“Who are ye?” Angus asked, and Ishbel could clearly hear that he was taken aback by her appearance. “Where is Cormag?”
“He is indisposed, my lord,” Ishbel said. “He has sent me in his place. I can assure you that I am just as good at translation as he is, if not better.”
There was a stretch of silence between them, and Ishbel wished that she could see through the veil, just so that she would have a chance to figure out what the Laird was thinking. Eventually, she heard him draw a deep breath before he spoke once more.
“Ye dinnae sound like yer from these parts,” Angus remarked. “Why are ye wearing a veil, lass? I wish to see who speaks to me.”
“I’m from France, and so I speak the tongue well,” Ishbel said, deciding that it was better to not give Angus too many details. She knew that the Laird had never had a problem with her uncle, even though he was Vika’s father, but she didn’t know how he would react to her. Perhaps he would hate her just for being a woman who happened to be related to Vika. “And as for the veil . . . I have a condition, my lord. A . . . a skin condition, you see. I would be grateful to you if you allowed me to keep the veil on.”
It was a lie that Ishbel had come up with on the way to the castle, one that she hoped would satisfy the Laird’s curiosity. Besides, simple manners and politeness dictated that he couldn’t force her to remove the veil against her will.
“Verra weel,” Angus said. Ishbel could hear his footsteps coming closer and closer, and she instinctively took a step back before she stopped herself. She didn’t want the Laird to think of her as rude. Besides, the only thing that the man did was to hand her the documents, before he retreated once more, and Ishbel heard him perch himself on his chair.
Ishbel brought the documents as close to her as she could, under the veil, reading through them once, so that she could give the Laird an accurate translation. Then, she began to read aloud, this time in English, mumbling the first few words that were simple greetings and had nothing to do with the information the Laird was seeking.
“Be informed that the Keith clan has been attacking the villages of the MacMillan clan. MacMillan clan gold has come into our hands through the Keith clan, and once questioned, the Keith clansmen informed us of their actions. As allies to the MacMillan clan, we consider it our duty to inform you of such events.”
“The Keith clan?” Angus asked before Ishbel could even finish reading the documents. “It canna be . . . the MacMillans and the Keiths never had any hostility, not in the past nor ever. Ye canna expect me to believe that they are the ones attacking the villages!”
“I don’t know, my lord,” Ishbel said. “I am only reading what it says in the letter.”
“Are ye certain that yer translation is correct?” Angus asked. “Are ye certain that yer not misreading?”
Ishbel had no desire to stand there and have her skills questioned. She had come all the way from Tayvallich to the castle in the middle of the night, as though the translation of a few documents couldn’t wait a few hours, and now after all her efforts, Laird MacMillan had the audacity to question whether or not she knew how to speak her two mother tongues.
“Yes, I am certain,” she said, her tone carrying a bit of an edge. “I am sure that even if you don’t understand the rest of the letter, you can see the name Keith yourself, but if you’d rather have someone else translate the documents for you, then you are free to do so. He’ll tell you the same.”
Once again, there was a stretch of silence between them until Angus sighed. He sounded exhausted to Ishbel’s ears, and for a moment, she wondered if she was too harsh on him.
Then again, a man like him, the leader of the MacMillan clan, must have never heard anything other than praise in his life, but Ishbel wasn’t there to give him that.
“Yer right,” Angus admitted. “Forgive me . . . I shouldnae doubt ye. I simply canna understand why the Keith clan would turn against us so suddenly. We have always been friendly with them, and neither my ancestors nor I have done anything to warrant such treatment of our villages and our people.”
The apology caught Ishbel by surprise. Everything that she had heard about the Laird, all the rumors and the gossip, had prepared her for a cruel man, a man whose word was the law and who would have a woman decapitated for talking back to him.
She now knew, though, that she should have never believed such rumors. Rumors were already exaggerated, after all, and the Laird didn’t seem to be as irrational and violent as people claimed he was.
He had even apologized to her, Ishbel realized then. He didn’t have to do such a thing. In fact, she doubted that any other Laird would, no matter how kind or well-spoken.
“What’s yer name?” Angus asked her. “I can only beg ye to forgive me for not asking ye earlier. ‘Twas terribly rude of me, lass.”
“I am Ishbel,” she said, and once again, she was surprised by the Laird’s behavior. She could hear the incessant tapping of fingers against wood, the unmistakable sound of leather as the Laird squirmed in his seat, unable to sit still. At that moment, Ishbel couldn’t help but want to take the man’s pain away, the very pain that knowing his people were in danger had caused.
Ishbel knew precisely what she had to do, and so she kept reading the documents to him before her words began to morph into something different altogether as she allowed her mind to run free.
Chapter Five
Ishbel had a soothing voice. Angus found himself listening to her as she spoke, and he felt as though the stress and the troubles of the day melted off him, never to return.
It was an illusion, of course. Soon, she would stop, and Angus would be left alone with his thoughts in the silence of his study, and he couldn’t even pity himself. After all, he was the Laird of the clan, and he was safe in his castle, away from the violence that the Keith clan spread around his land.
The only people that he could pity were those in need of his help, those that he didn’t even know needed him up until then.
Just as he was about to thank Ishbel for her translation of the documents, though, she continued to speak. Angus watched her, and even though he couldn’t see her face, he could see the way her hands spoke along with her lips, gesturing as she recounted a familiar tale.
“And Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her,” Ishbel said.
She seemed to know the story so well that Angus would have believed her if she told him that she was still reading from those papers, but now there was more in her voice than the monotone of translation. There was emotion and passion, and Angus couldn’t help but give her his undivided attention.
Once she was finished with the story, Angus stayed quiet for a while. He feared that any words he could utter would break the spell that had befallen them, and besides, he wanted to give her the time to continue if she so wished.
He could listen to her throughout the entirety of the night, he thought, and he would enjoy it more than he could ever enjoy the tales and songs of a bard.
When it became clear to him that her stories were finished for the night, he finally spoke.
“Why did ye tell me that story, lass?” he asked. “I’m certain that it wasnae in the letters.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Ishbel confirmed. “I simply thought that you would like to hear a story.”
“And why’s that?”
Ishbel hesitated for a moment, as though she was trying to find the right words. “Tales of all kinds are good for the soul, my lord,” she said. “My mother used to say that, and she was a very wise woman. You seemed . . . well, you seemed weary, and I was hoping that a story would help you rest your mind.”
Angus wondered who that woman was that Cormag had sent him, who was wise beyond her years. Granted, Angus had no idea how old she was, since he couldn’t see her face, but her youthful voice and unmarred hands told him that she was still young, younger than him even. To have such wisdom at such a young age was a rare thing, and An
gus couldn’t help but be impressed with Ishbel, to want to know more about her.
He supposed that the fact that she was hiding her face only added to that desire. Angus didn’t particularly care if she had a condition, as she had told him, and he would have liked to see her as she spoke to him, but he didn’t want to be rude and demand that she took off her veil. Perhaps one day, she would feel comfortable enough around him to remove it and show him her face.
It was only when he had that thought that he realized he was getting ahead of himself. He was planning to see Ishbel again, to hear more of her stories, even though he barely knew her at all.
Her voice and her story had been so soothing, though, that he was determined to have her read to him again.
“Ishbel . . . will ye read for me again one day?” he asked.
“Do you wish me to do that, my lord?”
“Aye,” Angus said. “I would verra much like it if ye did. I believe yer mother was correct when she said that stories are good for the soul. Do ye ken any other stories?”
“I do,” Ishbel said. “My mother used to tell me stories often, and I remember them all.”
“What are they aboot?” Angus asked.
“Many things.” Ishbel hummed thoughtfully, as though she was trying to recall the plot of every story her mother had ever told her. “Some of them are about simple men and others about warriors. Some are about fair maidens and others about beasts and tragedies. My mother had a large repertoire, you see, my lord. She had stories about everyone and everything.”
“Then ye’ll tell me one of those stories soon,” Angus said as he stood from his chair. It was getting late, and soon, it would be dawn. Even though he knew that he would be unable to sleep that night, sick with worry as he was, he didn’t consider it fair to Ishbel to keep her awake, too. “Ye’ll stay here tonight. There isnae a reason to head back to the village at such an hour. I’ll have the servants prepare a room for ye, and ye can head back to yer village in the morning if ye so wish.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Ishbel said.
That one simple sentence gave Angus pause. He couldn’t remember when was the last time that someone had said such words about him. It had been so long since someone had seen kindness in him that even he had started to wonder if perhaps he wasn’t as kind as he thought he was. Surely, all his people couldn’t be wrong, after all, and all of them seemed to think that he was a cruel ruler.
“Do ye truly think so?” he asked. He hated how his voice came out strained, the words sticking to his throat like molasses, forcing him to choke them out.
Ishbel didn’t respond to his question immediately, and even though the pause filled Angus with dread, he also appreciated it more than a quick reassurance. The fact that she was hesitating meant that she was considering his question carefully and that she would not simply say yes just to placate him.
“I do,” she said eventually, sucking in a breath. “You have been nothing but kind to me tonight. I have no reason to believe that you are anything but kind.”
It was all that Angus needed to hear. In one short moment, he felt as though the weight was lifted off his shoulders, a weight that he hadn’t even known he had been carrying. Suddenly, he could breathe again. All the shame, all the sorrow that came with the knowledge that his own people spoke and thought so ill of him, was gone, even if it was just for a moment. It was all he needed to take a much-needed breath, and it was all because of that chance encounter with the woman in front of him.
He wished, more than ever, that he could see her face. Surely, no matter what condition she had, a woman as kind and wise as she was beautiful.
“I can only thank ye for yer words,” Angus said, as he began to walk to his door, where he spoke to the guard, ordering him to find servants who could prepare a room for Ishbel. “If ye wish to leave the morrow, then I’d like ye to come see me first. I’d like to hear one of yer stories before ye leave.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Ishbel said, just as a young servant came to get her, looking frazzled and as though she had been rudely awakened from a nap. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The door closed behind Ishbel, and Angus was left alone, just like he had feared earlier. Despite his fears that he would be spending the following hours pacing around his room, his thoughts constantly drifting back to the villagers in his land, there was something else in his mind, or rather, someone else.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Ishbel. She occupied every nook and cranny in his mind with her charm, her intelligence, and her kind nature, and even though he had only known her for a short time, he knew that she was a woman worth keeping around.
He couldn’t ask her to stay in the castle, of course, since Tayvallich was her home, but now he had two reasons to visit the village, both her and Cormag.
Then there was also the young woman that he had met in Tayvallich just the other day. He wondered if the two of them knew each other, or if they were even related, perhaps, since they had the same odd lack of accent that gave away the fact they were not from those parts. They sounded so much alike, Angus realized then, that they could even be sisters, and it wouldn’t surprise him.
Just as he was thinking about the two women and their possible relation, his door burst open without warning. Angus jumped off his seat, his hand immediately reaching for his sword and pulling it out of its sheath, ready to attack.
“M’lord!”
It was none other, but the same messenger who had brought him the French documents, and Angus sighed his relief, lowering his sword to the ground, even as his heart beat fast enough to jump out of his chest.
“What is it?” he asked the other man. “Dinnae ye ken how to knock? Ye almost scared me to death!”
“Forgive me, m’lord,” the messenger said, chest heaving as though he had run all the way to Angus’ study. “There’s word from Tayvallich that they are under attack.”
“Under attack?”
“Aye,” the messenger said. “The messenger from Tayvallich didnae say much else before he collapsed, m’lord. It seems like he did some of the journey here on foot, running after his horse was too exerted to continue.”
Angus could feel his heart beating even faster now. A numbness ran down his spine, and all the way down to his legs, making his knees buckle and forcing him to hold onto his desk to keep himself upright. His breath came out in shallow puffs, his mind racing as he tried to figure out his next steps.
It was the Keith clan. It couldn’t have been anyone else, he thought, and perhaps it was no coincidence that they had attacked that very night.
Perhaps they knew that France had sent word to Angus about them and their criminal acts.
“Gather the men,” Angus told the messenger. “Leave enough behind to guard the castle, but everyone else is coming with me. And have the healer take care of the messenger from Tayvallich. I dinnae want to see him dead when I come back to the castle.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
The messenger rushed down the hallways of the castle once more, on his way to awaken all the clansmen who could fight for Tayvallich. Angus himself made his way to the stables, instructing the stable boy to bring the horses to the courtyard.
The messenger gathered dozens of men, and all of them congregated around Angus, who was already on his horse by the time the men arrived.
“Tayvallich and its people are under attack, lads!” Angus shouted so that he would be heard by the entire group of his clansmen. “The Keith clan has made itself our enemy, and we have no choice other than to show them what happens when another clan hurts our people!”
There was a chorus of agreement around Angus, as the men climbed onto their horses. Angus led them out of the castle walls and into the woods, all of them riding their horses as fast as the creatures would carry them, their war cries echoing in the darkness of the night.
It would be dawn soon, Angus noted, as he rode towards the village. It would be a dawn bloodier than
any other the land had seen.
By dawn, the soil would be painted crimson with the blood of the Keith clan, even if Angus had to singlehandedly kill them all.
Chapter Six
Cormag was awakened by the screams of his people. It was a thing of nightmares, waking up in the middle of the night to find that his home was under attack and that his fellow men and women ran frightened in the streets, trying to save themselves and their children.
He quickly stood from his bed, throwing on his clothes, before he made his way to the door, but before he could head outside, the door was kicked open from the other side, violently swinging on its hinges. Cormag was faced with two men, then, both of them young and sprightly, who grabbed him without a word and began to drag him to the village’s square.
Highlander’s Veiled Bride: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highland Seductresses Book 2) Page 4