by Mary Wine
If there were such a man living outside a book, that was.
But she’d finish her spring dress and listen to Baeth. She did want to look fetching on May morn. It would be interesting to see what Torin McLeren thought of that.
She’d not be the only lass staying in the tower. May Day might be a tradition as old as time, but so was weighing the choice to lie with a man. Only a fool failed to think long and hard before going out to dance around the maypole. She’d happily look into Torin’s face when he noticed that she was following her will and staying behind in the tower instead of following his tempting offer of going out to dance on the green.
Six
“The laird is gone.”
Brockton McLeren looked her straight in the eye the moment she came down the steps from the second floor, where her chamber was. The man was clearly standing there to make sure he didn’t miss her.
“So I’m charged with making sure ye’re here when he returns.”
The man’s tone left little doubt that he wasn’t pleased with his duty. His expression was surly, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest like a child beginning to pout. Shannon had to resist the urge to smile at him.
“Well, I suppose I’ll tell ye that I plan to go to church this morning, and don’t be telling me that it is nae permitted.”
Her words were overly bold, but she held her chin steady and stared straight into Brockton’s face. The burly Scot frowned, and his forehead furrowed until his eyes were nothing more than slits. He finally grunted and shrugged.
“I dinna see any reason to tell ye nay. The priest would likely be hounding me by the week’s end if he didna see ye in the pews. I dinna need that hassle, and that’s a fact.”
Shannon gave him a nod and let him think it was his choice. Her pride was bristling, but arguing with the man would only gain her an enemy. That would be a poor choice, especially when she considered the sunlight just beyond the open doors of the great hall. It beckoned to her, shimmering and promising relief from the stale air inside the hall.
Moving forward, she paused on the top step. Excitement curled through her as she descended the first few steps and no one sent out a cry. It was April already, and the winter was quickly losing its grip. The air was still brisk, but the sun was cheerful. It would rain instead of snow now too. Already the hills were beginning to sprout with new growth. She noticed it more than she had before. Losing the right to venture outside had taught her to savor every detail she might.
But the church bell rang, so she hurried to join the other members of the congregation. Her McBoyd colors stood out among the McLeren ones, but the priests sent her a smile of welcome.
***
Baeth frowned at her son Brockton. “Did ye nae think that she might try to become a nun if ye let her go to the church? They’d give her sanctuary, and the laird would have the devil’s time getting her out of there if she were of a mind to stay.”
Her eldest son shrugged. “At least that way I’ll no’ have to worry that she won’t be here when the laird returns.”
His mother snorted at him.
“Ye know so little. Why is it we don’t understand anything until age has passed its hand over us.”
Baeth wasn’t asking her son the question. It was more of a statement. Her son frowned while he followed her toward the church.
“Becoming a nun sounds like the best thing she could do. Her father’s a traitor, and I doubt the Earl of Douglas will be letting the man live much longer. No one will have her to wife after that. The best she might hope for is to become someone’s leman. If she becomes a nun, it will solve a great many things. The earl will nae have to decide if she needs to die with her father. She’d be a bride of Christ; the earl would let her live.”
Baeth clicked her tongue. It was a sad truth that many men would be agreeing with her son. Well, a fair number of women too. But she wasn’t one of them. A daughter had no choice in what her father did. Baeth gained the entrance of the church and saw Shannon sitting in one of the pews. The McLeren women sitting in the same row made sure there was a space left between them and where their McBoyd guest sat.
Baeth smiled slowly. Wisdom came with age, and she enjoyed the authority that had come from her years of service. Making her way down the aisle, she slid in next to Shannon and sat down beside her. Whispers instantly rose but died when the priest turned to glare at the pews.
She shot a smile back at the man when his chin dropped in surprise.
***
“Ye’re poor company tonight, Torin.” Connor listened to the night with a practiced ear. They had allowed the fire to burn down to coals, blanketed by thick ash. The moon provided all the light they needed. Nestled in between jagged rocks on the side of a hill, they took time to rest their horses until the sun rose.
“Marry that bride who is being groomed for you if ye want someone to worry about pleasing ye.”
Connor frowned. “I’ll attend to Deirdre Chattan soon.”
Torin eyed his friend suspiciously. “For a bride that ye worked so hard to contract, ye dinna sound very enthusiastic.”
Connor scowled at him. “And for a man who holds love so highly, ye stole another man’s bride and rode home with her tied around yer body.”
Torin growled. “Now I know something is wrong with yer impending match, because ye are trying to start a fight with me.”
His friend offered him an arrogant smile. “If I wanted to annoy ye, Torin, I’d confess that I cornered that Lowland sweet ye have stashed in yer tower and stole a kiss from her.”
Torin felt his blood run cold. He glared at Connor while battling the urge to send his fist into his face. His friend laughed at him.
“Ye’re jealous.”
Torin frowned. “I am not. I barely know the lass and wish I’d nae needed to take her.”
“Well now, if that is so, there’s no reason for ye to be upset.”
Torin made a fist and sent it into his opposite hand in warning. His friend raised his eyebrows. Torin snorted at him. He and Connor had spent the very first day they’d ever met fighting. Connor had spent his youth fighting those who sneered at him for the sin of his parents. Torin had joined the young boy in many of those battles, refusing to see him beaten for something he couldn’t control. They’d lost more times than they’d won, but their friendship had grown strong.
Connor drew in a stiff breath. “All she did to me was try and smash her knee into me pride.”
“So is that the problem with claiming yer Chattan bride? Smashed… pride?” Torin snickered. “I can see how that might be an impediment to wedding vows. It will nae be very good for relations between yer clans if the bride wakes up the day after her wedding still a virgin.”
“Shannon McBoyd did nae get that big of a jump on me. Even if she was a fiery thing. She’s a virgin. I’ve no doubt of that.” Connor lost his teasing look, his expression turning dark.
“But ye doubt Deirdre Chattan’s purity?”
Connor looked dangerous. He was not a man to cross with dishonesty. “I’ll see what she has to say on the matter. But I hear dark rumors that she’s been riding out to meet young Melor, despite our bans having been read.”
“That’s a mess, my friend. Ye’ll have the church fighting ye if ye try to refuse her.”
“Unless she confesses.”
Which would be foolish of the girl. She’d likely be cast out by her father and forced to seek her lover. If her lover rejected her, life would be very cruel. Connor sighed.
“When did we become so responsible, Torin? I miss the days when the only ones who suffered for our fighting were ourselves.”
“Fate had other plans for us.”
They were both laird, in spite of neither being born into the right position to inherit the title. They’d been raised to expect nothing and instead had gained what many men hungered for.
Torin laid his head on his forearm and pulled his plaid close around his face. He was laird, and he’d do the position justice. Fate had placed him in charge, and he would do his duty with honor.
He closed his eyes, and Shannon’s face surfaced in his mind. She was sweet. Too sweet for the plot that threatened to pull her down into its swirling depths.
Death felt like it was blowing on the wind. Torin felt the icy touch of it on his face. He shouldn’t be so personally concerned. Shannon wouldn’t be the first child who lost her life because her family ended up on the wrong side of the king.
The way her mouth had moved beneath his reminded him that she was very much a woman. One who was innocent but passionate too. The temptation to teach her what she longed for was tearing at him, taunting him with how sweet it would be to introduce her to passion.
It was a bad idea at best. Dishonorable and bound to tarnish his reputation with gossip of lust. Shannon would be the one to suffer most at the hands of the gossips; women always did. That only made it more important that he resist her.
Important, indeed, but it was proving impossible.
***
Shannon found her frustration rising over and over throughout the next few weeks. Brockton watched her diligently. The man peeked around corners and stood outside the bathroom when she was in it. Discovering that he was Baeth’s son only made everything worse, for she was thankful to the head of the house. It would not do for her to complain about the woman’s son. Baeth kept her from having time to fret by putting her to work. The labor truly helped her settle in, for it was the same chores that she had always done. Somehow she had never really thought about the fact that no matter what color her arisaid was, she was still a woman doing exactly what other women did every day across the country. It was only the presence of Brockton, watching her like she was suspected of something evil, that kept her neck aching.
But it was Baeth who helped solve that dilemma. She snapped her fingers, and a maid brought her a pile of freshly washed and pressed sheets.
The head of the house pointed one of her weathered fingers at Shannon. “Up the stairs with you and change the bedding. Tuck the corners tight.”
The maid didn’t want to give the sheets to Shannon. She gripped them tightly, wrinkling the freshly ironed fabric.
Baeth looked down her nose at the girl.
“Have ye gone simple?”
The girl pressed her lips tightly together, still refusing to relinquish the sheets. Shannon held her chin steady. It wasn’t an easy task. Somewhere in the last few weeks she’d convinced herself that those working around her didn’t resent her so much anymore. It appeared that she was the fool. It hurt more than she cared to admit, pain spiking through her while the sheets became more crinkled.
“These are the laird’s sheets.”
Baeth snorted. The maid jumped, clearly realizing that she’d overstepped her place.
“As if I don’t know that. Stop acting like a simpleton. If Shannon is above stairs changing sheets, there won’t be any question of her being inside the tower, now will there?”
“Oh… well, I see.”
The sheets landed in Shannon’s arms instantly. Baeth snorted with frustration.
“She sees nothing.” With a huff, the woman shook her head and aimed an exasperated look at Shannon.
“What I thought was to give ye and my son a bit of peace. You’ll have the tending of the upper floors in the afternoons when the laundry is done. That way I can toss my son into the yard and out from beneath me skirts.”
Brockton snorted, but his mother lifted that finger again. “Get on with ye. I do nae know what men do with themselves during the day, but I’m sure yer father taught ye. So get to it. I know what a lass should be about while the sun is shining. The girl will stay above floors or answer to me, and don’t be making the mistake of thinking I don’t notice every person who uses those stairs.”
That finger was pointing straight at her, and Shannon felt the authority streaming out of it. She lowered herself into a curtsy without thinking but gained a nod of approval from the formidable woman. She peeked back over her shoulder as she took the first step, and Brockton was indeed heading toward the open doors of the great hall. His step was lighter than she’d ever seen, the longer ends of his kilt swaying with his fast pace.
“Go on, Shannon McBoyd. Enjoy a bit of peace. I expect the laird will be returning soon.”
So take what solace she might?
There was no point in putting the words to voice. While each day was a blessing, it was also one more that brought her closer to the judgment that was certain to come her way.
***
“Keep order and act like the noblemen you are said to be. Scotland needs her lairds united, not fighting one another.”
Quinton Cameron stood firmly in place as half the men around him yelled out protests. Holyrood Palace had seen its share of heated debates, but today a man could feel the tension in the air. Torin watched the men making the most noise; they were the ones he wanted justice from.
Torin stood up and pointed at Atholl. “Atholl sent raiders onto my lands, and I demand justice. The man is a traitor.”
Atholl’s supporters were quick to jump to their feet with their voices raised in protest.
“Laird McLeren is correct.”
The room fell silent as Archibald Douglas swept into the room with two retainers guarding his back. Each laird had been restricted to no more than two men apiece, but that didn’t ensure that there wouldn’t be a bloodbath before sunrise.
Torin stared at Douglas, as did every man in the room. The Earl of Douglas was as powerful as the Earl of Atholl, and one of them wasn’t going to survive this meeting.
“Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl, is the true king.” It was Laird Gilson who spoke up, but no man was willing to stand behind him.
Douglas fixed him with a penetrating look. “More than one man in this room claims royal blood; that does not grant any one of us the right to send armed men after the crowned king. It was murder, and justice will be dispensed, or we’ll be reduced to an unruly lot so busy fighting with one another, England will be able to invade us. Scotland’s alliance with France will only stand strong if there is a king of Scotland who is followed by all her lairds. Young James will wear the crown; that is the word of the Douglas.”
There was grumbling around the room, but many heads nodded. Laird Gilson looked worried, glancing behind him to see if any laird would support him. None did.
“Atholl is a traitor and will die one. Those who shook hands with him will face the same.”
Torin felt his mood darken. Shannon’s face rose from his mind while the day wore on. Mercy was never discussed, and he brooded over the fate of his captive. The only grace fate afforded him was the fact that Douglas was focused on Atholl, but Torin knew it would not last past the moment that the Earl of Atholl was executed.
Quinton Cameron stopped him outside the chamber at the end of the council.
“Rumor has it, ye took McBoyd’s daughter.”
Torin glanced down the hallways, making sure they were empty before he answered. “The man sent her to wed Atholl’s kin after he fired one of my holdings. It was a bloody scene.”
Quinton drew in a stiff breath. “I suppose it was a deed well justified if ye kept the daughter from placing a seal on the deal. I’d wager my own lands would have been next on McBoyd’s list.”
“Very likely.”
Quinton Cameron was a good neighbor, who didn’t raid McLeren property or steal his sheep. He spent more time at court than Torin did, but he still wore a kilt like the Highlander he was.
“And what are yer plans for the lass?” Quinton kept his voice low, but there was no mistaking the tone.
“I have nae decided.”
Torin turned and left, his task completed. He’d acted justly an
d taken his fight to court instead of launching his men onto McBoyd land as he was deeply tempted to do. Now he favored returning to Donan Tower to resume chasing Shannon through its hallways. A man at war couldn’t enjoy breaking down the defenses of a lass.
Life was full of choices; he’d made his.
He was returning to McLeren land.
***
Another fortnight passed with nothing but normal chores. The routine was soothing to her soul, smoothing away the last of her worries. It became so much easier to relax with normalcy surrounding her. Every day there were duties to perform. When the sun began sinking in the afternoon, Baeth kept her word and sent her to the upper floors to work. With the aid of arches, the tower rose three stories above the great hall. But it appeared that no one slept in the bedrooms. A slight stain touched her cheeks when she realized why. The laird’s chamber was here, and the chambers on the second floor were intended for his family. What drew a blush from her was the fact that her small chamber was on the second floor, where only Torin’s family should be.
Or his mistress…
She shook her head to dispel that thought.
It had been by his order that she slept there, and she didn’t need to think about why he’d done what he had. It was impossible for women to understand men anyway.
Shannon ground her teeth and scoffed at her thoughts. She had somehow turned into a wanton. Torin McLeren simply wanted her accounted for so that when his overlord came looking for her, it would not be hard to produce her.
Aye, and hand her over like a prize.
Even without sheets to change, there was plenty to clean above stairs. The open shutters allowed dirt to be carried in on the breeze from the newly turned fields. Spring was bringing longer days, and the hills were alive with new plants that soaked up the warm sunshine. Flowers began to bloom, and the loch swelled with the runoff of melted snow.