Great meadows unfolded and rolled down towards the loch, while behind the village was a dark, imposing forest.
It was so vast it nearly overwhelmed her. This was adventure. Lachlan had spoken of adventure. And it was here. In this great monster of a place that felt as though it could consume her as easily as it could bring her to freedom.
She turned her focus back to the houses. Some were well kept, others in shambles.
Some had crops growing nearby, others looked as though they had a blight. When Penny knocked and offered food, some were kind. Some welcomed her and spoke of their hope for the future.
Others treated her with disdain.
Still more treated her less with open hostility and more with wary distrust. She was a reminder to them of why they struggled, of why they suffered.
But Penny was certain that kindness, softness, would help win the day here.
The path continued on down the hill and Penny charged in that direction, while Isla slowed.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s bad down there,’ Isla said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dugan McLaren and his wife. Their children… He’s a drunk, and he spends all they have on alcohol.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well, don’t you think they’ll need bread?’
‘He’s mean.’ She hesitated. ‘He’s the man who spoke openly against The MacKenzie.’
A ripple of disquiet moved through Penny. ‘Oh.’
‘He will not welcome you.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Penny said, taking a sharp breath, ‘but my husband is strong. Not cruel, as you said, and I don’t think Lachlan would take kindly to knowing that there was a man in his clan buying drink rather than caring for his family.’
‘It won’t matter what The MacKenzie thinks if McLaren takes his fists to you now.’
‘If he takes his fists to me, my husband will have him… Well, I don’t know, but it would be something violent. I assume this man is well aware of that.’
She felt determined now. She carried on the path and then came to the most ramshackle of homes that she had encountered on this journey. The smell that emanated from it was rotted food, despair and drink. Filth.
She steeled herself, grateful they had quite a bit of bread left because she had a feeling that the children in this place would need it most of all.
Lachlan’s father had been cruel. Her own father neglectful. And while it might not be the same as it was in this place, she knew what it was to have your life and your future dictated by the shortcomings of the man who had fathered you.
It wasn’t fair. Not in any of those circumstances.
She went to the door and knocked. It opened a crack and a woman’s face appeared. She was drawn and pale, exhausted looking. ‘Hello,’ Penny said. ‘I’m Lady Penelope Bain. I’m the wife of the… The MacKenzie.’
‘You’re his fancy English lady?’ The woman asked.
‘Not fancy. But regrettably English.’ She tried to smile, but the woman did not return it. ‘I brought bread.’
‘We are not beggars,’ the woman said. ‘And your husband has already terrorised my house.’
A high-pitched wail came from inside the house and she heard a chorus of small voices after.
‘But maybe the children are hungry?’ she asked.
A flash of something, not softness but not quite so brittle, came over the woman’s face. ‘If you have to force your charity on us, do it quickly and then be gone.’
The woman was stooped before her time, the house itself a hovel. The smell inside was nearly overwhelming.
‘How many children are there?’ Penny asked.
‘Twelve living,’ the woman said, her tone bitter.
‘Oh, my,’ Penny responded. ‘Well, I doubt this will be enough bread.’
‘They aren’t all here. The Father knows where my whore of a daughter has gone off to.’
Penny drew back, shocked by the woman’s words.
‘If she’s going to spread her legs so freely she ought to do it for pay. At least then we might eat better.’
‘I…’ Penny could not think past the intimacy of what the woman had said. She knew how overwhelming the act was. How wrecked she felt after. The other woman spoke of her daughter doing it as easily as breathing. ‘There is bread.’
‘Don’t think we allow it,’ the woman said. ‘But if her father ever discovered it… He’d beat her to death.’
For the first time, Penny realised that the woman’s face wasn’t just haggard with lines of exhaustion. There were scars there.
‘And does he…? Would he lay his hands on you?’
‘I’ve made my bed. But if your Laird is anything like his father, you’ll know the bite of his fists soon enough. Don’t think your pretty manners will save you from it. Men are the beasts, they are.’
Penny didn’t see the point in arguing with the woman. She didn’t see the point of much of anything in the face of so much despair.
She had never seen anything like this. There were so many children. So much squalor, so little of anything that might help.
Yet again she was struck by how she had been protected even in her loneliness.
For her virtue had been shielded. She had always been full. Her father had never beaten her.
The world was such a harsh and unyielding place. And she had felt so hard done by in it.
But this… This was hardship.
She was angry about being lonely. Angry about the way her father had isolated her. But there wasn’t a space to turn around in this house that didn’t contain another person. At least back at her father’s house she had had a place to escape. At least she had been safe.
‘If ever you find yourself in danger…’ Penny said. ‘If you are ever in danger…come to the castle. He will not turn you away. If he knew of your husband’s cruelty…’
‘He’s just a husband,’ the woman said.
‘Surely it doesn’t have to be like this,’ Penny said.
‘Aye,’ the woman said. ‘But it does. I’m sure that women like yourself are treated like fine pieces. And in England I’m sure your rank and title protected you from all manner of things. But don’t make the mistake of thinking it will be like that here in the Highlands. He is The MacKenzie and what he says is the law. If he decides to take his liquor and his rage out on you, then he will. And there will be nothing to stop him.’
Penny couldn’t imagine why a woman she was bringing kindness to would speak to her in such a fashion. But that was when she realised: shame. Because nobody wanted to be in a position of pity.
And this woman was surely to be pitied. Penny spent some quiet moments talking to the children, and Isla joined in. They broke pieces of bread off and gave it to the wee bairns, as Isla called them.
When they left, her maid looked grim.
‘It’s a hell growing up that way.’
‘You know?’
‘It was a blessing to get work at the castle,’ Isla said. ‘Being in my father’s house… But he drank himself to death.’ Isla didn’t sound regretful.
‘A gift, surely,’ Penny agreed.
‘Aye,’ Isla said. ‘Until there wasn’t money any more. Until my mother had to sell her own body to try to feed all the bairns. My wages weren’t enough.’
‘Where is your mother now?’
‘Long dead,’ Isla said. ‘Women like her…women like my mother…they’re not afforded a long life.’
‘Your brothers and sisters?’
‘Went to other family. Went to find work.’
They rounded to the back of the old house and there was a figure, cloaked in muddy brown, just walking up through the fields. She was a young girl. Maybe thirteen.
And when she shifted, moving the cloak to the side, something became very
clear to Penny.
‘She’s got one in the basket,’ Isla said, horror in her tone.
‘Is that Mrs McLaren’s daughter?’ The girl was with child. It was clear from a distance. ‘It must be. How she’s hiding it… Her father must be more than a bit drunk to not have noticed.’
‘She probably stays away. Stays hidden until he’s too drunk to notice either way.’
‘We will have to come and check on her,’ Penny said.
She was suddenly overwhelmed by a strange sort of gratitude for life that she had never felt before.
She had long had the sense that her life was tragic. But it was nothing compared to a girl who was little more than a child herself, ready to bring a baby into the world, with no food, no money and a father who would no doubt harm her and the baby if he was in a black enough mood.
‘That we will,’ Isla said.
CHAPTER NINE
It was becoming an interesting battle with his wife. This fight for who might break first when it came to giving in to the need between them. A need he knew was mutual.
He could see it in the pitch of her breathing, the way she looked at him. The way her eyes shone bright when they sparred. Which was often.
It was a strange thing, though, to have cut off physical contact. For all of their desire had to find relief in their conversation and that had sharpened something inside him in new and fascinating ways.
He found her vexing still, of course. But it surprised him how much he enjoyed dodging her barbs at the door between their rooms. If he could not have satisfaction in her arms, he at least enjoyed her wit.
‘Not tonight, I have developed a sensitivity to arrogance.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘It must be difficult being so near to yourself then.’
‘I sally forth.’
And another night…
‘Tonight I have important needlepointing to finish.’
‘Lass, I think we could accomplish your needlepointing and marital duties.’
‘Lachlan, my fears of where the needle might end up… I am thinking only of you.’
Of course, this was amusing, but beneath it all…she was hurt and he could see it. He also didn’t know how to heal the wound.
Now though, he had found out she was planning a party. A party.
Rona, the head housekeeper, informed him of this with great umbrage. ‘She has also been going out into the village with regularity,’ she said.
Anger that felt particularly sharp-edged lodged itself in his chest. Penny? In the village? With no protection?
‘And what do they think of her there?’ he asked.
‘She’s an outsider,’ the woman said. ‘But the people are grateful for bread.’
He was…in awe of her. He had been focused on exerting his authority. It was important that the people knew that he was here to rule. His father had shirked his duties and Lachlan would do no such thing. In his mind, a leader had a steady, iron hand.
But he had not considered this. Basic needs and comfort. These gestures of care.
‘And what is my outsider bride planning exactly?’
‘She claims it will bring a sense of…goodwill.’
‘Does she now.’
He walked away from Rona and made his way up the stairs to their rooms.
He opened the door to Penny’s bedchamber. He did not knock.
When he opened the door, she gasped, and her little maid drew back along with her.
‘What is this I hear about you planning a celebration?’
‘It seems only logical,’ she fired back at him as if she had not just recoiled at the sight of him.
‘Go,’ he said, addressing the maid.
She scuttled out of the room, her head low, closing the door behind her.
‘Are you going to draw your sword and hold it against my throat?’ She had a bit more frost to her tone than she often did when they sparred.
‘When have I ever threatened you, lass?’
She looked away. ‘You haven’t. But I have heard rumours about you terrorising the villagers.’
‘I defended your honour. The man spoke against you.’
It did not matter if he was barred from her bed. She was his wife.
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘I went to visit the household. I spoke to his wife.’
‘Foolish,’ Lachlan said, that sharp-edged fear he’d felt earlier expanding inside him. ‘You put yourself in danger.’
She had no idea the resentment, the anger that existed here. She had no idea of any of it. She had tripped out about the village like an unsteady lamb who had no idea predators might be near.
She was planning a party as if a merry time might heal deep scars in an evening.
‘I was never in danger,’ she said.
She had no idea. ‘That you believe this is exactly why you are no longer permitted to wander the grounds.’
‘And how will you stop me?’
‘I am not above locking you in here, lass.’
‘And I’m certain that I would find a way to escape.’
‘You do not understand what you’re playing with. These people do not all trust me and they will not all trust you. Some of them may see to use you against me. This is not your clan. These are not your people.’
‘It is the life I have been given,’ she retorted fiercely. ‘I will not stand down. Not again. I have lived quietly for far too long. Was it not enough that I paid my father’s debt with my body?’
‘Not as often as you might.’
‘Will you take it, then?’
It was a challenge. She was facing him down, daring him to be the beast that his father was.
He knew well that his father would have thought nothing of it and he would’ve beaten her for her insolence.
And he knew how that ended.
With a woman stepping out a tower window, down to the rocks below. To her demise. He would never crush Penny in such a way. That large, unnamed thing that lived inside him, that roared to life when she was near…
It would not allow it.
He would never hurt her.
And if anyone ever tried to harm his bride… It would be the end of them.
‘I can take what I need elsewhere. I do not need to force myself on an unwilling woman. There are many that are more than willing.’
She tilted her chin up. ‘Good.’
She refused to show him any sort of deference. And she made his body feel like not quite his own. It enraged him.
‘Men tremble before me,’ he said. ‘Do you have any idea how many bodies I left littered on battlefields in France?’
‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘But are you saying you would kill me? Because I don’t believe that. You could have done that as soon as we got into Scotland.’
‘I’ve no wish to kill you.’
‘A relief. You also have no wish to be a beloved leader to your people, do you?’
‘Love is not the goal. Loyalty—that, I think you will find, is of greater importance.’
‘They don’t trust you.’
‘Due to you, in part.’
‘And I was a decision you made. In anger, I imagine. So, unless you decide to make a public spectacle of me, execute me in the courtyard, I expect I have work to do to prove to them that I am not simply evidence that you’re like your father. Don’t get angry with me for trying to fix what you might have broken with your revenge.’
He had nothing to say to that and was in a rage that she had struck him dumb. She had been a focus of his revenge. Repayment for years spent in England.
And she was correct. His marriage to her had only created more suspicion among the people.
‘Tell me about your party,’ he said.
‘A celebration,’ she said. ‘Invite the other clans. Invite the
people from the village. Fling open the doors. Food. So much food. Music, dancing. Make them happy. Yes, people want to know they are safe. They want to know that they have a leader who can protect them. No one who looks at you could be in any doubt that you could. That you could defend against any army. But life here has been bleak.’ She let out a long, slow breath. ‘And I know what it is to live a bleak life you cannot see any hope of having change.’
‘You speak of your time with your father.’
‘Yes. But my time here also if you don’t allow me to find a place. And I believe that this will help. It is not enough to come in swinging a sword and making proclamations. There is pain here. They are wounded. The fields are scarred. So are their hearts. I’ve seen them. I’ve been talking to them.’
‘I know,’ he said.
‘It is not enough to rule by making your subjects afraid of you.’
‘I don’t want them afraid. I want them to give me their respect. My father did nothing to earn it.’
‘Terror is terror either way. You must show them something more.’
‘I am not in need of the advice of a woman.’
Not even that caused her to back down. If anything, she bristled. ‘You are. Very clearly you are. You are incapable of fixing this yourself. Rage at me if you want, but you know I’m right.’
He would admit no such thing. These sorts of things, this…this softness that she was talking about was outside his experience. He had never had a moment of softness. Not in his life.
He fought against images. Images of a woman long dead. Of babies who smelled sweet and felt so fragile, and died far too quickly.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘That’s okay. You don’t have to understand. But you could trust me on this.’
‘And why would you know anything about this?’
‘Because, as I said, I know what it is to live bleak. A moment of happiness can heal so many things. Just a glimmer of hope. An evening to dance, to have a full belly. Think of what it was like when you were at war. What would you have given for those things?’
He felt as if she had turned a key that was in a lock somewhere inside him. An understanding flooded him.
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