On this day, she was not that happy to have Rory hanging around. “Have you nothin’ to do?”
“Nay,” he said as he defiantly folded his arms, “I would rather be here with you.”
“Because you love me?”
“No one shall ever love you more than me.”
“Someone might,” she argued. Save for when she was a wee child and her mother could not get the tangles out, Lindsey’s hair had never been cut. She wore it in one long braid and had it hanging down her back instead of in front so it wouldn’t get in the way.
“Who?”
“Just someone.”
Rory frowned. “And while you wait for this someone to love you, you waste half our lives.” Annoyed by her giggling, he stormed off. It was hopeless, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up trying. To his way of thinking there was not a lass in the entire village – in the world even, that was as kind and as pleasing as Lindsey.
At seventeen, Lindsey was tall and perhaps a little too slender, but that bothered her not. Some said her brown eyes seemed a touch too close together, but she cared little for their opinions either. According to her mother, as long she kept her face clean and her long, light blonde hair immaculately braided, she was as handsome as any woman.
Lindsey lost her father and then her mother to an illness, and with both her older brothers married and living with families of their own, many in the clan objected to her living alone. Nevertheless, her laird decreed it would be all right and she found her solitude quite pleasant. Besides, Widow Kester lived right next door, and if there was one thing Kester was good at, it was keeping a close eye on everything and everyone in the clan.
Each and every day, and sometimes more often than that, Kester came to sit on the tree stump near Lindsey’s worktable and make a point of admiring both Lindsey and her pottery. Her wrinkled face and bent fingers betrayed her age, and her hair was more white than gray. With her came Birdie, a smaller than normal, longhaired Bearded Collie who once served as the best sheep herding dog in the clan. Yet, one day Birdie sat down and cared not where the sheep went. Therefore, the shepherd gave Birdie to Kester, so the collie could peacefully serve out his remaining days as her beloved and faithful dog. Everywhere Kester went the dog followed, and when Kester stopped, the dog gladly lay down and went to sleep.
“You become more handsome every day,” said Kester, “though not as handsome as me.” A little out of breath, Kester huffed and then added, “Few are, you know.”
Busy adding clay to her next masterpiece, Lindsey giggled. “I do know.”
Rarely did anyone live beyond sixty years of age, but Kester did. She claimed to be pushing seventy, but by then there was no one left to verify it. As was the custom, they with the least wealth were required to wear the dullest and simplest of clothing, leaving embroidered and brightly colored clothing to the rich. To Kester, that was nonsense and she wore precisely what she wanted. She believed as long as she did not look like an English, no one had a say in it. On this day, she wore a white shirt, a blue, albeit faded skirt over a linen undergarment that kept the wool from chaffing her tender skin, and the tanned leather vest she refused to go without.
She made herself comfortable on the stump, and patted Birdie’s head just before the dog lay down at her feet. “Rory says...”
Lindsey slumped. “Not that again.” She regained her composure, dipped her fingers in the bowl of water, and continued to smooth out the sides of the small, pitcher-shaped candle holder. “He wants to marry me.”
“Why would he not? Never have I heard you say a harsh word to anyone, and he is as pleasant as any lad can be. You could do worse.”
“And I could do better.”
“How? Rory is second in command and...” Kester paused and deeply wrinkled her brow. “Lass, have you set your sights on Laird Michael? Is that it?”
Lindsey wiped her fingers on a rag, found a stray hair that had been bothering her, and slipped it behind her ear. “Michael? Good heavens no. If I married Michael I would have to live in the castle and give up my pottery. Besides, I dinna fancy Michael near as much as...”
“As who?” Kester probed.
“Never you mind who.” To keep from looking Kester in the eye, she quickly returned to her work.
“Fret not, I shall find out on my own.” Kester’s mind seemed to wander for a moment. “I remember hearin’ of the days when the lads and lasses met in the courtyard so everyone could see what they were up to. Now a lad walks right up to the door of her cottage and ‘tis harder to say who fancies who. Just the same, I’ll know if a lad walks up to your door.”
“Of that I am certain.”
“Is he a good lad or one that is pleased to fancy more than one lass at a time?”
Lindsey tipped her head to one side. “I have yet to see who he fancies, but then, I am always workin’, which means I see only those who take this path to the river.”
Kester leaned a little closer. “Tell me who he is and I shall see what he is up to.”
“Why Kester MacGreagor, can it be that you dinna already know what everyone is up to?”
“Perhaps I do and perhaps I dinna. I will say this though; Michael means to make us all learn English.”
“And how do you know what Michael means to do?”
Kester tipped her head back and looked down her crooked nose at the girl. “I have my ways.”
“How well I know. I wager you know who wakes earliest in the mornin’ and who sleeps latest, who likes turnips and who dinna, and which of us shall die next.”
“Ha, I know more than that, save for when the next shall die. That I leave to the Lord above, unless I think to kill someone myself.”
Lindsey laughed. “How many have you killed so far?”
“None so far, but rile me up and just see if I dinna do it.” When Birdie squirmed a little due to the bad dreams he was prone to have, Kester leaned down and placed a comforting hand on his head. The dog woke for a second and then went right back to sleep
“I tremble at the thought,” Lindsey teased.
“I know another thing too.”
“Which is?”
“Michael is sendin’ three lads with you to the market in town and again sends Rory.” Before Lindsey could complain again, she continued, “He is to find a lad to teach us to speak English.”
“I thank you for the warnin’. Now I shall not fear him carryin’ me off – not if he has a school master to find.”
Kester touched Birdie’s head again, got up, and started up the path toward the castle...just as she did every morning.
“English,” Lindsey muttered as she watched the old woman go. “Whatever for?”
WHEN THE SCOTS AND the English were not at war, Edinburgh, Scotland was a fun place to be. A particular street down the center of the village served as the marketplace on all days save Sunday, and people from several different clans came to buy and sell. Rarely was there anything that could not be had in Edinburgh – from salt, to livestock, to seeds for planting crops. Small and large tables lined both sides of the street, the people were normally friendly, and never were they without the latest news to tell, even if it was not always completely true. One visitor, everyone would remark upon later, had darker than the usual light skin of the Scots and the English, and wore a turban on his head.
It was a crowded and noisy place, with children running to and fro, and merchants shouting their best offers. Every few feet, or wherever they could find a place to stand, men played a stringed dulcimer or blew on their crumhorn, hoping to gain a contribution or two. Occasionally, two or more musicians would gather to mesmerize the crowd with a favorite tune sung in full harmony, which always increased the amount in their coffers.
Having to travel farther than most, the MacGreagors almost did not find a place to set up their table. Fortunately, someone else was leaving, so Rory grabbed the spot and motioned for them to come. Soon the table displayed Lindsey’s pottery, Owen’s forks, and Rory’s finely
tooled leather belts. As all men knew, a kind and pleasant woman was better at selling goods than a man, particularly one as short tempered and gruff as Owen. He was more than happy to let her too, and soon went off to see what other metalsmiths were making. However, it was not usual for Murran to come with them, for he was a builder and not a merchant.
When she curiously looked at him, Murran explained, “Michael said I am to protect you.” He stood to the side and a foot back so as not to get in her way, and then folded his thick, muscular arms.
That perplexed her even more. First, she feared Laird Michael knew she wished to marry Murran, and then dismissed that idea for she had told no one. Perhaps Murran had nothing to build just now. At any rate, that was the first complete sentence he had ever said to her. Perhaps there was hope yet. “I thank you,” she finally managed to say. On the other hand, his good looks and the thought that he was watching her made her self-conscious. She took a deep breath, turned away, and tried to concentrate on enticing her customers.
Rory had yet to move and stood watching her. “Have you nowhere to be?” Lindsey asked.
Rory playfully clutched his chest. “I am greatly pained. You know ‘tis nowhere I would rather be than...”
“Rory MacGreagor, say no more.” She ignored Murran’s chuckle and maintained her glare. “Are you not to secure a master for the clan?”
Rory was shocked. “Who told you?”
“Kester.”
“And how does she know?” Rory asked.
Lindsey shrugged and then smiled at a woman who had come to the table to inspect the belts.
Frustrated, Rory pulled the annoying string out of his wavy blond hair and let it hang down to his shoulders. Then he stuffed the string inside his belt, adjusted his sword, and walked away. If he had looked back, he would have seen her smile.
Lindsey’s most promising customers were those who wore the brightest colored clothing, although Lindsey paid just as much attention to those who were less richly dressed. Money was after all money, even if the wealthy could afford to spend more of it at a time. Besides, she liked meeting new people, liked seeing what they were wearing, and after she got used to it, liked the fact that Murran was nearby, even if he had nothing more to say. His silence always confounded her, but she knew trying to get him to talk when there were no customers was useless.
As morning passed into afternoon, she was pleasantly surprised when Rory came back just to bring her something to eat. It consisted of a handful of juicy ripe cherries, two small buns and a chunk of cheese. She smiled. “I thank you.”
He turned to Murran. “See to your meal lad, I shall stay a piece.” As soon as Murran nodded, he turned his attention back to Lindsey. “Eat sweet Lindsey, for I desire a plump wife.”
Lindsey rolled her eyes and plopped a cherry into her mouth. It seemed everyone was eating instead of shopping, so she looked up at the steep rock formation at the end of the street where even after his death, men were building King David II’s castle tower.
“Twice,” Rory said, after following her eyes. “Michael has turned down a meal at the castle. I dinna think it wise, but you know Michael. He says kings mean war and wars mean MacGreagors to fight them.”
“Aye, and he is right,” she said. “Maybe we should leave Scotland.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “Who said we were considerin’ that?” He answered his own question at the same time she did. “Kester.” He waited while Lindsey sold two more bowls and then asked, “Does Kester know why you will not marry me?”
“She dinna know everythin’.”
“You best not tell her that,” he whispered as a new customer approached the table.
Lindsey let the customer peruse the wares and turned her attention back to Rory. “Have you not found...” Lindsey started to ask him
“School Masters are hard to find,” he interrupted.
“I know of one,” said the woman customer. “English or Gaelic?”
“English.”
“Ah,” she said. “Balric Verrall was sayin’ just yesterday how he hoped for a good position.”
“Where might I find him?” Rory asked.
“Over yonder. He be sittin’ under the oak tree readin’ stories to the children.”
Rory was thrilled, and as soon as Murran returned, he headed off to find Master Balric Verrall.
WHEN OWEN CAME BACK and looked at the empty spaces where his forks had been, he smiled. “How many?” he asked Lindsey.
“Four so far. Did you find somethin’ new to forge?”
Owen nodded. “One of the lads is makin’ forks with three even prongs. ‘twill be harder, but I mean to give it a try.”
“And sell them at a higher price?” Lindsey asked.
“Aye.” When one of the King’s guards approached, Owen went to stand beside Murran. As he always did, he looked to see if the guard wore a new kind of weapon easily made.
“Good day to you,” Lindsey said with her usual sweet smile.
“Have you seen a lass with red hair and green eyes lately?” the guard asked.
Lindsey quickly glanced around. Nearly a third of the women in the marketplace had red hair. “How many did you have in mind?”
The guard managed to crack a hint of a smile. “‘Tis not for me. ‘Tis to collect a reward of three thousand pounds.”
“Three thousand pounds?” Lindsey asked as she shared a surprised look with Owen. “Never have I heard of such a price put on a lasses’ head. What has she done?”
“Run off is all. Her father wants her back.”
She grinned. “For that price, he must. And you wish to collect the reward?”
The guard picked up one of her bowls, looked it over and then set it back down. “Not a lad in Scotland wouldn’t want the reward.”
“I suppose not.” She watched him walk away and waited for the next customer who might show an interest in the MacGreagor wares. When she turned to look back, Owen had wandered off, but her wonderful Murran was still there watching her.
Her next customer was a handsomely dressed, pretty young woman who was decidedly more interested in Murran than in belts, forks or pottery, and Lindsey found it annoying. She turned her head so Murran could not see what she said and then whispered. “He is taken.”
In a regrettable tone, the woman said, “a pity that is.” She examined a belt, and then a candle holder. “Have you heard about Laird Allardice?”
“Nay, what about him?”
“Gone blind, he has. ‘Twas a huntin’ accident three months past.”
“How does a lad go blind from huntin’?” Lindsey wanted to know. She could hear raised voices in the crowd, but paid no attention.
“He fell off his horse and hit his head, they say. Now, he cannae see a thin’.”
Lindsey lowered her gaze. “How very sad.”
The woman’s eyes brightened right up again. “Have you seen the bombard?”
“The what?”
“Tis called a bombard and ‘tis used by the French. It makes a frightenin’ noise and throws a fire ball harder and faster than a lance.”
“Tis a weapon?”
“Aye. The lads are sayin’ not a castle in Scotland can be saved from it.”
“If that be the case,” said Lindsey, “are we not happy the French are on our side?”
“Indeed we are.”
“Have you any other news to share?”
The woman thought for a moment. “Nay, not today. She glanced once more at the handsome man watching her, shrugged and moved to the next table.
Lindsey had just looked back to see if Murran was watching her or the woman, when a man, standing but a few feet in front of her table shouted something in English. Before she could react, a second man shoved the first and sent him crashing into her table. Under the weight of the man, the side of the table collapsed, causing the belts, forks, and pottery to slide onto him. The edge of the table hit Lindsey’s shin, and if someone had not pulled her out of the way, she surely would h
ave been more severely injured.
When the enraged man found himself lying on the broken table, he swiped the pottery away with his arm, and in the process broke three of her best pieces. In a flash, he was on his feet and went to continue the fight.
Horrified, Lindsey covered her mouth with her hand.
“Are you hurt, lass?” she heard Murran ask.
She was, but that did not matter. At last, she was in his arms. It wasn’t the kind of embrace she often hoped for, but it was something she would remember and play over and over in her mind for the remainder of her life. For a moment, she wished she was seriously hurt just so she could stay in his embrace, but she shook her head and he let go. Although they had moved away, the two men were still fighting, and other men were trying to break them up. To protect her, Murran stepped in front of Lindsey. His shoulders were so broad, she had to lean over to see around him, and even then all she could see was her broken pottery scattered on the ground.
At length, the ruckus was over, Murran moved away and there was nothing left to do but pick up the broken pieces. She still had a few bowls left to sell and the belts and forks were undamaged, but the table would need fixing.
“What happened?” Rory gasped as he knelt down to gather his leather belts.
“A fight,” was all Murran was willing to say.
“I am not hurt,” Lindsey assured Rory as she started to put the pieces of broken pottery in her basket. Nearly a full three days of work lay on the ground and she couldn’t help but feel a little distraught. To her surprise, a stranger bent down and started to help her.
“Lindsey MacGreagor,” said Rory, “‘Tis Master Balric Verrall and he has agreed to teach us English.”
“On one condition,” Balric corrected as he picked up the last piece, handed it to Lindsey and then stood up.
“Which is?” Rory asked. He gave Lindsey his hand, and helped her rise.
“You take my sister, Elena, and her children with us. She can teach the children.”
Beloved Ruins, Book 1 Page 5