by Adams, Alisa
He threaded his way around the tables and through the gathering of people. When Kenneth went up to the blacksmith Bruce did not stand up immediately, as a worker was obliged to do before a Laird. Instead, he took his time, putting his plate and cup on the table beside him in a leisurely and insolent fashion before getting to his feet.
When he had done so, Bruce gave Kenneth an almost imperceptible bow and raised his head to look him defiantly in the eyes. No-one of Bruce's station in life dared look at a Laird like this and Kenneth was seething inwardly. He gritted his teeth but decided that nothing would be gained by an outright confrontation, so he thrust out his hand and said with a tight smile.
"I am Laird Kenneth Jamieson, and who might you be?"
Bruce flicked a glance down at the Laird's hand before grasping it in his own. Years of manual labor had given him an iron-hard grip and he used it to great effect, crushing Kenneth's hand painfully. Bruce had the satisfaction of seeing the Laird wince in pain before he let go.
"I am Bruce Ferguson, the blacksmith," he replied, "but ye knew that already, did ye no' m'laird?" The last two words were said scornfully, and intentionally so. Bruce had worked hard all his life just to have enough money to eat and put a roof over his head. This overdressed dandy of a man had never wanted for anything; indeed, he was beginning to show the signs of dissipation. He ate too much and drank too much.
"I did," Kenneth replied grimly, still trying to hang on to the last shreds of his control.
"Then why did ye ask?"
"'Then why did ye ask?'" Kenneth imitated Bruce's rough country accent to a T. "I ask because I wanted to be sure that I am threatening the right man—if a person who frightens defenseless ladies can be called a man!" His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, and he leaned in toward Bruce so that they were almost nose to nose. If he had expected Bruce to back down he was disappointed, for he stood perfectly still during Kenneth's threatening tirade. "If you ever, ever, threaten or show disrespect to my fiancée again I will personally come and make sure you regret it!"
"I have never threatened yer fiancée or any other lady!" Bruce said scathingly, "and I never will."
There was silence for a moment while the two men stood, gazes locked, till Kenneth looked away, taking a step backward.
"Will ye be comin' alone and will it be single combat?" Bruce asked conversationally. "Or dae ye need a friend or twa tae back ye up? Show me yer hands please, m'laird."
Kenneth frowned, puzzled, but held out his hands for Bruce's inspection. They were beautiful, newly manicured and very clean with long pale fingers. He turned them over to show Bruce the soft white palms. Bruce prodded them with his forefinger, feeling how soft they were.
"Aye," he acknowledged, with a sideways nod of his head. "Lovely hands, m'laird. A credit tae ye."
Then he held out his own hands, and the difference was like the sudden onset of nightfall after a glorious day of sunshine. They were big hands with broad square-tipped fingers and they were filthy. As much as Bruce scrubbed them, and he did so every day after work, dirt had ingrained itself into the creases in his palms. It had also collected in black stripes under his fingernails, which were short and ragged with wear and tear.
The backs of his hands were scarred with many bruises and burns, and when Bruce turned them over Kenneth could see that they were thick with hard callouses which had trapped more soot. When Kenneth touched the palm, it was as rough as the file used to pare down horses' hooves before they were shod. They were a working man's hands and Bruce was not apologetic about them.
Kenneth's eyes widened as he looked at them and he had the grace to feel ashamed, though he would have died before showing it.
"So, m'laird," Bruce clenched his hands into a fist which looked, to Kenneth's eyes, a bit like clubs. "Still want tae fight? We can dae it noo if ye're willin' or are ye too feart?" He put his hands behind his back and smiled at Kenneth.
Kenneth looked at him, stupefied, for a moment then turned and went back to Heather. He had never been so furious in his life. She could see by the thunderous look and his crimson complexion that Bruce had had the same effect on Kenneth as he'd had on her.
"That 'person'," he said scathingly, "is a despicable lout. I challenged him to a fair fight and he accepted. The likes of that scum fighting a Laird—why it is totally unacceptable! Then he accused me of being a coward!"
In truth, the challenge had been an idle threat, made in the heat of the moment to force Bruce to back down and apologize for his disrespect, but Bruce had defiantly stood his ground. By now Heather knew enough about him to know that he would take on the Laird whatever the circumstances and no matter how high he was in the social hierarchy. Despite herself, she was beginning to have a reluctant respect for Bruce Ferguson, even if she still could not say she liked him.
9
Kenneth's Resolution
As they went back up to the castle in the carriage, Kenneth was silent, but it was not a peaceful silence. It was loaded with anger and simmering like a pot about to boil over. Heather laid her head on his shoulder.
"What are you thinking about, Kenny?" she asked anxiously.
"I cannot stop thinking about that brute of a blacksmith," Kenneth replied savagely. "He looked me straight in the eye as if he were my equal. And the galling thing is that he is one of the only men around here tall enough to do that!"
Heather almost smiled at that. What an insult to his pride and dignity. Then she sighed. There was nothing she could say to calm him down so she picked up his hand and kissed it, waiting for his storm to pass.
"I'm sorry, my love," he said after a few moments, "I should not be taking this out on you, but damn the man—he has no right. He should know his place!"
Heather nodded. "Well, as you reminded me, he has just lost his wife," she said soothingly, " he may be angry at God."
"You are a gentle soul, Heather," he smiled at her and kissed her hair. "But I will take this further, and Mr. Ferguson is going to be very sorry that he crossed swords with me!"
Heather tried to distract him, but nothing worked, and eventually, she gave up.
The next day Kenneth took a long look at himself in the mirror. He was developing a paunch and a double chin, also he was finding that he could not climb stairs as well as he had done in the past. Heather deserved better and if that filthy animal of a blacksmith wanted to challenge him again he would find that he was up against a very different man.
That day he began a new regime. He cut down on his portions of food and began to drink water instead of ale. He tried to eat less meat and more vegetables and gave up most of the sweet puddings he enjoyed so much. He found it sheer torture at first, but after a while, he began to enjoy the taste of healthy fresh fruit instead.
Walking for miles in the hills and glens near the castle refreshed and strengthened him; occasionally he would break into a run. He had equipment called 'barbells' made by the blacksmith in Strathmore. They had not even considered asking Bruce to manufacture them, naturally. They consisted of two iron balls of varying weights on either end of an iron bar and he lifted them hundreds of times till he was exhausted.
"They are the latest big thing in Germany," he told Heather, as he bent his arm to show her his newly formed biceps. "Soon I will be as strong as that blacksmith."
"I just hope you don't kill yourself trying." Heather said dryly, "I worry that you will break something."
"Nothing is going to stand between me and my new body, my dear," he said firmly, "I have to give some credit to that blacksmith, though. He gave me the determination to do it."
Heather cast her eyes heavenwards. "Men!" She said in a tone of deep exasperation, "you are like rutting stags. You are never happy unless you're fighting each other."
Kenneth laughed and picked up his weights again. "Soon I'll be able to lift you with one hand," he boasted.
She laughed. "You are changing already," she observed, "one of your chins has disappeared and your stomach is becoming fl
at instead of fat. Well done, Kenny! I am so proud of you."
He laughed, then, putting his hands on her waist, he lifted her up and whirled her around. She threw her head back and laughed, and when he set her down again her face was flushed and her eyes shining. Suddenly, Kenneth kissed her, deeply and tenderly, his mouth moving on hers with great gentleness. It was blissful.
"What would I do without you?" he asked huskily, wrapped his arms around her. "I can't wait for us to be married and have our first child."
Heather said nothing for a while. She was still doubtful about children, although resigned to her duty as a wife. "You are a lovely man, Kenny." She smiled at him.
He squeezed her a little more tightly then they drew apart and went into the big parlor, holding hands. Katrine was sitting knitting by the fire, but she got up to pour them both a glass of wine when they came in.
"So how is the school going?" she asked.
Heather's face lit up. "Oh, Mother, it's wonderful!" she said rapturously, "you should see their little faces as they learn to read and count. It's as if a light is shining out of them. Indeed, some of them think it is magic. And they love it when I read aloud to them! You can tell straight away who the clever ones are." Then her face clouded over, "there is only one problem."
"What is that, dear?" Katrine asked, frowning.
"The place is becoming too small," she replied, "all the tenant farmers' children are coming too and a few from Dryburn over the hill. Every day there are more and I am only one person. I need an assistant."
"That can be arranged," Kenneth said thoughtfully, "indeed you must find one or even two because I will not allow you to work once we are married."
Heather's face looked as though a dark cloud had passed over it. Despite her mother's warning look and a gentle touch of her hand, she went on the attack. "I will not have you making decisions like that for me, Kenny," she said angrily. "I am my own person and I will decide what is best for me."
Kenny looked at her for a moment, incredulous. "But you will be my wife," he pointed out, "therefore you must submit to me."
"I wish us to be equal partners," she said evenly, trying to be calm.
Kenneth was mystified. "But this is wrong!" he cried, "such a thing would never be countenanced."
"By whom?" Heather leaned forward threateningly and looked at him with a steely regard. "By you, Kenny, or by your friends? Do you let them decide for you while you will not extend the same courtesy to your wife? I have seen the way they push you around, and how you bend yourself to suit their whims. You do not like hunting, yet you do it otherwise they will think you are not a man." She paused for breath. "You do not like getting drunk, yet you do it for them. Do their opinions mean more to you than I do?"
At this point, Katrine got up and made a quiet exit.
"My friends do not tell me what to do!" He shook his head, wondering where this new Heather had sprung from. He was shaking with a mixture of anger, jealousy, and yes, fear. He had never seen this side of her before.
Heather was also wondering where this tigress inside her had come from. She had hitherto always accepted that her life would be humdrum and ordinary, bearing children, doing embroidery, and looking after her husband. Now she had a job to do, a goal to work towards and something to occupy not only her time but her mind and she was not prepared to surrender it all because Kenneth had some absurd idea that men were superior to women.
She knew that it was a view shared by most men, but she had thought Kenneth was different. It distressed her beyond measure that he was the same as all the rest because, at last, she had found her true vocation. She loved to watch the children blossoming under her tutelage and she knew that she was making a real difference in their lives. She would not - could not - give it up.
They stared at each other for a long time, neither knowing what to say next. It seemed that a stalemate had been reached. Finally, Heather stood up. She took a step backward then turned toward the door, but looked over her shoulder.
"Sleep on it, Kenneth," she urged him. Her voice was grim and her eyes glittered. "Because if we are not going to be equal partners in this marriage I will call it off."
"You don't love me," he said miserably.
Heather shook her head, turning to face him again. "Kenneth," she said grimly, "I never said that I did."
10
A Beginning and an Ending
Kenneth felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart, and wondered what it was that had suddenly made Heather so rebellious. 'Sleep on it' she had said but as he tossed and turned in bed that night he knew that sleep was the last thing his body and mind wanted to do. He got up then went to get himself a full tumbler of whiskey and, under its influence, he finally drifted off, but when his manservant woke him the next morning he wished he was dead.
The memory of the previous day came back to him and he flopped back onto his pillow, jarring his sore head as he did so. All day, as he was attending to the innumerable clerical issues of running the estate, the matter of his marriage and his love for Heather sat at the back of his mind like a predator waiting to pounce at the smallest opportunity.
He hoped that she would come to see him, to apologize for her outburst, but when evening came and she had not made an appearance he gave up, hoping that he would see her that day. In fact, he did not see her that day, or the next, or the next, and eventually he was forced to go and see her. In the days since their argument, he had worked out exactly what he wanted to say to her. She had given him an ultimatum, and now he would reply with one of his own.
When he rode up the hill to Castle McVey he had expected to walk in without any hindrance at all, as he usually did, but he found the way barred by the guard. He was usually a genial man who shared a joke with him, but today his face was blank as he stood to attention in front of Kenneth's horse.
"Please state yer name, sir," he said sternly.
Charles was astonished. "Come on, Hamish." He laughed. "You know my name."
"Yer name, sir," Hamish persisted, "or I cannae let ye in."
"This is monstrous!" Kenneth gave an incredulous, angry laugh. "Damn it! Let me in!"
"Yer name, sir," Hamish's face showed not a flicker of emotion.
"Laird Kenneth Jamieson," Kenneth said, resigned, "now can I come in?"
Hamish stood aside and let Kenneth's horse into the courtyard. He was met by Johnny, the stable boy, who usually exchanged a few words with him when he took Kenneth's horse.
"How are you, Johnny?" He smiled at the boy.
Johnny only replied, "Fine, sir." Then led his horse away.
Kenneth was mystified. He and Heather had had a quarrel - what of it? Most couples did from time to time—they may have been members of the nobility but they were still human beings. Kenneth had no doubt that the disagreement could be sorted out and the issue of Heather's status in their relationship would recede into the background. He would show her the error of her ways with a firm but gentle hand.
As he went into the entrance hall a liveried footman greeted him. This was not something he was used to, since he usually strode straight in, tossing his coat to the servant as he came in.
"M'laird." The servant bowed to him. "Milady is occupied with a visitor. She asked that if you called I must ask you to wait."
Kenneth felt as though his face had been slapped, but he went into the parlor and sat down. He was still sitting there an hour later after drinking two cups of tea and a glass of wine. His mind had gone blank. He was just about to leave when Heather came in and stood in front of him, her expression carefully neutral, hands clasped in front of her as if to put a barrier between them.
"May I offer you some refreshment, m'laird?" she asked politely as if she were a stranger meeting him for the first time.
"Heather." he frowned and spread his hands. "What is this? Why are you being so cold?"
She rang the bell for a servant to bring some tea.
"It seems that you don't want to admit that
a woman can have the same rights as you," she said frankly. "Having a life that fulfills me and makes me a better person makes me a better wife too. If I were to lie about here being a lady doing nothing more exhausting than playing cards and knitting, then I would be your lap dog. I'm sorry, Kenny. I want more out of life than that."
He thought fast. "You told me last night that if I did not grant your wish then our engagement would be off," he stated.
She nodded in agreement.
"Is that what you really want?"
"No, Kenny," she replied, "I want to marry you, but I will not - cannot – completely submerge my own needs under yours."
"You do not believe that a wife's place is to obey her husband in all things?"
"I do not." Her dark eyes seemed to bore into him as she gazed at him steadily.
"Do you not want to marry me, then?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
"Yes, I do, but not on your terms," she replied calmly.
"And I cannot change my terms," he said flatly, "I do not want a progressive and defiant wife. This school has given you a bad outlook on life. God has ordained that men should be the masters. Your position would have women turn into men."
Heather stood up and, in a flash of a fury she had never felt before, she slapped him hard across the face, leaving a perfect red handprint on his cheek.
"You snake!" she shouted, her face crimson with rage. "You would deny the children of this town an education and forbid me to use my talent and potential for some ancient rules that were written hundreds of years ago! Get out of my sight—I never want to see your sorry face again!"
She stormed to the door, wrenched it open and held it open for him as he hurried through it. He stopped for a moment to look at her, then disappeared down the stairs. She went to the fireplace and stood in front of it, trembling, not with cold, but with rage.
Did every man she came across have to be such a loathsome creature? What made them so special? She felt like hitting something, or preferably someone, to vent her anger. Looking out of the window she could see that it was a calm but cloudy day and she went to the stable to saddle Tommy, not even asking for Agnes' help to don her riding clothes. She stroked his velvet nose and he nuzzled against her, whickering softly. All he asked out of life was a warm stable, enough to eat and drink, and a kind mistress.