Beloved Ruins, Book 1

by Marti Talbott

  “I shall, and I thank you.” His headache did seem to be easing a little, but he had not forgotten his bargain with Osgar. As ill-mannered as Seona was, he needed to have her in his village if he was to fight her father.

  While Swinton drank the few drops left in his goblet and reached for the pitcher, Seona finally took a seat at the end of the table opposite Michael, allowing the other men to sit.

  As he helped himself, Swinton repeatedly glanced at Seona. “Michael, will you let her, if she agrees to willingly go with me?”

  “Why would I go with you?” Seona loudly griped. “I cannae tell you how happy I am here, what with being commanded to stay within these walls.”

  Michael sighed. “I merely said if you disobey and are snatched away, I shall send no lads to rescue you. You bring your demise upon yourself and our edict is, in that case, disregarded.”

  “There, you see?” she said to Swinton. “I cannae leave for Michael shall not protect me if I do.”

  “I shall happily protect you,” said Swinton.

  “From the Kennedy and the MacKintosh?” Ferguson asked.

  Swinton quickly turned his attention to Ferguson. “What have they to do with it?”

  “Together, they conspire to take her to her father and collect the reward,” Ferguson answered.

  “How much is the reward these days?” Seona asked. “I favor knowin’ how much my father thinks I am worth.”

  “How much do you believe you are worth?” Ferguson asked.

  “Far more than the two thousand pounds I heard on my journey here.”

  “Even two thousand is more than you are worth,” Elena scoffed.

  Meghan Ferguson noted the disapproval in Michael’s expression, and thought to take Elena away before Michael scolded her. “Elena, perhaps you and I might warn the cook to make extra for supper.”

  “A splendid idea,” said Michael. “Will you not stay, Laird Swinton?”

  “I shall be honored. I confess to a healthy appetite now that my headache seems to be easin’.”

  The men remained standing until Meghan and Elena left, and then sat back down. Laird Swinton saw no reason not to, so he asked Seona, “Does Osgar know about Kennedy’s plot, for Kennedy is surely behind it?”

  “Osgar?” Seona asked. “How would he know?”

  “Did he not come see you?” Swinton asked. “He was here but Wednesday last.”

  “He...” she glanced first at Michael and then at Balric before she lied, “I have not seen him since he brought me here.”

  “Ah, so he did know where you were,” Swinton mumbled more to himself than to the others. “He denied it to me. What a sly devil he is, but has he not always been?”

  Seona’s red hair had not been braided, and a pesky lock of it nearly covered her right eye. Irritated, she harshly brushed it back. “Why did he come to you?”

  “To tell me of Tam’s foolhardy biddin’. Your brother would have come himself, but he finds himself locked away in your father’s dungeon.”

  Seona’s complexion abruptly lost some of its color. “Tam is in the dungeon? But he shall die there, for he is not strong enough. Now what is to be done? Tam was to kill father, and...”

  Ferguson was appalled and raised his voice. “A son would kill his own father?”

  She returned with a determined tone. “I would kill him myself, were I given the chance.” She again brushed the lock of hair away and turned her attention back to Swinton. “What did Osgar ask of you?”

  Swinton leaned back in his chair, stared at her, and remained silent for a long moment before he admitted the truth – at least part of it. “He offered to pay me ten thousand pounds to kill your father.”

  Seona’s mouth dropped. “Ten thousand...’Tis too much.”

  “I agree. I would gladly kill him for far less,” said Swinton.

  She was still aghast. “Osgar said not a word of this to me.”

  Leaning against the wall not far from her, Balric asked, “When you dinna see him Wednesday last?” She shot him a look of severe indignation, which he thoroughly enjoyed.

  “How,” she asked, again turning her attention back to Swinton. “I mean, how does Osgar plan to get father to leave his castle?”

  “By tellin’ him I have you, and that he must come for you of his own accord,” said Swinton.

  Seona finally lowered her pained eyes. “He shall not come.”

  “If he wishes to please the king, he shall.” Swinton argued.

  Michael slowly shook his head. “And when he learns you dinna have her?” he asked Swinton.

  “He will likely come here,” Ferguson answered instead for Swinton.

  “If only Tam were free,” Seona muttered.

  “You mistake him, my dear,” said Swinton. “To please the king, Tam also means to marry you off to the Frenchman.”

  “He...” Instead of completing her sentence, she abruptly stood up. “I dinna feel well,” she said as she fled from the room.

  When Michael did not move to see that his guest was well taken care of, Swinton was amazed. “Shall no one help her?”

  “The last I heard,” said Ferguson, “there is no remedy for the illness a lass suffers when she is with child.”

  Swinton’s mouth dropped. He looked to Michael for confirmation, and when Michael nodded, he reached for his wine, and drained his second goblet full.

  THERE WERE ACTUALLY tears in Seona’s eyes as she flew past Beitris in the hallway and ran into her bedchamber. When she slammed her door, it made Beitris jump and a moment later, Kester peeked out of Brenna’s room to see what was the matter. Were he younger, Birdie might have actually barked, but a low growl was about all he could manage these days. Beitris simply shrugged, stuck her nose in the air, and went on her way.

  Tears or no tears, there would be no caring for Seona this day, at least not by Beitris.

  CHAPTER 17

  AFTER THEY NOTIFIED the cook and her helper of the guests staying for supper, Meghan and Elena decided to go for a walk in the glen. They didn’t get far before Siobhan and Finalla came to talk to Elena.

  Siobhan asked, “Is it true? Are we to expect twenty more Ferguson warriors?”

  Elena touched Siobhan’s arm, smiled and softly answered. “We best be grateful they are, for we may well need them.”

  Finalla’s eyes were wide. “Is there to be a clan war? We have never seen one in our lifetime.”

  “I pray not,” said Elena. “This is Mistress Ferguson.”

  Both women gave their guest a hasty curtsey, but their attention quickly turned back to Elena. Siobhan said, “If Seona were gone, we would not need the Fergusons to help us.”

  “I quite agree, but you know very well Michael shall let no harm come to any lass – even Seona.”

  Siobhan hung her head. “I know, but the Fergusons...”

  “Are my people,” Elena interrupted. “I was married to a Ferguson, and I shall be very pleased if you see they are well fed, and enjoy themselves while they are here.”

  “You are a Ferguson?” Ursula asked.

  “Aye. Mistress Ferguson is my sister-in-law.”

  “Does Michael know?” Siobhan asked.

  “He does,” Meghan answered. “I have just now told him.”

  Siobhan’s eyes lit up. “Does Kester know? Just once, I would like to know somethin’ Kester does not.”

  Meghan giggled. “I suspect not, for I have yet to meet your Kester.”

  “You shall adore her, I assure you,” said Elena. “As to the Ferguson guards, shall you see that they are made welcome?” Finalla’s nod was a while in coming, but at last, it appeared Elena was going to have her way.

  “If it pleases you,” said Siobhan. With that, the two of them went off to be the first to tell the news about Elena.

  As soon as they were gone, Elena and Meghan walked to the edge of the village and then into the glen. They were greeted by a slight breeze and the sweet smell of pine trees. Both watched as a flock of blackbirds fl
ew from one side of the glen to the other and landed in the trees behind the graveyard.

  “If it pleases you?” Meghan repeated with a glint in her eye. “It appears they regard you as they would their mistress. Per chance have you caught Michael’s eye?”

  “My dear sister-in-law, what the clan wishes may not be what is truly at hand.”

  “I see, he has not yet asked you. Would you like me to do a bit of proddin’?”

  Elena shook her head. “‘Tis the last thing I would like you to do.”

  “You are not happy here?”

  “The MacGreagors are wonderful people, but Seona...”

  “Ah, I begin to see the problem. Michael fancies her?”

  “Nay...not where others can see, but I suspect...”

  Meghan abruptly stopped walking and took hold of Elena’s arm. “Of what do you accuse him?”

  “Seona claims he fathered her child.”

  Meghan’s mouth dropped. “She accused him?”

  “Aye.”

  “What did Michael say?”

  Elena looked away. “He was not there.”

  Meghan’s surprise soon turned to hesitation. “I doubt she has said an honest thing in her whole life. Why do you believe her?”

  “Because I was witness to it. Late at night, I saw him go to his bedchamber and after he closed his door, Seona closed hers.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “Michael wore no shirt or shoes.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Another time, Seona burst into his bedchamber expectin’ to meet Michael there. One of the maids was witness to that and told the whole clan.”

  In thoughtful silence, they continued to walk and as they passed, Meghan nodded to the Ferguson guards watching her. In response, the guards spread out and encircled the two women, keeping close enough to protect them, yet not close enough to overhear. “Have you asked Michael about it?”

  “Not yet.”

  Meghan leaned down, picked a wildflower, and brought it to her nose and smelled the sweet aroma of it. “You love Michael?”

  “I dinna think I could ever love another, but I do love Michael and I believed he loved me. That was before, of course.”

  “All men are tempted, but I cannae believe Michael finds her pleasin’. He did not appear to care for her at all just now.”

  “‘Tis how he always responds to her when others are near, but I cannae disregard what I saw.”

  “No wonder you are so uncertain. Did Michael not say there are others who might be the child’s father?”

  “First there is Owen, but before I tell you about that, I must tell you about Lindsey.” Elena stopped walking, sat in the grass and began. “Lindsey was...” When Elena was finished, Meghan bowed her head. “What a sad, sad story. I believe I hate Seona now too.”

  “Seona pretends not to know what she has done, and Murran and Owen have shunned her. Poor Rory found the loss of Lindsey especially painful, as did we all, and Kester’s rage does not subside. I sometimes...”

  THEY WERE PROUD MEN, proud of their laird, their heritage, and proud to be Fergusons. It showed in the way they sat erect, and slowly walked their horses up the road and into the MacGreagor glen. Only two across at first, the third and fourth riders moved up until they were four across. The four became six, and so on, until the Ferguson warriors formed a single line that stretched nearly all the way across the width of the glen.

  It was a grand display and their mistress was very pleased, but behind her the MacGreagors were not. Little by little, the clan came to the edge of the village, faced the Fergusons, and waited. As Meghan and Elena got up, the guards on foot moved away from their mistress, the line of warriors halted and at their leaders signal, dismounted in unison.

  “Watch Adam,” Meghan whispered to Elena, “he has been practicin’.”

  Each Ferguson moved to stand in front of his horse, and when all were lined up, they bowed to their Mistress. Adam walked forward and just as he did, his horse did the same. A man on the end leaned around the others, and whistled, which caused Adam to stop and slowly look back. Perturbed, he turned around held both his arms out palms up and as he walked back, the horse got back in line.

  “STAY!” Adam shouted.

  The horse nodded, the man on the end got back in position, and Adam tried again. This time, he took one giant step forward and then another...and so did his horse.

  The MacGreagors roared with laughter.

  Adam shrugged, crossed his feet at the ankle, and sat down. Everyone expected the horse to mimic him, but it did not. Instead, it backed up again. This time, it turned its head to the left, as if to see if it was properly lined up, and then looked right. Apparently it was not, so it backed up another step – and then sat down.

  This time the MacGreagors cheered and applauded. The Ferguson warriors bowed to the crowd, abruptly left their horses, and went to greet Elena. “We heard you were here,” Adam said. “Where might Samuel be? I have...” When he looked up, Laird Ferguson was walking toward them with Samuel perched on his shoulder. With so much to talk to Elena about the Fergusons completely ignored the MacGreagors.

  “Twenty six Ferguson’s in the glen. Never thought I would see this day,” Elder Diarmad muttered as he stood between the gawking Murran and Owen.

  “Nor I,” said Murran.

  “Yet, if Elena fancies them, they cannae be all bad,” said Diarmad.

  “You have not yet heard?” Murran asked.

  “Heard what?” Diarmad wanted to know.

  “Elena married a Ferguson.”

  Diarmad thoughtfully stroked his beard for a moment. “‘Tis better than to wed an English.”

  The frown on Owen’s face implied he agreed, but then, no one hated the English more than Owen. “Fergusons have very fine swords.”

  “Perhaps they shall let us see them,” Murran said as he started toward the Fergusons. When he did, other MacGreagor warriors came to look too. Still, there were those who remained standoffish, regarded the occasion as just an unnecessary distraction, and went back to what they were doing.

  WHEN HE ESCORTED HIS guests to the dining hall, Michael was impressed by the dishes his cook managed to produce on such short notice. The smell of fresh baked bread had filled the castle for at least an hour, so he was not surprised to find ample small loaves. He was surprised, however, to see two of his men acting as servers eager to impress their laird’s guests. Michael was not fooled. They were there to listen and report back to the clan. Of course, with Kester there, the clan would know soon enough anyway, so he did not send them away.

  The servers brought platters of roasted pheasant seasoned with rosemary, parsley and thyme, beef, and bowls of boiled cabbage and leeks topped with peppercorn, salt, and onion. Kale with beetroot added color to the meal, and for dessert, there was baked apples in a square pottery dish steeped in honey, cinnamon, and nutmeg. As soon as the men stood back, Michael nodded his appreciation and approval.

  “The children?” Michael asked Elena as Swinton helped seat her between himself and her brother.

  “They have already eaten,” she answered.

  Lately, Kester refused to sit at the same table as Seona, but this was a special occasion, so she came. As she normally did these days, Kester sat at Michael’s right hand at the supper table with birdie sitting up between them, waiting for a morsel or two. Meghan Ferguson sat beside Kester, and more than once Kester examined the woman’s beauty. Still, she never said a word until Seona finally graced them with an appearance. “Mistress Ferguson,” Kester began, “You are right dead bonnie – the most bonnie lass I ever did see.” She watched for Seona’s look of revulsion and soon enough, she got it. “Not,” Kester continued, “as bonnie as me, but not many are, you know.”

  Meghan giggled and played along, “I do know and you greatly flatter me.”

  “That one,” Kester tried, pointing her crooked finger at Seona, “be...”

  Michael quickly put his hand on Kester’s arm. “I re
mind you we have guests.” Kester bit her lower lip, looked at him sheepishly, and then nodded as if she just now realized. Nonetheless, Michael was on to her, which caused him to raise an eyebrow.

  Holding the bowl of cabbage while Elena helped herself, Swinton asked, “Laird MacGreagor, would you like me to send for more Swintons?”

  “You live not very far away and I find twelve to be sufficient for now,” Michael answered, as he handed a bowl of mutton to Swinton.

  “Twelve?”

  “Aye, the ten you brought and the two watchin’ us from the forest.”

  Swinton chuckled. “Perhaps I forgot for a time how well you keep your clan guarded.”

  Michael smiled. “Normally, you would have gotten away with it, but as soon as Laird Ferguson told me of the plot, I sent more lads into the woods.”

  “Where did you hear of this plot?” Swinton asked Ferguson.

  “Yesterday in Edinburgh.”

  “And did you see the king while you were there?”

  “I did. ”Ferguson answered. “If you have not already heard, the king has given permission to take back the southern lands stolen by the English.”

  “By force?” Michael asked.

  Swinton nodded.

  Laird Ferguson approved too. “I am pleased to hear it. ‘Tis Ferguson land they took, which is why we were forced north.”

  “You would go back?” Meghan asked her husband.

  He winked at her. “Only if you agree to go with me.”

  “How charmin’,” Seona mocked as she rolled her eyes.

  Swinton found no reason to acknowledge her insult. “And the King, is he well?” he asked Ferguson.

  “As well as a lad his age can be, I suppose. He is nearly fifty-five and well past his best. I dinna imagine he thought he would ever be king. But then, no one expected King David to die so suddenly.”