you counted the sacrifices they’d made to keep one another alive.
“Ye willna be able to say that once the lads unload,” replied Ewan.
“Unload?” asked Meg, looking up. “How much did Cam bring?”
“I saw a cart.”
“A cart? That much?” Meg jumped to her feet. She pressed her hands together, almost like in prayer. “Oh, I do hope there’s a carpet for our chamber. The stone is cold on my feet now, so ’twill only be worse come winter.” She bit her lip. “Nay, ’tis selfish of me to think that. ’Twould be better that the brothers have pallets to sleep on. And candles, or even rushes that dinna smoke so much. Stools would be good.” She fell silent.
Somerled held back his anger. He wanted to provide for his wife himself. He did not want her to be made happy from an old man who’d treated her badly. But Ewan was right. He’d think of it as Meg’s dowry. Only instead of it coming from her Stewart father, it was from her husband. A husband he’d not asked about as memories of the man upset Meg. She’d told Niall she’d been married within her father’s clan. So they were getting a few things from Clan Stewart. It was a wealthy clan. He should not look a gift horse in the mouth, checking the teeth and complaining the beast was too old.
“It will have been a job to bring a cart from Stewart of Appin’s land. They’d have to cross the Falls of Lora, and the spring tides have the river running high.”
“I dinna ken that, laird. But Niall is riding ahead with the herald,” said Ewan. “Duncan, Finn, and Torquil are helping with the goods. The villagers will unload and carry it all in.”
“They’ll be eager to see what is there, no doubt,” said Meg with a wary smile.
Somerled stood. “I’d best meet them.”
“If ye hie yerself to the wall walk, laird, ye’ll see ’em with the spyglass if ye look southwest.”
He stopped in mid-step. “Southwest? They didna cross at Connel Falls?”
“They’re past the village,” replied Ewan blandly.
“Excuse me, my lady,” said Somerled. “Duty calls.” He glanced at the chessmen. Anyone who knew the game, which included the herald, would know someone was being trounced.
Meg set her hands on the table to stand. Her arm knocked the chessmen aside. Some fell on the floor, bouncing and rolling.
“Oh dear, how clumsy of me. We shall have to start our game over.” She shrugged as if it were an accident.
“Thank ye, wife,” he murmured, “but yer trick with our wee game willna get ye out of that spanking one of these nights.”
“’Twas just my clumsiness.”
“Aye, and I thank ye for it. But I ken what ye did to win, as well. We’ll discuss that later.” He liked that
she turned pink at the promised threat.
Ewan ignored them, looking around. “They’ll carry it all in here. ’Twould be out of the rain, and ye could sort as ye wished.”
Somerled ran up the stairs to the wall walk. He would put his thoughts of Meg’s first husband aside. She was his Meg now, always thinking of him and what was best for the clan. He would have left the chess pieces as they were, but she wished to have him look his best. She was a MacDougal now, through and through. He picked up the spyglass.
“What have the Stewarts gifted us with?”
* * * *
Meg tidied herself as best as she could with shaking hands. Somerled would soon know she’d married a Campbell. The promised erotic spanking would not happen. She hoped it would not be a beating instead. She would survive it, as she had far worse. She made her way out of Duncladach, head high to welcome Herald Cam as Lady MacDougal. Her stately approach ended when she saw a familiar face.
“Aggie!”
She picked up her skirts and raced toward the woman who’d kept her sane while under Edgar’s rule. So many nights she’d sat on her pallet in the cold and dark, rocking to comfort herself, arms clenched over her empty belly. Even when they dined Edgar often punished her by putting nothing on her trencher. Or he’d leave Duntrune without instructing the servants to feed her. None would even empty her chamber pot unless Edgar said she was to be seen to. Small, petty things that, over time, dragged her down.
Aggie didn’t like Edgar. When she came in to silently remove the fine clothes and jewels Edgar insisted she wear in his presence she would often slip Meg a small piece of cheese or the like. It would be something easily eaten without needing ale to wash it down, or leaving crumbs to be found. Meg knew the woman would be beaten if she spoke so she showed her thanks with her eyes.
And then Edgar had a bout of apoplexy. He was confined to bed, unable to speak clearly. He made garbled sentences while his eyes spewed hate at her. As his loving wife, Lady Margaret was the one who interpreted his mumblings to the servants. Though all could see his rage when she said something other than what he wished, they had to comply.
The first thing she did was raise Aggie to the role of housekeeper. At the time they’d not known how long Edgar would live. A few months later she’d given permission for Aggie to marry Alf, a quiet older man whose legs didn’t work well. He could, however, carve beautiful things and build anything you could think of. He was a Maclean from the isle of Jura rather than a Campbell, which should make him acceptable to Somerled.
The last few years of Edgar’s existence had been almost enjoyable. He stayed in his chambers, carried from bed to a well-padded chair. Strapped upright, he could look out over the sea, which calmed him. The end was swift, and unexpected. All saw Lady Margaret’s true grief. Not because she cared for him but because she’d lost her home and a life she could easily tolerate. After having the power to make decisions it was even worse to return to her brutal father.
But now she was Lady MacDougal of Duncladach. While she had to obey Somerled he did listen to her. Or had. It would likely change now. At least she had a female friend in Aggie, one to chat with while they did the never-ending chores.
“I am that pleased to see you!” called Meg as she neared. “I never thought I’d see you again!” She hugged her, bringing her mouth close to Aggie’s ear. “Did the herald say you canna speak Edgar’s name, or that of his castle?” she whispered.
“Aye, and that ye be Lady Meg. I willna betray ye. We be that pleased to escape John Campbell and those at Duntrune. There’s Alf, driving the first cart.”
She smiled and waved to Alf, who nodded solemnly back. She couldn’t believe it. The carts had been altered so their sides reached out and up to hold far more. She recognized an upside-down carpet tied over the top of one. She hugged herself in pleasure. It was old but far better than a bare floor. What other treasures were in the wagons?
Finn waved as he drove past, following Alf. Dougal was behind him, and then Torquil.
“How did this all happen?” asked Meg, shaking her head in awe at the loaded wagons.
“My lady, yer herald came afore the new laird could take a thing from ye. He said ye had little so we was to take as much as we could. The sheriff said four carts was in the laird’s will, but naught was said of their size. So Alf made the sides high and wide using that fine paneling Laird Edgar bought for the hall. The herald said ye had a need for sommat to keep out the drafts, aye?”
“Oh, aye! This is wondrous!”
Meg, almost dancing in delight, followed the carts with Aggie and a few of the villagers. The men were solemn, but the women smiled eagerly. They caught up as the carts were pulled as close to the castle as possible. The village men bustled and ordered one another around as if they carried treasures every day.
The three MacDougals climbed down. They towered over Alf but followed his directions.
“Will yer laird let me and Alf stay?” asked Aggie, frowning. “I wouldna wish to make him fashed with ye. These MacDougals be so big if one hit ye he’d break yer rib, or worse.”
“See the one with Herald Cam?” She pointed to Niall. “’Tis my laird husband’s twin. Big, aye, but they are good men and willna hit a woman.”
Aggie didn’t believe her, of course. Like the rest of the servants she’d been beaten for failing at small tasks. Edgar kept a pair of bully boys just for that purpose as he liked to watch. Meg had to make Aggie see it wasn’t the same at Duncladach. Yet she still didn’t quite trust she’d be safe alone with Somerled if he raged at her.
Aggie wrung her hands. “They be giants, my lady. They’d kill ye with one blow!”
A roar made them both jump. Dougal wrestled with Finn, both of them snarling. This time Dougal flipped Finn onto his back. He stuck his foot on his chest, putting enough weight on it so Finn couldn’t escape. When Finn finally slapped his palm on the ground in surrender Dougal reached out a hand to help him up. Finn did something and Dougal landed on his back. The village men snickered at Dougal’s stunned expression. Then Dougal joined in the laughter, rolled to his feet and grinned at Finn. He said something Meg didn’t hear, which made those watching laugh even harder.
“They fight, and laugh?” asked Aggie, staring.
“Aye. They are true kin and care for one another, but they be always wishing to see who is best. They must go to the bailey, or outside the walls, to wrestle.”
“’Tis as if they were lads, but so big.”
“I have a secret for you.” Meg leaned closer to Aggie’s ear. “Somerled will roar like a bear getting stung as he climbs down a bee tree with honey all over his mouth. You’d think the man was a berserker, so loud he can be. But the other morn I saw the mighty Laird Somerled MacDougal on his hands and knees with a bit of string. He was playing with Fearchar, my wee, fierce kitten. And he may have even chuckled.”
Aggie blinked. “He allows ye a kitten?”
“More than allows, Aggie. He promised to get me a kitten, and he keeps his promises. So, though he’d not been past the stables in years for fear of attack, he brought me to the village to pick out Fearchar.”
“Nay!” Aggie’s face lit up.
“Aye. He will roar and bluster, and will quickly slice into any enemy with his claymore, dirk, or bare hands, but he is a good laird, and fair.”
“Does he care for ye?” When Meg didn’t answer Aggie gave her a pointed look. “Sommat is wrong atween ye?”
“The herald said I must let him think I am a Stewart, like my mother. I dinna ken what he will do when he kens I married a Campbell.” She waved her hand at the carts. “And that all this has come from his enemy.”
“Yer marriage was nay yer choice. But what of yer da? If yer laird finds that out…”
Meg shook her head. “I canna think on that. It fears me too much. He willna beat a woman, but as ye ken, there’s a lot else that can be done without a touch.”
“Aye, I remember.” Aggie put her arm around Meg. She squeezed
, just enough. “Alf and me are yers, Lady Meg. We will stand for ye, no matter what.”
“Thank you.” Meg didn’t know what they could do, but if the worst happened, anything would help. She steered Aggie toward Duncladach, eager to change the subject. “What wondrous things have you brought that will make Laird John tremble with rage at losing?”
“Well, we couldna take the jewels, but thought ye wouldna wish them.”
Meg shuddered, remembering their cold beauty. “Edgar used them like chains around my neck and wrists.”
“The herald said we had to take a few things he found. Tapestries and…paintings.”
Meg stopped, confused at Aggie’s agitation. “Why would I wish paintings of Edgar’s clan, unless ’tis so Somerled can slash them with his claymore?” She took Aggie’s arm. “He will enjoy that.”
“Nay, my lady. Paintings of the clan what built Duntrune.” She dug her toes into the dirt. “The herald found them in the attics. He said we must bring them back to Duncladach. Where they belong.”
“Where they belong?” Dread chilled Meg’s belly.
“Duntrune Castle was built by Clan MacDougal. It were given to the Campbells as a reward from a king long ago. Herald Cam said yer laird and clan would be pleased to gain back some of what was lost to them.”
Meg shook her head. “Nay. It canna be so.”
“Aye, ’tis the truth.”
“But…” An icy hand clenched her heart. She shook her head in horror. “When Somerled sees them he’ll ken I married a Campbell.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Something’s wrong with Meg,” said Niall to Herald Cam. “She was happy to see that woman. Now she looks terrified.”
“Aggie will have told her of the paintings we brought. She kens Somerled will roar in fury when he sees what they are and kens where they came from.” Cam’s face hardened. “Or mayhaps he’ll do more than roar at Lady Meg.”
Niall’s sense of dread deepened. He stepped deeper into the stable so none would see them. “Why? What is in these paintings?” he asked quietly.
Cam tied his horse. He set his feet and turned. “You still dinna ken who your wife was forced to marry the first time?”