“That woman— she’s a MacDonald then?”
“Aye,” he said. “One of many whose husbands died in the Uprising.”
“And she’s— grateful to me for the use of Grandfather’s rooms?” If I considered that Ian might have stayed there instead of with me, it was a sacrifice.
My escort moved ahead of me on the stairs. “I am sure she is, but that wasn’t why she thanked you just now. She’s one of the women— the whole lot of them— who are grateful to you for being willing to join with their laird, temperamental man that he is. They think it’ll go better for them, now that you’re warming his bed.”
I grasped the railing, appalled that the whole of the castle, apparently, believed Ian and I had been intimate. “Are you suggesting that before now he, Ian— made use of the widows
for—” I couldn’t even say it.
“Entertainment?”
I nodded, feeling worse than I had a minute ago.
“It’s not that,” Gordon said. “Ian MacDonald is known, among other things, for his rare temper. In the past he’s been volatile and unpredictable toward everyone.”
The past? As in yesterday?
“Somewhat the opposite of his brother,” Gordon continued. “It often took Collin to rein him in.”
I remembered as much from our journey here.
“We weren’t certain what to expect when Collin married you and Ian became laird. A short while ago he didn’t seem capable of leading a hunting party, let alone an entire clan, and even more, joining them with another.”
“It’s unprecedented,” I said. If he succeeds. I still didn’t know if Ian truly wanted this coexistence to endure long, or if he was just using the Campbells to bring in the harvest.
“His behavior is what’s unprecedented,” Gordon continued. “Since Collin’s death Ian’s been rational and just, and focused, for once, on the good of the clan and making this mad idea of his work. A lot of people think you’re at the root of this change, that you’ve influenced him toward becoming the leader Collin was.”
It was more credit than I deserved or wanted the burden of. “It wasn’t me,” I said quietly. “But losing Collin. If Ian is truly changed, it is because of his brother’s death.”
Two more women passed us, each curtsying as the first had. I responded in kind, feeling more unsettled by the minute. Save for a handful of people, my own clan had barely acknowledged my return.
“I’m to help with the wool,” I reminded Gordon. “Will you take me where I’m to go, please?” Engaging in work of some sort, in any ordinary task, held sudden appeal.
We crossed the busy hall while Gordon explained that Ian had asked for an accounting of everything from the dishes to the sheets. “He has all but the youngest children working in the gardens and fields, harvesting every last root and stem.”
So he’ll have plenty to eat, and know what the Campbells have of value? I still couldn’t trust that Ian intended to spend the next several months living peaceably with us. Last night, speaking in front of everyone, he’d sounded genuine, but in the light of day I imagined his words were merely meant to appease us into submission.
Just like Brann. It seemed so clear to me, I wondered how it could not be to the others, especially to those like Alistair, who’d known Ian before. I couldn’t be the only one feeling this way. And if I wasn’t, what were we to do about it? What would Collin have done?
I thought back to that morning at the inn when I’d upset Ian. Collin had spent the following two days cooling his brother’s temper and keeping him away from me. Perhaps that was the only approach I could take right now— to keep Ian’s temper under control, and to cooperate and encourage others to do so as well, while somehow, secretly, we would need to plan for the eventuality of his betrayal.
Gordon led me through the courtyard, as bustling with activity as the hall had been. A cartload of timber was being wheeled in the direction of the burned distillery, and the sounds of saws and hammers alike filled the air.
We passed the stables and left the main yard, coming upon a grouping of sheds I’d not seen before, just inside the east wall.
Gordon pointed to them. “They’re shearing in that first one, so the women will be nearby, collecting the wool for washing and carding. Someone there will tell you what to do. I’ll be there as well, helping with the shearing.”
“Thank you— I think.” I regretted my initial rudeness already. He was only doing Ian’s bidding, and having someone around to talk to me might prove a nice distraction from my melancholy.
In the distance I saw the millhouse wheel churning— the first time I’d seen it going since my arrival. A cleared path, free of mud and debris, led between the castle and the various outbuildings. How had so much been accomplished in little over a week?
Halfway to the sheds I paused, staying back to avoid a collision with a dozen MacDonald men walking toward the gate. Each wore a bulging pouch, and the two bringing up the rear were on horseback, pulling carts behind them. I watched as they exited the courtyard, heading in the opposite direction that Collin and I had gone the night of Liusaidh’s fire.
The last time we had gone anywhere together.
“They’re off to see to the barley we left behind.” As he had in the hall last night, and in my room, Ian appeared suddenly. “We cannot risk losing it.”
“Of course not.” I hugged my arms to myself, in attempt to ward off the lingering chill in the air. “Whoever heard of surviving a winter without whisky?”
“No one in Scotland.” Ian’s tone was light, jesting almost at my intended barb. “But it’s about more than having it ourselves. It’ll fetch a high price and provide a good barter for some of what we’re in need of.”
“Which is?” I turned to look at him, expecting him to struggle with an answer as I caught him in the elaborate lie he was building. Instead his mouth turned down, and his forehead wrinkled.
“Nearly everything.” He began ticking items off on his fingers. “More grain. It’s our greatest deficiency. Neither clan planted enough. As it stands now, we’ll run out in January. We’ll need meat as well, though we can hunt that ourselves, into winter if need be.” He held up a third finger. “Shelter. Not everyone fits in the castle, and I’m worried for those who live far from it. They’re easy pickings for Brann. I’ll feel better if, once the harvest is complete, we can move everyone in close, so at least they’re safe, though we’ve not near enough food to see either clan through the winter. I think it was Brann’s intention to starve those he’d not burned out already.
“Then there is the matter of care for those who’ve been living in the wild since Brann took their homes. They’ve need of a place to stay and clothing and shoes as well. Half the bairns have scarce of either. If they don’t starve to death they’ll surely freeze.” Ian ran a hand across his stubbled chin. For a second his troubled expression almost convinced me that he truly cared. He tugged at the cap covering his bald head, and a worried sigh escaped his slightly parted lips.
I stared at his mouth, so like Collin’s, a second longer than necessary, and Ian took notice. His eye met mine briefly, and I tensed, waiting for some false accusation or coarse remark, but thankfully he let the moment pass.
“The Campbells are hardly better off than the MacDonalds,” Gordon said, reminding me that we were not alone. “I’d not expected that, given the land and resources you have.”
“Then why not leave us and simply worry about providing for you own?” I addressed the question to Ian.
A corner of his mouth rose. “And would you be coming with me, if I did go?”
“Of course not.”
“There you have it,” Ian said smugly. “I cannot leave you. My brother’s suffering won’t be for naught. I’ll be staying here to look after MacDonalds and Campbells alike— particularly one Campbell.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
I could hear the sheep bleating pitifully long before we reached the sheds. Ian had left us again, headed to some other task. He
seemed driven, filled with purpose as he’d never been on our journey here. Maybe Collin had been right, and Ian would rise to fill his brother’s role of leadership. Or was I, like most everyone else here— like the MacDonalds at Glencoe had been—being lulled into false security?
We reached the sheds, and Gordon opened the door to the first one for me.
“Isn’t it a bit late in the year for shearing?” I asked.
“Aye,” he said but offered no more. For all his talkative nature earlier, he’d grown silent since Ian’s departure.
“Won’t the sheep freeze without their coats? They can’t grow back that fast, before it’s truly cold, can they?”
“They could freeze,” Gordon said. “But these sheep won’t make it through winter anyhow. Many of the pastures near the castle have been stripped already, and Ian doesn’t feel it wise to be sending shepherds out on the high moors in search of winter grass— too easy for another clan, or your previous laird, to take the sheep and murder those tending them.”
“You mean they’re going to starve?” I paused just inside.
Gordon shook his head. “We’ll slaughter them first, for the meat. As soon as the ground’s too frozen for them to feed well— or sooner if we need them.”
Dismay at the animals’ unjust fate— and ours— filled me. “In the spring the Campbells will have nothing,” I protested.
“But hopefully you’ll all be alive. Without the meat from the sheep, that’s doubtful.”
I let this sink in a moment while Gordon pulled the door shut behind us.
“Thank you for your escort,” I said belatedly. “I’m Katherine, by the way. You may call me that if you’d like.”
“I know who you are,” Gordon said. “Spent the better part of six years listening to Collin tell tales of you.”
“You did— he did?” Gordon had spent years with Collin, while I’d had only weeks.
“Collin spoke of you often. First, as a reminder to my sister that he was spoken for, then later because we would ask him for stories.”
Sister? “What could he possibly have told you? I was a child when we parted.” It would be just like Ian to have me work alongside the other woman who had cared for Collin.
“Aye, but what a lass you were.” Gordon smiled, no doubt remembering some tale of my mischief. “Then later Collin spoke— to me, anyway— of his imaginations of the woman you’d grown into. I do not think he was disappointed.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful for this unexpected gift and sorry again for my earlier rudeness. Being around Ian kept me testy and on edge. “Will you tell me sometime?”
“Aye. Though I doubt all that Collin told us was true. Tales about you hanging from the rafters like a ghost...”
“That one is true,” I muttered.
“Well then, we’ll have to talk more sometime. I expect I ought to help now.” He inclined his head toward the far side of the shed and the sheep gathered there, awaiting their turn with the shearer. “My sister will show you what to do.” He looked past me.
I turned around slowly and came face to face with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Her hair reminded me of Ian’s when I first met him— long and shiny, black as midnight. What man would not want to run his fingers through it? Had Collin?
In contrast to her dark hair, her eyes were a pale blue, set in a flawless face, with creamy skin that accentuated her other features. I had the brief thought that Collin might have been happy with her, had my grandfather not previously bound him to me. If not for me, Collin might have been both happy and alive.
“My lady.” With simple elegance she held the side of her ragged gown out and sank into a curtsy worthy of greeting the queen.
“Hello.” Mhairi. I returned the gesture, feeling it was I who ought to be falling at her feet, apologizing. Even if she hadn’t loved Collin, he had been her laird, and I had taken him from her. “Please, call me Katherine.” I extended my hand.
She shook it. “Mhairi.”
I followed her to the opposite end of the shed, to an enormous table with women seated around it. Each had a blade in hand as they bent over a pile of wool, cutting out what I gathered must be the impurities, given the bowls in the middle of the table, piled high with bits of hay, burrs, and feces.
“This is Katherine,” Mhairi said. “She is here to help.”
Only two of the women bothered to look up from their work.
“Did the MacDonald do that to ye?” the younger one asked, pointing to my arm in its sling.
“No,” I said. “Of course not.” Though Ian was definitely capable of hurting me, he had not to this point since his arrival. It wouldn’t do to have needless fear and rumors being spread about. “Brann— the former Campbell laird— is the one who hurt me,” I explained. “Ian MacDonald rescued me.”
The truth sounded strange, yet that was exactly what had happened. If not for Ian, I could still be suffering, a captive of Brann or possibly even dead by now.
“Brann’s an evil one, that’s certain,” another woman said. “But the man you’re stuck with now, is he any better?”
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “He was unkind to me in the past.” A slight understatement for Ian’s attempt on my life. “But since coming here...” I swallowed painfully, this truth even more difficult to speak than the last. “Since my husband’s death— Ian’s brother’s death—” I clarified for those who were not MacDonalds— “he seems changed. I think losing Collin has affected him in ways I wouldn’t have predicted.” My eyes shifted anxiously around the table. I had no idea which women were Campbells and which were MacDonalds and could only hope to offend neither.
“It has affected us all,” Mhairi said, a sadness in her voice I recognized all too well. “Come. I’ll show you what to do.” She retrieved a half dozen baskets from the floor behind the table.
“Fill one at a time with the shorn wool, then bring them to us. Keep a few out for us to put in the pieces we’ve picked through, then take those to be washed. Keep the bowls on the table emptied— they can go right to the fire beneath the kettles.”
“All right.” That didn’t sound too difficult, but the humblest of tasks perhaps. Had Mhairi’s curtsy been mocking? I didn’t think so, but it was difficult to tell. She had every right to hate me. I glanced wistfully at the table and the women seated there. Why wasn’t I to be allowed to work with them?
“The laird was thinking of your arm when he gave you this task,” Mhairi said, as if she’d discerned my thoughts. “It would be difficult for you to use scissors with that arm and near impossible to work the carding brushes.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I took up two of the baskets and made my way toward the bleating, soon-to-be-naked sheep.
A gate separated the animals and shearers from the women’s end of the shed. I opened this and moved inside what was clearly men’s territory, with giant shears snapping in quick succession, shouting, laughter, and Gaelic flying back and forth among them. The smell was stronger here too.
Gordon beckoned me over, pointing to the ground. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to gather the wool off the floor. I’ll toss it to the middle as best I can. Will you be able, with your arm?”
It was tempting to say no, to make my excuses and return to the refuge of my bed chamber. But what would I do then, except to think of Collin? Better to stay here, to listen to the chatter of the women’s gossip and the sheep’s sad bleating. Better to be of use in some small way. Even if it was not what my grandfather had intended.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, to myself as much as to Gordon. Dropping to the floor, I began gathering the wool. I quickly found it all I had expected— dirty, smelly, unpleasant.
Glancing at Mhairi, seated at the table with the others, I felt that I deserved no less.
Chapter Thirty
“Arguing already and not even a fortnight since we handfast.” Ian removed one of his boots and dropped it to the floor. Propping one leg
over the other, he began to massage his foot. “Doesn’t bode well for years of happily wedded bliss. Were you this difficult for Collin?”
His comment didn’t deserve a response, other than a reminder not to mention his brother’s name. I ignored it and stayed focused on the more pressing matter at hand before my courage failed me. Literally on the edge of my seat, so I could move quickly if need be— if Ian’s temper flared at my audacity to challenge his decision— I plunged headlong into my objection.
“You cannot kill all of the Campbells’ sheep. Like it or not, that is much of their livelihood now. Take that away, and they’ll surely perish— or perhaps that was your plan all along. Feast on mutton throughout the winter, then leave us in the spring with barren fields and no livestock.”
“I can appreciate your sympathy toward the sheep.” With a grimace, Ian removed his other boot. “But mine tends toward people over animals. And I’d prefer not to live another winter watching children and adults near starvation. The sheep can help solve that problem.”
“It’s cruel,” I protested. “Many of them aren’t even a year old yet.”
“I’m not asking you to be the one to slit their throats,” Ian said. “And if you want to know what cruelty is— to both animals and people— spend a winter surviving by bleeding cattle and mixing their blood with oats. I’ll not subject the MacDonalds to that again, not when there is meat to be had right in front of us.”
“It isn’t yours to take,” I said, but my argument held no sway. What he’d just described was appalling. I could neither imagine participating in such horrors nor eating the spoils to survive. And if I’d a child dependent upon such...
Ian drew his chair closer to mine. “I’m not going to abandon you come spring. Many of the fields have lain dormant and even been burned the past year or two, but that does not mean they cannot be planted again. The rest will likely have done them good, and crops will grow in abundance, as I’m sure they once did here.”
“I don’t remember that time.” I looked down at my lap, feeling defeated in more ways than one.
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