by Wine, Mary
“Mistress.”
She took Brawley by surprise when she opened the outer door and went past him.
“The daylight is wasting,” Cora informed him as she took to the stairs and started toward the ground floor.
“The chief charged me with seeing to yer well-being,” Brawley called after her.
By the time they made it down, the Retainer wasn’t willing to try and reason with her anymore. He leapt forward, so he could block her.
Cora propped her hands on her hips. “Faolan made it plain that I am his wife.”
Heat teased her cheeks. Brawley’s lips twitched as he recalled how his chief had kissed her so very publicly.
“So, I will be getting on with me responsibilities,” Cora said. “Yer chief will need all the support he can get, and do nae be forgetting that every one of those Retainers has women kin.”
Brawley shared a look with Clement. When the two Retainers returned their attention to her, there was something new in their eyes. It was a glitter of respect. Cora recognized it from the first night at the tower when her efforts had been noted by the small band of men banished there with Faolan.
“Right then.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Let’s find the Head-of-House.”
*
A clan didn’t always follow bloodlines when they took a new laird.
The McKay hall was packed with Retainers as word spread of Malcolm’s death. Every man would have a vote.
Faolan recalled clearly the way that vote had gone before.
Of course, the difference was there was no other clear successor. Malcolm’s senior captains were clustered together as they contemplated putting out a name to be considered against Faolan.
“The Mackenzie lass spoke wisely,” Yestin said. His voice silenced the low rumblings of the McKay. “Internal strife will weaken the McKay. We need to make a firm decision today.”
“What is the point of a vote if there is only one candidate?” one of the Retainers demanded.
“A vote tells us how many approve of our new laird,” Yestin answered. “If there is not a majority, those who disagree will be pressed to name their candidate.”
A low rumble went through the hall.
“If one of ye wants to speak against me,” Faolan said, “do it here. Do it now. I have no tolerance for dark-corner scheming.”
There were many approving nods.
“Are ye keeping Cora Mackenzie as yer wife?”
The question gave birth to another round of whispers. Faolan waited a moment before he answered.
“I have no taste for dishonesty,” Faolan said. “The union is not consummated.”
There were nods in response.
“But an alliance with the Mackenzie would be advantageous for the McKay,” Yestin remarked. “A laird must marry, and the lass is here.”
“She is unbridled.” It was Gilmor who spoke up. “What need have we of a hellion?”
The hall filled with hushed arguments as the McKay debated the issue.
“Cora Mackenzie is strong,” Yestin made his position clear. “A child gets half its blood from the mother. Faolan is strong enough to get a saddle on her.”
There were more grumblings in response. But Yestin was looking straight at Faolan. The senior captain’s gaze made it plain he was set on making sure Faolan bent to his demand.
“Noreen Grant has two unwed younger sisters,” Gilmor spoke up. “And we know for sure the Grants want to be in an alliance with us. The Mackenzies might consider themselves well rid of their unbridled wench.”
“Oh, aye,” Yestin agreed. “Four sisters in all. That bloodline has plenty of female offspring.”
Faolan ground his teeth. His frustration was high, but the laird’s marriage was a matter for the clan to discuss.
“I have never made becoming laird me purpose,” Faolan said. “Yet, I will not shrink from the place I was born into. Cast yer vote according to yer conscience in relation to me.”
At the fount of the hall, there were two buckets. One held dark stones. The other had white ones. Two of the Retainers lifted them high and poured them into a single trough. An old basket with a broken handle was placed over the top of it. One of the men used a knife to cut a hole in the basket. Just a small one, which would allow each man to drop a rock into the bucket without showing the color to anyone else. The McKay Retainers stood and gathered on the far side of the hall. A row of benches was lined up down the center. After each man cast his vote, he would go to the other side of the hall.
The three priests stood near the back. They would be the witnesses who watched to ensure no man voted twice. Once the votes were cast, the priests would turn the bucket over and count the stones in front of everyone.
The final move was for Faolan and the captains to leave the high ground where the laird’s table was. The senior captains sat there with their laird for meals. Now, they used the stairs on either side to descend to the ground level so they might not see what color stone any man took.
The voting didn’t take very long. Faolan watched as the priests separated the stones. It wasn’t the clearly larger pile of white stones that drew his attention. No, Faolan found himself pondering the pile of dark stones.
A third of the clan was against him.
His mother would have told him not to spare them a thought.
Malcolm would have surely informed Faolan that he was soft for caring at all.
Fate had somehow delivered him to the position his mother had always claimed was his by right.
And that he could keep Cora if he pleased.
*
Orla wasn’t going to budge a bit.
The Head-of-House met Cora in the passageway outside the kitchens.
“Ye are no’ the mistress,” she declared firmly.
“What I am is not lazy,” Cora countered. “So, I will be doing something of worth.”
Orla raised an eyebrow. There was a flicker of something in her eyes which might have been approval, but it was cut short by the way the Head-of-House narrowed her eyes.
“What would a pampered daughter of a laird know about being useful?” Orla demanded.
“A Head-of-House worth anything would know how to test me,” Cora boldly challenged the woman.
There were a dozen women straining to get a look at the confrontation. Cora kept her gaze on Orla as those women stared.
“I’ll not see the men of the McKay suffering a poor supper due to yer lack of skill.” Orla shook her head “And ye will no’ be setting eyes on the books of the McKay until ye are the lady of the house.”
Orla’s lips curved as she decided on a chore to assign Cora.
“The proper place to test out any worth ye might have is the laundry. If ye can nae see to the cleaning, well, ye do nae know very much about running a house.”
It was a lowly task, and yet, Orla wasn’t necessarily wrong about how important it was. Disease spread through a dirty house. So those who cleaned it were essential.
Cora sent the Head-of-House a smile. Orla’s confidence wavered just a bit in the face of Cora’s confidence. Of course, it was going to cost Cora. Ahead of her was a long day of scrubbing with lye. The skin on her hands would peel, and her eyes burn.
But there was no way she was going to cry quarter.
*
Being laird meant adopting the art of negotiation.
Balance would be a key factor.
Faolan found himself faced with his first challenge as he stared down Malcolm’s captains. Dismissing them all would be a tactical error. But failing to keep some of his own men would leave him unable to sleep because he would be waiting to see who snuck into his chambers to slit his throat.
“Every one of ye has served the McKay well,” Faolan began. “I would not discredit yer service. Yet, I would include me own men among the number of captains.”
“We understand yer need to have one of yer own among our ranks, Laird,” Yestin remarked. “The matter can be simplified by having Gilmo
r step back down. As the youngest among us, he’ll have the opportunity to rise back up in time.”
Gilmor wasn’t in agreement. But the rest of the captains nodded because it preserved their own places. Faolan tempered his impulse to dismiss them all. Aye, they’d all stood silent why he was banished, but the truth was, getting away from Noreen had pleased him greatly. Perhaps some of them had held their tongues because they understood how deeply their former mistress had sliced him.
“That’s sound thinking,” Gainor said. “And Gilmor, lad, ye need no’ worry about feeling slighted. Yer time will come again.”
The rest of the captains nodded in agreement. As far as a first act as laird, it seemed smooth enough. But Faolan felt a tingle on his nape. There wasn’t time to act on it, though. Gilmor left the room that served as the laird’s private office, and the captains immediately brought forward matters waiting for his attention.
There were defenses to consider and winter supplies to check. Investments and rents all had to be managed while keeping in touch with the outside world. Sealed letters were waiting to be opened and discussed, while the towers he’d so recently called his own needed another man to be assigned the task of building and defending.
Faolan threw himself into the effort. For so many years, he’d been unable to control the circumstances of his own life. Now, Fate had handed him a gift he’d never expected. He’d never joined the struggle for power, but he fully intended to be the laird needed to protect his clan.
*
His time would come again…
Gilmor fought back his rage.
Not because he thought he was wrong, but because he needed to think clearly enough to form a plan. Yestin had left him to rot. So, his future was going to be won solely by his own actions.
There was a giggle.
He looked up as Kalan scampered by. The eldest of Malcolm’s daughters was just four winters old. The child clutched a doll as her nurse, Mae, stuck close to her heels. There was a smile on Kalan’s face because she was too young to grasp the day’s events. The child spent far more time with her nurse than she ever had with her mother.
Kalan had no idea that she might be smothered in the dark hours of the night now that there had been a shift in power, and she represented the wrong bloodline.
Gilmor slowly grinned. McKay blood flowed through her veins. But more importantly, there was Grant blood, too. The Grants wouldn’t be very happy to hear of the shift in power inside the McKay clan. Not when the shift nullified their allegiance.
“Do ye want to play?”
Kalan had stopped and was staring up at him.
Gilmor smiled. He lowered himself to the ground, so he was level with the child. “I will send me aunt to play with ye, Kalan.”
Mae’s eyes widened. The nurse didn’t lack wits, and Gilmor stood and shot her a hard look. “Take yer charge to see me aunt.”
The nurse worried her lower lip in indecision.
“Ye can be useful to me or not.”
The nurse quickly lowered herself in obedience.
“I’ll go straight away,” Mae muttered.
She extended her hand, and Kalan took it immediately. Gilmor watched them disappear down the passageway. He turned when they were out of sight and went looking for his supporters.
Chapter Seven
“Ye slut!”
There was a crash and the sound of pottery breaking. Faolan turned away from the stairs he’d been making ready to climb.
“I thought to be rid of ye for the winter, and now ye are back and taking to thieving!”
The Head-of-House’s voice bounced between the stone walls of the passageway, which ran between the towers. Faolan came around the bend in time to see Orla raising a rod up high as two of the men from the kitchen held Brynna down on her knees with her arms behind her.
“I was no’ thieving,” Brynna declared. In spite of her dire circumstances, the girl’s voice was firm and steady. She didn’t cower but stared straight at Orla.
“Not thieving?” Orla demanded. She used the rod to point at the broken pottery jar on the floor. “I gave ye no permission to take anything from the stillroom.”
“The salve is for the mistress. Since ye sent her to the laundry to scrub the day through, her hands are near to peeling.”
“Mistress?” Orla demanded. “The mistress is resting in her grave. Little wonder ye think Cora Mackenzie is anyone worthy of serving, for she is cut from the same cloth as ye. Doing whatever she pleases whenever she decides to. Well, I saw the sheet this morning with me own eyes, and it was clean.”
“What matters is the way the laird looks at her,” Brynna continued. “It’s the same way yer son looks at me.”
Orla laughed. It was a low sound so unpleasant, Faolan pushed himself the last few paces so he might intercede.
The Head-of-House was startled. Faolan pulled the rod from her grip as he sent the men holding Brynna a stern look. They released her instantly, bending slightly as they backed away and tugged on the corner of their caps. Faolan looked back at Orla. The Head-of-House was no stranger.
“If ye’ve something to say to me, then so be it.” Orla proved she wasn’t going to snivel. “Being Head-of-House means keeping order.”
“Ye sent me wife to the laundry?” Faolan inquired softly.
Orla propped her hand on her hip. “I sent yer bride to prove what she knows about running a large house. It would be foolish of me to allow her into the kitchen without testing her. Unless ye fancy food poisoning. Since the sheet was clean, she clearly does nae see performing her duties as something important.”
There was a snicker from one of the maids hiding in the shadows.
“Yer authority does nae extend to me wife’s character,” Faolan said. “And since ye sent Brynna to me towers, the girl is mine to direct.”
“All the better.” Orla refused to back down. “For me son has already seen the error of his ways in setting his sights on her.” The Head-of-House looked at Brynna. “Me Cameron is set to wed a girl who is nae a foundling like ye.”
Another round of snickers came from the shadows. Faolan bristled. He sent Orla a harsh look. “Since ye are willing to show me yer face when ye insult me, ye may keep yer position because ye are not a coward. But I will make one thing very clear to ye. There will be no banishing from this stronghold without my approval. Cross me on that Orla, and ye will suffer the same fate ye gave me mother. I swear that to you.”
Orla shut her mouth so quickly, there was a click from her teeth. Behind him, there was complete silence.
“Brynna?”
“Aye, laird?”
“Bring me a jar of the salve.”
Brynna inclined her head before she turned and returned to the stillroom. Orla narrowed her eyes, for the stillroom was a place only those with permission entered. Inside it was the costliest items the kitchens had. Herbs, spices, medicines. Orla was charged with making certain there was ample supply for the winter. Faolan understood the need for the Head-of-House to instill fear of retribution, but Orla enjoyed those moments too much for his taste.
But replacing her wasn’t so simple. He might just end up with someone incompetent who really would give them all food poisoning. Or see his Retainers rebelling against his authority because the storerooms ran out of grain before the next harvest.
Brynna returned and offered him a small jar. He could close his hand all the way around it because of how little it was, but the contents were precious. He turned to look at Brynna.
“Tomorrow, ye will attend to me wife. Unless she decides otherwise.”
Brynna lowered herself. Half a dozen Retainers had followed him. Faolan watched the way they took in the moment. The staff inside the kitchens remained silent. He started to walk away but stopped and looked at one of the Retainers.
“Reece.”
The young man reached for the corner of his cap. “Laird?”
“See that Brynna is placed in a sleeping chamber for the night. One
befitting her position as Lady McKay’s attendant.”
“Aye.”
Faolan turned and headed for the stairs. His head was pounding as he climbed. Tension knotted his shoulders far worse than he could recall ever having endured in his life.
Even when he and his mother had been turned out in the bitter cold.
Being laird was taxing, to say the least.
Faolan was contemplating a healthy pour of whiskey when he reached the outer doors of the chamber his wife was in. He rapped on it and pushed it open a moment later.
All thoughts of whiskey vanished instantly. She stood a few paces from him, her hair unbound and flowing down her back in naught but a shift as she reached up to close some window shutters. The light from a candle flickered behind her, illuminating her body beneath the thin linen.
Christ, he craved her…
*
“Ye are supposed to wait for me to invite ye in,” Cora informed him.
Faolan responded by firmly closing the door.
She stood still for a long moment. Her toes had been chilled, but now, there was warmth rushing along her limbs. She stared at the closed door, contemplating the choice Faolan was affording her.
He was her husband, after all.
And laird of the McKay.
His word was law now.
But he rapped on the door once more.
“Come in.” Her throat felt tight, and her tone was far huskier than she’d ever noticed. She felt a shift inside herself, like something was stretching and waking up. Time was moving very slowly, as well, allowing her to notice each second as she waited for Faolan to push the door inward.
Once he did, her heart accelerated. He truly was a huge beast, and yet, she found him almost unbearably attractive. His lips were pressed into a hard line, but they twitched as he took her in and noted that she hadn’t hurried to wrap herself in the dressing robe lying across the end of her bed.
Truthfully, she hadn’t even thought about modesty.
That’s because ye are smitten with him…
It was true. Cora didn’t bother to debate the point.
There was a movement behind Faolan. Cora gasped as she realized some Retainers had been trailing him. Faolan turned instantly in response. He sent the door shut with a hard motion that made it slam.