"Nay, do no' hurry. I will come to the hall after I see... Dougal."
"Very well, Robert. I will have something ready for you at the high table."
"I would rather eat in the kitchen... if ye dinna mind?"
"I will have it ready in the kitchen, then." She nodded to him again without meeting his eyes.
Realizing that she didn't mean to move from her spot, he walked past her back towards the tower steps. He slowed his pace on those steps, dreading what was to come now. If he was lucky, Dougal would not wake while he was there.
* ~ * ~ *
She walked to the next room and sank onto a small bench, her legs turned to jelly. The babe started his kicking and marauding in her belly, so she put her hand on top of the motion and waited for it to pass. Leaning her head back, she rested it on the cold wall and closed her eyes.
How did she think she would ever be able to work next to this man? At least she knew those in the clan already; she had done most of her growing up here with them. Struan, Calum, Brodie. Even the younger ones didn't bother her so much anymore. But this man?
She saw his form from where she sat by the hearth in the great hall long before she could make out any details. Tall, muscular, flowing wild black hair. The rest of him was finely formed, the arms and legs of a warrior, not a steward. He was built as Alex MacKendimen had been built—strong muscles, long legs, but not as big and bulky as Brodie.
But his eyes! When Struan called her over closer, his eyes drew her attention even before his form. They were like the eyes of a great hunting cat—slanted at the corners, but an icy blue color, when she would have expected green or even yellow. And they sparkled every time he stumbled over her name.
My... Anice.
Shivers pulsed through her at the warmth in those eyes and deep voice as her name became almost a possession when he said it.
And his sharp glance missed nothing as it took in everything, everyone in the room. She was certain she saw pity in his eyes as he looked at her.
One day, not long ago, she would have enjoyed meeting someone like this, someone from another place, like she was. Someone to talk with and enjoy. But her husband had ruined that for her in one short night and the days and weeks that followed. Now, even the thought of being near the newcomer made her heart race—out of fear, not excitement. Her duties, such as they were, revolved around this man. Mayhap once she started helping him in his duties, she would lose some of the fear.
The babe quieted in her belly and she pushed off the wall and back onto her feet. She would meet him in the kitchen after he visited with his father. Poor man, returning under such sad circumstances. Walking to the hall, she made her way slowly down the steps to the main floor. She would see to his comfort as her last official duty before Struan made his announcement at supper.
What would happen to her without her work to keep her going? Days and days of endless worrying? Worrying about the babe? About whether and when Sandy would decide to come home again? She could not spend the remaining weeks of her pregnancy that way. She must find something to do, to keep her mind from being overrun with fear. Something.
Chapter 5
The seer was on her way back to her cottage when the call came. It chilled her even more than the biting winter winds that swirled around her. She quickened her step; the pull on her strengthened and tugged her homeward.
Entering her home, she went without delay to the hearth and knelt in front of it. The flames grew and became tongues of many colors. She closed her eyes and cleared her mind of distractions, waiting for the wisdom that the Fates had called her to receive. She opened her eyes and gazed at the wild flames.
Scenes appeared before her—two women screaming in childbirth, one dark, one fiery. A man screaming in death— his life's blood pouring from many wounds. Another sinking peacefully into death's grip. Fear. Terror. Pain ripped through her body, in her belly, between her legs, blood everywhere. An old woman in her stead. A babe, twa, no, four babes? A bairn's peaceful sigh, sucking at his mother's breast. Quiet.
Finally, the vision faded in her mind. The pain and fear disappeared and understanding took root. She sat back and pondered what she had seen and her role in it.
She had plans to make before the things she'd seen were upon her. The Fates were calling her once again into the fray of the clan and she had no choice but to obey. She offered up a prayer that all would end well, but she knew that some would live and some die.
'Twas always the way of it.
Chapter 6
The door was open. He could see no one inside the room except for the figure on the bed. Robert stepped in and drew a breath at the sight of the ailing man. He walked the few paces to the bed and stared at the man who had once been his father.
Dougal's withering body lay unmoving on the small bed. Well, he did not move other than the shallow, barely noticeable breaths that raised and lowered his emaciated chest. Robert could not believe that this was the same person who had cared for him. Dougal's face already had death's mark on it—the bones of his skull showed clearly, his skin shrunken and drying.
He thought that eight years had prepared him for this but when he tried to speak, he found his words stuck in his throat. He mouthed the word but could not say it. Tears filled his eyes at the memory of the good times... and the bad, with this man. In the end, it was just a hoarse whisper that no one could have heard.
"Da?"
Dougal gave no sign that he had heard the word, the voice, the plea. Of course, Robert thought, he was too near to death for this to make any difference. He turned and left the room, not certain of how he felt or what he thought about Dougal. He only knew that his heart was not so hardened and unmoved as he'd thought, as he'd sworn, as he'd planned it would be.
If he had looked back and watched closely, Robert would have seen the reaction. Dougal's eye opened, his lips moved, and his throat tried to force words out. But, Robert had not glanced back.
* ~ * ~ *
As he scanned the crowded hall, Robert recognized many faces from his wee years in the village and the keep. He nodded to them as his gaze and theirs met. His plan was to visit the village tomorrow to renew acquaintances and view the upkeep of the people.
They waited now for Anice's appearance at table. Struan did not look pleased at this small defiance shown by his son's wife.
And where was his half-brother? Robert remembered Duncan returning to Dunbarton, after attending the wedding here this past autumn, without the usual stories of wedding foolery. It must have been a subdued ceremony, for Duncan had seemed hesitant to talk about it at all. At first, Robert thought it was because Duncan knew the uncomfortable truth about him. But later, it was clear that something had happened and no one talked about it.
When Anice entered from the side door and made her way to the dais, he heard Struan's loud sigh. Anice obviously wished to avoid this meal with him and he wondered why. He pulled back the chair next to his and rose to greet her.
"We were waiting on ye, lass, as I said we would." Struan's voice was gentle but his reprimand was clear.
"I beg your pardon, Laird"—she nodded at Struan and then looked at him—"and Robert. I was detained above-stairs." Her face flushed with the lie she told.
Robert held his laughter as Struan cursed under his breath, something about women and stubbornness. Anice sat and placed a linen napkin on her nearly nonexistent lap. He reached out and filled the wooden platter they would share— a few slices of mutton, a leg and breast of capon. As he reached for more, she spoke to him.
"Robert, please serve yourself."
"Are ye no' eating?" He looked at the bare spot in front of her. Only a goblet of cider sat waiting for her.
"I have eaten already."
Struan slammed down his mug of ale, splashing it onto the embroidered table linen. "Anice, I told ye to join me at table."
"And I am here, Laird. I was hungry earlier than my norm and thought I should eat to appease the babe." Robert watched as
her hand moved to her belly in that unconscious touch of breeding women.
Struan's face softened at the mention of the babe. Anice was good, very good, at making Struan dance to her tune. Robert watched with interest as she proceeded to turn the subject and the tone of the conversation. Now was as good a time as any to ask about the father of the babe under discussion.
"Tell me, Anice, when will yer husband return? Will he be here for the birth of the babe?"
He was not prepared for the response to his question. He swore every drop of her blood drained from her face in a brief moment, leaving her complexion a ghastly gray. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her back went rigid and her eyes glazed over, seeing nothing. Then she slumped forward, missing the table only because of his quick intervention.
Within seconds, the high table was the scene of quite a commotion—servants clearing a path, Anice's maid barging her way through to be near her lady, the laird of the clan bellowing orders. He sat, holding the wee lass in his arms while they argued around him.
"Firtha," Struan called out, "she's done it yet again. Robert, dinna fear. 'Tis just the breeding that does this to her. It will pass quickly."
"Aye, Struan, I can see she's passed out yet again." The maid shook her head over the sight of the unconscious girl. She began calling out her own orders to those nearby. "Jean, haes Moira left for the village? Get some cool water and cloths and..."
She broke off her words when Robert finally took action on his own. He stood, gained a better hold on the lass, and carried her from the table. It seemed the logical thing to do. The lass needed to be made comfortable in her bed to recover from this spell. Although Struan tried to blame this "spell" on the breeding, Robert knew the real reason. The mention of her husband and the question of his return sent her spinning into a faint.
Fear.
He had glimpsed sheer terror on her face for but a moment before her entire being froze. An unprotected second that showed him clearly there was more going on here than just a hard breeding.
He walked through the hall, holding her securely in his arms. Even at this stage in her pregnancy, she weighed no more than a child herself. He took the steps without strain and stopped on the third level. He had gone to her room today to thank her for the food he'd found waiting in the kitchens and the clothes he'd found lying on his bed in his room. She was one step ahead of him all day and had not been in the room, but he knew now which one was hers.
As he stepped toward the door, her maid pushed around him and opened it. She guided his steps to the bed and helped him ease Anice onto it. Another young woman followed a few steps behind with fresh water and some cloths. He stepped away from the women and walked to the door.
"Thank ye for aiding my lady, sir. We will take care of her now." The tall woman nodded at him, dismissing him.
"Does this happen often?" he asked, looking straight in the maid's eyes. He waited for a lie.
"Aye, it does more now than before. 'Twas one of the reasons Struan sought ye out at Dunbarton."
"Ye seem to ken much about what happens here."
Servants usually did. Ada could tell him more about the goings-on at Dunbarton than any of the family. And tell him faster and more accurately. Mayhap this woman could tell him more.
"I take care of my lady, sir. Nothing else matters to me but her well-being." Firtha stood straight and tall, making her point and her role here very clear.
"Is that well-being in danger?" Robert persisted.
The two women leaning over the bed startled, just a bit, but enough that he saw it. They exchanged a glance before both looked at him.
"Struan awaits ye in the hall. Ye should join him there... now." Firtha was ordering him from the room.
Making enemies in this room would gain him nothing in his time here. Strategic retreat was the best course and he made one. Nodding at the women, he turned to leave.
"If there is anything that she needs, will ye call on me?"
He meant it as he said the words. If the lass needed protecting, he would see to it. Her struggle here had touched another part of the heart he'd thought was long dead. If his half-brother didn't have enough sense to be here with his wife and see her through this, well, Robert felt the bond of kinship for her. He would help if he could.
Firtha nodded and then turned back to care for the woman who was dwarfed by the size of the bed. He followed the path back to the hall and Struan... and more of the riddle.
* ~ * ~ *
"Well, is she resting?" Struan asked as Robert took his seat again at the table.
"Aye." He nodded as servants placed hot food before him. "Her women are taking care of her now."
Reaching to take a piece of the savory-smelling capon, he looked directly at Struan. "Does this happen often to the lass?"
"More lately than afore. I fear there are problems with her breeding." Struan broke off a chunk of bread and dipped it into the pool of juices on his trencher. "That is one of the reasons I called ye back to Dunnedin."
"There are more?" Robert waited to see what the laird was willing to reveal.
"I thought ye would want to see yer father afore he passed on, of course. And, the clan will need a new steward. I thought ye might be the one for it."
Robert had wanted to know and now he did. Struan had no intention of claiming him, of acknowledging his rightful place in the clan. He was willing to use him for the good of the clan but would not give him a place within it.
Eight years and no contact should have been enough to wash his heart clean of any longing for being accepted. Eight years of making his own way, of finding his own supporters and family of a kind. Eight years.
But, somehow, just word from the clan had rekindled the longing he'd thought was dead. The sight of Dunnedin had continued undoing his resolve to expect nothing. And hearing the familiar voices and noises of the village and the keep awakened the desire to be part of the clan where he'd been born and raised.
For naught.
Struan would play out the game forever, never admitting his mistakes, never paying for them. He shook his head.
Well, if there was one thing he'd never been called, it was stupid. He would not start now. Tamping down the feelings that struggled to rise to the surface, he shook his head again— this time in refusal. He wanted it all or nothing.
"Nay. Ye will no' be the steward of the clan as yer faither was afore ye?"
Struan's face never flinched, his eyes never narrowed. There was nothing in his expression or voice that would have told another of his cold-hearted deception. But Robert knew, and he pressed the point.
"Is that all yer offering me, Struan?" He waited and watched closely. The answer given now was just as important as the one denied eight years ago.
"That is all I have to offer ye, lad. Will ye stay on as steward?"
Robert kept his expression blank and pulled his emotions under a tighter control. No one would see his longing and his bitter disappointment. He would serve out his last duty to the clan MacKendimen and go back to those who offered him more. Make a life for himself there, since none would exist here.
"Nay, Laird, I canna stay here. I have a place waiting for me at Dunbarton with Duncan."
"And ye would refuse yer own clan?"
"My own clan? I have no clan of my own. My faither was a distant cousin whose family was taken in by the MacKendimens, but he was never welcomed as a part of it."
"Robert, ye are putting too fine a point on it. This is yer home."
"Nay, this is where I was born. My home now lies wi'in Dunbarton, my future with the MacKillops."
"That is yer decision?" Struan asked once more.
"That is the only decision I can make." Robert stood, wiping his hands on a napkin, hungry no more. "I will begin my duties on the morrow when Lady Anice feels up to showing me around." He threw the linen square on the table and turned to leave.
"Anice," Struan mumbled.
"Pardon?" Robert waited, hands clenched into
fists.
"Anice. She wants to be called 'Anice.'"
Robert turned back to face his father but Struan would not meet his eyes now. "Why?"
"Why what?" Struan was evading the real issues between them.
"Why does she no' want to have her title used and why did she pass out at table?"
"She haes her own reasons about her name and I respect them. The fainting was due to her breeding."
"And yer son? Where is he?" The word almost stuck in his mouth. Son.
"Sandy, as he now wishes to be called, is back in London with the king. As he haes been for over six years." Struan's tone told him not to push further, but he could not help himself.
"Shouldna he be here with his wife as she births their bairn?"
"'Tis as the king himself orders. Tis no' my place to refuse a request of David the Bruce." There was not a hint of submission in Struan's voice. This was more than a request of the king.
"Secrets, Struan? More secrets?"
Robert saw the flash of anger in Struan's eyes at his accusation, then it was gone.
"Nay, no' secret at all. The king gave leave for Sandy's wedding but recalled him immediately to his side in London. And remember, Robert, everyone haes secrets, even the MacKillops who ye think so highly of."
"Well, ye keep all of yer secrets then and be glad of them." Robert turned and walked away, down the steps and through the hall.
Damn Struan, and damn his secrets to hell.
Chapter 7
The next day dawned cold and clear, and Robert took advantage of the unusually fair day to visit the village. Childhood friends and happy memories beckoned him, without Anice's guidance, to the still snow-covered cottages outside the keep. He stood, his breath making clouds in the frigid air around him, looking down the narrow pathways between the crofts.
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